You're All Mine

by Ruth Harrow

  Hey Nic. Hope you are feeling all right this morning. Good luck with your appointment. I'm looking forward to picking up Lilly later. I'm thinking of you xx

  Her reply comes minutes later.

  Thanks, Heather. I wish I could manage some breakfast, but otherwise, I'm fine. I really appreciate it xx

  I finish my orange juice and run through all the places I could take Lilly after school. I'm in no rush to come back to the house. However secure it feels now.

  We could go out for ice cream. There is that Build-a-Bear workshop in Sheffield. Is she too old for that?

  I would be silly not to try and work in a visit to Uncle James's office at some point.

  It's the perfect excuse to drop in on my husband and make it look casual.

  The perfect opportunity for him to see me as a motherly figure.

  I can't waste this chance.

  51

  I've gone through the events in my mind so many times since that day. I've watched myself thousands of times over and over again. The way I had waited for Lisa Richards outside school one day towards the end of Spring. A cloudless sunny day. No wind. Just still air, full of accusations and anxiety.

  On the way out I'd seen Nicole Wilkinson drifting down the corridor towards the boys' toilets with a black marker pen in her hand. She didn't even seem to notice me. Just a smile or a 'hiya' from one of the popular girls would have been something. Maybe then I wouldn't have gone through with it...

  I go through my wardrobe carefully selecting something to wear for today. Nicole's suggestion that James could have been the one to ruin my parcel weaves through my conscious thoughts and turns them against me.

  Somehow it was much more comforting to think it was Lisa that had been behind the ruined delivery. But that would have involved her coming all the way out to my property and managing to slip away undetected. Although, the woods would provide the perfect cover for someone to approach the house unseen; it would be all too easy.

  I want to think that Lisa wouldn't exert herself in such a way, but then, someone definitely did go to the effort of impersonating me and sending the disruptive email to the carpet company.

  Who else would have known I had placed the order? And how to ruin it?

  I had told Ian over the phone that I had made the purchase and when it would arrive. Had Lisa been in the background listening then? She must have been.

  And if she did all that, then she wouldn't think anything of destroying a package on my doorstep.

  But is it too unlikely that she would have happened upon it?

  I get changed and check all the windows and doors are definitely shut and locked before getting into the car.

  I'm planning on browsing the homeware sections of my favourite stores in the city this morning. After my order of fabric was ruined by the paint, I had intended to order a replacement but didn't get around to it so I will have to opt for store-bought cushion covers instead.

  Maybe I can come up with some inspiration for my next few blog posts too while I'm there.

  My shoulders tense as I think of how much pressure I feel over it now that I know John and Ian are watching for updates.

  To think there was a time when I used to enjoy running my blog.

  After browsing a handful of my favourite go-to independent retailers and finding some perfect cushion covers for the apartment living rooms, I stop for lunch at a sandwich shop on the outskirts of the city. When selecting where to eat, I take my time, determined to fill my day up and spend as little time as necessary at home.

  I sit at one of the cramped plastic tables and take my time with my tuna baguette, punctuating the pauses with tiny sips of coffee and scrolling through my phone. I find focussing on the screen helps me to ignore the frustrated glances the proprietor gives me in between serving the bustling queue.

  When I finally leave, I am still at a loss as to what topic to concentrate on for my next blog post.

  In Dunelm, however, I get hit with a flash of inspiration that reminds me why I started in this business in the first place.

  James alluded to the fact that he checks in on my online presence still. My next tutorial could be about how to make artificial flowers look good in the home.

  James has always hated fresh flowers. Why couldn't I have just backed down before?

  Everything I have done in this marriage has been ultimately for him – I chose the house as a perfect break away from his city work life. If only I hadn't been so stubborn about the little things...

  I'm just rummaging through the different containers of artificial flowers when I am aware of a presence appear by my side.

  I look up to see a shop assistant with platinum-blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes staring at me. She is maybe a few years older than I am. 'Can I help you with anything?' she asks, smiling.

  'I'm just looking really. Thank you, anyway.'

  She moves away from my side, but appears at my other, grinning.

  I look up from my handful of fake silk blooms.

  'Sorry, it's just... You're that interior designer from Instagram, aren't you?'

  'Um, yes actually I am.' For a reason unbeknownst to me, I glance over my shoulder before turning back to the delighted shop assistant. 'I don't usually get recognised.'

  'Really? I'm surprised, Heather. Your blog is massive – everyone loves you!'

  'Well, I wouldn't say that. My blog gets a lot of visitors, but they are spread all over the world so I don't run into my readers that often.'

  The assistant doesn't look at all disappointed. A thought seems to strike her and she suddenly glances around me. 'Is James here with you?'

  'Sorry?'

  'Your husband, James. Is he here now?'

  'No. He's at work.'

  'Oh – of course! It's great that he has his own career. I think if I was as famous as you, my boyfriend would have quit his job by now.'

  'Right, I see...' I glance down at the badge on her polo shirt, but the strip where her name should be displayed is blank.

