I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Read online

  ‘Is it still on? Tomorrow’s World? I don’t watch telly as much as I used to. Everyone mumbles.’ Ian is still staring

  wide-eyed at the iPad.

  ‘No. I think they axed Tomorrow’s World a very long

  time ago, Ian. But never mind that. I have a surprise for

  you. Now, promise not to pass out on me. Brace yourself

  for a nice surprise…’

  Matthew clicks on his Skype icon and connects to

  Jessie’s number. He’s already done a test run. She doesn’t

  have a lot of cash, apparently, but she does have a smart-

  phone. Discounted contract. It’s five in the morning where

  she lives in Canada, but Jessie has been on the night shift

  as a porter at the local hospital and has promised to be

  standing by.

  There’s the sound of the call connecting and there she

  is. A large, smiley woman in a bright blue dressing gown.

  Matthew adjusts the iPad so that it is pointing directly

  towards Ian again.

  ‘Hi, Dad. Surprise!’

  Ian is at first speechless. For a time he just stares in

  shock at the screen as if witchcraft is being performed.

  His daughter then blows him a kiss, her eyes watery. Ian

  looks at Matthew, his own eyes unblinking, searching

  for an explanation.

  ‘It’s a video call, Ian. It’s done through a special service

  which is free once you have the kit. You can speak. Jessie

  can see and hear you too. It’s not costing me anything so

  go ahead. You can chat now…’

  ‘Jessie?’ He says this as if the image is some kind of

  apparition.

  ‘Yes, Dad. Isn’t this great? I can’t believe it…’

  ‘How about I give you two a few minutes in private

  and get myself a glass of water. You don’t need to touch

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  anything, Ian. Just sit in front of the iPad and talk. Call

  me if the signal gets funny and the picture freezes. That

  happens sometimes. I can fix it.’

  ‘So – how are you, Dad?’ Jessie says. ‘I’ve just got in

  from a shift, so I’m sorry I look so shattered. I’ll be going back to bed later.’

  Matthew stands and moves into the kitchen as Ian

  begins to speak. Slowly at first and then almost gabbling.

  Waving too. Like someone who has just spotted a relative

  in the distance.

  * * *

  Two hours later and Matthew is in a supermarket car park

  to meet Melanie – no time for their usual café. He’s still

  smiling inside, thinking about Ian, when Mel’s car pulls

  up and she heaves herself out slowly.

  ‘Why’s your client going to London? We asked her to

  stay close, Matt. I thought you said she was up for better

  cooperation.’ Mel has her hand pressed into the base of

  her back.

  ‘She is, Mel. She’s just going to stay with her sister

  for the weekend. Good security there, apparently. Even

  better than the Dorset pad. Look – she’s tired and she

  needs a break. She’s on her mobile if you need her. And

  she’s got a meeting for a story on Monday morning. Then

  she’s back.’

  ‘Well, I’m not happy about this. Alice out of the patch

  when we still have no idea where this Alex character is. I

  don’t want to be liaising with the Met on this. You know

  how I hate that.’ She’s watching shoppers across the car

  park collecting trolleys from a bay covered in Perspex

  like a bus shelter.

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  Matthew doesn’t reply. Melanie is now leaning for-

  ward on a railing and she closes her eyes, as if enjoying

  the breeze on her face. He again takes in the huge bump

  and remembers that Sal always felt too hot towards the

  end of her pregnancy. He realises that Mel will get touchy

  if he again voices his concern but he’s worried that she’s

  pushing herself too hard. She’s clearly struggling.

  ‘What if he changes the pattern, Matt? What if it stops

  being Wednesday?’

  Matthew is struck by two things immediately. There’s

  a new urgency and a deep-rooted concern in Mel’s voice.

  She’s very worried about Alice and very worried about the

  missing girl too. A good cop and a good person. Also, he

  finds it uncanny that they still think so alike; it was just

  the same when he and Mel worked together in the force.

  He lets out a long sigh as Melanie opens her eyes and

  turns to read his expression.

  ‘So it’s not just me. You’re worried this stalker could

  change tack too, Matt.’

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Alice

  Leanne’s car positively purrs. I stretch out my legs in the

  huge passenger footwell and think of the contrast with

  my own car – a noisy diesel. I should change it. Yes. Once

  all of this is over, I will change my car. Come to think

  of it, I will change a lot of things in my life.

  It’s Friday and the traffic is bad. Stop, start. Stop, start.

  The radio is tuned to a commercial station with a lot of

  quizzes and caller interaction. Leanne likes this. I don’t.

  I prefer music without all the incessant chit-chat and the

  adverts, but I don’t want conflict with Leanne.

