by Gemma Rogers
‘You need a coffee. We’ve got that wedding in a few hours and you need to get ready,’ she said brightly, tipping granules into a mug.
Ben and I exchanged a look as her back was turned. His eyes wide and panicked, like a deer caught in headlights just before it hits the windscreen. I sighed inwardly, relieved he hadn’t said anything but also disappointed too. His eyes searched mine. I had to give him an out. Let him off the hook. I smiled and gave the tiniest shake of my head, trying to convey the message that it was okay, I understood. Then I retreated to my room. I had no time to waste feeling nostalgic. I had to focus on the evening ahead. I knew what had to be done and I had to follow through.
I spent ages trying to get my winged eyeliner just right, my eyes watering from the contacts. I wasn’t sure why, but it felt like armour. Wearing my war paint, I was going into battle. Getting the line straight was tricky because my hands were shaking. Even a shot of gin didn’t help to steady them. Dressed in dark skinny jeans, biker boots and a cream silk camisole with spaghetti straps, I looked tiny. Perhaps even fragile. I’d lost definition in my shoulders since I’d stopped boxing and my bones protruded. Too much skin? Maybe, considering how thin I was. However, the shade was perfect against my pallor and platinum blonde hair. I was channelling Stephen King’s Carrie. Dark roots were just beginning to peak through, it had been six weeks since I’d had them done and they enhanced my rock chick look.
I packed away Ben’s necklace back in the gift box and slid it into my drawer. I didn’t want to risk it getting damaged or having to explain its meaning. I repacked my bag twice, considering each item and double-checking everything. All my planning and training had been for tonight, but I still didn’t feel ready.
I had another gin, reciting the telephone number I needed repeatedly. I couldn’t forget it. It might just save my life later. Time was slipping away, and I had to leave soon if I didn’t want to be late to meet Ian. I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate being kept waiting. I didn’t really care but I didn’t want to start the evening on the wrong foot. I wanted him onside for as long as possible.
The flat was empty when I left. I’d made sure everything was tidy and in its place. All my affairs in order. My footsteps weighed heavy on the walk into town. It was dark, cold, but dry at least. The streets were buzzing. Groups of people lined the pavements ready to hit the pubs. It was Saturday night after all, payday weekend for some. For the first time, I felt at ease walking alone. Too preoccupied with plans for later to worry about feeling vulnerable.
After tonight I would be able to close the door on this and start over. Get another job, try and find something I wanted to do. I wanted to fall in love, settle down. I was halfway there already. I hoped to be able to look back and be proud of what I’d achieved, not dwell on how I’d fucked everything up. After tonight I’d be something, a hero and a villain combined, but already I was out of my depth. Hadn’t it been play acting until now? When push came to shove, could I really do it?
Ian stood outside Mangos waiting for me. He looked sharp in jeans, shirt and a blazer, raising his eyebrows as I approached.
‘Wow, you look…’ He was lost for words.
‘Scary?’ I asked, stifling a laugh. Perhaps my eyeliner was more goth than rock chick. I smoothed down my hair.
‘No. I was thinking sexy, but not sure whether it was a bit creepy to say it?’ We were way beyond creepy by that point. He bent to kiss me, and I assumed he was going for my cheek. Instead he pulled me into a full embrace, right outside Mangos. It was too public for me and I eased away, which seemed to amuse rather than irritate him. ‘What are you drinking?’ he shouted above the music as we made our way to the bar.
‘Gin and tonic for me please,’ I shouted back. I’d already had a shot but had become quite tolerant of gin in the past few weeks. Perhaps I was more like my mother than I thought?. However, I had to keep my wits about me so would be keeping an eye on my alcohol consumption.
Ian ordered our drinks and we retreated to the same table we’d sat at on our first date. I slipped off my leather jacket and watched Ian’s eyes widen. I’d never normally show this much skin, although it seemed to be having the desired effect. Ian’s gaze lingered on my neck a touch longer than was necessary and my shoulders stiffened. He launched into the tale of his team winning their rugby game that morning. His mate had dislocated his knee towards the end and they’d spent most of the afternoon in A&E. I tried to focus on his words, looking at his mouth to avoid his eyes. Paranoid he would know what I was thinking, or worse, what I was planning? I couldn’t stop fidgeting.
