Look Behind You (17 page)

Now I hate it.

I wonder how he’d feel if I criticized him. If I told him I could see the grey filtering through the blond at his temples. How the hard lines of his abs are filling out now with a slight paunch. How the definition of his jaw has changed with the first appearance of loose skin, and there are puffy bags under his eyes.

He catches me looking and mistakes my expression for interest. ‘I have a little time before I go to work.’ He raises his eyebrows and walks towards me. He runs his fingertips down the side of my neck, over my collarbone, along the swell of my breast. I want to jerk away from him, but I clench the horrified shiver deep inside.

One corner of his lips lifts in a sultry smile as he undresses me slowly. I swallow back the repulsion, unsure how I actually hold it together without clawing at him. But I’m used to acting now, and this time it might save my life. So I roam my hands over his body as his piercing gaze holds mine.

He picks me up and carries me to the bed gently. I wrap my legs round his waist and angle my hips up to meet him, acting like I can’t wait. A chill sinks into my bones, as if someone’s just walked over my grave.

‘No one will ever love you as much as me.’ His hot breath fans across the shell of my ear when he thrusts inside me deeply. I bite back the cry of pain. He moves to his own rhythm, and I’m so convincing in my moans and groans of ecstasy that even I almost believe it.

After he leaves, I take a shower, trying to rid myself of his smell and touch on my skin. I scrub until the water runs cold, but I still don’t feel clean.

I brush my teeth hard, making my gums bleed, then go downstairs and have a coffee and a cigarette, my hands shaking so hard I spill the coffee on the patio table. I rinse my cup and put it in the dishwasher, then put on my big sunglasses and study myself in the mirror. Everything looks different. I’m not Chloe Benson anymore. I don’t know who I am.

I leave the house and walk towards town. The streets are eerily quiet, but I keep my eyes alert for anyone who might be suspicious. A feeling creeps chillingly up my spine that I’m not alone. It’s as though someone’s eyes are boring into my back.

Someone is behind me. I know it.

Every muscle tenses, and I force myself to look over my shoulder. A man’s walking about twenty-five metres behind. He’s big and bulky, wearing black jeans, trainers, and a baggy grey hoodie pulled over his head, casting a dark shadow so it’s impossible to see his face properly.

My heartbeat slams in my chest as I increase my pace. I’m on a residential street, but I’m still terrified. Flynn said no one wants to get involved these days. A crime could be happening right in front of someone’s nose, and they’d probably keep their head down and walk past.

His footsteps speed up.

I don’t know whether to run. Or would that just let him know I’m scared and make him chase me? I cross to the other side of the road and keep walking, looking back to see where he is.

He turns his head towards me, but I still can’t make out his face.

It could be him. The person who took me. But I don’t know how could he possibly recognize me now.

I clamp my lips together to stop from screaming out and walk faster still. I can’t hear his footsteps now over the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Fighting to keep my breathing calm, I wonder whether to stop at someone’s house and ring their doorbell, but anyone could be inside, and all I can see in the windows are bright reflections of the street where the sunlight bounces off the glass.

Then I hear him again. Louder now, his footsteps close behind me, keeping in time with mine, and I’m pretty much power walking. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades.

Someone shouts, ‘Dave!’ and I spin my head around once more.

The man in the hoodie has stopped, waiting for another man who jogs up to join him. They do some weird kind of handshake and stand there, talking.

I exhale a ragged breath of relief and carry on down the street, not letting up my pace, just in case. By the time I arrive in town, it feels like I’m about to have a heart attack, so I sit on a bench in the middle of town until the chaos in my head subsides. Then I square my shoulders and get up.

There are five mobile phone shops to choose from, but I go to the one that is my existing service provider. I push the door open, take off my sunglasses, and browse through the phones, looking for the cheapest pay-as-you-go. There’s one for £20. That will do.

‘Can I help you?’ A salesman that looks about the same age as my students appears beside me.

‘Yes, is this phone unlocked?’

‘They’re all unlocked here. You can use any SIM card in them. But you can’t take photos on this one, and there’s no Internet access.’

‘That’s OK. I’ll take it.’

He gives me an odd look, as if I’ve just sprouted another head. ‘Are you sure? We have a better model over here with the works on it.’ He points to something bigger with a touch screen.

‘No, this will be perfect.’

I pay quickly and rush home, my eyes scanning the streets for signs of possible danger. The ominous feeling I’m being watched makes my skin crawl, but the only people I see on the way home are two mums walking three noisy children down the street, an old man walking an even older-looking dog, and a woman getting out of a cab at the side of the road.

When I get inside, I tear at the phone’s packaging, which I hide in the bottom of the kitchen bin. Then I insert the battery in the phone, plug it in, and let it charge. Sitting at the kitchen table, I watch the phone on the worktop as I rock back and forth, sliding my earring round and round in its pierced hole, waiting.

A ringing noise makes me jump, and at first, I think it’s the mobile, but it’s not.

‘Hello?’ I pick up the house phone, expecting it to be Liam checking up on me.

‘Ah, is that Chloe? It’s Dr Drew here.’

‘Hello. I haven’t missed our appointment, have I?’ I panic, wondering if I’ve lost yet more time and don’t remember.
What day is it, anyway?

‘No, that’s not for another few days. The reason I’m ringing is that I’ve had a call from Liam this morning saying he’s concerned about you, so I wanted to check in. How’ve you been?’

I scrunch up my face and rest my head in my free hand then take a calming breath. ‘I’m fine, Dr Drew, really. He…’ I trail off. I wonder how much I should tell him. He seemed sympathetic before, even if he didn’t believe me. But surely, if I explain what I’ve found out so far, he’ll realize something strange is going on. ‘Liam’s telling me lies. And not just to me. He’s telling lies to other people about me.’

