I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Page 20

searching the expanse of blue for an eagle. A hunter. A

  really big bird with sharp claws that can swoop and claw.

  Swoop and claw.

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  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Alice

  I’m glad I booked a seat as the train’s packed, but I’m re-

  gretting the choice of the quiet carriage. I glance around

  me to take in the faces of the men.

  There’s a slightly geeky guy watching a film on his

  laptop. A pensioner doing the crossword with a beautiful

  fountain pen. For a moment I stare, until he begins to fill

  in an answer. Careful writing. Capital letters. And then

  across the aisle there is a tall, balding guy spreading his

  legs under the seat in front. I narrow my eyes, feeling

  uneasy. I must have been staring for too long, because

  suddenly he’s looking right back at me. He’s also staring.

  Unblinking. Then he glances down at his crotch and

  then back at me again, raising his eyebrows. Grinning.

  Creep.

  I look away. I feel myself blush. Yes, I should have

  gone for the family carriage. Damn. I normally like to

  avoid the noisy kids. All those juice cartons and colouring

  books. But this carriage is full of commuters – men and

  women travelling on their own. It’s Tuesday evening. I

  should have thought this through; I should have listened

  to Leanne, who said it wasn’t a good idea, leaving my

  return to Devon so close to Wednesday. The problem is

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  I still feel ashamed of this fear – this escalating paranoia

  around men.

  Christ. It could be the bald guy. Any of them. None

  of them.

  Calm down, Alice.

  I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing.

  I count the breaths in and the breaths out. Just like the

  cool-down sequence at Pilates. I miss my old routine.

  Pilates and French classes. I wonder when I will be able

  to get back to all that.

  I try the breathing and counting some more. It helps

  a bit but not completely.

  By the time I reopen my eyes the bald pervert has lost

  interest and has his headphones in. I glance at the luggage

  rack to check my small pink case. Good. It’s safe. I tell

  myself again to calm down. I take out a book from my

  bag, hoping to read, but the words just blur.

  Again I look around the carriage, from man to man. I

  know only the voice of my tormentor through the voice

  changer from that very first call. I have no idea what he

  may look like. Or truly sound like without the distortion.

  I try to picture Alex with a phone and a voice app but I

  still can’t make it fit. It feels somehow too improbable.

  Too neat. Too obvious.

  Matthew says the police now have a strong lead in

  their search for Alex, but he’s not allowed to share details

  with me yet for fear of scuppering the police operation.

  DI Sanders has gone out on a limb updating him, ap-

  parently. He promises me more information very soon.

  The problem is I don’t think that finding Alex will

  stop this. I try to make the leap of faith. I try to imagine

  that the police are right and I’m wrong. The relief it might

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  bring once he’s under arrest and then back in prison. But

  – no; I just can’t make it fit.

  I can feel my heart starting to quicken. The famil-

  iar disappointment in myself. Why can’t I be stronger?

  Braver? Why have I let this faceless man get to me so?

  Do this to me. Win…

  You are on a packed train, Alice. He cannot touch you.

  He cannot do anything to you here. Not with all these people around you.

  I take out my phone and put in my earphones. I don’t

  switch on the music but need the prop. The visual cue to

  step away from all the people in this carriage.

  Tom in his last phone call offered to come up to

  London and accompany me home. He was upset that

  he hadn’t been able to coordinate his work to be in the

  city to tie in with my visit to Leanne. I said it was over

  the top and unnecessary for him to make a flying visit to

  town just to see me home. But that was stubborn Alice

  talking; right now I’m wishing with every bone in my

  body that I’d said yes, please.

  At least he’s meeting me in Plymouth and has promised

  to be on the platform early. He’s also booked Matthew

  again to look out for me from first light tomorrow.

  Wednesday.

  I hear the word echo deep inside my head. Wednesday,

  Wednesday, Wednesday. So confusing still. Why Wednesday?

  I spool through Tom’s recent texts.

  You OK? See you soon xx.

  He’s been trying hard to be calmer about the Alex

  revelation, but I can tell he’s still deeply upset. And who

  can blame him? I should have told him about Alex. I

  mean – what must he think of me now? Someone who

  could be taken in by a man like Alex?

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  As I reread the texts, I try to picture Tom; to feel the

  right feelings. But for some reason I find myself thinking

  of Jack instead. I picture Jack’s face, not Tom’s. Jack’s ex-

  pression in that Italian restaurant when I behaved so badly.

  Why do I do this? What’s the matter with me?

  And then – after ten, maybe fifteen minutes – I begin

  to fidget. Damn. I need the loo. I really shouldn’t have drunk that large coffee while waiting for the train. This is

  how ridiculous my life has become. Nervous about going

  to the loo on a train. What kind of new madness is this?

