Stalker

by Gemma Rogers

  ‘Hey, are you coming tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The pub, it’s our Christmas drink. Did Ahmed not mention it?’

  I shook my head and took a sip of water. My stomach gurgled loudly.

  ‘He must have forgotten. Come with us, we’re going in about half an hour.’

  I must have looked apprehensive as he continued with a chuckle.

  ‘There’s a group of us. We normally go to the pub around once a month. You should come.’

  ‘I don’t want to impose,’ I said.

  ‘You’re not. Come. I insist.’

  I nodded, and he left to use the rowing machine.

  An hour later we were sitting in the Half Moon pub, on the corner of the high street, five minutes from the gym. We gathered at a large round table near the entrance and I sat in view of one of the cameras that I’d clocked when we walked in. Ian pushed Ahmed out of the way to sit next to me, which he got a ribbing for. Ahmed offered to buy the first round and I ordered a Coke.

  ‘Not drinking?’ Ian’s face sagged slightly.

  ‘No, I can’t stay long. I’ve got a… thing.’ I sounded aloof, but not on purpose, I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘A date?’ he asked.

  ‘No, not a date,’ I replied. Ben was cooking dinner, which had become a weekly event on the nights when he wasn’t working. Tonight, he was doing an Italian theme and any dish based around carbs was good for me. I couldn’t deny I was looking forward to spending time with him.

  The conversation turned to supportive running shoes. Laura had bought some Brooks trainers, but she was struggling with painful hips when she ran.

  ‘I’ll give you the number of my physio,’ Beth piped up. She was a tall, wiry woman, all bone and sinew.

  ‘Do you think he’ll be able to help?’ Laura asked, knocking back her lager.

  ‘Sure, he’ll probably give you some exercises to loosen your hip muscles. They’re renowned for being tight when you do an office job.’ Ahmed knew his stuff.

  I remained quiet. I wasn’t overly knowledgeable on exercise and it seemed to be the topic of choice. Although I was able to talk about the benefits of boxercise, and how getting a punchbag installed might bring in some more customers. Sam, aka yoga girl, pouted and suggested an investment into yoga blocks instead. I tried to hide my eye roll, but Ian caught it and smirked, sharing the joke.

  The conversation was dull, and after I finished my drink I thanked Ahmed and Ian for the invitation and made my excuses. When I stood, Ian let me out and followed me to the door, holding it open. A sharp intake of breath escaped my lips when he stepped out after me. But there were too many people around for him to try anything.

  ‘Do you fancy doing this again? Maybe just the two of us next time?’

  The words stuck in my throat as Ian surveyed me.

  ‘I’d love to.’

  His face relaxed, mouth morphing into a grin. ‘Brilliant. I’m away over Christmas, so perhaps in the New Year?’

  Although it was what I wanted, I couldn’t help but feel I’d been given a reprieve. I nodded, my head bobbing a bit too enthusiastically.

  He held his phone, to take my number, which I gave him. Then flicking his finger upwards, he closed his open apps, pausing over Facebook. ‘Are you on here?’

  ‘I am, but I hardly ever post anything. To be honest I try and avoid social media.’ I smiled, it was true, but I was smiling because he’d just given away his last name without me even having to ask. Ian Shaw.

  ‘I know what you mean. I think I’m getting too old for it.’ He chuckled and then the silence stretched out between us. ‘Well, have a nice Christmas.’ He held my arm and leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek. My insides squirmed, legs twitching as though they wanted to carry me away.

  Forcing a smile, I wished him the same and turned to head for home, praying he was going to go back inside the pub. My teeth chattered as I walked, although I wasn’t sure whether it was from the chill in the air or the one in my veins. Fear pulsed through me. Turning to look back, I saw he was still at the door, only just moving to go back inside. He’d watched me walk all the way down the road. It was creepy. I’d half expected him to try and follow me home and even though I knew he hadn’t, I kept looking behind me every few steps just to be sure.

