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Chapter 20
Monday 15th February
It’s Monday morning and I’m at work, although I don’t really want to be. Since the arrival of the letter my ability to sleep is worse than ever and I’m even struggling to eat, my stomach constantly churning, my mind racing. After originally telling Lucinda I might come and visit at the end of next month, I rang her again at the weekend to tell her that I probably won’t make the trip until later in the year after all, for what’s the point in trying to leave the country to escape him now? I was thinking of staying anyway, of course, but the idea of going away was always there as a back-up. Now that it’s clear my every move is being watched, there seems no point in even thinking about it. The idea that there was spyware on my computer has really spooked me, and although the police have assured me that my laptop and tablet are now safe to use, the tech guy who contacted me did, in his words, ‘urge caution’.
‘We’ve put a really strong firewall on them for you,’ he said. ‘But a determined hacker can get through the most watertight security defence. It’s almost impossible to make a system completely impenetrable, so I’d suggest spending minimal time online for the next few weeks until this threat is over, especially with regards to anything that might indicate any plans you might be making for the dates in question. Same on the phone. Just be mindful, OK? Change all your passwords too, on every site you use. None of your accounts appear to have been hacked or anything like that, which fits with the theory that none of this is to do with money or any sort of financial gain. Wish we knew what it was to do with, eh? But you’re as safe online as we can make you right now. Try not to worry.’
Try not to worry.
It’s what Jess, who’s been checking on me almost every day, keeps saying too. But how on earth can I be expected not to worry, when I can see that, despite their outwardly calm exteriors and reassuring words, even the police are more on edge every day? As far as I can tell, there’ve been absolutely no new developments in the past week – the note, it appears, was no help at all forensically – and when Jess, in one of our conversations last week, murmured almost under her breath that this killer seems to be ‘very focused’ on me, my palms began to sweat.
‘It all goes back to one of our biggest questions in all of this,’ she continued. She was sitting opposite me in a little coffee shop just down the road from The Hub, where she’d asked to meet me for a quick catch up. Her hair was loose that day for a change, soft waves around her face, and she was wearing a pale-pink shirt with a slick of matching lipstick. She’s become friendlier lately, more animated, more relaxed around me. I’m starting to really quite like her.
‘And that question is, why the killer contacted you in the first place,’ she said. She’d been stirring milk into her coffee, and she put the spoon down on her saucer and looked at me. She spoke in a hushed tone, scanning the room first to see if anyone might be listening, but the place was virtually empty, just a couple of elderly women sitting at a window table chatting earnestly, and two bored-looking waitresses behind the counter, engrossed in their mobile phones.
‘Why did he warnyou, and not any of the other victims? Why did he get in contactagain, to let you know he’s watching you? It’s almost as if this is some sort of game, and you’re the ultimate prize. You’re special to him in some way. Butwhy? Come on Mary, help me out here.’
She was looking at me intently, her eyes boring into mine, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable again.
‘Jess, I have absolutely no idea. I’d have told you ages ago if I had any sort of theory, wouldn’t I?’
I smiled at her, and picked up my own coffee mug, but my armpits were becoming damp as well as my palms, my mouth dry. The idea that had been forming in my head about the only way to deal with this was crystallising now, taking on a solid form, and it was beginning to terrify me.Could I really do it? Could I really go through with what I was planning? And if I did, could it possibly work?I needed to think some more, to make that final decision, but Jess was still talking, and I realised she was asking me another question.
‘… so have you made a final decision about what you want to do yet, Mary? Because we want to keep you as safe as we can, but we are now quite concerned about the fact that he seems to have found ways of keeping close tabs on you, so we’re going to have to be clever about it if we’re going to take you into some sort of safe custody. If he’s savvy enough to find out where you are, a police guard may not be enough. Who’s to say he won’t, I don’t know, try to blow up the entire building to get to you? Oh gosh, sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that …’
I was gaping at her, aghast.
‘You really … you really think he’d do that?’ I stuttered. ‘Bomb a building and kill everyone in it, just to killme? Bloody hell, Jess.’
She sank her head into her hands for a moment, then looked back up at me, a contrite expression on her face, her cheeks as pink as her shirt.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again. ‘It’s just something that was raised as a possibility at yesterday’s meeting, and I definitely shouldn’t have repeated it to you. I do apologise. It’s all speculation, but it’s just something we need to think about. We can’t risk any more lives. And anyway, we still have, what, six weeks? We might have caught him by then and all this will be behind us, eh?’
I’ve only told Pete about the new note from the killer. I had to tell somebody, and as he’s still the only one other than the police who knows what’s going on, I didn’t think it would matter. And then I almost regretted telling him, because when I did, something a bit weird happened.
‘Shit, Mary. Are you OK? This thing is getting out of hand now. Come here,’ he’d said, and he held out his arms. I stepped towards him and leaned my head on his shoulder, and he hugged me tightly, his body lean and hard against mine, his hands stroking my back, and I felt myself relax for the first time in days, and then … well, then, and this is the weird thing … I felt something else too. I tried to ignore it, but I knew what it was, and it took me by surprise: a little fizz of excitement low in my belly, a sudden, unexpected yearning. I stepped back, smiling at him, telling him I was fine, and that I needed a pee and could he put the kettle on, but once in the bathroom I locked the door and leaned against it, breathing hard.
What on earth was that?
Pete and I have shared hundreds of hugs over the years, but that one felt different, suddenly, and I had no idea why. Why had I suddenly been so aware of the sensation of his body, so close to mine?
I do not fancy Pete, I told myself sternly.That’s the last thing I need. It’s just everything that’s going on at the moment, it’s messing with my head …
I’ve resolved not to think about it. It’s almost definitely stress-related, and when all this is over, I’ll get myself out there, get on one of the dating apps, find someone to have some fun with. It’s been ages since I went on a date, and it’s about time I did something about that. And anyway, even if Iwassuppressing feelings for my housemate – which I’mnot– he has a girlfriend, doesn’t he? And it seems to be getting a bit more serious recently too, Megan making subtle noises about the two of them moving in together.
‘I know we mostly stay at mine, Mary, so it’s really kind of you to let me crash here for a couple of nights,’ she said last week. She’d had a leak in her bathroom, the water coming through the ceiling into the kitchen below, and she’d come to stay at ours while the damage was repaired.
‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘Any time.’
We were sitting at the kitchen breakfast bar after dinner, me with a glass of white wine, her with a peppermint tea, naturally. She was wearing a taupe cashmere sweatshirt and matching leggings, so tight that I could see the outline of the muscles in her calves. She’d been for a run with Pete before dinner, and her hair was still damp from the shower, tied loosely in a topknot, little tendrils escaping. Her make-up free skin was creamy and flawless and yet again I felt self-conscious next to her, my fingers straying to the scar on my cheek, feeling its familiar coarseness.
‘Well, it’s good of you,’ she said. ‘Although I suppose you do have plenty of room in this lovely big house, don’t you? I could be here all the time and you’d probably barely even notice, would she Pete?’
She laughed lightly, and Pete, who was stacking the dishwasher, turned and smiled at her, but he looked a little uncertain.
‘Well, your repairs will be done in a couple of days, won’t they?’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, Mary, we won’t inflict our annoying lovey-dovey couple thing on you for too long.’
‘It’s fine, honestly, I don’t—’ I began, but Megan interrupted me.