  Her face falls a little. 'I hope you didn't mind me mentioning it? I just thought you would be used to being approached.'

  'No. No, of course not. It's fine. It's nice to meet someone who follows my work. So... have you ever tried any of my tutorials?'

  The look of glee lights up the assistant's features again. 'Yes! I went out and bought the same candles you did on that last bathroom post you did. I put mine beside the bath too.'

  A swoop of shame punches at my stomach, but I smile and continue talking with this woman for a few more minutes. I am grateful she doesn't mention the close-up someone posted on Instagram of me from that very blog post.

  Perhaps she didn't see it...

  I suggest I need to go and pay for my handful of flowers, thinking I will maybe go back for more another day, although perhaps in a different branch. The unnamed shop assistant manages to get to the till to serve me and informs her colleagues of who I am as my face burns.

  I'm glad to be back in the car five minutes later. I hadn't lied when I said I don't usually get recognised – I'm not used to it; I'm not sure I'm cut out for it at all.

  What would I do if my face made it onto Jones and Stanton's range of homeware products? There would be nowhere to hide then.

  I look in my rear-view mirror at my flushed cheeks just as my phone buzzes.

  It's a message on Instagram from a username I don't recognise.

  Those flowers are a bit dull – more like a bunch for a funeral. Too bad you had the locks changed. Thanks for letting me in though, Heather. I'm sure we can still have fun...

  I glance all around me. There is an old couple of the exact same tiny height negotiating a trolley from the bay in front of me and a yummy mummy carrying a baby on one hip and a large ornamental lamp in the other to her car. No one else around in the car park.

  My hand reaches for the central locking button and the catches depress with a satisfying noise.

  I stare at the message sent by caughtint
heheadlights7863.

  The words seem to burn on the screen. I hit 'block', wondering why I bother since this must be the same user setting up different accounts each time.

  I glance up at the glass shop frontage I just left. The enthusiastic assistant that served me is gone from the tills, but I think I see her hovering on the shop-floor again. I can't tell if she was looking this way or not, but she appears to be asked a question by another shopper and leads them away down an aisle and out of sight.

  52

  My eyes do another erratic sweep of the car park before I start the engine. The stark light reflecting from the many bonnets might as well be spotlights that cause me to feel centre stage.

  I check again in my rear-view mirror as I leave the car park, but no mysterious vehicle trails behind.

  For the first time all day, I spring into a faster pace and use the speed-limits as more of a target than a restriction.

  My usual road-courtesy has gone and I narrowly miss a scrape with a Skoda pulling out of a junction.

  Turning onto the familiar country track, I forget all about the rules of the road. There are no cameras down here. If Ewan is in a difficult mood this afternoon then he will meet his match.

  No one will force me backwards today.

  Luckily, the pathway is clear as I sail straight onto my driveway. I come to a more sudden stop than I would like, but I leave the engine running as I rush up to the front door.

  I try the handle.

  Locked and secure.

  I glance around me at the quiet driveway.

  Was someone here while I was out?

  I let myself in and move from room to room checking doors and windows. I even glance at exposed glassware and ornaments, checking they are all in their place.

  Which, of course, they are.

  I feel foolish for rushing back here now.

  I pull out my phone and re-read the Instagram message.

  Thanks for letting me in...

  So someone has been in my house at some point. Now I know I was right.

  I really wish I wasn't.

  A determined rage burns deep in the pit of my stomach as I swipe through my phone and tap in the number to call the local police station. My finger hovers over the dial button, but my eyes dart to the time in the corner of the screen – I have just over two hours before I have to pick up Lilly.

  Although I've never filed one before, I wouldn't imagine making a report to the police would be a quick endeavour.

  I pull the front door closed behind me, but a loud clang from the other side of the trees makes me spin around.

  I hear the sound of Ewan's bins and dash across my smooth driveway tiles, ignoring the areas where white paint is stuck stubbornly in the grooves.

  I dash along the country track and up my neighbour's equal-sized driveway. Things are very different this side of the trees, however.

  The old concrete slabs covering the ground are cracked and green. Weeds poke through at every opportunity as though plants are edging ever closer to reclaiming the land. Empty pots are filled with earth and everything seems topped with a coating of dark moss.

  My ageing neighbour stands beside his house, stuffing bin bags into an already overly-full bin.

  'Excuse me? Ewan?'

  He looks around suddenly, surprised and eyes wide.

  'Didn't see you there, Heather.'

  'Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump.'

  'Is there something I can help you with?'

  'Nothing major. I just wondered if you saw anything odd today – you know – anything out of the ordinary.'

  'Out of the ordinary, you say?' His wild eyebrows move upwards, reminding me of John.

  'Yes. Was anyone around earlier that shouldn't have been? Anyone you didn't recognise, or even just a different car, perhaps?'

  'No, nothing like that. And I've been around all morning.'

  'Oh, thanks anyway.'

  'Had more trouble, have you?'

  'More trouble? What do you mean by that?'

  'Well, didn't you have some gripe with a delivery not that long ago?'