  Every now and again I glance at my sister as she drives,

  and try to find the right shape for my gratitude. Are all siblings like this? I wonder. The truth is I absolutely hate that I need Leanne to rescue me yet again.

  I am remembering the journey back from Scotland

  after the nightmare that was Alex. The tiny plane from

  Inverness airport into Gatwick, then Leanne driving me

  back to her London home. She had been married three,

  maybe four years, and both children were very small.

  Leanne and Jonathan had a live-in nanny to step up when

  they travelled.

  I remember quietly disapproving of Leanne having

  childcare when she didn’t work. I feel guilty now for being

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  so judgemental. What do I know about raising children?

  And what would I have done without Leanne’s support?

  Then – and now.

  ‘I do appreciate this, Leanne.’

  ‘I know. And I also know it’s practically killing you,

  needing my help. Needing anyone’s help.’

  I laugh and Leanne bumps the flat of her left hand

  into my shoulder. ‘Hey. Do you remember that time you

  broke your leg, Alice? How old were you?’

  ‘Twelve.’

  ‘Yeah. And you wouldn’t let anyone near to help you

  with your crutches. You refused to have a bed set up for

  you downstairs and you used to shuffle up and down the

  stairs on your bottom.’

  ‘Christ. I’d forgotten that.’

  ‘Me and Mum haven’t. Absolute bloody nightmare.

  One time you slipped and shot down the stairs so fast,

  we thought you’d have to have the leg reset.’

  I laugh and then wait for her to say it, and I promise

  myself I will not retaliate today – because she’s right.

  ‘Our Little Miss Stubborn.’

  I take out my phone to pass
the time and feel the new

  sensation that marks every single new day as I gaze at the

  home screen. Friday. Five days and counting; five days until I know what he’s going to do next.

  I turn to look out of the window and feel suddenly

  conscious of my breathing. Also my flesh. I am going to

  use cheese wire on you.

  Could they be right? Could it be Alex?

  I just don’t see it myself. Too late, I realised that I never meant anything at all to Alex. I was part of his cover. His

  cloak of respectability. He drew me into his world for one

  reason only – so that he could reassure parents and schools

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  and outsiders that he was happily engaged. A lovely man

  with a lovely fiancée – ipso facto, safe with teenage girls.

  I doubt he gave me a second thought after it all blew

  up. He was furious at the police and the families and

  media. In court he claimed he was in love with the girl

  who ran away with him and that age was just a number.

  He claimed he had been cruelly misjudged. How can I be

  condemned for falling in love?

  He never once mentioned me in court, so it just doesn’t

  fit for me to imagine him stalking me now. Why would he

  bother? Why would he care? And what would he achieve?

  ‘Do you really think it’s Alex, Leanne?’ I am surprised

  to hear myself say this out loud.

  She fidgets with her seat belt before answering. ‘I hon-

  estly don’t know, but I think you’re wrong to so completely

  discount the possibility. He’s had a long time in jail to

  stew. Who knows what someone like that is capable of.

  I just want to make sure you’re safe until they find him.’

  ‘What’s wrong with me, Leanne?’ A long sigh leaves

  my body. I smooth the front of my sweatshirt.

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘Well, for all this to happen to me. To one person. It’s

  ridiculous.’ I take a hairband from my pocket and pull

  my hair up into a ponytail.

  ‘I agree that you’ve had more than your share of bad

  luck. But you of all people should know from your job

  that life doesn’t play fair when it hands out the drama.’

  She turns up the radio and I take the hint, returning to

  my phone.

  I’ve bookmarked several pages on stalking. There’s

  something still nagging at the back of my brain since talk-

  ing to Jack. He’s so right. I really do badly want to write about this. It’s so frustrating having to keep it all inside.

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  I flick from page to page – taking in once more all

  the research I did soon after that very first phone call.

  Most stalkers are not killers, apparently. But many

  killers are stalkers first. Most victims know the stalker.

  Many don’t report the stalking for fear of making the

  situation worse. Many victims complain that the police

  don’t do enough.

  I put a new search into Google and find a link to a

  charity reaching out to victims. It’s not popped up when

  I’ve searched before and so I skim through its home page.

  Its advice page. Its page of statistics. And then I find a page of case histories. There is the story of an actress sent foul messages when she was pregnant. The teacher hounded

  by a former pupil. The nurse who really was the victim

  of an acid attack. Page after page of horrible stories.

  There are lots of quotes from victims and I devour

  them, one after another. There’s this strange creeping

  sensation as I recognise the very precise rollercoaster of

  emotions they all describe. The sense of helplessness. The

  constant looking over your shoulder. The anger. The

  disappointment in yourself at being afraid…

  Then I click through to the website’s blog page.

  Which is when I suddenly have my idea. And I quietly

  send the email that I do not realise in this moment is set

  to make things worse for me.

