Five Strangers

by E. V. Adamson

  ‘What’s it for then?’ he asked as he resumed his place at the table.

  I didn’t answer him. ‘You’ve got to be honest with me. I know I asked you once before – but did you send me a series of Twitter messages from @WatchingYouJenHunter?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t.’

  I took out my phone and scrolled through my photos. I hesitated a moment before I showed him the image.

  ‘Have you ever seen this before?’

  ‘No – what is it?’

  ‘It’s a picture of the mask worn by the person who attacked me on the Heath.’

  He looked shocked. ‘You were … attacked?’

  I bent my head, parted my hair and showed him the scab on my skull.

  ‘Fuck, Jen – who would want to do that to you?’

  He took my phone and used his thumb and finger to focus in on the image.

  ‘Hang on – is this …? No, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. This is in my bathroom. What were you—’

  ‘I know what it looks like – and I can explain.’

  ‘Jen – what the fuck is going on? What is this?’

  ‘Bex has the key to your house and because we thought it was likely that it was you who attacked me we decided to—’

  ‘You decided to break into my house.’

  ‘Yes – no. But I found this – the mask – in your bathroom cabinet.’

  He looked as if I’d told him we’d found an alien lurking behind his deodorant.

  ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

  ‘No, I wish I was.’

  ‘Are you seriously asking me whether I – what? – that I attacked you on the Heath, wearing this mask, which I then stashed away in my bathroom?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Listen, Jen. I know we’ve had our differences. For a while I thought we could put them all behind us and start again. I really did. But if you think that I could be capable of …’

  It was then that something clicked. There was a time, just a few weeks ago, when I thought Laurence and I might get back together. I remembered telling Bex how excited I was at the prospect. Perhaps there was a chance, I had told her, that Laurence would have me back, even after everything that had happened between us. He might actually forgive me. But that was not how it had played itself out. The day before Laurence and I were due to meet up I’d witnessed that terrible murder–suicide on Kite Hill.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  I couldn’t open my mouth. Was I having some kind of attack?

  ‘Jen – you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?’

  Everything was wrong. The whole fucking thing. The events of the last few weeks played themselves out in my head again. The murder of Vicky, the suicide of Daniel. The string of creepy messages. My growing distrust of Laurence. The assault on me on the Heath. The discovery of that mask in Laurence’s house. The map showing the CCTV coverage on the Heath. The revelation that Bex had been raped by Laurence. But I saw these things from a different viewpoint now, as if my perspective had suddenly been shifted on its side. The effect was unsettling, similar to the feeling of dissociation. I felt enveloped by an unreality that threatened to push me over the edge. But through it all I realised that everything had been leading up to one thing, the ultimate ending: my murder of Laurence.

  I took a sip of coffee, but it made me feel sick.

  ‘I need to ask you some more questions,’ I whispered.

  He must have seen the shock drain the blood from my face. Perhaps he realised what I had to say was serious.

  ‘Okay,’ he replied.

  ‘Why were you on the Heath on the day of the murder–suicide?’

  He hesitated before he began, perhaps surmising that as soon as he started to talk there was a chance that everything else would spill out. ‘You say you know about me and Vicky? Well, it had all got to be a mess. To be honest, I wanted to end it with her. We wanted different things. She realised she no longer loved Dan, and she got it into her head somehow that I was the one for her. She was convinced that I wanted children, that I wanted to marry her. I’ve no idea where she got that from.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘It was Bex.’

  ‘Bex?’

  ‘And she introduced you, didn’t she? To Vicky?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘And why did you go to the Heath that day?’

  ‘Bex told me—’

  Her name again.