‘Are you okay? You seem nervous.’
What the hell, I might as well be honest. ‘I am, a bit,’ I said, my cheeks glowing pink.
‘Why would you be nervous?’ he said, leaning back in his chair. I knew he found me amusing, quirky even. He was cool and collected and I was this bumbling naive girl. He was in control and he liked it.
‘I haven’t, you know, seen anyone in a long time,’ I said. Trying my best to appear shy rather than apprehensive of what was to come.
‘Come here.’ Grabbing the seat of my stool, he pulled it across the wooden floor towards him with ease. Resting his hand on my back, goosebumps appeared beneath his palm. It was good that fear and excitement could have the same physical effects on the body. I had that in my favour. Ian assumed I was putty in his hands. His arrogance gave it away. I wasn’t sure if I was being courted or groomed? He stroked my back, his thumb rubbing the feather tattoo that Ben’s lips had been on last night. It made me squirm. ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said, kissing the side of my head. Little did he know, he already had. But I would be getting my own back later.
We sat side by side with Ian’s fingers caressing my skin until we finished our drinks and he suggested we move on to the restaurant. I climbed down from the stool and Ian held out my jacket to slip on. Mangos was full of revellers; I hadn’t notice it get so crowded. As Ian led me toward the door, he reached back and caught my hand, entwining his fingers in mine so as not to lose me. Or maybe he thought he owned me already? Outside, the temperature had dropped and I kept my head down as we hurried along, into the wind.
‘Eve?’
I lifted my head. Ben stood in front of us, blocking the pavement, a quizzical expression on his face. He caught sight of our interlocked hands. My fingers slackened, but Ian held my fingers in a vice-like grip. He wasn’t letting go.
Sunday 28 January 2018 – DC Becker
I grab a coffee from the machine and ring the childminder to see if Lily is still being clingy; but no, of course not, today she is fine. She’s an angel with anyone who isn’t me. Sometimes it feels like a vendetta, but that’s the sleep deprivation talking. It’s impossible to grasp that someone who relies on you so much, someone you adore, can be so awful. Steve is concerned its post-natal depression, but I’m sure it’s not. Motherhood is just hard, right? For everyone?
Back at my desk, I pick up the map and shake my head to refocus. So, Eve isn’t all she seems. I hate that Hicks gets these hunches, this sixth sense, that bypasses me. Is it his years of experience, he’s been in the force since he was eighteen, or is being a copper not what I was destined for? Too late for a change of career now, almost ten years in.
Was Ian Eve’s attacker last year? I have to give it to her, if it’s true, she’s smart. If I wanted to track someone down, I’d go back to the scene of the crime and wait for them to show up. People’s habits are what get them caught. We all have a pattern of behaviour that’s inherently hard to deviate from. Things we say and do, the places we frequent. But, if that’s the case, how did he not recognise her?
I read the original report again and sift through the mess of my desk until I find the newspaper Guy gave me earlier. Eve has long mousy brown hair in the photo they’ve printed, a stark contrast to the platinum blonde she is today. I find it hard to believe that changing her hair would make her unrecognisable to him, although on reverting back to the notes, most of
the sexual assault took place from behind, the initial jump and the act itself.
Does this prove Ian’s death was premeditated? The closest CCTV in the area is from the gym; the one where Ian and Eve apparently met. It yielded no results before, but I message Guy to see if he can get more recent footage and give him the dates. He’s been running around all over the place for me today. I must remember to say thank you. He’s done so much of the groundwork and with Hicks retiring we’ll need another permanent member of the team.
When Guy responds, I ask to see the days Eve was camped out in the area, according to the mobile phone triangulation, up until the day she became a member at the gym. I tell him the beers are on me on Friday night.
Within twenty minutes, a message is in my inbox. I’m going to have to recommend his transfer is made permanent. He’s too handy to let go. Hicks has been away from his desk for a while, most probably trying to find another way to prove Eve’s intentions. Time is running out.
