I Will Make You Pay

by Driscoll, Teresa

  I honestly never believed it would come to anything – this demolition campaign. They’ve been moaning for years. But this Alice woman has suddenly whipped it all up. It’s in the paper every week. And it’s all gone wrong. They’ve given me a date to get out.

  And I can’t face it, my sweet boy. I’m so sorry. I just can’t.

  Your loving gran. Xxx

  PS I’m sending you my diary because I don’t want people poking about in my business. We never liked that – me and your grandfather. People knowing our business.

  He wipes his face and tells himself that he will never cry again. He needs to find something better than tears. He looks again at the final newspaper feature – tucked into his gran’s diary – trumpeting the decision to demolish the flats. The headline: WE DID IT!

  He spits on the picture of the journalist and recites her name out loud.

  Alice Henderson.

  CHAPTER 60

  MATTHEW

  Amelie is perched on her booster seat, ready for her second breakfast. She woke early again this morning and Sally was a heroine, leaving him to lie in while she negotiated early cereal, early warm milk and cartoons on the telly. Matthew smiles, remembering the days when they were sure they would never allow telly early in the morning.

  ‘Still hungry, princess?’

  ‘I’m not a princess. I don’t have a crown.’ Amelie pauses and tilts her head as if reconsidering. ‘Could we get me a crown?’

  ‘I’ll look into it,’ Matthew says, avoiding eye contact. Negotiations over royal apparel could most definitely go downhill.

  ‘Why does Mummy make skinny pancakes?’ Amelie is frowning as Sally puts a plate of large, traditional pancakes in the centre of the kitchen table. She rolls one on to a smaller plate for Amelie, sprinkling sugar and drizzling lemon juice and slicing the long tube into bite-size pieces.

  ‘I like fat pancakes. Daddy makes fat pancakes. Why are some pancakes skinny and some pancakes fat?’

  Matthew is about to intervene when his phone rings. Caller not recognised. It’s a call forwarded from his office.

  ‘Hi. Matthew Hill. Can I help you?’ He’s not on duty with Alice until 10 a.m. and was hoping for a quiet breakfast first. He expects a long and difficult day.

  ‘You don’t know me but I’m very worried about Alice Henderson. Someone’s taken her car. And she’s not answering at her boyfriend’s flat.’

  ‘Sorry? And you are?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is we need your help. Urgently.’

  ‘I’m sorry but I need to know who’s calling. Why are you at the flat?’

  ‘Look – I’m not there now. I followed the car and I don’t know what to do. It’s been abandoned. There’s no sign of her.’

  ‘Right. Give me the location. I’ll get there and I’ll ring . . .’ He almost adds ‘the police’ but realises he has no idea what he’s dealing with. He will phone Melanie Sanders quietly. Secretly. As soon as he can.

  Matthew stands. ‘Listen. Can you stay on the line? I’m just going to my car. Don’t hang up. I just need a minute, then you can give me the details.’

  ‘You’re not going already?’ Sally’s face is all alarm. ‘I thought you were starting later today.’

  ‘Change of plan. No choice. I’ll be fine. You’re not to worry.’ He kisses his wife and daughter on their foreheads, his phone still clamped to his ear, and heads for the door, grabbing his car keys on the way.

  He has no idea if this is a trick – the stalker himself calling as some kind of sick wind-up – or someone genuine. He will need to be very, very careful. He doesn’t want Sally to worry but his mind is racing with options.

  He needs to keep this guy on the line. Try to get a name. More information. But he also needs to find a way to phone Mel Sanders for backup. Jeez.

  What the hell is going on?

  CHAPTER 61

  ALICE

  I try so hard to calm my breathing. Slowly, Alice. Slowly. I breathe in for three beats and out for three beats, praying that my nose will stay clear. I don’t want him to see my fear. I have this strong feeling that’s what he wants. My fear. The truth is he has it completely. I am utterly terrified. I am so afraid that it feels as if I may wet myself. I clench my muscles and try to keep my head above the water but it feels like drowning. Yes. As if I am actually drowning in my own fear.

