by Gemma Rogers
‘Why were you at the station?’ I ask.
‘They wanted a statement but made me come in to give it. I was only there half an hour. It was a complete waste of time.’ Ben clenches his jaw for a second and reaches down to take my hand in his, our fingers interlock, and we walk along in comfortable silence. ‘I want to be honest with you,’ Ben starts, his voice shaky. What am I about to hear?
We stop walking and turn to face each other. I wrap my arms around myself. We’re standing outside a greasy spoon café, the smell of bacon reminding me of hungover breakfasts past.
‘I followed you. When I saw you with him, I couldn’t put it all together. It just didn’t feel right.’
‘I didn’t know you knew him,’ I reply.
‘Pacino? He was a violent prick back then. I didn’t want you anywhere near him. It wasn’t until I was waiting outside his apartment, wondering what to do and I saw you. Well, I assumed it was you. I saw you throw something out of the window, then I connected the dots.’
I shiver, the memory still as fresh as some of my bruises. The bag was always going to be a risk. I knew the police might search the area and, if they found it, possibly connect DNA to Sophie, Alice or the others. I had to absolve myself of any motive, any history Ian and I shared.
Ben shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘I hid the bag. Once I’d had a look through it of course. I hid it under the railway bridge, in some of the broken brickwork.’
I have no words. I’m exhausted. All I want to do is go home and have a long bath. Followed by a bottle of wine, and to sleep for a week, cuddled up beside my flatmate.
Ben pulls me towards him in bear hug. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he says, his voice breaking, and I sink into him. I can’t hold back the tears any longer.
Placing my hand back in his, I whisper, ‘Let’s go home.’
Epilogue
One Year Later
I sit clutching the latte, warming my hands. The heat and aroma of freshly ground coffee is a comfort. Like a hug in a mug. My dad used to say that, first thing in the morning, with a roll-up dangling from his lips. I’ve been drinking more coffee lately, but it’s hardly surprising. The lack of sleep is a killer, but everyone says it won’t last forever.
Susie slides into the booth opposite me, an enormous grin on her face. ‘When can you start then?’
‘Whenever you want. Will afternoon shifts be okay? I’ve got to work around Ben’s nights.’
‘Of course. I’m so pleased to have you on board. I love your tea shop idea. I’ve been shopping for gingham fabric already. Anyway, we’ll have plenty of time to brainstorm on expanding.’
‘I’m looking forward to it to. I owe you one,’ I lean forward and whisper, nodding towards the three remaining computers at the back of the shop. A gap on the left where the fourth used to be. My computer.
‘Don’t be silly, pet. I just should have been more careful where I put my bucket. Soaked everything. The hard drive was ruined.’ She winks and pats my hand.
I have to stop myself from throwing my arms around her. Instead I bite my lip and swallow the lump that has formed in my throat.
I gave it my best at the boxing club and stuck it out for as long as I could, almost nine months to be exact, but after a heart-to-heart with Jason I resigned. As it happened, Louise stepped in to take on my role and she’s working out fine. It’s keeping her out of trouble and Jason is smitten. I’m there most mornings for an hour or so, it keeps me sane. I’d missed sparring and dancing around the punchbag and I was never going to set foot inside Pulse again.
I decided to invest some of the money from the sale of Mum’s house into Baristas and give Susie a hand with the business. After the boxing club, I didn’t want to go back to working in an office and was happy to lend my marketing skills to ensure the coffee shop kept thriving. I’ll be more behind the scenes than customer facing, starting with the rebranding Susie suggested last year. We won’t be going with the name ‘Roasted’ though. I wasn’t expecting her to make me a partner, but she did. We signed on the dotted line yesterday. Now we’re stuck with each other whether we like it or not.
‘It’ll be your legacy one day, won’t it, sweetie,’ she says in a sing-song voice, brushing her hand over my daughter’s cheek. Phoebe gurgles and manages a half-smile before dribbling down her chin. I gently bump her up and down on my knee as she grips Susie’s finger. ‘She is gorgeous.’