I take my hair out of the bun, releasing the painful hairgrips and give my scalp a rub. I can’t help but enjoy the sensation of knowing something he doesn’t. The camera at the door of the gym covers around ten feet and is motion-activated; picking up all the customers who enter or exit. It’s easy to whiz through images of a twenty-four-hour period and watch the comings and goings. I spot Ian early on. His visits are regular, same times on the same days, but I can’t find anyone that looks like Eve.
I check the day she registered, then I find her. She arrives at the gym late in the afternoon. Ian had been in earlier that day too and I scroll back to see him entering at around quarter past ten. I rewind it back to watch again, but my finger slips on the mouse and pushes the timer further back. I catch a glimpse of a figure on the periphery of the screen. She looks up towards the camera before swiftly turning away out of shot. On the screen for maybe two seconds at most. The back of my neck prickles and the fluttering develops into giant swoops in my stomach. I slow the video down, holding my breath. Twenty or so seconds after Ian enters the gym, I freeze the video and it stutters. Eve’s grey image nods at me in agreement, eyes wide and lips parted. She doesn’t look vengeful. She looks terrified.
I hear footsteps come down the corridor and close the video down, rushing to the toilets to be alone. I lean over the sink, staring at my reflection, inhaling deeply. The blood has drained from my face. The initial elation of my findings dissipated as the stretch of skin on my inner thigh burns incandescent. The memory of a cigarette end pushed into my flesh all those years ago. A reminder of why it is hard to see women like Eve dragged through the system. Victims whose assailants are never caught. Did she take matters into her own hands? Would I? If I could go back?
55
Saturday 27 January 2018
‘Ben! It’s been years, how are you, mate?’ Ian stuck out his free hand towards Ben, who looked shell-shocked; still trying to connect the dots. I was pleased I could blame the cold wind for the colour of my face. How on earth did Ian know Ben? They couldn’t be more different if they tried. My stomach knotted.
‘I’m good, thanks, I hope you’re treating my flatmate well?’ Ben said. I saw his body stiffen, but he shook Ian’s hand, glaring at me with a ‘what the fuck’ expression.
‘Of course, you know me. I didn’t know you two lived together?’
‘It’s a small world,’ I chipped in, adding, ‘I thought you were at a wedding?’
‘Amy was sick, so we left after the service.’
‘How do you two know each other?’ I asked.
Ben continued to frown at me.
‘We used to do door work together. Good times, good times.’ Ian chuckled nostalgically before glancing at his watch. ‘Anyway, we’ve got a reservation. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Ben.’
‘I’m sure. You’ll have to come for beers,’ Ben replied in a blokey tone that was out of character. Was he being sarcastic? If he was, Ian didn’t seem to notice. He pulled me away, his hand still clenched around mine and swept me along the street to La Casa. My stomach was in knots, the furthest thing from my mind was food. I wanted to break free of Ian and run back towards Ben; to explain what was going on. But I didn’t dare look back.
Before I knew it, Ian had led me inside the restaurant, the warm air a welcome relief. The décor was modern but dimly lit, giving the illusion of privacy even though you were feet away from another table. I couldn’t get the image of Ben’s face out of my mind. He looked horrified. I had to get my head back in the game. I couldn’t focus on that now. Ian gave his name to the hostess and she seated us near the back of the restaurant. I slipped off my jacket and our waitress came over to give us menus.
‘Can I get you anything to drink?’ She beamed at us, her shift must have just started.
‘Can we have a bottle of the Catena Alta Malbec please?’ Ian asked. ‘Do you drink red wine?’ The question directed at me was an afterthought.
‘I’ll give it a go,’ I said, smiling at the waitress. ‘Could we have some water too, please?’
She nodded and stepped away, returning in less than a minute with a jug and two small glasses.
‘Sorry, I should have got you a gin, I wasn’t thinking. It’s been a long week and I fancied a bottle of red wine.’ He leant across the table and took my hand. I still couldn’t get used to him touching me. He did it a lot. I’m sure he thought I was a bit stiff, or maybe a prude. Perhaps he enjoyed a challenge and wanted to warm me up?