  As I turned the corner, I broke into a jog and was home in less than five minutes.

  ‘Blimey, hungry eh?’ asked Ben, who was passing the hallway just as I burst through the front door.

  ‘Something like that,’ I called, racing into my bedroom to remove my contact lenses. I couldn’t let Ben see. I don’t think he’d buy that they were for cosmetic purposes. Especially as I was wearing them to the gym.

  The smell of garlic bread filled the flat, but I needed wine to calm my nerves before I ate. I sat, grateful Ben had already poured me a glass. It was harder to interact with Ian than I thought. Did he have a split personality? On the surface he appeared normal, a nice guy, but I knew it was a pretence. My brain ached trying to process it, but it had been a successful evening. Ian had asked me out, so I was one step closer and I had a few weeks to prepare myself to be alone with him, which I was certain I would need.

  ‘You okay, you’re quiet?’ Ben said, placing my pasta in front of me, breaking my thoughts.

  ‘Sure, I’m fine. This looks delicious, thank you.’

  ‘Just carbonara,’ he said, tearing off a chunk of garlic bread.

  We ate, chatting about our day and Ben’s plans for Christmas.

  ‘I thought you were going to your mother’s?’ Ben dropped his knife and fork on the table. His eyes wide, he looked guilt-ridden.

  ‘No, she’s going to her neighbour’s house. Do you have plans then?’ My face fell. I knew Ben’s parents lived in Spain. Perhaps he was going to spend it there or with his sister? Stupidly I’d assumed we’d spend it together and I felt my neck flush.

  ‘Amy asked me to hers. I just assumed you’d be going to your Mum’s like last year. If I’d have known…’ he trailed off.

  I knocked my glass accidentally, wine sloshing over the edge. Ben winced, looking everywhere but at me.

  ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m not bothered honestly,’ I lied, forcing a smile. Mopping up the spill with some kitchen roll before putting my hand on his forearm to reassure him.

  ‘I wish you’d said sooner. She only asked me yesterday,’ Ben grumbled, pushing his pasta around the bowl.

  ‘You two a thing officially now then?’ I didn’t want to ask but I couldn’t help myself. A pang in my chest told me all I needed to know. I wanted Ben and I didn’t want anyone else to have him, but I was too fucked up to do anything about it.

  ‘Sort of.’

  I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, so I gratefully changed the subject.

  ‘Shall we put some decorations up after dinner?’

  Ben agreed, saying he would dig them out after we’d eaten.

  I tried to keep the rest of the evening buoyant, but the mood dwindled and once the decoration box was empty we said our goodnights and went to bed.

  Sunday 28 January 2018

  ‘He was on top of me, grabbing my breasts and pulling at my clothes. I was crying and saying no, begging. We struggled, and I managed to push myself off the sofa and onto the floor. We hit the coffee table on the way down. That’s when I felt his hands around my throat.’

  My fingers flutter across my neck, I think the dark purple blotches are more obvious now. Skin is still tender.

  Hicks stares at my throat and I see disgust reflected in his eyes. I can tell he’s old school. A gentleman, someone that abhors violence against women.

  ‘Why do you think it escalated so quickly?’ Becker asks.

  ‘I think he panicked that I was going to leave. When I stood up, that’s when he got physical. I’m sure he put something in my drink as he was frustrated I didn’t want it.’ Hicks and Becker exchange a glance, but I can’t read them. The d
octor, Joyce, took a sample of my blood during my examination. Did they find anything in it?

  ‘Take your time,’ Hicks says and I realise I’ve been staring into space.

  ‘He squeezed my throat, with one hand at first, trying to undo my jeans with the other, but I was fighting so much he couldn’t do it, so he used both hands and that’s when I struggled to breathe.’

  ‘Do you think he wanted to kill you?’ Becker asks.

  ‘Yes, and he would have done too. I was terrified, fighting for my life.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  Tears stream down my cheeks. This is exhausting.