‘She’s got Ben’s eyes,’ I reply. Susie fell in love as soon as she saw Phoebe and was ecstatic when I asked her to be her joint godmother with Jane.
She’s somewhere in Indonesia currently, due to come home next month and meet her goddaughter. I’ve missed her terribly. She put off travelling for a couple of months and in the end Doctor Lush took a sabbatical and went with her. She’s head over heels and it wouldn’t surprise me if there’s another wedding on the cards.
With Mum’s help and the rest of the proceeds of the house, Ben and I moved out of the flat and bought a three bedroom terrace with a garden. We both attended her wedding, which I’m happy to report was a sober affair. Patrick, who turned out to be one of the nicest men I’ve ever met, got her enrolled onto a treatment programme and after a couple of blips, she hasn’t had a drink for over seven months.
I am adjusting to motherhood now. The apprehension I had all the way through my pregnancy disappeared the moment I looked into Phoebe’s eyes. They were dark and angry. Furious at being pulled from her nice warm cocoon out into the world. I wasn’t sure whether I could do it alone, but I didn’t put pressure on Ben to stand by me. I felt responsible, having taken advantage of him when he came home drunk that night. But Phoebe melted him as soon as she arrived and my heart burst with love and pride for the family I never knew I wanted.
‘Right, my turn for a cuddle. You drink your latte,’ Susie says before whisking Phoebe away to play peekaboo at her reflection in the window.
I sip my coffee, rubbing my fingertips over the semi-colon pendant. I haven’t taken it off this past year.
I bumped into Detective Becker last week at the doctor’s surgery of all places. She was with her daughter, Lily, and I was taking Phoebe for her first set of jabs. We made polite conversation and she commented on my necklace, saying how pretty it was. She smiled, but her eyes carried a sadness. Lily’s name was called first but before she stood, Becker pulled back the sleeve of her coat to reveal a tiny semi-colon tattoo on the inside of her wrist, inked over a jagged scar. It seemed we had more in common than I first thought.
I still have nightmares. I wake up beside Ben screaming and choking, although the periods between them are increasing. Occasionally I’ll see someone that resembles Ian. The first time was in the supermarket, at the checkout. I left my trolley mid-aisle and bolted out of the door. Doctor Almara is helping me through it, one session at a time. One day, I’ll be able to put the trauma behind me. I’ll look back without any guilt, happy in the knowledge that the world is that little bit safer. For me. For Phoebe.
Acknowledgments
Huge thanks to the fabulous team at Boldwood Books, in particular, Caroline Ridding. Her enthusiasm for Stalker as well as her support and advice throughout has been amazing. Special thanks as well to my copy editor, Jade Craddock, for her superb skills, waving a magic wand over my debut.
Massive thanks to my readers Kathrine Stewart and Denise Miller, who gave up their time, and encouraged me with their feedback to make the book the best it could be.
I’ll be forever be grateful to Mark Zivilik and Sophie Comport who schooled me in all things police and human resources. Answering all my questions, on top of their day jobs, without complaint.
Thanks to my champion, Alison, who always believed I could and made me believe it too. Lastly but by no means least, thank you to my husband, Dean, who has never complained while I shut myself away, and looked after our daughters single-handedly, while I got on with my ‘Janet & John’. I couldn’t have done it without you.
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About the Author
Gemma Rogers was inspired to write gritty thrillers by a traumatic event in her own life nearly twenty years ago. Stalker is her debut novel and marks the beginning of a new writing career. Gemma lives in West Sussex with her husband, two daughters and bulldog Buster.
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First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Boldwood Books Ltd.
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Copyright © Gemma Rogers, 2019
Cover Design by www.judgebymycovers.com
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The moral right of Gemma Rogers to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologise for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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Paperback ISBN 978-1-83889-007-0
Ebook ISBN 978-1-83889-005-6
Kindle ISBN 978-1-83889-006-3
Audio CD ISBN 978-1-83889-008-7
MP3 CD ISBN 978-1-83889-356-9
Digital audio download ISBN 978-1-83889-004-9
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