He was taking ages in the shower. What on earth does he do in there? she wondered, impatiently. For something to do, she began to scroll through the photos on his phone. There were dozens of her and as she went through them she smiled, remembering the various places they’d been taken. She swiped to the next photograph, and froze, puzzled. It was a picture of her mother, lying in a skimpy bikini, by a swimming pool. She remembered it being taken two years ago on a holiday in Menorca. What was Oliver doing with a photo of her mum? She scrolled further, and was appalled to find more pictures of her mum. What?
She heard the bathroom door open, and watched as he came into the room, stark naked, towelling his hair, water dripping from his elbows.
‘Why have you got pictures of my mum on your phone, Ollie?’ she asked in a deceptively quiet voice. ‘And where did you get them?’
‘Oh,’ he stopped dead, flushing, the hands drying his hair, frozen. ‘It’s nothing, Julia, honestly.’
‘Go on.’
‘I downloaded them from your phone. Look, it’s nothing. It’s just a lads’ thing.’
‘A lads’ thing? What do you mean?’
‘It’s just a laugh. A few of us have got this sort of club – the MILF club and we just share a few pics amongst us.’
‘M.I.L.F?’ she spelled out, slowly. ‘I don’t fucking believe this. Mothers I’d Like to Fuck?’
‘Yeah. You know what lads are like. There’s no harm in it.’
She lost it. ‘NO HARM in it?’ she jumped up, yelling. ‘My mother’s just recovering from a horrific attack and you’re sharing fucking pictures of her, in her fucking bikini, with your fucking mates. For a LAUGH?’
‘Babe...’
‘How long has this been going on?’ she demanded. ‘HOW LONG?’ She was quivering with rage.
‘I dunno, a few months... Most of the term.’
‘The police are still looking for her attacker. They’ll be very interested in this little group of yours.’
‘Oh come on, babe... that’s stupid.’
‘Shut up.’ she screamed. ‘Just shut the fuck up.’
After hastily dressing, she grabbed her holdall, and began stuffing in the few things she’d already unpacked. ‘You fucking moron. Dunno what the hell I ever saw in you.’ She unplugged her phone and put it in her pocket.
He grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t go, babe. Let’s talk this through.’
She snatched her arm away. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she hissed through her teeth, heading for the door.
‘Julia, please...’
‘Consider yourself dumped. The police will be in touch.’ She slammed the door as hard as she could on the way out and raced down the stairs.
Driving to see her friends in Halls, she could barely see where she was going for the tears in her eyes. Half way there, she pulled into a lay-by, switched off the engine and keyed in Gayle’s number.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Two days after Julia left, I woke up suddenly in the early hours of the morning. I found myself sitting bolt upright in the dark, a feeling of terror overwhelming me. My heart was beating rapidly, my breathing laboured. My mind was reeling.
Oh my God. He was in the bathroom. Oh God... Talking to myself and fumbling for the bedside light, I screamed out for Fiona. She came stumbling in from the bedroom next door, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ She hurried towards me, looking puzzled. In panic, I grabbed her arm, shaking her, unwittingly digging my nails into her wrist.
‘I saw him, Fiona! He was in the bathroom. I SAW him. He KNEW me. He said my name,’ my voice was rising in hysteria. I shook her again. ‘How could he know my name?’
‘What? Have you had a nightmare?’ she looked confused.
‘NO.’ I shouted. ‘Not a nightmare. It was real. Oh God, he was there, standing in the dark, waiting for me...’ My breath was coming in short gasps, making my chest ache. ‘It was a flashback,’ I gasped. ‘My memory’s coming back.’
‘Bloody hell. Look, first you need to calm down. Hush. You’re safe now. Come on; deep breaths. Breathe slowly.’ Extricating her arm from my grip, Fiona put her hands on my shoulders, breathing slowly with me. ‘In... and out... in...’