  'Oh, that. Yes, well, that's all sorted out now. Sorry to have bothered you – I'll let you get back to it.' I turn to leave.

  He bends down and picks up another overfilled sack with a shrug. 'If you say so.'

  I stop and turn back. 'Hey Ewan, you haven't seen James today have you?'

  'Your husband? No. Haven't seen him since the day you were fretting about that delivery. Why?'

  'No reason.'

  53

  I push down the central locking once I'm inside my car and head back to the city.

  There is just enough time for me to do some more browsing before I have to drive to Lilly's school.

  Although I doubt I will be able to concentrate properly. I still feel the heat of the spotlight alone in my driver's cabin. Glancing through the windows of the cars around me, I realise no one takes any reciprocal notice.

  The traffic lights change to red and I pull the car to a stop. I'm in no hurry, but the aggressive silhouette of the driver in front stares angrily after the pedestrian who had already abandoned the crossing seconds after pushing the wait button.

  I take the opportunity to check my phone again. No new messages.

  In a way, I'm disappointed. I'd rather have more evidence. Something tangible. An explanation of what's been going on. Something to really prove I'm not going mad.

  As I drop my phone back into my handbag, a gleaming blue car pulls up ahead in the lane beside me.

  I catch sight of short pale-blonde hair and slender hands drumming on the steering wheel.

  It's Gemma.

  My eyes immediately take in that she is alone in the car. No ferrying James anywhere today.

  What are the chances? Doesn't she ever work in the office during the day?

  The traffic starts pulling forward and Gemma, at the front of her lane, pulls away into the distance. I tap my indicator right and dive into the stream of traffic going in that direction.

  I don't have a plan. I don't even know why I'm following. I just have a feeling – one that has bothered me ever since James introduced me to his ex-girlfriend years ago.

  I keep three cars behind – enough to remain out of sight, but enough to make me anxious I'm going to lose sight of her. Not that she should recognise my car straight away. Her bright-coloured Jaguar is far more uncommon than my own vehicle.

  The car directly in front of me pauses to allow another three to turn into the road ahead of him, pushing me even further back from Gemma's car.

  The selfish idiot. Just because he is in no hurry to be anywhere, doesn't mean anyone else isn't.

  My quarry turns right and disappears around a corner.

  I sit up straighter and grip the steering wheel harder as I wait impatiently to be able to turn too.

  Luckily, the car in front of me turns the other way and I pull hastily forward and scan for any flash of azure.

  Panic flutters in my chest and I feel as though an opportunity has been snatched away from me when there is no sign of Gemma's car anywhere.

  The flow of traffic moves forward around the roundabout. On a whim, I ignore the signpost pointing in the direction of Sheffield city centre and take the turn-off for the out-of-town residential areas instead.

  I don't know where I'm going, or why Gemma would be going this way, but my heart swells when I see her car up ahead.

  I keep my distance, anxious that it is now only a tiny Suzuki providing coverage in front of me. It seems I'm lucky, however; Gemma doesn't once appear to glance at the traffic behind her.

  We eventually turn onto a road I know so well. I know there is a curved junction up ahead and I feel a tension sink over my body.

  Even before it happens, I realise which way she has in mind. Her left indicator illuminates. Bright white LED's flash with menace.

  It can't be.

  Turning left at the end of this road would lead her right onto the estate
where I grew up. The one my parents still live on.

  What business would my husband's ex-girlfriend have there? It's not like it really leads through to anywhere else...

  My mind is panicking, trying and failing to come up with a plausible reason as to why Gemma would be heading this way.

  My heart hammers and my throat is dry as I focus on hanging back just the perfect amount.

  As I drive past a shabby row of shops, I get unexpectedly caught out by the traffic lights.

  I'm so busy staring at the car two in front of me, that I have to slam my brakes on hard to avoid going into the back of the elderly driver directly ahead.

  Gemma speeds through just as they start to change and she disappears off, leaving me stuck staring at the lights, praying they change back again.

  Come on.

  Please.

  The lights change back with satisfying haste, but I already know it is too late.

  I'm eager to get past the car in front of me and I mentally urge them along as they drive at twenty miles an hour in a thirty zone.

  I almost feel as though they are doing it deliberately, but then they pull over to the side of the road and stare at me through reactor glasses as I zoom off. I even get a cursory beep, but I don't care.

  I follow the winding road that leads into the estate. It looks worse than ever.

  The front faces of each uniform house stare down at me as though with a jaunting leer.

  I follow each road, on high-alert for any sign of Gemma, but she is gone.

  But she must have entered the estate – she turned left.

  Where the hell did she go?

  Row after row of houses are devoid of any sign of her.

  An idea occurs to me, and I am filled with dread at the thought that I am right.

  But I was correct when I thought someone had been in my house...

  Taking a few more familiar turns, I pull onto my parents street. Only when I see that all vehicles are unfamiliar and stationary, do I realise I have been holding my breath.

  I pull past the house with a quick glance and do a sweep around the block. My target seems to have disappeared into thin air.