  I glance yet again around the carriage. Baldy now

  has his eyes closed. Everyone else seems busy with their

  laptop or their phone or a book. Outside it’s dark, and so

  all the faces and laptops and phones are reflected in the

  windows. I lift my handbag over my left shoulder and

  slip from my seat, deliberately leaning the other way as I

  pass the bald guy’s seat, and walk through to the front of

  the carriage and into the connecting space.

  The automatic doors close behind me. I feel the tem-

  perature change; someone must have left the window

  open to the exit door. I move forward, but before I can

  decide whether to shut the window, I hear the automatic

  door fire again behind me. I turn to find that the bald

  man is there, just a few feet from me. He grins, again

  widening his eyes.

  Blind panic now. My heart is racing and I feel sort of

  clammy as I turn to stride away from him. What now?

  What now? What options?

  I think of hurrying into the toilet and locking myself

  inside, but – no. Damn. I see the flash of red confirming it’s engaged. I keep walking – faster, faster – into the next carriage. Yes. Better to walk than be stuck in the quiet of

  the dividing space between carriages with him.

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  It’s probably not him. The man on the phone. The man

  with the flowers and the bottle of iced water. Highly unlikely.


  Just a creep, Alice. You can handle a creep…

  I keep going through the family carriage. To my

  left there are two children sitting opposite their mother,

  playing on their iPads. I push onward, onward, past a

  woman with grey hair who looks asleep. Two elderly

  men chatting over a newspaper.

  And I turn to find that the bald guy is still behind me.

  Matching my haste. Following me through the carriage.

  Following me?

  And now, for the first time, I start to entertain blacker

  thoughts – that maybe, just maybe, it could be him. Blatant.

  Taunting me? It makes no logical sense – with all these

  people? Why would he be so stupid? Run the risk of

  getting caught?

  At last I pass the next luggage area. Another intercon-

  necting space and finally into the toilet. I feel a huff of air leave my body as the door closes and the lock clicks into

  place, but I’m now genuinely desperate for the loo, so I

  quickly relieve myself and wash my hands before taking

  out my phone. My hands are still wet. Trembling too. I

  find it difficult to stand steady as the train takes a corner.

  ‘Matthew?’

  ‘Yes, Alice. What is it?’

  ‘I’m on the train back from London and there’s a creep

  following me. I’m in the toilet and he’s right outside. I know it sounds ridiculous but I’m afraid to go out, Matt.’ I’m

  horrified to find that I’m actually crying now. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I move the phone to my chest as I try to compose myself

  and then put it back up to my ear. ‘But I’m really afraid.’

  ‘OK. So I’m here and I’m listening, Alice. You’re not

  alone with this. So what’s made you afraid? Are you saying

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  you think it’s the stalker? What has this man done? What

  makes you feel afraid of him?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. I mean, he could just

  be a creep. He’s a bit pervy. Staring at his crotch – you

  know. Just creepy. But now he’s followed me through

  two carriages and I mean – what if it is him, Matthew?’

  ‘Right.’ There’s a sharp intake of breath before Matthew

  continues. ‘Give me the exact details, Alice. Carriage and

  train and a description of the man and I’ll get on to this.

  Where are you roughly? I need to work out how strong

  the mobile signal will be. That’s the only way I can get

  a message to the train staff via transport police.’

  ‘You can do that?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a text number for transport police. It’s

  normally pretty slow but I’ve got a contact. And I can

  hopefully fast-track it via Mel. I mean DI Sanders. But

  where are you? Is the signal strong?’

  ‘Not that long out of Paddington. Three strong bars

  at the moment.’

  ‘Good, that’s good. Signal is pretty strong to Reading.

  OK. Which train and which carriage?’

  ‘I’m now in the toilet between coach C and coach D.

  The 7.03 p.m. from Paddington.’

  ‘Right. Stay in the toilet, Alice. Ignore anyone who

  knocks until it’s staff. OK? I’ll have to ring off to make some calls but I’ll ring you back very soon. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose.’ I pause. ‘But what if someone needs

  this cubicle?’ I can’t quite believe this is happening. ‘What if I’m just being ridiculous, Matthew…’

  I think of the bald guy gesturing to his crotch. Leering

  as he followed me.

  ‘People can use a different toilet, Alice. Creep or

  stalker, the police need to speak to this guy. And they

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  will. We’ve got your back. Now, I’m going to ring off to

  get things in motion. But you stay put. Yes?’

  ‘Yes. OK.’ I put my hand out to touch the wall to

  steady myself. I give Matthew a full description of the

  man and it feels a tiny bit better sharing this. ‘Thank

  you, Matthew.’

  ‘No need. I’ll ring you back very soon.’

  Again I try to steady my breathing as I wait.

  Someone knocks on the door. I ignore it. I wonder

  if it’s the creep. The stalker?