I did as she said and my breathing slowed a bit. ‘It definitely wasn’t a dream,’ I gasped. ‘I remember going into the bathroom and he was there. A dark shape. Waiting for me. I can’t see his face… but he knew me, he knew my name! How could he know my name? I can hear his voice saying “Hello Carol, I’ve waited a long time for this.” He was well-spoken, very English. It wasn’t a local man.’ I felt panic building up again. ‘Why would someone who knows me attack me?’ I was shaking and shouting hysterically, my voice rising further, ‘Who would do that to me?’
Fiona’s arms were around me, holding me tightly until I’d quietened down a little. ‘Try to stay calm. I’m going to ring Gayle.’ She picked up my mobile from the bedside table.
My heart was thudding, making my chest feel tight. I felt light-headed. I made myself sit on the side of the bed and take deep breaths, trying to stem the overwhelming feeling of terror building up inside me.
‘Gayle? So sorry to ring you in the middle of the night, but Carol’s in a state. She’s having flashbacks. She remembers the man who attacked her was in the bathroom and he knew her name.’ Fiona listened for a few seconds, before putting the phone down. ‘She’s coming straight over. She said just try to keep calm ‘til she gets here.’
Gayle, arrived within half an hour or so, looking pale and tired in hastily pulled on jeans and sweater, under her navy parka.
‘It’s bloody freezing,’ she complained, wrapping her arms around herself. We were in the sitting room by then, huddled in front of the gas fire, both wrapped in warm dressing gowns. Gayle listened carefully as I told her what had happened.
‘Could you see his face?’ she asked, taking notes.
‘No... just the silhouette. But I heard his voice. He sounded well-spoken... He knew me, knew my name...How does he know my name?’ my voice was rising again.
‘Describe exactly what you can remember. What sort of build is he?’
As I pictured the scene in my mind, I felt again the wave of pure terror that must have hit me when I’d entered the bathroom. My heart began to race again, my hands shaking.
‘He was big... at least six feet, probably more. And broad... Powerfully built.’
‘And his voice? Does it sound like anyone you know?’
‘It seems familiar; I can hear it, but I just can’t place it...’
‘What exactly did he say?’ Gayle’s voice was calm, professional, whereas I wanted to scream.
I could hear him in my head, clear as a bell. ‘He said “Hello, Carol, I’ve waited a long time for this.” He’s English.’
‘It’s possible this could have been a bad dream. How sure are you that it’s a real memory of the attack?’
‘I know it wasn’t a dream. It was a flashback. I heard him. I saw him.’ I was agitated. She had to believe me.
‘We’ll certainly treat this as a genuine memory and inform the Barbados police immediately. They’ll take it from there.’
‘But, won’t you investigate over here, too?’ I asked. ‘He knows me. He could even live nearby... you’ve got to find him.’ There was urgency in my voice.
‘We don’t have jurisdiction to investigate the attack itself, Carol. The crime was committed in Barbados. Of course, we’ll give every assistance to the Barbados police. In all likelihood, they’ll send their own officers over here to investigate further.’
‘I’m scared, Gayle. Really scared. How did he know me? Surely this means it wasn’t a random attack, carried out by some local person? He was English. He knew me. He must have targeted me.’ I could feel hysteria rising in me again at this sinister thought.
‘Rest assured, Carol, if anything happens over here, we’ll be straight on to it. Meanwhile, t
ry to stay calm. I’ll let you know what the Barbados police intend to do.’ She stood up to leave. ‘It’ll be late morning before I come back to you, because of the time difference.’
After Gayle left, Fiona insisted we both go back to bed and try to get a few more hours rest. It was still the middle of the night. She got into my king-size bed with me, and was soon fast asleep. But sleep wouldn’t come to me. I lay in a state of terror for the rest of the night, curled into a ball, convinced there was someone out there who was watching me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Early the following morning, at Fiona’s insistence, we drove down to Whitley Bay to walk on the beach. It had been raining during the night and walking in the Dene, which I loved to do, would have been a muddy affair. I was feeling washed-out but restless after the previous night, so the idea of getting some fresh air appealed. And, as Fiona reminded me, Linda was forever emphasising how important exercise is in the healing process, so she was on a mission to ensure I had a long walk each day.