  ‘—that she would help me. You see, Vicky had told her that she was planning on ending it with Dan that day. On Valentine’s Day, for fuck’s sake! I’d told her that would be a huge mistake. I pleaded with her not to do it. She’d told me a bit about Dan’s temper, his jealousy, but I never thought … Anyway, Bex convinced me that it would be best if we met on Parliament Hill Fields, just to make sure that Vicky was safe … She was a lovely girl, and I had been very fond of her – shit …’ His voice broke. ‘Sorry – it’s just that – that since it all happened I’ve been bottling lots of things up. Of course, I liked Vicky, I just didn’t see myself staying with her. But that didn’t mean I wanted her … wanted …’ He coughed into his hand and cleared tears from his eyes. ‘I didn’t want that. When I jogged up to the top of the hill I saw what was happening and I … I couldn’t deal with it. I ran. Ran as fast as I could away from it all. I didn’t know what was going to happen, I didn’t know that Vicky was pregnant. I only found out from the newspapers. I don’t think it was mine, but … God, Jen, I feel so fucking guilty. I should never have got involved with her in the first place. It was only supposed to be a bit of fun after …’

  He didn’t need to complete his sentence. ‘After you,’ he was going to say. After the fuck-up that was our relationship.

  ‘I’m sorry, Laurence,’ I said. ‘And did Bex ever come to you and give you a warning? Told you that you should turn yourself in to the police? Identify yourself as the man who was seen jogging away from the scene?’

  ‘No – no she didn’t.’

  So she had lied to me.

  ‘But she did tell me …’

  He went quiet, uncertain about what to say next. ‘Jen. This is so—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wanted to tell you all this so badly when you came round to my house just after … It’s bound to come out now anyway, so you may as well know, but she—’

  ‘It’s about that night at the French House, isn’t it?’

  His face froze. ‘How? … I thought … but she said …’

  ‘It’s okay, Laurence,’ I said. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Bex made it clear that it would be for the best if you didn’t know exactly what had happened in the run-up to the murder–suicide. She said that if I told you anything of what I knew then she would have no choice but to tell you about that night. You see …’

  ‘You know that she told me that you raped her.’

  ‘What?’ said Laurence, rubbing a hand over his eyes and face in a way that looked like he wished he could wash my words from his skin.

  ‘She said … she told me that after you’d gone back to your house you slipped something into her drink. And that you … that you raped her.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake. And you believe her?’ There was anger in his eyes. A black, dangerous anger I’d only seen on rare occasions, such as the night last summer when he ended it all. ‘Do you really think I could do that?’

  ‘No – I don’t. Listen – I don’t believe her.’

  ‘What the fuck is she playing at? If I see her, I’ll—’

  ‘Just tell me what really happened. Honestly – I won’t mind.’ That wasn’t entirely true: I had to steel myself for what came next.

  ‘We had some kind of drunken sex, but it … it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t rape her. I didn’t slip anything into her drink. And the next day, the next morning, I told her that … that it had been nice, it’d been fun, but it would be best if we went our separate ways. I wasn’t ready for a relationship. But then, when I got to know you a bit better … Well, th
at changed.’

  If only I’d been able to ask Laurence these questions a month ago. Everything would have been so different. I felt so unutterably sad, and yet I couldn’t cry. I thought of all the things that might have been: the future we could have enjoyed together, the holidays, the lazy Sunday mornings in bed, the parties, the quiet, intimate chats, perhaps even a couple of kids. But none of those things had happened. None of those things would happen. We had once been due to start a new life together. Was that what this was all about?

  80

  BEX

  We’re running on the Heath, and I’ve never felt more alive. I suppose the afternoon nap must have helped. The air is clean and cold on my face and Jen is in the mood to kill. I can see it in her eyes. They are hard and precise, and she’s possessed by a determination, and a courage, that I have to admire. The final strands of the plan have all come together with a simplicity that’s so pleasing, as though fate’s on my side.

  In the flat we went through what needed to be done over and over again. When I instructed her in the technique of cutting the carotid arteries, her eyes began to shine with an eerie brightness, as if her whole being was energised at the prospect. She held the knife with the confidence of a professional. She was an ideal pupil, staying silent when she needed to listen, asking questions when necessary, uncomplaining when I bound the knife to the inside part of her left arm. I’m sure she must have felt some discomfort, but she bore it all like a perfect stoic.