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  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Him – before

  He is staring through the classroom window to the trees

  beyond the playground. There is a huge bird flying in a

  big circle. Round and round and round.

  He wishes he knew more about birds. It looks like

  some kind of eagle to him, but he once pointed out an

  eagle to his gran and she said it wasn’t an eagle at all. It

  was a red kite. He thought she meant a kite with strings and when he told her this, it made his gran laugh.

  She knows loads about birds and all kinds of animals

  too, from growing up on a farm. She doesn’t really like

  towns and cities. Sometimes they take the bus out of town

  and go for a walk and a picnic in the school holidays.

  His gran always looks really happy on those days and he

  wishes they could run away and live on a farm together.

  Keep sheep and cows and goats instead of her stinky job.

  He turns back to his reading book and traces his finger

  across the page. He’s allowed more difficult books now

  because he’s doing so well. Top of Red Group.

  Miss Henderley comes over to his table and sits on

  the corner.

  ‘Do we have any books on birds, Miss?’ He turns back

  to the window and points to the huge bird which is still

  circling. ‘I’d like to learn the names.’

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  ‘I think that’s a kestrel but I’m not sure. I’ll have a look

  in the library and see what I can find for you. Everything

  OK with you?’

  ‘Yes.’ A lie. But at least it’s Monday and so he’s not

  tired. He won’t fall asleep in class; not today. The problem

  is it’s only two more sleeps until his gran leaves him again.

  Brian says that if he tells his gran their secret – about

  the Lego and the favour – then Brian will have to tell

  the police about his gran leaving him on his own on

  Wednesday nights and she will be put in prison. Brian

  says that old people can’t cope in prison and she’ll prob-

  ably get sick and possibly die. So he mustn’t tell anyone

  anything at all. Brian says the best and safest thing is for

  Brian to pop round and keep him company every week

  when his gran goes out at night. He will bring special

  biscuits and also chocolate from Belgium, which he says

  is the best kind in the world.

  Thinking about Brian makes him want to punch

  things and also to cry, so he pushes the backs of his hands

  into his eyes.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  He opens his eyes to see Andrew next to him staring.

  Andrew repeats the question. ‘What are you doing with

  your hands?’

  ‘I’m trying to see how dark I can make it with my

  hands in my eyes.’

  ‘That’s weird. You’re weird.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ He pushes Andrew in the shoulder but

  Andrew starts to call to the teacher, who is back at her

  desk now.

  ‘He pushed me, Miss. I didn’t do anything but he

  pushed me.’

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  ‘Hey, hey. Both of
you calm down and get back to

  your reading.’

  * * *

  Later, as he walks home from school with his gran, he asks a

  lot of questions about birds. He’s decided that he would like to have a bird of prey and train it to kill Brian. Yes. He will teach it to swoop down and attack him. Then no one would

  know who was to blame – they would think it was just a

  bird gone a bit mad – and his gran would not go to prison.

  ‘Can we have a bird? Like a big eagle or something.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ His gran squeezes his hand as they

  walk. ‘You can’t keep a big bird in a small place like ours.’

  ‘Some people have parrots. They’re quite big.’

  ‘It’s not the same. And anyway – I don’t like the idea

  of birds in cages myself. They need to fly.’

  ‘Why did you have to leave the farm? Why can’t we

  live on a farm?’

  ‘It was only a tenancy. It ran out of money.’

  Money, money. Always money…

  He looks back at the sky and wonders if he can train a

  big bird secretly. In the park or something. He remembers

  a programme on television that said birds of prey eat mice

  and things like that. Maybe he could try to catch a mouse

  and feed a bird in the park. Make it his pet and teach it

  commands. Then he remembers that he’s not allowed to

  play in the park on his own. He does not understand this.

  How come he is not allowed to play out on his own but

  he is allowed to be on his own on Wednesday nights?

  He is thinking about this again at bath time.

  ‘I want my bath on my own again. I’m a big boy now.’

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  His gran looks worried – just like she did the first time

  he asked. Last Thursday. ‘I know you’re a big boy but I

  need to make sure you don’t slip in the bath or anything.

  It’s dangerous.’

  ‘We could leave the door a bit ajar again. But I want

  to do it myself. Every time now.’

  The truth is he wants to scrub his body hard. And he’s

  worried that his gran will somehow know. That she will

  look at his body and guess about the secret with Brian.

  The favours. And if it all comes out she will have to go

  to prison. And what if they make him live with Brian?

  He looks at his gran once more. He thinks of the

  biscuits she bakes on Sundays and of the stories she tells

  about the farm. He thinks of the warm and lovely feel-

  ing when she strokes his hair and he has to fight hard