I’d been brought up in Whitley Bay and over the last thirty years or so, had witnessed the deterioration of the town centre and sea front. Once a thriving seaside town, it had gone the way of many such places, following the growth of foreign holidays. My mother used to tell me about the halcyon days of the town, when the beach was teeming all summer with thousands of holiday makers, the sand dotted with square green tents and striped deck chairs. Shuggy boats, roundabouts and donkey rides were just some of the attractions for children. All gone, now. But, thanks to lottery funding, re-generation was, somewhat belatedly underway, with the refurbishment of the promenade and The Dome, a well-known iconic landmark. At last, things were beginning to look up for the town.
Normally, the beauty of the North East coast, from Tynemouth, through to Cullercoats, Whitley Bay, and right up to Bamburgh and the Farne Islands, teamed with the spectacular countryside of Northumberland, filled me with a deep sense of gratitude that such unspoilt wonders were on my doorstep, but that day much darker thoughts were swirling around in my head.
The morning was dry and sunny, with a light but sharp breeze coming off the sea. The tide was on its way out, revealing many rock pools, and I could smell the salty tang of seaweed. I breathed in deeply, savouring the smells of my childhood. Although cold, it was quite a lovely day for mid December and walking by the sea would have been pleasant, but for the sense of doom hanging over me. I found myself checking behind, every so often, to make sure there was nobody following us. God, I’m getting paranoid.
At first, as if by common consent, we walked in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, our fleece-lined jackets keeping the cold wind at bay. We headed for St Mary’s Island, with its tall, picturesque lighthouse. The island always brought back fond memories of the past, of idyllic days spent there with a close friend, when we were young, but today I barely noticed it. I was mentally scanning through the names of people I knew, seeking some clue as to who could have wished to harm me, trying to put a face to the voice.
After a while, I turned to Fiona ‘You believe me, don’t you Fi? You don’t think I was just having a bad dream, do you?’
Fiona bit her lip, shaking her head. ‘Of course I believe you Carol. I saw the state you were in last night when you shouted for me. But, I don’t understand why you think he’s here? If you’re right about him being English, isn’t it equally possible, more likely really, that it’s someone from here, who knows you, but lives in Barbados? Otherwise, this person would have had to follow you out to Barbados, and I don’t really think that’s likely, do you?’
‘I just don’t know. I’m going mad trying to work things out. All I’m certain of is, it was definitely a flashback. He knows me; he knew I’d be there. The words he said, I’ve waited a long time for this, mean he must have planned it. And he’s definitely English. I just have the strongest feeling that he’s from here. I wish I could see his face! Why can I hear his voice, yet not recognise it? It’s so frustrating.’
‘Do you think it might help to talk things through with Linda? I think we should call her when we get back.’
‘Yes, and hopefully there might be some word from Barbados.’
We were silent for a while, watching a golden retriever frolicking on the sand. He ran into the sea, then lay down flat in the water, a look of ecstasy on his face as the waves washed over him. You could almost hear him sigh with pleasure. The North Sea in December is freezing, so he obviously didn’t feel the cold. He came out of the sea and bounded towards us, nudging the pocket of my jacket for non-existent treats, before shaking himself, spraying us with water and sand.
‘Thanks, mate,’ cried Fiona, laughing and brushing water and sand from her trousers.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ I resumed our conversation, ‘I wonder if it might be a good idea to hire a private detective? He could actively investigate over here, where the UK police can’t. Might be worth a try? If he comes up with anything concrete, he could pass it on to the police here, for them to pass on to Barbados. What do you think?’ I asked, turning to look at Fiona.
‘Actually, I’ve been thinking along the same lines myself. Unless the Barbados police send people over right away.’
We climbed the steps from the beach to the cliff top, the exertion making me slightly breathless. ‘Doing nothing is just not an option. I’ve got to do something… I’ll speak to Gayle this afternoon and see what she thinks. I’m also thinking of going to see a hypnotherapist to see if my memory can be recovered that way.’
