In Her Image Page 9

  ‘Are you at home?’ I ask, knowing damn well she isn’t.

  ‘No, I’m away with work in Plymouth. Why’s that?’

  ‘Oh. No reason,’ I say. I struggle to hide my disappointment.

  ‘Is something wrong? Has something happened? I can come back,’ she says. I can now hear that she’s had a couple of drinks, too, so I find that very unlikely. It’s a hell of a walk from Plymouth.

  ‘No, nothing. Well yes, but I can tell you whenever you’re back home. It’s nothing urgent. Honestly.’

  ‘I can come back, Alice,’ she says again. ‘I’ll get on a train or something. If you need me I’ll be there.’

  I close my eyes and try not to cry. For all her hard-arse attitude, Mandy’s an absolute gem. She’s the only person I can completely rely on at all times.

  ‘Honestly, it’s fine. I’ll tell you all about it when you’re back.’

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ she says. ‘Afternoon time probably.’ There’s a pause. ‘Is it Kieran?’

  ‘No, no. It’s probably nothing. Honestly. You know how I am at the moment. Things just affect me. I thought maybe if you were home I’d pop over, but there’s really nothing urgent.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Sure sure.’

  ‘Well make sure you pop over tomorrow,’ she says, after an audible slurp of her drink. ‘We’ll sort out details later, yeah?’

  I force a smile through one corner of my mouth.

  ‘It’s a date.’

  Just speaking to Mandy made me feel a little more comfortable. At the time. With the phone call over, though, I’m back to feeling alone again. I need human companionship.

  Before I even realise what I’m doing, the ringing tone of the phone sounds in my ear just before Kieran answers.

  ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘You alright?’

  ‘Not especially. Bad day at work. Listen, I really need someone right now.’

  I don’t know why I’ve called him. And I don’t know why I’m saying what I’m saying. But I’m not stopping myself either.

  ‘Sure. So what, do you want to go out? Get a drink? I’ve not eaten yet.’

  I think about this for a moment. Do I really want to be going out in town? No. Especially not with Gavin seemingly able to snap pictures of me in bars. I just want to hide away somewhere, where no-one can find me. And I don’t want to be here at home. I don’t feel safe.

  ‘Can I come to yours?’ I ask. I know it might come across as rude, but right now I don’t care.

  ‘Course you can,’ he replies. ‘Do you want picking up?’

  Kieran lives on the other side of town. It’s not an easy place to get to without a car.

  ‘I’ll call a taxi,’ I say. ‘See you soon.’

  I call a cab, then throw together an overnight bag. I haven’t told Kieran I’m staying yet, but I figure I’ll drop that one on him when I get there. I’ll tell him something about the boiler going. I really don’t want to go into any details about Gavin or the photos.

  I look around to see if there’s anything I want to bring with me. The thought of leaving the house makes everything seem vulnerable. What if he comes back? What if he starts going through my stuff, taking things? I can’t possibly take all my belongings with me.

  I take out my phone and quickly tap out an email to PC Day, using the email address on the card he gave me when he first came over. I let him know I won’t be at home tonight because I don’t feel safe here. I figure this way I’ve put it in writing and covered myself should anything else happen while I’m gone. I doubt it will, though. He didn’t touch anything but the photo frame. He’s after me, not my stuff.

  The thought makes me shudder.

  I hear a beep from outside, and peer round the curtain. The taxi’s waiting for me. I raise a hand to acknowledge its arrival, grab my overnight bag and lock up the house.

  I feel completely exposed on the journey to Kieran’s. I watch every car, every person, every window with suspicion. Gavin could be anywhere, just lurking, watching. I feel sick at the thought. Every time the car behind us turns off into a side road, I relax a little more, feeling the tension release from my shoulders.

  When we finally arrive at Kieran’s, I pay the driver, get out and ring Kieran’s buzzer on the main door to the block of flats. Even something so small and insignificant as using an intercom system again sends shivers down my spine.

