You're All Mine

by Ruth Harrow

  The road snakes around and a car park comes into view. My car jolts as I pass over more speed bumps. A few cars ahead, a taxi loads a trolley full of shopping one bag at a time into its boot.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the car park exit with a one-way street sign – it is empty and currently unused by any other vehicle.

  I whip the steering wheel around and hurriedly push forward. A yellow high-visibility arm of a trolley assistant appears out of nowhere and bangs twice on my bonnet.

  I look up into the gnarled old face of a short Asda employee in an oversized fluorescent jacket.

  He pointedly jabs a red hand at the one-way sign.

  I'm livid he had the audacity to touch my car, but I grit my teeth and hold up my hand in apology as I sail past him.

  I park clumsily in one of the cramped bays as he approaches my car.

  For security, I grab my handbag, but can't be sure if the central locking triggered properly behind me as I squeeze the key fob.

  As I dash away, I'm sure I hear the words 'stupid bitch' muttered into the air behind me. At the automatic doors, I look back over my shoulder and I think I might have imagined it. The employee is back to interlocking trolleys.

  I actually gasp with relief once cold water gushes with force over my hands. It's one of those silly annoying taps that needs to be repeatedly pressed to get water out.

  I look down at my hands through the stream of water. It feels as though they have been scrubbed for an extended period with sandpaper and they are glowing an angry patchy red.

  There are scratch marks here and there where my fingernails dug too deep and the cut I caused by smashing the wine glass pains again.

  After running the fresh water for well over five minutes, my fingers are numb to the bone and only a faint tingling sensation exists in the skin.

  I take a deep breath and when I look up into the mirror I get a fright at how unlike myself I look.

  I was too heavy-handed with my makeup this morning. My face holds lots of colour from blusher and foundation, but my neck looks so pale that my face looks like a mismatched orb hovering above it.

  Despite all this, I've failed to cover the dark circles beneath my eyes.

  My clothes are splattered with water from the force of the tap, leaving dark patches here and there and my sleeves are wet too.

  The paper towel dispenser is empty so I brave the heat of the hand dryer which hurts the inflamed skin, so I dry my hands at a distance and take my time.

  Before I leave the toilet, I pull out the bottle of moisturiser from my handbag and stare at it.

  It is well within its expiration date and I've never had a reaction before.

  A frown knots my forehead as I drop the bottle into the bin.

  47

  I drift into the main section of the supermarket and pick up a basket, heading for the medicine aisle. I should probably find something to ease the red skin of my hands a little, although I'm not sure what exactly since I don't know what caused the reaction in the first place.

  I've never had a problem with my moisturiser before, but where had it been before I found it earlier? Had it really been in my bathroom all along?

  I shake the thoughts away as I scan the rows of bottles and boxes of creams and lotions.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a face, pale against dark hair, hovering in the edges of my vision.

  I turn my head and find myself staring at someone I haven't seen in a while.

  Nicole's ex-boyfriend – Dean.

  A tense smile spreads across his face, dimpling his cheeks. 'Oh, hiya. Didn't see you there, Heather.'

  'Dean. Hi,'

  'You look miles away too. Hope that's not contagious.' He gestures to my red, scratched and bleeding hands gingerly holding a tub of Sudocrem.

  'No. I just had a little mishap, that's all.' I glance down at his empty shopping basket. 'So what are you doing here?'

  'The same thing as you, I imagine – just picking up some bits for dinner. I got a place nearby after... well, after I moved out of Nicole's. I don't know if she told you.'

  Dean shoves his free hand into the pocket of his short military jacket and gives a sort of half-shrug that causes a wave of unexpected rage to rise in me.

  He obviously doesn't know about Nicole's news. She can't have told him yet; she would have told me straight away if she had.

  Dean looks so clueless with his floppy hair and skinny jeans he is far too old for.

  I want to shout the truth at him, make him understand how much he has hurt my best friend.

  'You know, if Nicole has kicked you out,' I say abruptly, 'then you have no right to keep going back and forth to her house.'

  He looks surprised for a moment and then smiles insolently. 'She's exaggerating – I haven't been over there that much. And it's not like Nicole doesn't still appreciate my company now and again, if you know what I mean.'

  'I don't think so.'

  'Well, you would say that, being her best friend and all.' He takes a few steps back and turns around. 'Anyway, see you around, Heather.'

  48

  I pay for the cream and some plasters at the self-service tills, getting lucky at the absence of a queue. I'm back in my car and carefully applying some cream when my gaze is drawn upwards across the car park.

  It's Dean again. His hands are free of any purchases, making me wonder what he was even doing in the supermarket.

  He saunters across to his black Seat and drives away.

  I stare at the space his car had occupied, angry once again.

  I was sure he was lying a few moments ago about living nearby. I'm good at detecting falsehoods in people, especially men. I learned from the best – my father.

  He always used to have somewhere to be, even when he wasn't at work. There were always drinks to be had with his friends that somehow required him to leave a strong trail of cheap aftershave behind him on the way out of the house.

