I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Read online

  going to keep you safe, OK?’

  We continue right through three carriages before Ben

  settles me into my new seat, returning soon afterwards

  with drinks and also my pink case, which I pointed out

  on the way past.

  I ring Matthew to update him.

  ‘Good. That’s all good. You feeling better, Alice?’

  I glance around the carriage. A few of the other pas-

  sengers have their headphones in. Others are asleep. ‘Yes.

  Still shaken but better. So what happens now? What if I

  was just overreacting, Matthew? What if he’s just a perv,

  plain and simple?’

  ‘Whether this guy is your stalker or not, he’s a first-class

  creep and he needs to be questioned. You have nothing to

  feel guilty about, Alice. You did the right thing reporting

  this, and I’ll keep you updated.’

  Ten minutes later, and Ben returns to whisper that the

  man will be getting off at Newton Abbot. It’s a long way

  yet, but police will be on standby to arrest and question

  him. I’ll need to make a full statement when I get off at

  Plymouth. Is this OK? The police have been in touch and

  have offered to send a patrol car to meet me.

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  I nod, feeling close to tears. And then – damn – I take out my phone, realising suddenly that I need to update

  Tom. I wonder if he will be cross that I didn’t phone

  him first.

  I think of the police arresting the bald man – and Alex

  too? I wonder as I press the Call button what precisely to

  say to Tom. If it’s all nearly over.

  Or if another nightmare chapter is just beginning…

  204

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Alice

  The next morning, I feel so groggy. I must have fallen

  asleep at some point but the last time I looked at the clock

  it was 3 a.m. I don’t remember Tom getting up.

  I hear clattering. The sound of the milk frother on the

  coffee machine and at last he appears, holding two mugs.

  ‘Matthew Hill’s here. In the kitchen.’

  ‘What? Here already?’ I check the clock – 7 a.m. – and feel self-conscious in my faded pyjamas and this terrible

  state of disorientation. I just can’t think straight. I remember agreeing to stay here at Tom’s rather than returning

  to my house after giving a statement to the police, but it

  was very late by the time we got here. We talked for a

  long time. Drank too many glasses of red wine.

  I learned that Matthew and Mel Sanders have a friend

  in the transport police who, by chance, had been on duty.

  He pulled some strings for them to get such a fast response

  on the train. I’d apparently been lucky.

  Lucky?

  Quite frankly, I feel the unluckiest woman on the

  planet. If the bald guy isn’t my stalker, why the hell did

  he pick me for his perving? Out of all the women on the train? Am I sending out paranoia signals to attract the

  world’s army of lowlifes? Is there something written on

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  my forehead? Perfect victim – feel free. Was that because of Alex? Was all this because … of … Alex?

  I remember so clearly, checking that clock during the

  early hours and longing for the refuge of sleep. Instead

  my mind just wouldn’t still, rolling the film over and

  over. Walking me through all the dreadful scenes, one

  after another. The phone call. The cake box. The spray

  of ice-cold liquid.

  And now? It’s once again the day I dread. The day he

  wants me to dread – and I have no energy left to face it.

  Wednesday.

  I take in my reflection in one of the mirrored panels

  of Tom’s smart new fitted wardrobe. Panda eyes. Must

  have left my make-up on. Don’t remember brushing my

  teeth either.

  There was a time when I didn’t mind looking in the

  mirror. I got lucky. My mother’s genes. I turn to the

  side to see a copy of her profile. The same neat nose.

  The problem is I haven’t looked at myself for so long;

  I just look permanently exhausted these days. I take in

  the dark circles under my eyes and am shocked to find

  I don’t especially care. But then I think of Matthew in

  the kitchen…

  ‘Oh God. Look at me. I need to take a shower.’

  Tom leans forward to kiss my shoulder. ‘No hurry

  and no worries, sweets. You’ve had an awful time. No

  one cares what you look like. Look – I’m sorry but I can

  only stay until seven- thirty. I need to leave then – Crown

  Court. You remember? I can’t find anyone to cover. I’m

  the only one fully briefed and it’s an important client.’

  ‘Oh Christ, I’d forgotten actually. But it’s fine. Of

  course. I’ll be fine.’

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  ‘I’ve warned Matthew he’s to stick to you like glue

  today. No arguments. Not until we know what’s happen-

  ing with Alex. Or this nut job from the train.’

  ‘Is he still in custody? The guy on the train?’

  ‘Don’t know. Matthew’s waiting to hear from his

  police contact. You take a shower – no hurry – and I’ll

  make him some breakfast before I leave.’

  ‘You’re not still cross with him, are you, Tom? Over

  that motorcycle attack? It really wasn’t his fault. And he

  was fantastic on the phone to me yesterday.’

  ‘For you I’m on my best behaviour with him, I prom-

  ise.’ He kisses me a second time and then stands. ‘Right.