  I hear a click as Kieran picks up the phone. ‘Come up,’ he says, before hanging it up again, the front door buzzing to let me know it’s now unlocked.

  A few moments later I’m in Kieran’s flat. It’s only the second time I’ve been here. The first time was to drop off some stuff he left at mine after we broke up.

  He knows better than to ask how I am, and instead asks if I’d like a drink. ‘Tea? Coffee? Wine? Orange juice? Water?’ he asks, casually throwing wine into the middle of the mix in the hope that he won’t feel like he’s pressuring me into drinking on my medication, but that the mention won’t be conspicuous by its absence either.

  ‘I know it’s bad, but I really could use a drink right now,’ I say, making it obvious which one I want. ‘One of those days.’

  Except it isn’t one of those days, is it? It isn’t the sort of day most people will ever have, never mind one they’ll have regularly. But how can I tell Kieran that? I can’t.

  We sit down and watch TV for a bit. I don’t know how much wine we drink. It’s not enough to feel drunk as such, but I can definitely sense myself feeling more relaxed and less anxious.

  ‘So,’ Kieran says, as if he’s been avoiding the question all night. ‘What happened today?’

  I look down at the floor. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  He pauses for a moment. ‘Alright. No problem. But you know I’m here for you if you want to talk, okay? Always.’

  I didn’t realise how close I was to the edge until he said that. And I can tell from the way he said it that he means every single word. Before I know what’s happening, I can feel the tears rolling down my face as Kieran comes over and embraces me in a hug.

  ‘Hey. It’s alright. Don’t worry. It’s alright,’ he says, his warm hands rubbing my back.

  I pull my nose back from his shoulder, feeling the side of my face rub against his, the stubble reassuringly familiar. My mouth finds his, and it barely leaves it for the rest of the night.

  29

  Kieran has many faults, but he always knows how to make people feel comfortable. When I woke up in his bed this morning I was expecting it to be awkward. But he’s already downstairs, making coffee and breakfast.

  ‘Morning. You want something to eat?’ he says, in a way which sounds friendly and comforting, yet not are we back together now? I think even he knows that isn’t on the cards. At least I hope so.

  ‘I’ll be alright,’ I say. ‘I’ll grab something on the way into work to eat there. I’ll be late otherwise.’

  The atmosphere takes on an awkward feel.

  ‘Listen,’ Kieran says. ‘I don’t want you to feel that we have to—’

  ‘No, I know,’ I reply, putting on my boots and scarf.

  ‘I just didn’t want you to think that I—’

  ‘It’s fine, Kieran. Honestly. We’re both adults. I’m sure we’ll manage.’

  The truth is probably even harsher than that, though. The fact of the matter is that I have bigger problems on my plate right now.

  I consider popping home on the way to work to change, but the thought fills me with dread. If I’m honest, I’m petrified as to what I might find. I’d rather just sit out the day at work, wearing the same clothes I wore last night. I couldn’t care less about showering. I just want to get out of here and keep away from my house for as long as I can. I certainly don’t want to go back there alone.

  I need Mandy around. She should be on her way back from her work trip this morning. I know the company car she was given has built-in hands-free, so I decide to give her a call.

  ‘Yo
yo,’ she says, as she answers my call. ‘How’s it hanging?’

  ‘Bit chirpy for this time of the morning aren’t you?’ I reply.

  ‘So would you be if you’d had a night’s kip on that hotel bed. It was like sleeping on a fucking cloud, Alice. Seriously.’

  I decide against telling her about the bed I slept in last night. ‘You on your way back then?’

  ‘Yep. And get this — no work, either. Nigel marked up that none of the team will be in today because most of them are heading on to meet with a client in Gloucester on the way back. Lucky ol’ me wasn’t invited, but they’ve still marked me down as away on work business. Full pay, motherfucker!’

  Sometimes I wonder how Mandy managed to even get a high-paying job like the one she has, never mind how she manages to keep it. I can only imagine she takes on a completely different personality when she’s at work.

  ‘Nice,’ I say. ‘So you’re free later?’

