I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Read online

  would recognise them on the wedding day.’ Matthew is

  turning a sugar sachet over and over between his thumb

  and fingers. ‘Is it just attention he wants, this Alex? A

  narcissist? To show that he still controls the girl?’

  ‘God knows. But they have so many weddings every

  day at Gretna – maybe the staff wouldn’t have recognised

  them. Anyway. No matter. The local police are check-

  ing all holiday rentals and CCTV in the area to try to

  find them. If no luck, the last resort is we turn up for

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  the wedding tomorrow and arrest him there before the

  ceremony.’

  ‘Will you go up there yourself? I thought the whole

  idea was for this to be a desk job before your mat leave.’

  ‘Technically, yes. But you know me. I like to be

  hands on, though I’m not entirely sure about Scotland at

  the moment. The police local to the girl have their own

  inquiry obviously, so it’s a bit of a liaison nightmare. But

  I’m arguing priority because of the stalker investigation.

  We’ll see. Either way, I’m looking forward to interview-

  ing Mr Alex Sunningham about Alice when it’s my turn.’

  ‘You really think he’s our stalker, Melanie?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  183

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Alice

  It’s Tuesday and I’m still in London – more tired today

  because it’s nudging too close to Wednesday for me to

  sleep. I stare at the cocoa-leaf pattern on my cup of coffee

  and then across at the violinist. Even for Covent Garden,

  which always has a good class of busker, he’s exceptional.

  He plays the violin as if it’s an extension of his own body.

  Royal Academy of Music, or something like that? Yes.

  This is probably how music students pay their way through

  college. And then there is that inner shudder as I think

  of music in general. Alex at his grand piano…

  ‘He’s good, isn’t he?’ Claire follows my gaze to the

  musician before turning back to our table. ‘So – are you

  feeling a bit better, Alice?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry about earlier. I have no idea where that

  came from.’ I don’t yet know quite what to make of Claire,

  but I’m mortified to have dissolved into tears earlier.

  ‘Don’t apologise. I should have suggested somewhere

  more private. It’s normally quieter here at this time of

  day, actually. I’m just sorry the office was busy. If there

  wasn’t a meeting going on, we could have found a quiet

  corner. We’d love a bigger place but we’re trying to keep

  overheads down.’

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  ‘My fault. Short notice.’ I use my teaspoon to scoop

  some of the frothy milk into my mouth, then sip at the

  coffee proper. It’s smooth. Nice. Despite my embarrassment

  earlier, I’m pleased to have arranged this meeting. Talking

  to Claire about what’s going on is such a welcome release.

  ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to be with someone

  who actually understands.’

  Claire reaches forward to hold my hand briefly. ‘I

  know. That’s precisely why we do this. Everyone says

  the same when they first contact the charity. It’s the most

  isolating and frightening thing that can happen – stalking.

  We do what we can. There’s no pretending we have a

  magic solution, but the one thing we can promise is that

  we understand completely.’

  ‘So, do you not see much of your sister these days,

  Claire?’

  She’d explained on the phone to me previously that

  she set up the charity after her own sister, Lisa, was the

  subject of a real acid attack by a fellow student at univer-

  sity. He’d imagined a relationship that never existed and

  had stalked Lisa throughout their first and second years.

  Cards and presents and endless text messages. He kept

  turning up at all her lectures and social events, and her

  flat too. Lisa reported the pestering to both the police and

  the pastoral team at the university but no one seemed able

  to help. The university merely issued the other student

  with warnings. The police seemed to think the problem

  would pass.

  Then in the third year, in the run-up to exams, the

  stalker turned up at her flat and threw acid at her as she

  answered her door. He was jailed. Lisa was left with in-

  juries which required months of surgery.

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  ‘She decided to go abroad in the end,’ Claire says.

  ‘She said she’d never feel safe in this country again. He’s

  out of prison now, so I don’t blame her.’

  ‘So you lost your sister, in effect?’

  ‘We Skype. I visit her when I can. But yeah – I feel

  I lost her because of him.’

  ‘So this is why you set up the charity? Why you do

  this?’ I am in work gear now. What a story.

  Claire nods. ‘Someone has to. I managed to secure

  some funding for four years. We’re into our third year and

  it’s a struggle. Not sure what we’ll do when the funding

  runs out.’

  I pause. I’d really like to help but I don’t want to jump

  in too soon. I’ve explained how badly I want to write

  about my experience. To connect with others. To try to

  make society realise just how bad it is for victims to go

  through this hell.

  ‘So what do you think about me writing for your

  blog anonymously?’