‘What kind of lies?’

‘He’s trying to convince people I’m going mad.’ There, I’ve said it. And now it’s out in the open, the tension pulling me taut unravels a little.

‘Why do you think that?’

‘Because he’s got things to hide. You know the antidepressants I was prescribed, Zola… something or other?’

‘Zolafaxine.’

‘Yes. Did you know they’re made by the same company where Liam works?’

‘Yes, in fact Liam was very insistent about us filing the required reports with his company as soon as possible after your incident occurred.’

‘I think he tampered with them somehow. Put something in them to make me go psychotic. I know it sounds far-fetched. Sounds ridiculous, even. But when you add everything together, it’s the only answer.’

There’s silence for a moment on the other end of the line. ‘As both Dr Traynor and I told you, it
is
possible to suffer the side effects you did whilst taking that medication. It’s been documented before. Although it’s unusual, it does happen occasionally. And it’s also entirely possible for you to have had a further reaction to the sleeping tablets you took, too, which, incidentally, are
not
made by Devon Pharmaceutical.’

‘I didn’t take them.’

‘How can you be sure? You don’t remember.’

‘Why would I ignore advice not to take any more medication? It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘People ignore medical advice all the time.’

‘But they’re not here. They’re not at the house. If I took them, they’d be here, wouldn’t they?’

‘You may have had them with you when you wandered off. You said your handbag was missing, so they could’ve been in there. And don’t forget, you were still grieving. Liam said you were still having trouble sleeping, so that’s obviously why you took them.’

‘Yes, but Liam was having an affair. I’ve found proof of it.’ I tell him about the hotel, the locket, and the photo of his boss, Julianne.

‘That doesn’t prove he was having an affair. Perhaps he was at a conference at the hotel that ended late in the evening, and he simply stayed there instead of disturbing you. The necklace could’ve been an innocent birthday gift for his boss, could it not?’

‘Would you buy a twelve-hundred pound diamond and gold necklace as a birthday present for your boss?’

‘My boss is a man, so I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate it very much.’ He chuckles slightly. I want to reach my hand down the phone line and shake him hard. Shake some bloody sense into him.

‘And my email account was hacked. He must’ve been looking for something.’

‘Do you know how many email accounts are hacked into every day? It happened to me only a few months ago. Whoever did it managed to send an email to all my contacts with a virus attached! It’s very common, you know.’

‘But when you consider everything else, it’s all suspicious. He lied to me about that note I wrote being a suicide letter. He lied that I’d taken some of my clothes to the charity shop.’

‘OK, OK, slow down. How do you know you didn’t take your clothes to the charity shop? You may have wanted to clear out a few things. I’ve seen it many times before when people are getting over a traumatic event. They like to get rid of old, stagnant things in their life and make way for the clean and bright and new. It’s actually a very therapeutic way to start dealing with life.’

‘I wouldn’t take used underwear to a charity shop. Would you?’

‘Well, no, I can’t say I would, but I’m sure it’s been known. I bet they get all sorts of strange things donated. One person’s rubbish is another person’s gold, after all.’

‘No, I just wouldn’t do that.’ My voice rises with hysteria. ‘And then there’s the place.’

‘Which place?’

No, not the place. Wrong word
. My brain feels fuzzy, like a gap is opening up inside. ‘I mean the plate.’

‘The plate?’

‘Yes! The one Liam told you and the police I threw at him before he went to Scotland. There was no broken plate in the rubbish bin, so it couldn’t have happened.’

I hear him sigh, and I don’t know if it’s with impatience or disbelief. ‘Chloe, isn’t it likely that the refuse collectors have already taken it away? It would’ve been a week ago now.’

‘No, they’re on strike. It’s not possible at all,’ I say triumphantly. And then I remember something Summers told me. ‘Liam said he didn’t phone me from Scotland because we’d rowed about the plate and I told him I didn’t want to talk to him.’

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s not right, because there
was
no plate. And Liam
always
phones me. Or texts me. Every day he’ll ring to find out what I’m doing, where I am, what I’m thinking. Sometimes several times a day.’

‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at. It could be that—’

I cut him off with a loud sigh. ‘Don’t you see, though? He didn’t call me from Scotland because my mobile phone was smashed and in the bin, so he knew I wouldn’t be able to answer the phone. He knew because he put me in that place and left me to die!’ My voice escalates.

‘Calm down, dear. Take some deep breaths.’

I don’t want to fucking calm down. I want someone to believe me!

‘You don’t know how your mobile phone came to be broken and in the bin. It could’ve happened before Liam left for Scotland, in which case he wouldn’t call you, would he, if he knew about it?’

‘He didn’t call the house phone, either, though. Summers told me.’

‘Liam did mention how busy he’s been with the new Exalin drug. It’s possible he didn’t get the chance to call.’

‘But he
always
calls me. Always. Only not this time. It’s suspicious. Very suspicious.’

‘Have you asked Liam about all this?’

What was the point? I knew he’d just deny it. It was his word against mine, and everyone was on his side. ‘No, I don’t want to let him know I know yet.’

‘All of these things you’ve mentioned have a rational explanation, but if you feel this way, then I think you should be talking to the police about it. They’ll be able to put your mind at ease, I’m sure.’ His voice is gentle but insistent.

‘They won’t believe me until I have some proof. Liam’s managed to convince them I’m unstable. He said he showed you the letter I wrote. He told me it was my suicide letter, but it’s not.’ My right eye starts to twitch. I close it and press my finger against the lid, massaging it gently.

‘I agree.’

‘Hooray! That’s first thing we’ve agreed on,’ I snap. I know I should try to keep calm, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult. I don’t know why it isn’t obvious to him after everything I’ve just said that Liam is somehow involved. Why isn’t he listening to me?