‘Oh, I’ve read about that going horribly wrong,’ Fiona frowned. ‘Be careful. I think they sometimes dredge up memories that are not actually there?’
‘Anything’s worth a try. I refuse to just do nothing and wait for him to attack me again. I’m going to get a Mace spray on the internet. And I’m going to carry a knife everywhere I go.’
‘Carol!’ exclaimed Fiona. ‘You can’t do that. It’s against the law.’
‘I don’t care. If I have to defend myself, I’m going to be prepared.’ Fear made me defiant.
Fiona shook her head in disagreement, but didn’t say any more on the subject. We reached the causeway, on either side of which, families were exploring the newly-revealed rock pools, looking for crabs and other creatures. Every so often a child shrieked in delight when they caught something alive in their fishing net. I breathed in deeply, again, savouring the evocative smells.
As we approached the island, I showed Fiona the cottage where I used to stay, with my friend. ‘That’s the window of the bedroom where I used to sleep,’ I said, pointing to the dormer window on the right of the red shingle roof of the cottage. ‘I used to lie in bed, watching the light from the lighthouse sweeping past, like a searchlight. Pity the cottage has new owners now, or we could have had a look round it – it’s a quaint old building.’
We contented ourselves by making a circuit of the small island, inadvertently startling a few seals basking on the rocks. They quickly scampered back into the sea, when they caught sight of us. A few other visitors were wandering around, chatting, laughing, enjoying the sunny morning, seemingly without a care in the world. I envied them.
As we started back over the causeway, I returned to our conversation. ‘I keep wondering, how did the attacker know I would be in Barbados? How did he know I’d be by myself? Something just doesn’t add up.’
‘I’m with you there. The flashbacks have opened up a whole new can of worms.’
We retraced our steps along the promenade and back down on to the beach again. Gulls swooped and screeched overhead, so loud at times that conversation was almost impossible, and we walked in silence for a while. We came across the golden retriever again; he was a real beauty with a very pale, almost white, coat and big black eyes. He greeted us like long lost friends, wagging his tail and nudging us, sniffing our pockets again, still hopeful of getting something to nibble. I squatted down and gave him a cuddle, lost for a few seconds in the comforting warmth
of his soft, albeit wet, fur.
I was deep in thought, as we walked on. Was it possible that someone went to the trouble of deliberately following me out to Barbados with the intention of attacking me? Who would do that? And why? I wasn’t aware of having any enemies; why on earth would anyone want to target me? Yet, it had to have been planned. What else could I’ve waited a long time for this mean? It was a chilling thought, and I felt a tight knot of fear grip my stomach. I desperately hoped I was wrong, but a voice in the back of my head was telling me I was right, and I’d learned to trust my instincts over the years.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
On her way to see the DCI, Gayle was deep in thought. She’d got to know Carol quite well, and knew her to be level-headed and sensible. What if she was right? If her attacker had a ‘cultured English accent’ and also knew Carol’s name, then it was entirely possible he lived in the UK. On the other hand, she reasoned, he could equally be an ex-pat, living in Barbados.
‘What are your thoughts, Gayle?’ asked DCI Patsy Mayne, once Gayle had relayed the details.
‘Well, Carol Barrington’s a credible person,’ she began, playing with her locket, ‘She’s in no doubt that it’s her memory returning. Based on the accent she remembers, and the fact that her assailant knew her, she’s convinced her attacker lives here in the UK. She wants us to investigate over here. I’ve explained about lack of jurisdiction, but told her we’ll work closely with Barbados.’
‘It’s the only course of action we can take for now. I’ll give DCI Brown a call right away. Let’s see what they’ve got to say. They’ll probably send some of their people over here.’ She picked up the phone.
Later, Gayle visited Carol again and brought her up to date. ‘They’re sending a couple of officers over, immediately, Carol. They’ll be here within the next two days.’
‘Thank goodness.’ Carol played with tendril of hair, twirling it round her finger, before tucking it behind her ear. ‘Actually, Gayle I was going to suggest that I hired a private detective to investigate over here... but if the Barbados police are coming over, I don’t suppose there’s anything to be gained?’
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