The Divorce Club (12 page)

I'm intrigued. Could I find it cheaper on
eBay
? "Only a fiver? Are you sure it works?"

He's back in his element now. "Come on, I'll
show you." He places the wedge in front of the shop door and pulls
the handle. The door moves an inch or two, not more.

"Let me try." I yank with all my might, but
the door doesn't budge. "I'll take it."

He retrieves two boxes. "You might want two.
One for downstairs and one for the bedroom."

"Make it three." I'm thinking of Sam's door,
although explaining the need for something like this might prove a
difficult task. Then again, what if she uses it to barricade
herself inside and smoke cigarettes or worse? The frightening
fiasco of a fire burning down the house pops into my head, making
me shudder. "No, wait! I only need two."

"You might want these as well." He tosses a
few small parcels on the counter and opens one. "This is a window
alarm system. You attach the magnetic strip to the wall and the
tiny piece here to the window just half an inch away from each
other. If someone opens the window, it will trigger the alarm.
They're only three quid each."

"That's a bargain." I can't resist a bargain
and am already counting all the windows I have. "Make it five."

"I suggest you get the ones with the remote
control. They cost more, but you want the best you can afford,
right?"

A remote control sounds so high-tech and
advanced. I nod and he gets the stock from the staff room.

"Is that all?" He rings up the till without
waiting for my answer. "You know these are only temporary
solutions. You'll need a proper burglar alarm system that's
connected with a security firm."

I nod and pay. "Sure, as soon as I win the
lottery. Thanks so much."

"Good luck," the assistant says before I
leave.

My enthusiasm makes me forget my angst. I
drive faster than usual just to get home as quickly as possible. I
don't even bother to take off my shoes before I start unpacking. It
takes me an hour to figure out how to attach all window alarms in
the appropriate distance so the magnets aren't too far away from
one another. The alarm shrills a few times, but I don't care. What
irritates me is that the neighbors don't even bother to come over
and ask what the noise is all about. So much for watching out for
your neighbors.

I push the wedge in and test the door. It
works just like in the shop. When I'm finally done I take care of
the dishes and start preparing my timetable for the next few days.
The usual club and individual meetings will take most of the week
and I won't have much time for Sam, but after sorting out our
safety issues I'm confident I can do anything—until I head
upstairs.

It's only two p.m., but I feel dirty from all
the shopping and running around, so I decide to take a hot bath.
The bathroom door's open. I'm sure I closed it before I left this
morning. I push it open and stare at the damp towel in the sink.
For a second, I think I can smell a whiff of aftershave. Someone
was in here. My mind's frozen; sweat's pouring down my back. How
did the sicko get in?

My phone rings. It's my neighbor’s number. I
don't know whether I'll be able to say a word, yet I need to hear
someone's voice, even if it's just to talk about the garbage bins
which I've forgotten to put away yet again. A sweet fragrance fills
the air. Flowers? I bend down to retrieve the phone from my handbag
when I notice a red rose petal by my foot. I pick it up and rub it
between my fingers. It has a soft and velvety feel like butterfly
wings. Why is this on my floor? And why's there a trail leading to
my bed? Petrified, I stand and stare straight ahead.

My sheets are covered in scarlet like some
kind of morbid, romantic fantasy. I gasp. Some of the petals are
arranged into a big, red heart standing out against the snow-white
comforter. The others spell out something I can't decipher. I inch
closer, trying to put the letters together to make sense of them
until I read—
You're mine
.

Lounging forward, I peel the duvet aside and
toss it across the floor shouting, "Do you see this? Do you see me
now? I'm not scared of you, you piece of crap!"

I shout until my voice's hoarse and my head's
throbbing. My body's depleted of energy, but the anger inside
hasn't subsided. He must've broken in when I was out. I don't even
want to contemplate the other possibility—that he was in here
before I left. Like on automatic, devoid of any thoughts, I change
the sheets and toss the towel in the washing machine, then go about
cleaning the kitchen because I always scrub when I need to sort out
my mind. I'm not hungry so I skip lunch, and I spend the afternoon
baking a diet chocolate cake and going though names and places I've
recently visited. In the end, I come up with a handful of people I
suspect: a guy from the supermarket who recently asked whether I
was single now because I wasn't wearing my wedding ring, the
postman who's in his forties and married, but he has this sick
habit of patting my parcels as though to check what's inside. The
last person is a former workmate who once had a crush on me and
still sends me Christmas cards. Granted, my list is thin, but it's
a beginning nonetheless.

As I finish the chocolate topping on the
cake, the doorbell rings. I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel and
hurry to answer. My heart's beating too fast again. I was never a
fan of unannounced visitors, but lately the simple feeling of being
inconvenienced has turned into a strong need to just keep quiet and
pretend no one's home until the visitors go away. I peer through
the spy hole at my neighbor’s gaunt face, then open with a
sigh.