  ‘My hand was pulling at his fingers, trying to loosen his grip. Everything was going fuzzy. He grabbed one of my wrists over my head and held it down. I was trying to reach out for anything I could with my free hand.’ I wave my arm around demonstrating. ‘I knocked the tray on to the floor and I was trying to grab it to hit him with, but I couldn’t reach it. My fingers touched something, and I scrambled around trying to get hold of it. I didn’t know it was the knife.’ I sob into my palms, tears running down my wrists. My back heaving. Hysterical comes easy, I am hysterical.

  It was hard not to panic as I felt my vision fade out; I had the knife in my hand, but I needed to hit the spot, the axillary artery under the armpit was the first choice. Not as horrific as the neck, more of an accidental severing than a deliberate one.

  ‘Can I get you some water?’ Hicks offers, and I shake my head. I’m hungry, but now is not the right time to ask when lunch is.

  ‘So, you had the knife in your hand?’ Becker says, urging me on. Her face is impassive. She’s good at this.

  ‘Yes, and I stabbed him with it.’ I shudder, but this one is real. There was so much blood.

  ‘Where on his body did you stab him?’

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t remember. I stabbed upwards, wherever I could. Just to get him off me. I nearly passed out, but when he let go of my neck and I could breathe again, I was able to wriggle out from underneath him.’ I had waited a couple of minutes, watching Ian’s life ebb away. Just to make sure he couldn’t be saved. Then I ran downstairs screaming, barefoot and covered in blood, into the night.

  31

  Monday 25 December 2017

  Christmas morning was a quiet affair, I woke early and went for a run through the deserted streets, which was blissful. A frost had descended overnight and everything sparkled, nature’s way of celebrating. There were hardly any cars on the road and I saw no one except for the Indian shopkeeper who was taking an early delivery of bread and milk. He called out to me as I jogged past.

  ‘Merry Christmas.’

  ‘And to you.’ I waved, returning his jubilance.

  I wasn’t sure if he celebrated or not. I guessed not if he was going to be working in his shop all day.

  I ran three miles, thinking of all the children who would already be up, excited to see their presents under the tree. I thought of all the parents fuelled by coffee for the next few hours. Maybe someday I would have a family? Though I wasn’t sure I could handle the responsibility.

  Ben and I had planned to eat breakfast together and he bought a bottle of Bucks Fizz and some pastries. He was getting picked up at ten by Amy’s brother, so he could have a drink and not have to worry about his car. I didn’t ask whether he would be spending the night, it wasn’t something I wanted to think about. His overnight bag by the door alongside a gift bag of neatly wrapped presents told me all I needed to know. The croissants were already in the oven when I got back from my run, but I had a quick shower before we ate.

  ‘I got you something,’ Ben said, tiny red blotches appearing on his cheeks. He pushed a small silver box decorated with a red bow across the table.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, lifting the lid and opening a fold of tissue paper to reveal a silver necklace with a circle pendant. Engraved on the pendant were the words ‘still I rise’ and, underneath, a semicolon. My eyes watered as I stared at it. It may have been the best gift I’d ever been given.

  ‘It’s the semicolon, you know, apparently it’s the sign for “survivor”,’ he explained.

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen it before. I love it, thank you.’ I took it out of the box and put it on, my fingers caressing the pendant. I wiped my eyes and felt foolish for getting emotional. I had to restrain myself from jumping onto his lap. Oblivious to my struggle, Ben relaxed now he knew I liked it, but his face remained red. ‘I got you something too.’ I went to grab his satchel which I’d wrapped the night before, tying it with green ribbon.

  He cleared space on the table and opened it, tearing the paper off like a child.

  ‘It’s wicked, thanks Eve. I love it.’ It was always nerve-racking giving presents, unsure whether you’d made a good choice or missed the mark. From the look on Ben’s face, I had got it right. He awarded me a kiss on the cheek for my efforts and my stomach flipped. God I was tragic. He wasn’t mine to lust after.