  ‘We’d love it, of course. Someone with your writing

  talent and personal experience would be such a help to

  the charity. But I need to be sure it won’t make things

  worse for you, Alice. While the case is live, I mean.’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t see how anything can get worse,

  Claire. I won’t include details which could in any way

  identify me. I won’t mention the Wednesday angle; I just

  want to put my feelings out there. On record.’

  ‘We normally only run personal stories once a case

  is resolved. Not live. I’m just a bit worried the stalker

  might see it. Get off on it. We don’t want to give the

  creep what he wants.’

  I take in a deep breath. ‘Yes – I do see it’s a legitim-

  ate worry. And it’s precisely what my editor says. But I’m

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  climbing the walls not being able to put my feelings out

  there. I suppose I could start writing and we could hold

  the material for a bit if you like? I would just feel so much better if I could find an outlet for this. A platform which

  might actually help other people too.’

  ‘OK.’ Claire finishes her drink and hands me her card.

  ‘This has my personal contact details. Email me your first

  piece and let’s talk again. If I’m happy it won’t identify

  you or compromise the police inquiry, we could run it

  on the website with social media links to our factsheets.

  Any way of getting our advice out to more victims is a

  good thing.’


  ‘Great. It’s a good website,’ I add. ‘I certainly found

  it very helpful.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad. And you feel you have enough

  support? I mean, I realise it’s Wednesday tomorrow.’ Claire

  looks graver suddenly.

  ‘I’m travelling back to the south-west later this even-

  ing. I have to decide whether to stay at my sister’s house,

  my boyfriend’s house or my own tonight.’

  ‘So where do you think you’ll feel safest, Alice?’

  ‘The locks have been changed at the house I rent.

  I’ve had extra security installed. I should be OK there.’

  ‘And have you got a personal alarm?’

  ‘I’ve got one that sounds a siren when you press it.’

  ‘No, I don’t just mean noise. I mean an alarm that

  triggers action.’

  ‘I’m not following you.’

  ‘An alarm that links directly to the police or a call

  centre.’

  ‘I had no idea such a thing existed.’

  Claire shakes her head as if exasperated.

  ‘What, Claire?’

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  ‘I just think the police should issue them as standard.

  Run this kind of service. They’ve been known to do it

  in rare cases. When it’s someone high-profile.’

  ‘I’ve never even heard of this kind of alarm.’

  ‘Well, there are lone worker alarms on the market

  already that you can wear around your neck. Get straight

  through to a call centre who can ring the police. We’re

  piloting our own version actually, especially for stalking

  cases, but I’m not ready to say too much about that yet.’

  ‘Why not? That sounds fantastic. Exactly what victims need.’

  ‘It’s early days. Expensive to road-test. Not something

  I’m sure the charity should be investing in.’

  ‘Would you mind sending me details? At least let me

  look into it.’ I keep thinking how fabulous it would feel to

  wear something like that around my neck at home. One

  quick button for help instead of fumbling for a phone.

  ‘I’ll have a think, Alice. I’ll email you some links to

  the options already on the market if you like, and some

  details of what we’re piloting ourselves.’

  ‘OK.’

  And then a text buzzes on my phone. Matthew Hill.

  I feel a jolt inside.

  Some good news. We may be close to finding Alex.

  188

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Him – before

  His gran has made him a birthday cake. Seven candles.

  ‘What’s that mark on your arm?’ His gran stretches

  out her hand to try to see better, but he pulls the cuff of

  his jumper down.

  ‘Nothing. Just scratches from the class guinea pig. He

  got a bit weird when I was cleaning him out.’

  He keeps his thumb on the cuff of his jumper so that

  it won’t ride up as he takes a deep breath for the candles.

  ‘OK then. Don’t forget to make a wish, my lovely boy.’

  He lets out the huff of air and wishes that Brian were

  dead. He pictures him in a big pool of blood on the

  floor. He imagines hitting him with something hard. A

  hammer. Yeah. Smash, smash, smash, right into his brain.

  ‘Now you mustn’t tell me the wish or it won’t come

  true.’

  ‘I know that. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘OK, OK. Careful with your tone, my lovely. I know

  it’s your birthday, but we don’t want an argument, do we?

  I just want a nice day for you.’

  ‘My friends have parties.’ He feels guilty as he says this

  but he can’t help himself. He is sick of being different from his friends. All their stupid questions all the time. Why do you have weird jumpers? Does your gran knit them? Ha ha.

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  He would love to have a party. Balloons. Games.

  Normal stuff.

  ‘Yes, well. I’m really sorry about that. I don’t think I

  could manage that on my own. But we’re going to the

  cinema later, remember? And you can have treats. Popcorn

  and sweets. I’ve saved some money specially.’

