I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Read online

and Brian is standing there in his dressing gown.

  ‘Everything all right there, Martha? I thought I heard

  something…’ He is looking at his watch, frowning.

  ‘Family emergency,’ his gran says suddenly. ‘All sorted

  now but I had to take the boy with me, obviously.’

  ‘Anything I can help you with?’ Brian’s expression

  is still a little strange. ‘Nothing too serious, I hope? At

  this hour…’

  ‘No, thank you. All sorted. We’re fine now. Just need

  to get to bed.’ His gran sounds a bit flustered but she smiles at their neighbour. ‘Really sorry to disturb you, Brian.’

  His gran then unlocks their door and hurries him

  inside, whispering that he should pop his wet clothes

  into the laundry basket. She will run him a quick bath

  and fetch some clean pyjamas.

  In the bathroom he strips naked and puts all his clothes

  into the big basket in the corner. When he was very little,

  he used to think it was a snake charmer’s basket and his

  gran would let him take it into the sitting room and play

  his little whistle to charm imaginary snakes. Sometimes,

  when she was busy in the kitchen area, he would climb

  into the basket and put the lid on top to surprise her.

  Secretly he suspected that she knew he was in there, but

  she always pretended to be surprised.

  Now he worries that the smell of his clothes will ruin

  the basket. He is very tired and he wishes that they had a

  shower like on the telly. He thinks that would be much

  quicker but he does not say this out loud because he is

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  thinking suddenly about Brian. How he is fat like Stan

  and how he doesn’t like either of them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says as his gran moves into the room to

  join him. She is sitting on the edge of the bath, running

  the taps and adding a little bit of bubble bath. It is pink

  and he worried that it is for girls, but it smells quite nice so he doesn’t say anything. Anyway – he likes bubbles.

  ‘You need to be quick, my lovely. School tomorrow. But

  let’s get you smelling nice and we can forget all about this.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Gran, about making a noise. My friend

  gave me a trick sweet and it made me cough. I didn’t

  mean to—’

  She reaches out to brush his hair and leans forward to

  kiss his forehead but he pulls back. Even with his clothes

  stripped off, he feels a bit sticky.

  ‘What are we going to do next Wednesday, Gran?’

  He is worried about it already and needs to know. He

  watches his gran test the temperature of the water before

  nodding to say that he should step in the other end. The

  water is warm and the bubbles feel lovely. He is so relieved

  for the smell to change.

  He wonders if he should tell his gran what happened

  last Wednesday night when she was working. The knock-

  knocking on the door in the middle of the night. You in

  there? I know you’re in there…

  But his gran doesn’t answer his question about next

  Wednesday. She just keeps checking the temperature of

  the water before turning off the taps. He watches her face

  very closely and is horrified. There is a sort of glistening

  to her eyes and he feels terribly afraid that she is actually going to cry.

  He loves his gran and knows that this is his fault.

  All his fault.

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  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Alice

  ‘So, your real name is Jennifer Wallace. And when pre-

  cisely did you plan to tell us that?’

  I half shrug, lips clamped tight. I stare at DI Melanie

  Sanders and want to ask if they have caught him. Never

  mind Alex Sunningham – the man I try every waking day

  to forget. Have they caught the man on the motorbike?

  The man who made me think just two hours ago that he

  had managed to melt my flesh. To disfigure my face…

  ‘Do you have any idea how much time you’ve wasted,

  Jennifer – concealing this from us? Playing games.’

  Jenny. I want to say that people only ever called me

  Jennifer in anger. Jenny was my real name…

  DI Sanders still looks furious. She has a file in front

  of her on the desk and I find myself daydreaming. I let

  my mind wander because I don’t want to be here. In

  this scene. At this desk. I stare at all the papers on the

  stained, wooden surface, and wonder when the police

  will go paper-free. Or if it’s like a newsroom – just some

  ridiculous pipe dream. We all like to print things off.

  Some of the sheets in front of her seem to feature

  cuttings from Alex’s trial. Others seem to be from his

  prison records, but it’s difficult for me to read them upside 104

  I Will Make You Pay

  down. She clocks me narrowing my eyes, trying to read,

  and tilts the file up at an angle so I cannot see.

  ‘I’m not playing games,’ I say finally, surprised at

  how quiet my voice sounds. Inside I am angry and I had

  expected my voice to be stronger. I am not the criminal

  here. I have done nothing wrong. Alex Sunningham and

  this stalker are the criminals here.

  I want to be angrier and I want my voice to be strong-

  er but what happened earlier, outside the café, has com-

  pletely knocked the wind out of me. I keep thinking

  about Matthew standing over me, pouring water slowly

  over my skin. I close my eyes, reliving those seconds of

  fear that I might go blind.

