Stalker

by Gemma Rogers

  ‘No, he plays rugby at the weekends.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m going to head off after breakfast,’ she said, deliberately avoiding my eye. I wasn’t surprised she was eager to get home. She would need to start drinking, topping up the alcohol level from last night. She’d have a bit this morning, to take the edge off. She’d need some to stop the jitters, but not too much if she was to drive straight.

  ‘Okay,’ I replied.

  She popped bread into the toaster and turned to face me.

  ‘I’ll post down an invite for the wedding. You’ll come, won’t you?’ Her voice shook, I’d never seen her so vulnerable.

  I looked away.

  ‘Sure.’ I lied.

  There was a minute of awkward silence before the toaster clicked and she spooned the egg onto the bread.

  ‘Here you go,’ she said, placing the food in front of me. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d made me breakfast. She must desperately want me to come to this wedding.

  I didn’t fancy the eggs but was keen to get her out of the flat. The quickest way to do that was to be civil and eat the damn breakfast. It wasn’t long before we’d both given up, our plates still half full, and lit cigarettes.

  ‘I’ll get you a towel for the shower, Mum,’ I said when I’d finished my cigarette.

  Scraping the plates into the bin, listening to my mother singing in the shower. I wanted to believe she was making changes. Although last night didn’t turn into the violent stand-off I’d expected, she would never be the mother I remembered from my childhood. That one was dead. This one would be too if she carried on drinking.

  Half an hour later, I waved her off and sat at the table, enjoying the air blowing through the house. I’d opened all the windows and was contemplating having a drink when Ben arrived home.

  ‘Hiya,’ he said, entering the kitchen with a spring in his step. He must have got laid last night.

  ‘What happened to your face?’ Ben had three scratches from the end of his eyebrow right down to the corner of his mouth. They looked red and angry.

  ‘Oh, Amy’s dog got the better of me this morning,’ he replied, avoiding my gaze.

  ‘I’m glad you stayed at Amy’s.

  ‘Really? Why?’ He frowned. Was he expecting a fight?

  ‘My mother turned up last night. She’s just gone, thankfully, but fucking hell she’s a nightmare.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  I nodded. Now wasn’t the time to go into the history of our broken relationship.

  ‘Have you been out?’ he asked. Then realising I was still in my pyjamas continued, ‘There’s been some sort of fight or something last night. Girl got beaten up down the road.’

  A shiver ran down my spine, something about Ben’s news rang alarm bells.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘No idea, but it was a bloke apparently. Bastard. Who would beat up a girl?’ His voice tailed off and he gave his head a little shake. I didn’t respond, I was too busy trying to process the news. It couldn’t be Ian, could it?

  ‘How do you know? Are the police there?’ I asked.

  ‘No, it’s been cordoned off. I heard a woman mention it as I walked past. She’s in the hospital apparently. It was her niece, I think she said, Sophie Whitaker. Does the name ring any bells?’

  It was my turn to shake my head. I didn’t know her. But I was going to.

  44

  Sunday 21 January 2018

  The automatic entrance of the hospital reception creaked open painfully slowly. A queue of people at the front tried to push their way through the doors as they were still parting. I could see the receptionist scowling at our impatience. Hospitals weren’t somewhere people wanted to be. Everyone looked miserable, wishing they were somewhere else. The sickly smell made me gag. It’s the antiseptic, smells the same in every hospital. Combined with the sterile white walls that close in, regardless of the cheerful art displayed. The whole place made me twitch. Too similar to the psychiatric units I’d seen in films. Perhaps I wouldn’t be allowed to leave once they’d realised how mad I was.

  I approached the desk, smiling at the receptionist who didn’t return the favour.

  ‘Could you tell me what ward Sophie Whitaker is on please?’

  She tapped her keyboard and waited, lips pressed tightly together.