  Whatever it was, I could always see through it. At the time, I had thought my mother was oblivious. But now I look back, I see she simply chose to look the other way. Perhaps that was for my benefit.

  I cringe now as I think of the night in my late teens when I chose to reveal the truth.

  What did I think? That my mother would up and leave her husband of over twenty years? Throw him out? I was so naïve in my youth.

  That was one of the main reasons I had left home and not looked back. I was so disillusioned with the pair of them. How could a lie become the underlying fabric of their lives?

  After that night, my father was so cold to me the house hadn't felt like home.

  I packed my bags a month later and haven't spoken to either of them since, vowing only to never honour a man like that.

  That's why I'm so angry with Dean. I see my mother in Nicole. What was she thinking by letting him stay the night?

  I pick up my phone with the idea of sending Nicole a text but then drop it onto the passenger seat instead.

  Seeing her ex-boyfriend in a supermarket in the middle of the day isn't really newsworthy. Even if he did appear after I got there and left without buying anything.

  I rotate my shoulders a few times, mainly to shake off the paranoid thought that Dean followed me. My imagination pokes at me, trying to make it fit that he could be the lurking shadow in the trees surrounding my house.

  Had it been Dean that had broken my boiler that night?

  A memory tugs at my brain, reminding me of when my best friend and her boyfriend had come around one evening years ago. I had invited them over for drinks and dinner but mainly wanted to show off the progress regarding the home refurbishments I was doing. The kitchen was completed and the boiler had been moved outside.

  Nicole had commented on what a good idea it was as James had rolled his eyes. But Dean wasn't impressed either. 'But aren't you worried that someone could tamper with it? Boilers are dangerous appliances if they go wrong, Heather.'

  I'd completely forgotten about that
comment. Funny how it has floated to the top of my mind now.

  I'm sure I'm just procrastinating, however. The real problem I should be worried about is seeing my husband driving out for lunch with his ex-girlfriend.

  Little does she know it, but Gemma has been the subject of a fair few rows. Shame rises hot in my chest every time I think of when I let my jealousy slip out and James had seen it.

  What I really need is to get advice from an outside perspective. Something I think I really miss is motherly advice.

  But that's absurd. I can't exactly call my mother and talk to her about the state of my marriage. Nor will I admit to Nicole what is really going on.

  My hands still hurt as I drive home, but I'm satisfied I've done my best for them. The steering wheel slips uncomfortably on sore patches and I wish I had my gloves with me.

  The wheels of my four-by-four meet with the familiar ground of the narrow country track leading to my house.

  The gnarled branches of the hedgerows climb and stretch high overhead, darkening the already dull day. I'm almost in sight of my house when headlights blaze in through my windscreen.

  I slam the brakes on and squint out at the car facing me.

  It's my neighbour, Ewan.

  For a few moments, our vehicles sit opposite one another.

  Naturally, I expect him to bend and reverse the fifty yards he must be from his driveway and let me pass. But he is clearly unwilling. Not that I can see his face, just a vague head-and-shoulders silhouette behind the wheel.

  I reverse back the way I came, body twisted, one throbbing hand gripping the steering wheel, the other gripping my seat.

  Most of the time I have lived in this house, Ewan has seemed pleasant. Sometimes, however, his displeasure of my decision to plant conifers bubbles up to the surface and he likes to show it.

  It looks like today is one of those days. Goodness knows what set him off this time.

  'Here you go you cranky old fart,' I mutter under my breath as I eventually find a spot wide enough for our vehicles to pass.

  I groan as branches thwack and scrape their sharp claws across my shiny paintwork as I pull right over.

  Ewan wastes no time in forcing his old Volvo forward.

  He doesn't wave a hand in thanks, but he turns to me as our windows align and beams a broad smile at me and I notice for the first time just how many teeth he is missing in the front.

  Feeling as though I will be glad to be home and lock the door behind me, I park my car on the driveway and stride towards the front door.

  Keys raised, I pause on the doorstep as I realise the door isn't even shut.

  I push it open and a breeze from behind me seems to rush down the hallway ahead.

  Despite that though, there is definitely something about the house that smells different. Something that wasn't there when I left this morning.

  James's cologne.

  I step into the hallway and shut the door behind me.

  'James?'

  Breaking my rule about keeping everything in its rightful place, I shrug off my coat and hang it carelessly over the bannister.

  I peep my head around the lounge doorway, and then in the kitchen.

  But it is deserted.

  Quiet and still, just how I left it this morning.

  Breaking another rule, I rush upstairs in my outdoor shoes and check each room in turn. The bedrooms are undisturbed, as is my office.

  I come to the bathroom.

  Here I can smell James's fragrance stronger than ever. I recognise it now as the one I had bought him for the birthday before his last.

  The door is shut. I definitely left it open earlier for ventilation; it's a habit.

  I knock.

  'James?'

  No answer.

  'James – are you in there?'

  Silence.