  As Jen took in my every word I could hardly believe this moment had actually come. This was what I’ve been working towards. It would serve as a fitting counterpart to the scene I’d directed on Parliament Hill Fields, between Daniel Oliver and Victoria Da Silva. I’d been watching it all from a distance, only frustrated I couldn’t witness it unfold at closer quarters.

  Over the years I’d kept in touch with Dan, and I even made him believe that I’d forgiven him for finishing with me back when he was still in his late teens. That had hurt me hard at the time. But I was able to put on a good front. He considered me a good mate, someone he could confide in. And because I was close to him, I was able to prime him, able to lay out the foundations for the crime with a precision that even impressed me. I knew he was unnaturally jealous, I’d learned that during my own relationship with him. And when he’d finished with me I vowed to myself that one day I’d get my revenge on him. All it took was for me to befriend his new girlfriend, Vicky, and introduce her to Laurence.

  I hoped that not only would Vicky, an interior designer, look up to Laurence, an architect, but that she would fancy him too. And boy did she fall for him. Hard. Laurence was looking for a bit of light relief after the breakdown of his five-year relationship with Jen. And Vicky, beautiful, in her twenties, stepped into that role.

  As a ‘friend’ to both of them, I served as a go-between, ferrying messages back and forth, arranging illicit meetings. I was privy to the intimate details of their relationship – in particular Vicky used me as a sounding board, asking my advice about her increasingly strong feelings towards Laurence. I told her that she should definitely pursue the relationship, that it was obvious he loved her, that he was looking for a long-term partner, and perhaps she could be the mother of his children. When she told me that she was pregnant I couldn’t believe it. It was beyond my wildest dreams.

  It didn’t matter whether the baby was Dan’s or another man’s; the sheer unknowability of it was enough to drive Dan mad. To unsettle him further I used some of my old tricks. Cards from restaurants. Fake hotel bills. Handwritten notes. But then I also employed some of the fruits of new technology. Intimate texts sent from unknown mobiles. Emails disguised to look like they’d come from a new boyfriend. Head shots of Laurence. Blurred obscene photos that seemed to show a woman who looked very much like Vicky having oral sex with a man whose face could not be seen. And the beauty of it was that it worked like a dream. Their Valentine’s Day turned into a bloodbath, a real-life horror film witnessed by none other than Jen, who I’d arranged to meet at the top of Parliament Hill Fields.

  I’d also told Laurence that Vicky intended to end it all with Dan that day on the Heath. I appealed to Laurence’s chivalrous nature – despite everything, I knew he wouldn’t want her to get hurt. Of course, I didn’t know precisely how Dan or Vicky would react when they saw Laurence, but I was hoping that Dan might recognise Laurence from some of the images I’d sent over. That, or Vicky might be prompted to tell Dan the truth about her affair with Laurence. The whole thing was choreographed like a deliciously dark ballet, one in which Jen played a leading role.

  It had all been done for her benefit, even though she would never know it. I realised that she would have to be at the centre of it, she would have to see it all. But she would be forced to question what unfolded. On the surface the attack seemed like a straightforward case of jealousy, but of course the layers underneath were more complex and sinister. The messages tempted her into investigating the truth of the matter, they drew her into a web she could not escape. However, she’d never know how my revenge on Daniel and my manipulation of her came together like two strands of a dark melody in that one moment on the Heath. It was a case of the most perfect, most beautiful counterpoint.

  Earlier that afternoon I’d laid out the plan as simply as possible, but of course I left out a few things. While it was true that we would only go ahead with it if we could be certain no one could see us – I didn’t want any people who would witness us, or CCTV to capture our actions – I intended to add one extra element to the scheme, something that would guarantee I’d be able to control what happened next. I didn’t want Jen to walk out of my life like all those others.