  In . . . two . . . three . . . Out . . . two . . . three . . . My laboured breathing makes me close my eyes and I picture my mother with her little plastic tubes into her nose for her oxygen. I realise how truly awful it must be for her all of the time. Not being able to breathe properly.

  I can’t help it; the image of my mother makes me buckle.

  He seems to take in this movement but says nothing. He has not said a single word yet. He just sits there, all dressed in black. In the shadows of the room so that I cannot see his eyes.

  I am trying to remember his height as he first walked into the room and sat down. Is this Alex? Is he the right height? Could he have escaped? Alex has been in an open prison for some time and I’m wondering if this is possible. An escape. If this was his plan all along. Did he set this up while he was on parole?

  I try to imagine what Alex is capable of. Would he really hurt me – face to face? Could he have hurt Tom? Worse? Oh dear Lord. What has he done to Tom? I think of Alex in a motorcycle helmet and Tom totally unsuspecting.

  I cannot bear this. Him just staring at me in this silence. Me not knowing what is coming next. I have glanced around and can see no evidence of the things I fear the most – cheese wire. Acid. I am trying not to let myself think of these things. The objects I fear. No. I need to focus on breathing. I need to stop imagining what he is going to do.

  I keep my head still but move my eyes from left to right to take in the room again. And now something strange is happening. There is this odd wave of familiarity. Yes. The shape of this place feels somehow familiar. Not this room per se, but the layout. I can feel myself frowning as my eyes dart from left to right and my brain tries to process this.

  What is it? Why does it look familiar?

  I take in the shape again. The left-hand side of the room is the kitchen with old-fashioned cupboards fitted around a window with its curtains drawn. There is a sort of breakfast bar which divides this space from the rest of the sitting room and this is what feels familiar. The front door is directly across from the breakfast bar.

  There is an internal door ahead of me which is ajar and seems to lead to a small corridor and to a bathroom and possibly a bedroom.

  And now it is dawning on me. The layout is the mirror image of a flat I know quite well. It is much smarter than this one, the cupboards replaced with painted wood. The furnishings much more stylish in that other place. But – yes. The same layout as here but a mirror image. This is the same as the flat lived in by Gill, one of the demolition campaigners. I have interviewed her there many times. I glance around again. I can imagine myself walking in the front door of Gill’s place. She is on the top floor. The third floor.

  I don’t understand. It makes no sense. Why is this room so like Gill’s place?

  And now he is fidgeting in his seat and taking a phone out from his pocket. I can’t see it properly but he puts it right up close to his mouth. He takes off one glove to press the screen several times and then he talks through it. It’s on loudspeaker. And it is the voice from that very first phone call to the office. Distorted through software of some kind. Low. Robotic. Menacing.

  ‘Are you figuring it out yet, Alice?’

  CHAPTER 62

  MATTHEW

  Matthew checks the postcode which was texted to him, and sees two cars on a patch of wasteland ahead. He recognises Alice’s car, and in front of it a second, darker model. Very odd. It looks like the black Golf that he thought was following them once before. The one owned by her work colleague.

  Matthew pulls his phone from his pocket and rings Melanie again.

  ‘I’v
e just arrived, Mel.’

  ‘Uniformed should be there very soon, Matt. I’ll be ten, maybe fifteen minutes. What’s happening?’

  ‘It looks like it’s her colleague, Jack.’

  ‘Jeez. But he’s a suspect. We’ve interviewed him. Any sign of Alice?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You wait for us, yes?’

  ‘I’ll keep you posted. I’ve got to go.’

  Matthew hangs up and gets out of the car slowly. Jack then does the same, hurrying over. ‘OK, Jack. So what’s happening here? Where’s Alice?’

  ‘That’s the whole point. I don’t know. I just followed the car but I kept losing it. It was too far ahead. I lost quite a lot of time. Took a wrong turn. By the time I finally found it, there was no one inside.’

  ‘So why didn’t you give me your name on the phone, Jack?’

  ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t come. That you would think it was a wind-up or that you would just tell the police. They’ve been hassling me. They seem to think I’m a suspect. I was afraid that I would just be arrested.’