  All too soon it was ten o’clock and Ben hugged me goodbye. I squeezed him tighter than I should have, resisting the urge to pull him in an embrace and make him stay.

  ‘Will you be okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course, I’m going to start drinking at lunchtime, I’ve got snacks and movies. I’ll be fine. Go and have a great time.’ I felt like his mum sending him off, but I wanted to get him out of the door as I was struggling to hold it together. It was silly, but it’d been an emotional morning. Ben was a good friend and, perhaps, if I admitted it to myself, I loved him.

  The rest of Christmas Day was spent mooching around the flat, carrying a tin of Celebrations wherever I went, making my way through them one chocolate at a time. When dusk came around, I felt so sick I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything more than a couple of crackers with cheese. I rang Mum to wish her a merry Christmas, but she was three sheets to the wind. It sounded like she was in the pub, a rowdy group singing The Pogues’ ‘Fairytale of New York’ in the background, and I couldn’t get much sense out of her. I had a text from Ian wishing me a merry Christmas at around eight in the evening. I waited until just before I went to bed to reply, wishing him the same.

  Ben still wasn’t home by the time I’d watched Home Alone and Scrooged, so I assumed he was staying out. In the end I went to bed with a bottle of Baileys, trying to calculate how many calories I’d consumed. Sod it. It was Christmas after all.

  Thursday 4 January 2018

  * * *

  During the holidays, the days blurred into one. The rest of the festive season whizzed by; Ben went back to work the day after Boxing Day and normal service resumed. Jason didn’t want me back at the gym until the second of January and I was grateful to have a bit of downtime. New Year’s Eve was a washout, it poured with rain and I stayed in to watch fireworks out of Ben’s window whilst he was at work. He’d suggested it, a better view from his side apparently. I resisted the urge to look around his room. Poor Jane had to work too. She sent me a selfie of her amongst a group of nurses, all wearing party hats, and blowers in their mouths. In the photo, which didn’t come through until the following morning, she was pointing to her fob watch pinned to her uniform

  There were no resolutions. I couldn’t plan anything whilst I still had Ian hanging over my head. But I did allow myself to look back at how far I’d come, mainly in the last few months. Physically and mentally I was stronger. I was no longer Ian’s victim. I’d taken control of my life, changed my job, paid my debts and was moving on. I’d even cut right down on smoking. No longer using it as a crutch to get me through the day.

  However, I was thinking of seeking help for the caffeine addiction I’d developed from spending so much time at Baristas. If I wasn’t at the boxing club or at Pulse I could be found browsing the internet with a latte, telling anyone who appeared interested that I was writing a book. The news delighted Susie, who said she’d suspected for a while that was what I was up to. If only she really knew.

  32

  Wednesday 10 January 2018r />
  I’d taken the day off work as my third appointment with Doctor Almara had been booked in for the morning, promising Jason I’d spend a few hours in the afternoon leaflet dropping the roads in the area, advertising the boxing club’s no registration fee.

  I finally told Doctor Almara the details of my attack, feeling lighter as a result. She didn’t shrink away in horror, or eye me with pity. Instead she focused on all the changes I’d made to assist in my recovery. Impressed to see I was no longer restricting my movements to daylight hours and embracing the change in job.

  ‘Are you still having issues with temper flare-ups?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ Whenever I thought about Ian, I pictured beating him to a pulp, but I didn’t tell her that. She booked me in for another appointment but said, depending on that, she would be happy to sign me off. I’d made progress.

  I’d been to Pulse on and off over the Christmas period. I didn’t want anyone to think I only went when Ian was there. It was different going alone, with no purpose other than to exercise. I didn’t have to watch what I did or said. I could just be myself. But it wasn’t long before he was back, and he seemed keen to see me, interrupting my weights to chat.