  ‘Free as a... free thing,’ she says, before yelling ‘Cunt!’ at the top of her voice. ‘I fucking knew he was going to do that.’ I hear a blast of her horn followed by the roar of her engine. ‘Learn to fucking indicate! Sorry, Alice. Where was I?’

  ‘You’re free as a free thing,’ I say, choosing to completely ignore her road rage.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah. So what do you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t mind. I just want to get out of the house.’

  There’s a moment of silence as Mandy makes the connections in her brain. ‘Is this about last night? When you called?’

  ‘Yeah. It is. Listen, I don’t want you to go mad, alright? I’m telling you this because I want you to know and I want your support. Your emotional support, I mean. I don’t need you trying to fight fights for me.’

  ‘Depends who I’m fighting.’

  ‘Mandy, I’m serious.’

  ‘Alright, alright,’ she says. ‘No fighting.’ I can tell she means it.

  I take a deep breath. ‘When I got home from work last night, I went into my living room. I keep three photos in frames on my mantelpiece. One of them had been changed. Someone put one of the photos Gavin took of me in there.’

  It’s quiet as Mandy digests this. ‘Someone?’

  ‘Well, yeah. The only person who had those photos is Gavin. Apart from me, I mean, and I didn’t put it there. I never even printed any of them. I wanted rid of them after he started sending those weird ones.’

  ‘Wait. So you’re saying he’s been in your house?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Yeah. I think so.’

  ‘Fucking hell, Alice.’

  ‘I know. So I don’t really want to be at home right now.’

  ‘What, did you go to the police? What are they doing about it? They need to fucking find him and, I don’t know, kill him or something.’

  ‘Slow down,’ I say. ‘Yes, I went to the police. And I don’t know what they’re doing about it. A woman officer came out. I’ve got a crime reference number.’

  Mandy sounds incredulous. ‘A crime reference number? Yeah, that’ll stop him dead in his tracks, that. Listen, you don’t need to go home. You can come and stay with me. They might not be taking you seriously, but I am.’

  ‘Thanks, Mandy,’ I say. I don’t think I can stay at hers long-term, but it might be an option until all this blows over. Until I feel comfortable staying in my own home.

  ‘But you need to get back onto them. You need to make them take you more seriously.’

  I sigh. ‘How? I can’t tell them what to do. I guess in their eyes there’s no physical risk to me, so they haven’t prioritised it.’

  ‘No risk to you?’ Mandy says forcefully, her voice straining. ‘He’s been in your house!’

  ‘I know.’

  I can’t work out how to tell her that I sense the police don’t believe me, that they think I did it myself.

  ‘Listen, Alice. You need to get down to that police station and demand to speak to someone. You’ve got to make them take you more seriously.’

  ‘I’ve got to get to work,’ I say. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘No. No thinking about it. Seriously, Alice. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. You need to get to that police station. Now. If you don’t, I will. I’ll never forgive myself if you don’t and something happens to you.’

  For the first time, I sense real danger and worry in Mandy’s voice. It’s not like her. I realise that I need to take control.

  30

  I ring work to let them know I’ll be late in. I don’t offer any more information. Sometimes other things have to come first.

  When I get to the police station, I’m surprised by how small it seems inside. I imagine there are corridors of back offices and things that I can’t see, but the public-facing area is tiny. It feels clinical, and the counter-to-ceiling bulletproof glass does seem rather drastic.

  I pass a piece of paper with my crime reference number through the slot at the bottom of the screen. A grumpy, middle-aged Afro-Caribbean man looks up at me. There are perhaps a dozen desks behind him, with a couple of officers milling around, one or two on the phone.

  ‘This is my crime reference number,’ I say. ‘I’d like to speak to a detective.’

  ‘Okay, do you have an appointment?’ the man asks, the tone of his voice implying that he knows damn well I don’t, and I’m not going to get one either.

  ‘No. There’s been some new developments, though, and I’m really starting to worry. I need to speak to someone.’