  ‘I’m unwell,’ I call out. ‘Sorry. Can you try a differ-

  ent toilet?’

  There is more knocking. Then there is a man’s voice,

  low and menacing. ‘So what are you doing in there really?’

  A pause. ‘Are you doing something nice for me in there?

  Did I make you wet? Is that why you won’t come out?’

  I shift my body to lean properly against the wall,

  clutching the phone to my chest. I’m ever more conscious

  of my heart pounding, pounding, pounding. I can feel it

  against the hand pressing the phone into my chest. I can

  feel it in my ear too. Also, I feel more and more unsteady.

  I look to the toilet but can’t sit down. It’s so unpleasant.

  Somehow it all feels dirty and wrong in here.

  I keep very still, dreading more words through the

  door. Silence. I look at my phone, willing a text or a call.

  One minute. Two.

  I try hard to steady my breathing. I’m worried I could

  become faint if I don’t get more oxygen into my system.

  I wait and wait and wait until at last the phone rings.

  Matthew.

  ‘He’s still outside the door, Matthew. He’s saying

  insidious stuff. Sexual. Nasty. What should I do?’ I’m

  whispering.

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  ‘OK. So I’ve set things in motion but I don’t know

  how long this will take. They’re trying to get a message

  through. You need to be brave and just stay put for a bit.

  Can you do that for me, Alice?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose so.’

  Matthew then talks about his day. About his daughter

  who is apparently going through the terrible twos, which

  is challenging. He says she loves travelling on trains. He

  tells me that once they went on a Thomas the Tank Engine

  day and she had never been so happy. I listen, barely able

  to take in what he’s saying but almost tearful at the effort

  he’s making to distract me.

  I keep looking at the door, dreading more knocking.

  More whispering. And then Matthew says a text has just

  come in. He breaks away to check it and is then more

  upbeat.

  ‘OK. Alice. Good news. We’ve called in a favour.

  Managed to fast-track this. The member of staff coming

  to help you is called Ben. He’s safe, Alice. He’s railway

  staff and he’ll be in uniform. He’ll introduce himself and

  then accompany you back to a different seat in first class.

  He’ll also check tickets so we can find out where the bald

  guy’s getting off so we can arrange an arrest. You should

  pretend you’ve been feeling unwell…’

  ‘I’ve already said that.’

  ‘Good thinking. Very good. So stay with that story,

  OK? Wait for Ben. Is this OK, Alice?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll wait. You won’t ring off?’

  ‘No, no. I’ll stay on the phone now until Ben is with

  you. OK?’

  ‘OK. I don’t know how to thank y
ou.’ I’m still whis-

  pering, clutching the phone so tightly that my knuckles

  are white.

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  ‘Don’t be silly. We’re going to keep you safe, Alice.’

  ‘Do you think it could be him, Matthew? Do you

  think I’m being completely ridiculous?’

  ‘No one is being ridiculous, Alice. Just wait … OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  I wonder if I should keep talking to Matthew but I’m

  worried about the bald guy hearing even this whispering,

  so I just wait, the phone pressed hard to my ear.

  It seems to be an age. Matthew talks some more

  about his daughter and then at last there’s some kind of

  new movement outside the door. Then a different voice,

  speaking up deliberately loudly.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. But could I ask you to step aside,

  please? This toilet has been occupied for some time. It

  comes up on the steward’s board when this happens. I

  need to check there isn’t a problem. In case someone is

  unwell inside.’

  Next there’s knocking. ‘Hello? Hello? My name is Ben

  and I’m railway staff. Are you all right in there?’

  ‘I’m not feeling very well actually, Ben.’ I feel my eyes

  darting from left to right as I raise my voice to be heard

  through the door.

  ‘OK. Well, can you unlock the door and I’ll see if I

  can help you.’

  Slowly I unlock the door.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m just feeling a little bit faint.’

  ‘Not to worry, madam. I’ll help you.’

  Ben – a short, stocky man who looks to be in his

  late thirties – leans forward, widening his eyes as if to

  reassure me. I let him take my arm and help me into the

  open space between carriages. I don’t have to pretend; I

  genuinely feel unsteady on my feet. As I move through

  the wider space, I see the bald man is over by the exit

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  door, pretending to enjoy the fresh air from the partially

  open window.

  As we move towards the carriage, the bald man heads

  into the toilet and I hear the click of the lock. Ben whispers as we continue forward, ‘Another member of staff will

  keep an eye on him and check his ticket and his destin-

  ation. I’ve got you a seat in first class. It’s quiet and safe there and we’ll bring you a sandwich and a drink. Would

  you like tea or coffee? Or water?’

  ‘Coffee and some water, please. This is so good of you.’

  ‘Not at all. All part of our service, madam. We’re