  There is an odd sound of sucking in air, and when

  I finally open my eyes, DI Sanders is staring at me, her

  expression changed slightly.

  ‘It was terrible – what happened to you earlier, Jennifer.

  We’re still checking all CCTV. Nothing solid yet but

  we’ll find him. Don’t think I’m not sympathetic, but the

  reason I’m wound up here’ – she pauses as if to control

  herself – ‘is that we would have had a head start in this

  inquiry if you’d come clean with us.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with Alex Sunningham,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, right. You’re sure about that, are you? With your

  long experience of police investigations?’

  ‘He’s in jail. And unless he’s escaped…’ I raise my

  eyebrows, aware that my tone is inappropriate; borderline

  sarcastic. ‘I had no reason to tell you.’

  Melanie Sanders shakes her head and looks up at the

  ceiling as if in disbelief. Then she stares at me, unblink-

  ing, and takes a piece of paper from her file and turns it

  around to place it in front of me.

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  It is a photocopy of some kind of parole document.

  Sensitive details – email addresses and names and notes

  have been blacked out – but I am able to get the main

  gist of the message.

  No. This can’t be right.

  ‘But why wasn’t I told about this?’

  ‘Well, you’re not technically one of his victims, are

  you? And even if you were and someone wanted to let

  you know as a pure courtesy, we wouldn’t kno
w where to

  find you. With you changing your name and disappearing

  off the face of the earth.’ She is tapping the document

  with her index finger. ‘He’s been out of jail on licence

  for nearly two months, Jennifer. All agreed by the parole

  board. Alex Sunningham was a good boy inside. Sentence

  shortened for exemplary behaviour.’

  I can feel the blood draining from my face. Again there

  is a change of temperature. Cold. Then hot. Just like that

  first moment I saw the card in the cake box in the office.

  Alex was sentenced to five years. I had never imagined

  he could be let out this soon. I had three years in my head

  as the absolute minimum he would serve; it’s barely been

  two and a half years…

  ‘But there’s been nothing in the papers saying he’s out.’

  I am staring again at the photocopied page. ‘You’re ser-

  iously saying a teacher can seduce two underage girls and

  he’s out in a couple of years? And that’s not in the news?’

  ‘It’s not unusual – a sentence shortened for good be-

  haviour. He’s on licence. Parole conditions. You know

  how it works.’ A pause, during which DI Sanders’ expres-

  sion changes. ‘Though it’s a bit delicate at the moment.

  There’s going to be a press announcement soon.’

  ‘Why? What press announcement? You don’t seriously

  think he could be connected to any of this? These things

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  happening to me?’ I can feel my chin pulling back into

  my neck. ‘Look. My evidence didn’t put Alex away. He

  has no reason to target me.’

  ‘Do you seriously not realise that he should be topping

  our list of possible suspects, Jennifer? You – an intelligent journalist. You are aware of what this man is capable of?

  Lying? Deceit? No moral compass. We specifically asked

  you if there were any ex-boyfriends we should look at.

  Anyone who might have a motive; who might be tricky.’

  I put my hands up to my head, a million thoughts

  suddenly swirling around my brain. I hadn’t mentioned

  Alex because I thought he was still in jail. And I wanted

  to pretend I had never known him; that I wasn’t this naive,

  stupid, gullible mug who was taken in by him.

  And now, hands still clutching my head, I am back in

  court suddenly, trying to remember the way he looked at

  me. Was there blame? Did he look like a man who might

  one day blame me? Turn on me?

  ‘No, no. I just don’t see it. He blamed the girl’s fam-

  ily. The one he ran off with. They were the ones who

  drove the prosecution and persuaded their daughter to

  give evidence. I genuinely had no idea what was going

  on. I looked a complete idiot, if you must know. And

  you’re right. He has no moral compass but I don’t see

  him as violent. Someone who would ever do the things

  this guy is doing.’

  ‘Prison can change people, Jennifer. They can make

  contacts and they can get steered in a darker direction.

  He’s had a long time to stew about this. We have to find

  him. And you have to start being one hundred per cent

  straight with me about everything.’

  ‘Find him?’ I feel my head pulling backwards again as I

  take this in. What does she mean – find him? I’d imagined 107

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  they would have him in custody. If the police seriously

  suspect him, wouldn’t they want to immediately check

  alibis against my nightmare Wednesdays – inquiries which

  I strongly suspect will simply discount him.

  Suddenly the door to the interview room opens and

  a woman in civilian clothes steps in to whisper a mes-

  sage to DI Sanders, who nods. The other woman then

  leaves the room.

  ‘Your boyfriend Tom is here, Jennifer.’

  ‘I would prefer it if you called me Alice still. It’s my

  second name. My birth name. I’m Alice now.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see. I’m told Tom is throwing his legal

  weight around. He’s making a fuss at reception, demand-

  ing to see you. He’s been told that he will have to wait.