  Matthew is walking towards Jack very slowly. He keeps his hands out from his sides slightly with his palms open – a gesture to try to keep things calm. The guy is incredibly agitated, scraping his hands through his hair and jerking his head left to right. Matthew is trying to work out if this could be their man. If he’s hurt Alice and this is some kind of trap.

  Once closer, he takes in Jack’s eyes. They are wide and alarmed, the pupils huge.

  ‘Why have you been following Alice, Jack? Why would you do that?’

  ‘Because I care about her, man. And I’ve been worried sick. The police don’t seem to be able to do much at all. I’ve been following her to try to help her.’

  ‘Right. So what’s really going on here, Jack?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. That’s why I need you. We have to find her, Matthew. We have to find Alice.’

  Matthew glances around. It’s quite possible Jack is telling the truth. It’s also possible he’s obsessed with Alice. Matthew moves over to Alice’s car and glances inside. No clues. He tries all the doors. All locked. But then, alongside the car, he spots wide drag marks in the dirt. They lead right across the patch of rough ground to fencing surrounding a large old housing block which is boarded up. Some of the fencing has been cut and the drag marks continue beyond the fence towards the back of the block itself.

  ‘Right. So this is not good.’ Matthew takes his phone out again. He’s aware Jack could have done this. Taken Alice inside already and then staged this concern.

  ‘Mel. A hunch at this stage but it looks as if it’s possible someone has taken Alice into a derelict block of flats near the postcode I gave you. Fencing’s been cut. Drag marks. I’m here with Jack right now.’ Matthew glances back at Jack.

  ‘Do you know this place, Jack?’

  ‘Yes, I do. It’s the place Alice was doing stories on. It’s Maple Field House – the block that’s going to be demolished later this afternoon. I don’t understand. Why here? Why is her car here now?’

  ‘OK, Mel. So it seems to be a place Alice has been doing stories on. We don’t understand. But there is a connection. And it’s set for demolition today.’

  ‘OK. Stay put. We’re on it. Is there a sign with the name of the demolition company?’

  ‘Not that I can see from here.’

  Matthew hangs up just as a uniformed security guard suddenly approaches from a small white van.

  ‘Hey. What you two up to? This is private property. There’s a demolition here later today. It’s not safe. Did you not see the signs around the other side?’

  ‘Oh hell. Why didn’t I put it together?’ Jack’s expression is all alarm. He glances around. ‘Why here? What the hell is going on, Matthew?’

  ‘OK. So the police are on their way.’ Matthew is now looking directly at the security guard. ‘But you need to contact the demolition crew and get someone senior here immediately. Get the whole thing halted. I need the name of the company.’

  ‘And on what authority? Who the hell are you anyway? The place is all set. Fully wired. There’s another security guard watching the front. We’re in charge until the demo team return.’

  Matthew then turns to Jack. ‘Right, Jack. You stay right here and you tell the police everything when they arrive.’

  ‘No. I want to come with you. I need to find Alice.’

  ‘You can be more help here, Jack. I need you to meet the police. Get the details of the demolition company and get them on site immediately. Yes? It’s very important.’

  Finally Jack nods, and then Matthew heads towards the gap in the wire fence.

  ‘Oh no, no, no. You can’t go in there. No way.’ The security guard tone’s is firm but he doesn’t challenge Matthew physically. Instead he’s dialling his phone. ‘I’m warning you. This is a dangerous site. I’m serious. You absolutely cannot go in there . . .’

  CHAPTER 63

  ALICE

  ‘You really have no idea, Alice?’ The voice through the software sounds so very menacing. Like something from a film. Still he is in the shadows so I cannot see his eyes.

  In, one, two . . . out, one, two.

  I close my own eyes to tune out his voice and concentrate on my breathing. Again, the struggle to fill my lungs properly makes me think of my mother.

  I picture her in her new home with its lovely staff. The vase of roses on her table. I picture the copy of Wuthering Heights on the shelf, waiting for me. I try to think of other family scenes. Better pictures. Lying on the grass, making daisy chains. My mother calling us – Leanne and me – over to the picnic rug. Lunch, girls. Egg sandwiches – smelly but delicious. Ice-cold drinks poured from a thermos into red plastic beakers.