  I’ll get some toast on.’

  * * *

  Half an hour later and Tom is on the way to court and

  I’m sitting on the high black-and-chrome stool at the

  breakfast bar. Matthew’s drinking his third coffee after

  polishing off most of our fresh loaf.

  I stare at him. Fair, wavy hair cut quite short. Slim,

  despite the appetite. I find myself wondering what his

  wife looks like. And his daughter. He’s sitting on the

  small leather sofa which divides the kitchen and dining

  space, checking his phone. I wonder if they mind him

  working like this.

  ‘No word from DI Sanders?’ I’m trying for a calm tone

  but my chin twitches as I speak. Must be the tiredness. I

  run my right hand through my hair, which I’m allowing

  to dry naturally. Couldn’t face the hair dryer.

  ‘Not yet.’ Matthew manages a smile. ‘We should have

  news on Alex by ten a.m. at the very latest.’

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  ‘How so?’

  ‘Sorry, but I’m not actually supposed to say, Alice.

  But they have good intelligence on where he is. So we’re

  confident of an arrest.’

  ‘And the guy on the train?’

  ‘Still in custody but we expect him to get bail today

  with the help of a duty solicitor.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Matthew lets out a long sigh. ‘He’s got a record, Alice.

  Exposed himself on a train once before. Accused of steal-

  ing underwear from a flatmate. Clearly a first-class weirdo

  but it’s not looking like he has any
thing to do with your

  previous stalking. He was in France until the weekend,

  working in the bar at a campsite. That’s been verified

  already and there’s nothing linking him to you that the

  police can see yet. Obviously Mel Sanders and her team

  will look into his phone and computer records very care-

  fully before we’re sure.’

  ‘Right. So what did he say when he was questioned?

  About what happened on the train? About why he fol-

  lowed me?’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense. I wouldn’t give it any more

  thought. He’s a pest.’

  ‘No. I’d like to know what he said, Matthew.’

  ‘He claims you encouraged him to follow you to the

  toilet.’

  ‘Bastard.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So why the hell did he target me? And please don’t

  say bad luck.’

  ‘I don’t know, Alice. But sometimes creeps cast around

  for someone they think looks…’ Matthew pauses.

  ‘Vulnerable?’

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  Matthew again lets out a sigh. ‘I don’t want to say the

  wrong thing here, Alice. But you’ve been through a lot.

  Sometimes the strain can just wear someone out. And

  lowlifes sometimes look out for that. Pick it up.’

  ‘You should be a detective.’

  He laughs and finishes his coffee. ‘Right. So what’s

  the plan for today? You want to just stay home and try

  to catch up on some sleep? I can keep out of your way if

  you want to watch films or whatever. But Tom’s right.

  If you want to go out, then I’m the driver.’

  ‘OK. I’ll have a think. I may just stay in and do some

  writing actually.’ I’m remembering now the conversa-

  tion with Claire from the charity. I’d like to check out

  that alarm she was talking about. And I’ve certainly got

  plenty to write about. I fancy trying the first anonymous

  blog. Get some of this out of my system and on to paper.

  I take out my phone, planning to send a text first to

  Leanne to update her that Matthew’s with me so I’m safe.

  But as I reach for it, it rings – my sister’s name flashing.

  ‘Leanne. Are you psychic? I was literally just about

  to message you.’

  ‘You haven’t seen it, have you?’ Leanne’s voice is barely

  recognisable. High-pitched. Desperate.

  ‘Seen what?’

  ‘Go to Twitter, Alice. It’s horrible. You’re tagged and

  I’m tagged.’

  209

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Him – before

  The head teacher’s office is bigger than he remembers. He’s

  only been in here once before – when his gran was taken ill.

  That time, years back, he was collected from his class and

  led here with no explanation. But he knew something big

  was up because they brought him lemonade and a chocolate

  biscuit. The head teacher asked a lot of questions about what relatives he had. She wanted to know if there was anyone

  she could call because his gran had had a little upset.

  He told the head teacher that he only had his gran

  and her face sort of changed and she said he was not to

  worry but she needed to make some phone calls in the

  other office. He got more chocolate biscuits.

  In the end, a weird woman turned up and told him

  again not to worry. Which made him worry a lot. She took him in her car to a house in town where a lady called

  Abby said he would be staying with her for a couple of

  days. He thought it was some kind of trick and was in a

  terrible panic. He wondered if he should run away but

  they took him to see his gran in hospital that evening.

  She said it was all a fuss about nothing. She’d collapsed at work and twisted her ankle and they insisted on X-rays.

  She kept asking the nurses to be allowed home, and when

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  they said it was a bad idea, she began to cry. He remembers

  it really clearly – watching his gran cry.