  ‘Can you tell me a bit more?’ he says, reading something off his computer screen. I presume it’s the case notes he’s got from my crime reference number.

  ‘I’ve got a stalker,’ I say, using the word for the first time. ‘And he’s going to weirder and weirder lengths to frighten me. He’s been in my house while I was at work. I don’t know how, but he has. And I’m too scared to even go back into my own home.’ I can hear my voice cracking as I speak, as I verbalise my fears for the first time. ‘I think he’s trying to harm me. I think he’s going to hurt me, physically.’

  ‘Okay, I can get an officer to call you if that helps. If you have more information that isn’t already on here, they can log that and—’

  ‘Please. I need to speak to someone now. I need to speak to a detective.’

  The officer shuffles in his seat and leans forward towards the glass barrier. ‘Ma’am. There are certain procedures in place that we have to follow, I’m afraid. All reports and threats are graded, and the response we make is according to that perceived threat. If you—’

  ‘Please,’ I say again. ‘Please. I’m finding it difficult to put into words, but I think there’s a serious and imminent threat to my life. Please, just give me five minutes to speak to someone.’

  He looks at me for a moment, presumably trying to work out whether I’m a fruitcake. He picks up the phone next to him, presses a couple of buttons and waits for an answer.

  ‘Yeah, hi. There’s a lady at the front desk who wants to speak to someone from CID. It’s with reference to an ongoing case. She says there’s been a development. I don’t have full info, but it could be an Osman.’

  I don’t know what he means by an Osman. I can only assume it’s some sort of police slang.

  He replaces the receiver on the phone.

  ‘Someone’ll be down in a moment. Take a seat.’

  I do as he says. The crime prevention posters on the walls seem designed to scare. I’m sure they’re meant to warn and reassure, but in my current mental state they do nothing of the sort. I try to keep my eyes on the brown tiled floor instead.

  It’s almost fifteen minutes before a woman finally comes down and introduces herself as Detective Inspector Jane McKenna. She looks like the sort of woman who takes her job far too seriously. Right now, that’s exactly what I need.

  ‘Sorry for the wait,’ she says. ‘I had to look at the case notes and familiarise myself with everything. Saves you having to tell me the whole story from the start. Under normal cir
cumstances we get a bit of warning,’ she says, in a way which most people might not spot, but tells me this situation is in no way conventional. Not only that, but she doesn’t appreciate it either.

  She takes me through a security door, down a corridor that’s windowed on one side, showing the desk-bound officers hard at work on the other side. She guides me through into a small room, which I presume must be an interview room. It looks more like the sort of places you see on TV, where they interview suspects rather than witnesses. It’s only a small station, though, so I assume it’s all they’ve got.

  ‘So you mentioned that there’ve been some new developments since you last spoke to an officer,’ she says, glancing down at some printed papers.

  ‘Uh, yes,’ I say. ‘The man, Gavin Armitage. He’s been in my house. He put a photo in a frame on my mantelpiece. No-one else has those photos. Only him and me. And I’m the only person with a key to my house.’

  ‘You told our officers this already, though, didn’t you? It says here we attended the scene yesterday.’

  I sigh. ‘I know. But I just... I don’t think she took me seriously. She kept going on about the fact there was no sign of forced entry, and that I could have made a mistake. But I know I didn’t. I know.’

  ‘Our officers do have to consider every possibility, Miss Jefferson. I’m sure you can understand.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But I know what happened. That photo wasn’t there yesterday morning. I don’t even own a copy of it. I’ve never printed any. I don’t even have a printer!’

  I can feel myself getting more and more worked up, and I try to calm my breathing.

  ‘Are you okay?’ McKenna asks. ‘Do you want a glass of water?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I just... No-one seems to be taking me seriously.’

  ‘We take all reports of crime seriously, I can assure you. But we also need to work with what presents itself. The notes show no forced entry, no unlocked windows, no damage to the property. Yet you say you’re the only person with a key. I’m not saying nobody believes you, of course not, but if there’s no sign of forced entry we can’t treat it as breaking and entering.’