  I summon more scenes. Grey school socks and scuffed shoes. My mother standing behind me, plaiting my hair. My mother singing to me. Stroking my hair after a nightmare. It’s going to be all right, my darling. Just a dream. It’s going to be all right . . .

  ‘I used to live here, Alice. In this flat. With my grandmother.’

  I don’t know what to think. What’s he saying? I open my eyes to look at him again. I don’t understand.

  ‘She killed herself in this very room, Alice. Because of you.’

  I feel utter shock. I have no idea what on earth he’s talking about. I have done nothing. I don’t know what he means. He’s making this up. He’s mad. He must be entirely mad.

  And then very slowly he puts the phone back into his pocket and he takes off the balaclava.

  My left eye starts twitching now. Like a tic. I can’t take in the picture, even in this gloom. I can’t make any of it fit.

  It’s Tom.

  I can see that it’s him. It’s his face. And his hair. And his mouth. But my brain is saying that it can’t be Tom.

  Tom is at the flat. Hurt at the flat. This man hurt him. Took me. I don’t understand.

  He is laughing. And now it is Tom’s laugh. Still, I can’t process this. My eye is still twitching.

  ‘You really had no idea, did you?’ He’s shaking his head from side to side. Tom’s voice. A version of Tom that seems full of hate. Tom. But not Tom.

  ‘You bought it all. The parents on a trip around the world. The smart family. The smart life.’ He pauses. ‘That photo by my bed? I took it from a magazine, Alice.’ I can feel my breathing getting worse. ‘And the Skyping? I just made that up. I knew you’d never want to say hello to them.’

  He is actually laughing now.

  ‘Oh, and hiring Matthew? Genius move, don’t you think? Hidden in plain sight. I’ve enjoyed that.’ There is a longer pause and he looks at the kitchen area now. ‘I paid the security guard to let me in here. He thinks I’m recovering family mementos that were accidentally left behind.’ And now he looks back at me. ‘Your paper didn’t even cover the story. The inquest. She died. My grandmother died and none of you cared.’

  In one two. Out one two. Don’t black out, Alice. Don’t black ou
t.

  ‘Open your eyes and look at me when I’m talking to you, Alice.’

  I do as he says, my whole body trembling.

  ‘She took tablets, Alice. And she put her head in that oven. All because of you. You and your stupid stories.’

  I let out this strange puff of air next, which feels hot with the gag; my lungs even more strained. Too empty. I can’t seem to suck in the air. And I can’t make any sense of what he’s saying. There was no opposition to the campaign; what on earth is he talking about?

  I glance across at the oven and at the shelves in the corner of the kitchen area. There are pots and pans and various kitchen implements, and on the left at the end of the row something else. I stare for a moment and feel a pang of new horror as I slowly make out the shape. A wooden board with a metal arm. Dear Lord. Oh no. It’s a special cheese cutter. A little board with cheese wire . . .

  He sees me looking, follows my glance to the shelving and the small board and then he’s laughing again.

  ‘That scare you, does it?’ He narrows his eyes, burning his stare into me and clearly enjoying my fear. ‘My gran told me she used that to make sandwiches for my grandfather which he ate on a bench outside. Every day. Cheese and pickle.’ He pauses. ‘And he liked his cheese sliced thinly. Wire’s so much better than a knife.’

  He is speaking more slowly now. Still he is staring. I can feel tears coming. Feel faint.

  I am going to use cheese wire on you . . .

  ‘Oh, Alice. Awful, isn’t it? Dreading something. But here’s the thing. Here’s the beauty of it.’ He pauses again. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t need to hurt you.’

  I have no idea what to think now. Whether to be relieved. Is he saying that he’s going to let me go? Did he just want to frighten me? Is this just about claiming my fear . . . or is this another trick? Some new taunt.

  ‘You are going to kill yourself, Alice.’ He laughs. ‘In the same place.’ He looks across at the oven again.

  What now? I picture him forcing me over there. Towards the oven. I try not to think but I imagine that he is going to give me pills. Fake my suicide. Is that it? This mad person. This mad version of Tom.