  It’s Saturday. His gran isn’t working today. He looks

  into her face and sees the sadness in her eyes and he feels

  even more guilty. He doesn’t understand how he can

  love her so much most of the time and feel cross with

  her too. It’s weird.

  ‘Sorry. I’m really sorry.’ He puts his arms around her

  waist, still holding on to the cuff of his jumper. He uses a

  compass that he found in school. Mostly he just scratches

  the skin a little bit, but sometimes when he gets really angry he digs deeper into the flesh until there is blood. He doesn’t know why but it feels quite good for a bit. He wants to stop

  doing it because he’s worried the teacher or his gran will

  find out. It doesn’t really look like guinea pig scratches.

  Brian knows.

  What are those marks on your arm?

  Nothing.

  You need to stop doing that or I’ll need to speak to someone.

  About your gran. Maybe I should tell the police after all.

  Maybe I should tell them about you, Brian.

  Now, don’t be getting silly. We’ve talked about this. No one will believe a little boy. And you want to see your gran in jail?

  You really think she could cope with that?

  ‘Shall we go and say hello to Grandad? Eat the cake

  outside in a napkin?’ He has brightened his tone and he

  knows that his gran will be pleased with this suggestion.

  He wants to make up for being grumpy about not hav-

  ing a party.

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  Sure enough, her eyes look all teary. She glances to

  the window. The sky is blue. No clouds at all. He tries

  very hard not to think about Brian. About how he could

  get a hammer and what it might be like in jail…

  ‘That’s a lovely idea. Thank you, my little soldier.

  He’d like that very much.’

  Outside they sit together on Grandad’s bench at the

  edge of the patch of grass. He looks up to the window

  of their flat. Every morning, from up there, his gran

  looks down at this bench as she makes their cups of tea

  for breakfast.

  ‘Morning, my love,’ she says every single day to the

  bench.

  It has a plaque on the wood which his grandad’s friends

  made. All his customers from his cobbler’s shop. Gran

  says he used to mend shoes and handbags and belts. He

  could stitch leather like no one else. He had one of the

  shops under the flats, and people used to travel from all

  over town with the things that needed mending.

  ‘Tell me again about Grandad.’

  ‘Your grandad was the best kind of man. Tall and

  handsome and with a big smile and a big, big heart. He

  looked after me and he looked after your mum when she

  was little. He worked all day long in his shop and he used

  to sit out here on the bench to have his lunch. Sandwiches

  and a flask of tea.’

  ‘Why didn’t he come up to the flat for his lunch?’

  ‘Sometimes he did, but mostly he liked the fresh air.

  He told me that
he liked to breathe in the fresh air and

  look up at the trees and the birds.’

  ‘I like birds. Was it this bench he had his lunch on?’

  ‘No. That one rotted away. But they put new ones

  in, and when your grandad died, his customers put the

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  plaque up to remember him. That’s why it’s so special.

  Why I like it here so much.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s

  why I never want to live anywhere else. I can see your

  grandad’s bench from the window. And I can picture

  him sitting here with his sandwich and his flask. It’s like

  he’s still nearby.’

  ‘Will I have a heart attack one day?’

  ‘No, lovely. Course not. Your grandad was just very

  unlucky.’

  ‘So is that why we have no money? Because of gran-

  dad’s heart attack?’

  ‘Eat your cake, my birthday boy, and don’t be worry-

  ing about money. Not today. He wouldn’t want that. And

  I told you – I saved a little bit of money for the cinema

  today. Birthday treat.’

  ‘Can you save enough money to stop working? So

  you can stay home and not do the night shift?’

  She ruffles his hair and he feels his body sort of freeze

  like a statue. He tries very hard not to think of hammers

  and pools of blood but he can’t help it. It’s like there is this big, big volcano in him, waiting to blow its top off. He

  saw that in a video in school in geography. One minute

  it was just a mountain and then a huge explosion. Boom.

  That’s me, he thought as he watched the film. That’s me.

  ‘I thought you were used to me doing Wednesday

  nights now. I thought now that you’re getting a bit big-

  ger, you don’t mind so much. It’ll get easier and easier as

  you get bigger…’

  He stuffs a big piece of chocolate cake into his mouth

  and looks away at the trees and the birds.

  He would like to ask his gran about his mother. He

  has a picture in a frame by his bed of his first birthday,

  sitting with his mum in Gran’s kitchen. Sometimes he

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  thinks he can remember his mum but mostly he thinks

  he just remembers the photograph. Some of the other

  children in school say his mum did drugs and that’s why she died. They say that their parents told them. He’s asked

  his gran but she doesn’t talk about that.

  So instead he looks up at the blue, blue sky. He is

  thinking again of Brian. And of a pool of blood. He is