  There was another lady called Dawn at the hospital

  who said he could stay with Abby for a couple of nights

  until his gran was better. He asked to stay in the hospital

  instead but they wouldn’t let him so he lied. He told his

  gran that he was fine with it all. Abby gave him pyjamas

  and some spare clothes. She was sort of nice but her house

  smelled a bit weird and he still didn’t know if it was a

  trick. He had never been so afraid.

  Then after two nights his gran turned up in a taxi

  and took him home, and he clung on to her really, real-

  ly tight. She promised that they would never, ever have

  anything to do with social services ever again.

  What’s social services?

  Busybodies. We don’t need them poking about our lives.

  They’ll take you away. You don’t talk to them, you hear me?

  If anyone asks questions, you say we’re fine.

  Luckily it was half-term, so he stayed home and helped

  his gran until she could walk a bit better.

  * * *

  Today in the head teacher’s office everything feels quite

  serious again. This time his gran is sitting right next to

  him. They had to wait until she finished work.

  The head teacher is called Mrs Price and she looks

  very upset. She’s trying to be all calm on the outside but

  her neck is red, right up to her chin.

  He’s eight now and he’s better at reading people’s

  faces. You learn a lot if you watch people really, really

  carefully.

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  ‘I simply don’t believe my grandson would bully any-

  one,’ his gran says. ‘I think there’s been a misunderstand-

  ing. He’s a sweet boy. A gentle boy. I think he’s the one

  being picked on.’

  ‘The other child is in hospital with a broken arm.’ The

  head teacher’s voice is quiet but the red on her neck gets

  darker. ‘This is serious. There are witnesses to say that

  this was deliberate. That the other child was punched and

  pushed to the ground and then kicked. Your grandson

  had to be pulled off the other child.’ Mrs Price looks at

  him. ‘Why did you do this? We can’t allow this kind of

  violence. You are a very clever boy and you could have a

  great future. But you have to understand that this is very,

  very serious and I may have to consider a suspension. You

  need to explain why you did such a terrible thing.’

  He remembers exactly. He was upset because of Brian.

  He was thinking about the disgusting ‘favours’ and the

  tin full of sweets and special chocolates which make him

  want to be sick. He was picturing all the things he would

  do to Brian when he was bigger. The hammer and the

  eagle attack. He got the volcano feeling in his tummy.

  And then Toby was saying some rubbish about his gran

  being very, very old-looking. Toby’s grandfather had

  just died and they burned him in his coffin until he was

  just ash, like in the grate after a fire. Toby was saying a

  lot of stupid stuff about old people dying and how it w
as

  just natural; and he just got really, really cross with Toby

  until the volcano in his tummy exploded.

  ‘It was an accident,’ he says.

  ‘There,’ his gran says, taking his hand in her own.

  She squeezes it tight. ‘A misunderstanding. Like I said.

  I’m quite sure there was provocation. My grandson would

  never hurt anyone on purpose.’

  212

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Matthew

  ‘It’s my mother. Oh no – my mother. My mother!’ Alice

  is now standing and staring at her phone, all the blood

  gone from her face. Ghost Alice. She sort of buckles, and

  Matthew’s worried she may collapse completely and hit

  her head as she falls.

  He reaches for her elbow to steady her and tries to

  steer her back to a stool, but she sweeps his arm away

  and starts shouting.

  ‘No. No. Don’t touch me. Oh Jeez. My mother. I

  think he’s got my mother!’

  ‘Show me. Alice. Show me what it is. I’m going to

  help you. But I need to see. To understand you.’

  Alice looks at him as if she hasn’t heard. She is gripping

  the phone, her knuckles white, as if she can’t bear to let it go. He widens his eyes to encourage her – trying to coax

  her out of her shock. Finally, she hands him the phone, her

  fingers trembling and her eyes huge and wild with fear.

  There’s a video auto-playing on her Twitter feed. It

  shows a woman, gasping for breath. Yes. Struggling to

  breathe, as if suffocating.

  For a terrible moment Matthew fears this is the posting

  of an attack. Some kind of strangulation? That the bastard

  has attacked Alice’s mother and posted the evidence. He

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  sucks in breath to move into professional gear. He braces

  to watch the video again as it loops, and this time takes in

  the detail; he can see that the woman has oxygen tubes

  feeding into her nose. He frowns. Right. So it looks as if

  she is in some kind of medical setting. There’s an oxygen

  bottle in the background.

  ‘Has he got her? Is he with her? Has he posted this

  live? Is this happening this minute?’ Alice now has tears

  streaming down her face.

  ‘I don’t know, Alice. But I’m phoning this in to the

  police and I need you to help me. Look at the video again

  and tell me if you recognise the place. The room…’

  She shakes her head. She doesn’t want to look.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alice. But you have to help me.’