‘Trouble at work?’ I asked as the waitress returned and uncorked the bottle, leaving it on the table to breathe. I knew almost nothing about red wine. Every time I’d been offered a glass, it tasted like vinegar to me. Tonight was all about Ian and getting him into the right frame of mind so I was happy to go with the flow. I’d noticed, when we were seated, there was a large pot plant to my left which would come in handy later.
‘You know, trouble with clients again. One of the ad execs double-booked space we’d secured in a glossy magazine. Another client lost the plot as there was a typo in their advert that no one picked up on.’
‘Sounds stressful.’
‘It can be. I just have to find ways to relax.’ He stroked my fingers and my flesh crawled as though insects were running beneath my skin. I smiled sweetly though, this was going in the right direction.
‘How do you do that?’ I purred. Although I already knew the answer. He went out, stalked and attacked women for his own perverse pleasure.
‘I may show you later.’ He looked like he wanted to have me for dinner. I bit my lip.
‘You haven’t got a dungeon hidden away in that apartment of yours?’ I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
‘AKA Christian Grey, you mean?’ He raised one eyebrow and for a moment he looked charming.
‘That’s the one.’
He chuckled but didn’t answer. The waitress returned, but I hadn’t even looked at the menu. I opened it to make my choice, but Ian got there first.
‘We’ll have the steak please, both medium rare with peppercorn sauce on the side.’ He snapped his menu shut and I handed mine over to the waitress. We exchanged a quick look. I could tell we were thinking the same thing. Why was I having dinner with such a pompous prick? No woman likes having her choice made for her. It’s not romantic; it’s controlling, but she didn’t know I was just playing along. For now anyway.
‘What would you like with it, chips, jacket potato or salad? Any other sides?’
‘Chips I think, Eve?’ Now he wanted my opinion?
‘Yes, chips please.’
The waitress nodded and left. What was it with men and steak anyway? Why come to an Italian restaurant and order steak? I wanted the spaghetti carbonara, the thought of creamy sauce and pancetta with a dough ball starter made my mouth water. I should have intervened; it could be my last meal. Counting to ten in my head, and then on to fifteen, I took a sip of the wine Ian had deemed ready to pour. Surprised at how smooth it was, I had not tasted red wine like this. It must be expensive.<
br />
‘Good, isn’t it,’ he said with a wink.
‘It is.’ I would have to pace myself, but the more pliable Ian was the better.
‘Have you heard about the attacks?’ he said. My glass was half raised to my mouth, suspended in mid-air. Ian took my pause as interest. ‘I was reading in the paper. Women, walking on their own, getting jumped in broad daylight.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my glass wobble in my hand. I took a large mouthful and lowered it carefully to the table. Was he fucking with me?
‘Robbed?’ I asked, playing the game.
‘Assaulted. Sexually assaulted.’ The look on his face and the pitying shake of his head made my stomach burn.
I sat on my hands to stop myself throwing the wine at him. Although I couldn’t control my mouth.
‘What sad pathetic man does that to a woman?’ I asked.
Ian coughed, choking on his wine and stifling a laugh. ‘One that can’t get a woman any other way I should imagine,’ he said.
I took a large gulp of my drink and jumped up, catching the table as I went. Struggling to keep it together. ‘Excuse me, I’m going to use the ladies.’
I marched through the door and up the stairs two at a time. Shit. What the fuck was that? Was he goading me? I balled my hands into fists and paced in front of the sinks. Had I got it wrong? Had I made a massive mistake? My mind raced, and I locked myself in a cubicle. I was so furious, I’d forgotten to take my bag. It was on the floor by my chair. Would he go through it? There was nothing of interest in it to him, but I was annoyed I’d left my phone and couldn’t text Ben. The look he’d given me was cutting. What must he think of me?
I sat on the toilet, blinking back tears of rage, my blood bubbling beneath the surface. Ian deserved everything he was going to get. I didn’t care if he knew who I was. I didn’t care if he was fucking with me. I was going to enjoy every minute of this.