  What she didn’t know was that, just as she was about to murder Laurence, I would take out my phone and record everything. The camera would show her plunging the knife into his neck, drawing it across his throat, slashing into the arteries. It would document her wiping the knife with the tissues before strapping the weapon back onto her arm.

  Obviously, I wouldn’t dream of sharing the footage with anyone, I would tell her. This would be our little secret. No one need ever know. It would bind us together in a very special way.

  81

  JEN

  It’s the thought of murder that keeps me going. With each step, each thwack of my foot on the ground, I’m closer to killing her. The knife strapped to my arm rubs against my skin, chafing it raw, but I endure the pain. I know it will all be worth it. As we run, I’m tempted to stop, take out the knife and plunge it into her, slashing her across the throat just as she’s shown me. But I know I have to wait until the right moment, until we reach a section of the Heath not covered by CCTV.

  As I run I think of the irony of the situation. I was supposed to be here for Laurence – he had been the original target. At the end of our talk in the café earlier I’d asked him whether he still ran. Yes, he said; in fact, he was going to go for a jog on the Heath as soon as he finished work. Of course, I didn’t tell him anything of my plan. As I sat there opposite him I felt ashamed of the overwhelming sense of misdirected hatred that I’d had towards him. I realised too that, at one point, I would have done it. I would have killed him. I would have enjoyed plunging the knife into him in revenge for what I thought he’d done to me, what I thought he’d done to Bex.

  At the end of our chat I stood up and took him in my arms. He was a little taken aback, but when he realised that all I wanted was a hug, he let himself be enveloped. I’d missed the muskiness of his smell. I whispered in his ear a quiet thank you for telling me the truth. I told him again that I believed him. I said that he was a good and kind man. And I asked him whether we could be friends. I had to choke back tears when he replied that yes, he’d like that very much.

  When he left, I sat back down and opened the internet on my phone. I tapped in my own name, followed by the words ‘Basel’ and ‘Switzerland’. As I waited for the page to load I fantasised about what life would have been like if we’d made the m
ove – I pictured us living in a charming flat in the old town and walking hand in hand by the Rhine. But none of that had happened, of course. After the split, and my breakdown, I had remained in London under the care of Bex, while Laurence had suggested one of his colleagues start up the new office in Switzerland. I’d heard he couldn’t face it.

  A few seconds later the headline ‘BEING JEN HUNTER: AM I HEADING FOR PASTURES NEW?’ flashed up on my screen and I read the opening paragraph.

  James popped a big question last week. No, not that one! (Even though, if you’re reading this, James, the answer would be a big ‘yes.’) He asked me whether I’d like to move with him to Switzerland. The land of ski chalets, fluffy snow, snazzy watches, bank vaults hidden under pavements, and endless bowls of melted cheese. How could a girl refuse? He wants to open a branch of his architectural practice in Basel. I thought long and hard about it for all of two seconds before I screamed, ‘Of course!’ After all, who wouldn’t want to swap tramping across Hampstead Heath for hiking on the Hausstock?

  I cringed when I read the words. No wonder I used to get a bagful of hate mail after the appearance of each column if that’s the kind of crap I churned out. But then I felt so stupid. I’d been too blind to see what had been literally staring me in the face. My own words from ‘Being Jen Hunter’ in which I’d talked about the prospect of a move to Switzerland. It was all there in black and white.

  The only thing I’m worried about is Henry, my cat. But I can’t leave her behind. She’s coming with me.

  Of course, there are things I’ll miss. Cocktails at The Connaught. The delights of Net-A-Porter. And my girlfriends. I’ll miss them the most. But we can catch up on FaceTime. And Basel’s not that far from London. I can imagine jumping on a flight on a Friday night and spending the weekend with one of my best friends. As soon as we see each other, we’ll start chatting like nothing has changed.