  ‘Chiltern ward.’ Her tone was clipped.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She didn’t break a smile. What was it with doctors and hospital receptionists? Everyone I’d ever encountered had a facial expression that resembled a bulldog chewing a wasp. Like they’d completely forgotten how to turn up the corners of their mouths, and this from people working in the care profession!

  I checked the board by the lift and saw Chiltern ward was on the second floor. The hospital was busy as visiting hours were in full swing and I nearly bumped into a man on crutches coming around the corner. I wasn’t sure what to say to Sophie, or how to ask, but I had to find out if there’d been a sexual assault. I needed to know if it was him.

  I pressed the buzzer, was let into the ward and went to the nurses’ station. This time a portly nurse, wearing a blue uniform stretched tightly over her curves, greeted me with a smile.

  ‘How can I help you, my love?’ She had a rich Nigerian accent and I couldn’t help but smile, her warmth was infectious.

  ‘I’m looking for Sophie Whitaker please.’

  ‘She’s in the last bed by the window. Her mother is with her now.’

  ‘Is there somewhere I can wait? I mean, I don’t want to intrude.’

  She pointed to a row of blue plastic chairs bolted to the wall and I took a seat.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Around fifteen minutes later a smartly dressed lady in her late forties approached the desk. I raised my magazine an inch, so it shielded my face, pretending to be engrossed.

  ‘I’m just popping to M&S, she wants some more flapjacks,’ she said, clutching her purse to her chest. Her red lipstick had bled into the creases around her mouth and her attempt at putting a face on didn’t mask the dark circles beneath her eyes. It was a face so unlike my mothers, not tainted by alcohol but haunted by the pain her daughter had experienced.

  ‘They are addictive,’ the nurse replied, flashing an enormous smile. As she walked past, the nurse winked at me and nodded towards the back of the ward. The lady must have been Sophie’s mother. I was alarmed at how young Sophie might be and my legs were heavy as I made my way down the ward. I approached the curtain which was half drawn and peered around. A puffy face, a mixture of pink and purple tones, looked up at me. It was awful, her features were so swollen, I couldn’t tell what she was supposed to look like or how old she was, but I’d guess she was still in her teens. Caught between not bearing to look and unable to tear my eyes away, I was dumbstruck that someone could do that to another human being, a mere girl.

  ‘Hi,’ I mumbled, scooting down to sit beside her. The chair still warm beneath me.

  ‘Hi?’

  ‘I’m sorry to turn up without warning, but I wanted to come and see you.’

  ‘Okay,’ Sophie said slowly. She stared at me, trying to work out who I was and why I was there. I shook my head to clear my jumbled thoughts. Meeting Sophie was more difficult than I’d anticipated.

  ‘My name is Eve. I was attacked back in September,’ I admitted.

  Her eyes flashed interest then – from the one I could see anyway.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ I asked.

  Sophie shook her head, her bottom lip trembled and then a tear dropped onto the starchy white sheet. ‘I don’t know exactly.’

  ‘Did he… Did he touch you?’ I stammered. I had to know, but Sophie shook her head.

  ‘He just hit me. He kept on hitting me.’ Her voice clogged from holding back tears. She looked broken, like she’d been beaten with a baseball bat. I couldn’t believe someone’s fists could do so much damage.

  ‘Excuse me?’ came a peeved voice
behind me. Her mother was back, laden with snacks.

  I stood immediately, smoothing my hair as she looked me up and down. Heat continued to rise in my cheeks at being caught somewhere I shouldn’t be.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, turning to leave, but Sophie’s voice stopped me.

  ‘Did he do the same to you?’ She sounded so fragile.

  ‘No,’ I replied, not wanting to share my story. I think she understood as our eyes met and we regarded each other as victims, bound together. It couldn’t have been Ian. There was no sexual assault.

  Her mother stared wide-eyed at me.

  ‘I hope they catch him,’ I said and reached down to touch Sophie’s hand. My heart broke for her and all the other victims that had to suffer the bruises and the pain that men inflicted. Even when she was healed she wouldn’t be fixed on the inside. I knew that for a fact.