  I take it he knows all about this Alex? About your past?

  Your name change?’

  I move my left hand up to my ear, pulling at the

  lobe. I can feel my head sort of twitching. All the tension

  building inside me.

  I don’t want to think about Tom yet; about how the

  hell I’m going to explain myself to him. I am trying to

  deal with the echo of Melanie Sanders’ voice, which

  makes no sense.

  ‘Why did you say find him? Surely the probation ser-

  vice knows where Alex is?’

  108

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Alice – before

  After the concert finished – that night I met Alex – tea

  and coffee and cakes were served by a team of volunteers,

  supporting the charity. I glanced around, disappointed

  to find no option of wine. And then a tad guilty at the

  longing for a nice glass of Shiraz.

  I interviewed a few of the performers and a represent-

  ative of the charity, all the while pretending that I was not aware of Alex watching me. He had that distinctive gaze

  of a man who is confident of his own attractiveness, and

  from across the room he was clearly willing me to look

  back at him. For as long as possible, I resisted. I planned

  instead to head home for that glass of wine.

  And then finally, as people began to drift away, he

  was suddenly beside me, leaning in to whisper, ‘Do you

  like dolphins, Jennifer?’

  ‘Jenny. Everyone calls me Jenny. And of course I like

  dolphins. Isn’t it illegal not to like dolphins?’

  ‘So, are you free now?’ He paused. ‘Or not?’

  I was entirely thrown by this. Up this close he smelled

  wonderful – expensive aftershave. Though I had been

  expecting an approach, I thought any invitation would

  be casual – for a drink one night in the future. I was not

  expecting this immediacy. I didn’t like that he was so

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  sure of my interest, and tried to hold on to my resolve

  to play it cool; I tried to think of the delicious sound of

  pouring my glass of Shiraz at home.

  ‘Warm clothes. Flask of coffee. Dolphins.’ He tilted

  his head. ‘Interested?’

  It was about 9.30 p.m. and exceptionally cold out-

  side. I guessed now precisely what he meant; there was a

  famous dolphin-watching spot just a few miles away. I’d

  been there several times when I first took the job but had

  no luck. I wondered how he expected to spot anything

  in the dark. I imagined the wind and the cold versus my

  rich red glass of Shiraz.

  In my head I said: No. Definitely not. But I made the mistake of turning to look at him so that ‘Yes’ spilled out

  of my mouth. Later, huddled in two huge blankets stored

  in the boot of his car, we sat on a bench, and after half an

  hour miraculously saw three dolphins in the moonlight.

  You couldn’t make it up.

 
I was lost.

  We didn’t sleep together that first night but we did

  the second. And the third. And the fourth. Two weeks

  later I moved into his cottage, which was set high on a

  hill with a magnificent view of the sea. It was reckless,

  entirely out of character for me and also just a little bit

  magnificent.

  As the light faded each evening, I would stand at the

  bedroom window, looking out for dolphins in the distance,

  and he would slip his arms around my waist and rest his

  chin on my shoulder. A quiet and entirely unexpected

  contentment.

  ‘But you hardly know him,’ Leanne protested on the

  phone when I broke the news that we were already living

  together. I sent her a picture on Messenger plus a clip of

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  I Will Make You Pay

  him playing his Steinway grand piano in his music room.

  Jeez, she replied. Does he have a twin?

  And so I fell under the spell of Alexander Sunningham

  with not a clue what lay ahead for me. We cooked together,

  laughed together and took long walks in thick coats and

  ridiculous woollen hats.

  I was on a trainee contract at the local paper on a

  modest salary and very soon felt the financial as well

  as the emotional benefits of sharing a home. Alex was

  a freelance piano teacher – tutoring pupils of all ages.

  One day a week, he went into the local primary school

  to teach on site and to accompany the pupils learning

  violin, saxophone and other orchestral instruments. He

  was also regularly booked to accompany pupils for their

  various exams. The rest of the time, he taught on his

  Steinway at home.

  He worked haphazard hours to tie in with his pupils,

  and I became used to arriving home from my shift to

  find a parent drinking coffee in our sitting room, while

  their child bashed away on the keys with Alex alongside

  in the music room next door.

  I had never lived with anyone before and was shocked

  how easily I adjusted to it, mostly because we let each other lead our own professional lives. The house, a beautiful

  red-brick terrace, had been left to Alex by his grandmother

  – along with the grand piano – so we were better off than

  most in the same stage of their relationship and careers.

  It meant we took trips. London. Edinburgh. Barcelona.

  Rome. And then eight months into our relationship, Alex

  took me on a surprise trip to Sorrento and proposed. And

  I surprised myself by saying yes.