  I push down the handle tentatively and push open the door.

  I'm hit with more heady notes of the fragrance. It is so strong it catches sharply in my throat and makes me wheeze a little.

  I step into the room and the toe of my shoe crunches on something.

  A shard of glass.

  My eyes dart across the rest of the tiled floor – more shards of glass.

  Then I see where it is coming from.

  One of James's fragrance bottles has been dropped beside the sink. Splinters of glass are everywhere.

  I can see the shelf beside the window where the bottle has come from. There is an empty space.

  The window is slightly open too. Did I leave it like that?

  I step carefully over to the window, trying to remember if I left it open this morning or not and push it open wide.

  I'm hit in the face with cool February air and I take a big gulp of it – a welcome relief after the haze of chemicals I inhaled a moment ago.

  I look down at the mess on my bathroom floor and notice one of my carefully chosen tiles has been chipped. It must have been the impact of the bottle hitting the floor.

  Could the draught from the window have caused the bottle to topple over like that?

  Only, it hasn't really plunged and fallen directly beneath the shelf. The wind would have needed to be very powerful indeed to cause the bottle to fly across the room like that.

  Besides, the sink is surely too far from the shelf for that to make sense...

  The front door was ajar just now – I don't remember leaving it like that. Not that I can recall the memory of locking it at all...

  Has someone been in my house?

  My body stiffens and I glance out to the darkening hallway.

  Still and quiet now. Not a sound. Nothing else out of place.

  The growing darkness provides the perfect backdrop for the images my brain is still processing.

  The image of Ewan's gaunt old face, his remaining yellow teeth forming a smug smile comes back to me from the fading light.

  49

  I don't delay. After doing another sweep of the house and switching every light on, I arrange for a locksmith to come over as soon as possible.

  Within two hours, I've been handed a brand new set of keys.

  Why didn't I do it sooner? I could kick myself for allowing someone the chance to get into my home again. If indeed that is what happened.

  I flit between thinking myself paranoid and, far worse, suspecting I'm actually right.

  Am I really finding James's absence so hard to deal with that it is manifesting itself in physical happenings in the house?

  It would be easier to believe it true if incidents hadn't been happening outside the house too.

  Although, I definitely didn't imagine being followed in the underground car park that day.

  Did I?

  No. That stranger was definitely real.

  But was it just a coincidence? A mugger in search of his next victim? Or was he really out to get me, personally?

  These thoughts swirl around my head and I've downed a glass of wine (after first scrutinising it for signs of tampering) before considering the possibility of a sleeping pill.

  I know I won't slip into a blissful slumber tonight. However, now I've started drinking I know I can't mix the two again.

  I dread to think what could happen if I'm practically unconscious and someone broke into my home.

  I shiver and turn on the television to take my mind away from how cold and uncomfortable this whole situation is making me.

  My hand reaches for my phone. I don't want Nicole to see me like this, for her to think I'm panicking. I could call her, mention seeing Dean in the supermarket and then drop in this incident.

  But then I remember how she looked at me when she found I was still asleep at four in the afternoon after taking the sleeping pill.

  She had looked so scared, so uncertain. As though I'd gone mad and hadn't realised it myself.

  I slide my phone back onto the cushion beside me and pick up my fresh set of keys again.

  I squeeze them firmly and press my fist to my chest.

 
; No one else in the world has access to my house now.

  Only me.

  If anyone wants to get in here, they will have to go through me.

  50

  As if it wasn't enough that the pressure of looming GCSE's was bearing its weight down upon my shoulders, Lisa Richards decided to increase the pressure too. Maybe she sensed my stress levels mounting and decided to try and break me. Our final year in school together was her last chance, after all...

  Perhaps she knew that if my school career went off the rails I had nothing else to fall back on. No wealthy parents to support me and no other options. I had limited choices back then. I knew I had to take matters into my own hands...

  The woody base notes of James's fragrance hits me as soon as I wake up the next morning. It should be a comforting smell, but yesterday rushes back over me in a relentless wave, filling my insides with cold.

  I glance at my phone, groaning when I realise I have only managed three hours of sleep.

  It is now a couple of minutes past seven. I thought I would sleep for longer.

  Maybe I could roll over and drift off again...

  A piercing buzzing sound reaches me and my eyes fly open again.

  The sound is coming from outside.

  I throw the duvet off my body, the tempting warmth of sleep immediately dissipating and pad over to the window.

  The sound continues and I see Ewan moving around in his garden. He straightens up with a large tree branch and feeds it into a rusty old wood chipper. It makes a terrible high-pitched noise and he moves off across his garden again.

  'Great,' I mutter. Why has he chosen to do this at seven in the morning?

  Did he see my lights on late, well into the early hours and thought he would give me a rude awakening?

  I'm definitely awake now, so I shower and get dressed.

  I'm just wondering what I'm going to do with my day while chewing my cornflakes when I realise with a start that I'm meant to pick up Lilly from school today.

  I pick up my phone and give Nicole a quick text.