  Her mother followed me out of the ward and down the corridor to the exit.

  ‘Did that same man attack you?’ she demanded. Hands wedged onto her hips, blocking the door. She wanted answers, a lioness protecting her cub.

  ‘No, not the same man. I was attacked yes, but it was different,’ I tailed off.

  She stared at me, lips pursed.

  ‘Did she see him?’ I asked, eyes wide, but she shook her head.

  ‘No, he came at her from behind. Drunk they think, knocked her to the ground and laid into her like a fucking animal.’ She rummaged around in her handbag for a tissue and began dabbing her rapidly filling eyes.

  I shook my head, unsure how to respond.

  ‘I don’t know what could have possessed him to attack a girl. A complete stranger,’ she continued.

  I wanted to leave but she was still blocking the door. There was nothing I could say that would make it okay. All I could hear was beeping from a monitor a patient was hooked up to, timed exactly to the sound of my own heart thudding.

  ‘She’s got a broken eye socket and a fractured skull.’

  I winced. Mrs Whitaker looked to be in a world of her own, staring into the distance.

  ‘You are perfect,’ she whispered to no one.

  Ice shot down my back and I stood to attention.

  ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ I asked, bringing her back to the moment. Her eyes focused on me and she sighed. She looked like she hadn’t slept a wink.

  ‘That’s what he said to her before she lost consciousness. “You are perfect”.’

  ‘I have to go. I’m sorry,’ I said as the room blurred. I squeezed past her and pressed the door release button. Hurrying to the exit, outside into the fresh air. When I reached the doors to the smokers congregated under the canopy, I slumped against the wall. Doubled over like I’d been winded. You are perfect. It wasn’t a coincidence. Ian had said the same words to me.

  Sunday 28 January 2018

  I’ve been doing laps of my cell for around half an hour now, after I managed a short nap. Time seems to move at a glacial pace as soon as the door is locked. It feels like I’ve been here for days. There’s no way of knowing what the time is. Only the light from the window dictates night or day. It must be late afternoon now. I’m not sure what is going to happen. Will they want to interview me again? I’ve been charged now and I’m not sure what more they can ask? There’s a lead weight in my stomach, pushing me down. I’m waiting for the door to swing open and to be carted off to HMP somewhere. I don’t know where the nearest female prison is. I have no idea where any prisons are.

  All the hanging around is making me twitchy. Like I’m due to sit an exam I haven’t prepared for. I’m used to the smell of urine radiating from the floor now. No matter how many times the cell is cleaned, I’m sure it remains, ingrained in the cracks. Yet I don’t want to leave here. I’m afraid of where I’ll be sent.

  The grey plimsolls they’ve given me are too big and rub at my heels, but I persevere with my walk. Around and around in circles with no purpose, a bit like my life. What a disappointment I must be to my mother. I wonder if anyone has told her? Jane maybe? Ben? Will she be sober enough to comprehend?

  Perhaps I didn’t think it through, got too cocky. I knew it wasn’t without some risk. A few days ago I thought I had nothing to lose. Now I realise exactly what losing everything will mean. I’d hoped to be home by now, celebrating my release with copious amounts of alcohol. Looking to the future and putting everything behind me. I thought I was smarter and maybe that was my downfall.

  Looking around the walls, I better get used to this space. What is it, 8’ by 12’? The urge to run ripples through me, to feel a breeze fluttering my hair as I head towards the horizon. I may not run again for a long time. At least not anywhere green, beyond the confinement of prison walls.

  45

  Sunday 21 January 2018

  I stopped off on the way back from the hospital to see Susie at Baristas. I caught her just before closing. She locked up and we sat at the back with a latte and a toasted teacake.

  ‘I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks, Eve, you been busy?’ Susie asked between mouthfuls.

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve been working at the boxing club.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly, pet, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m glad you’ve popped in. It’s nice to see you.’ Susie was always smiling, it was so refreshing. Life was always better after a chat with her. I wanted to tell her how my stomach was in knots. How the guy I was seeing was a violent sexual predator and what I was planning to do about it. If only I could. ‘Still writing your crime novel?’ she asked, bringing my attention back to the table and the teacake I’d barely touched. I bit into it, the warm butter escaping down my chin.

  ‘Yes, but it’s slow going.’

  ‘It’ll come along. Just keep writing, it’ll happen eventually.’

  I raised my eyebrows and she chuckled.

  ‘I had a thought about rebranding. What do you think of the name “Roasted”?’

  It was my turn to laugh then. I wasn’t sure whether she understood the term and how it was used now.

  ‘Told you I was down with the kids,’ she said with a wink.

  ‘Very catchy, I like it,’ I admitted. My phone buzzed in my handbag. A text had just come through from Ian. Susie noticed me shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

  ‘Bad news?’

  I must be so easy to read.

  ‘No, but I’m going to have to get off. Thanks for the chat, Susie.’ I put a few coins in her tip jar on my way out as she hadn’t charged me for the coffee or the teacake.

  ‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she called as I unlocked the door, the bells chiming above my head.

  Out on the street, I opened the message.

  Hi beautiful. How are you?

  I stared at the message, unable to believe this was the same beast that beat up an innocent girl last night. He was unhinged, without any moral code, and it was my fault for pushing him away. I typed back.

  Fine thanks, Mother just left thank god. How are you?

  Great. How about this Saturday for dinner?

  My stomach flipped. Every time we set a date I felt like I was arranging my funeral, but he had to be stopped, it couldn’t wait any longer.

  Sure.

  I won’t see you at the gym. I’ve had to go to Oxford today.

  Is your dad okay?

  No, he’s had a fall. They’ve taken him to hospital. I’ll be gone for a couple of days at least.

  I’m sorry to hear that. Hope he feels better.

  I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed that I wasn’t going to see Ian for a few days. My head was all over the place. I had to stay focused. I knew it was him, all I needed to do was stick to the plan. I had wanted to look at his knuckles. Surely if he’d delivered a beating of that magnitude he was bound to have some marks? Maybe that was why he’d left town in a rush? Perhaps his dad hadn’t had a fall at all? Maybe if I could find where his dad was I’d be able to check if Ian was there? It was too risky to do any searches on my phone or laptop at home and as
Susie’s shop was now shut it would have to wait until tomorrow. Frustrated, I headed home.

  The presence of Ben, sat at the table shovelling pasta into his mouth, irritated me as soon as I arrived. For once I wanted the place to myself.

  ‘Haven’t you moved out yet?’ I joked and watched as Ben frowned at me.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ He pushed his bowl away and sat back, folding his arms.

  ‘Nothing, just thought she would have had you all packed up by now.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off,’ he said, rolling his eyes, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

  ‘Don’t rush in to anything, Ben,’ I said before I could stop it slipping out. His face softened and for a second, I panicked. I was going to cry. I turned away and poured myself a glass of water.

  ‘I won’t,’ he said from right behind me. So close I could feel his breath on my neck. I turned round to be pulled into a bear hug. My instant reaction was to fight the affection, the closeness, but instead I melted into him. It was good to be held after what had been a shit couple of days.

  Determined not to cry, I pulled away, attempting a joke. ‘Don’t want to have to get her thumbprint tattooed on your forehead now.’

  Monday 22 January 2018

  The next day I couldn’t be arsed to go to Pulse. Ian wasn’t going to be there, and I’d used up all my energy at the weekend. Plus, I had work to do at the gym. There was a mountain of towels that needed washing. I had to make sure I was around for the plumber who was finally going to look at the hot water tank and I had to collate the sign-on report for Jason, so he could see how we were doing on the membership front. Our handovers were getting shorter and shorter, with Jason generally turning up about ten minutes before I was due to leave. I thought he was leaning on me a little too much but without another job to go to there wasn’t much I could do.