Deborah's in her fifties, skinny with
straight, blonde hair and too much bronzer, and has been living on
the street since her childhood. She doesn't usually visit, unless
it's to exchange Christmas cards or to complain about the garbage
bins. The way she's standing in front of me, rigidly clutching her
cat to her chest, reminds me of being summoned to the mean
headmistress's office.

"Hi Deborah. I'm sorry I forgot to put them
away." I point at the empty bins. "Would you like to come in?"

"Another time." She smirks. "This used to be
such a beautiful neighborhood, don't you agree?"

I nod, unsure where this is going. "It still
is."

"You know, Fluffy is mad at you." She hugs
the white Persian cat and kisses its head. "Aren't you,
Fluffy?"

Huh? "What did I do to ruffle his feathers,
uh, I mean fur?" Laughter bubbles up at the back of my throat.

She peers behind me, scanning the hall, which
makes me self-conscious because I know I can't afford her yearly
redecorating to keep up with magazine trends. "Maybe you should've
stayed married because—"

I narrow my eyes, annoyed. "Because
what?"

"I don't know how to say this." She takes a
step back, hesitating. "Oh dear, this is embarrassing." She looks
at Fluffy and pats its head. "Isn't it, lovely?"

I cock my head to the side, waiting for her
to get on with it. She wasn't happy to hear someone on the street
actually divorced. Has she heard about the club and now wants me to
move away so no one associates my business with her?

"I'll just blurt it out." Our gazes lock. She
takes a deep breath before she continues, "Do you think you could
tell your dates to stop roaming around our house? That man last
night scared Fluffy to death."

I almost burst out in laugher before I
realize what she just said. "You saw someone outside last
night?"

"Yes, I did and we'd appreciate it if it
didn't happen again." By
we
she's talking about herself and
the cat. I bet her poor, overworked husband couldn't care less. "I
know your visitor was dying to get a peek of me in my silk
nightgown, so I closed the curtains. It's not my fault you can't
satisfy your dates. It's just natural they're drawn to a
well-maintained cougar who takes care of herself and doesn't lose a
husband. However, as flattered as I am, we can't have that now, can
we?"

She thinks she's a cougar? I shake my head,
barely able to suppress a snort. "No, we can't."

"Try a little concealer, dear. It could do
wonders for you." She looks me up and down. "And that bag you're
wearing isn't doing your hips any favors."

I grit my teeth as I smile. "If you think
that'll keep my dates from straying, then I'll definitely give it a
try."

She waves her hand, pleased with herself.
"I'm only trying to help, dear."

"By the way, the man you saw me with wasn't a
date. He was a friend who slept on the couch," I say.

"I didn't see you with anyone." She shoots me
one of her irritating looks. "But if that's the story you're
telling everyone, then that's the one I'll stick with. With you not
being married and all, we wouldn't want rumors to fly. We have to
keep you respectable, even if you're not."

I let the comment roll off my chest because
ignoring her is better than starting a fight with the neighbors. I
decide to focus on the topic at hand and learn more information in
case we're talking about my stalker or the armed burglar. So, she
didn't see me. Who
did
she see then? "What did the man look
like?"

"I don't know, dear, but I could ask Fluffy.
He might want to draw a picture for you. Have a good day." Deborah
turns on her heels and crosses the lawn to her house while I'm
staring after her, my mind spinning.

Maybe she imagined it because Jamie didn't
mention anything. Of course he might be a sound sleeper. I could
call him and ask whether he heard any strange noises, but that
might raise his suspicion. I close the door and return to the
kitchen, still contemplating Deborah's words as I try to make sense
of all events.

My stalker was at the restaurant and later
near the house. In the morning, he must've come back, taken a
shower and spread rose petals across my bed. But how did he get in?
Unless he was here all the time, which I don't believe because I
checked all rooms after locking the door and windows. And then it
dawns on me, suspicion slowly creeping up. A cold shiver washes
over me, turning my skin into goose bumps.

The stalking started the moment Jamie entered
my life. Apart from Sam, the only person with me at the restaurant
and later inside the house was Jamie. He could've sneaked out of
the house to get something from his car, which would explain why
Deborah saw him. I took a shower before I came down for breakfast,
so Jamie could've placed the towel inside the sink and spread the
rose petals across the bed before he left. It's a weak theory based
on nothing concrete. I'm hesitant to believe it. And yet—

It's him, I know it. I shake my head because
it can't be. How could he have sent the text message at the
restaurant without my noticing? Maybe he typed it up the few times
he hid his hands under the table. I'm being paranoid, unreasonable
and distrustful of the one person whose club fee almost covers my
monthly mortgage repayment. I can't
afford
him to be my
stalker, but the facts are hard to ignore. Jamie has become the
number one suspect on my list.

I'm leaning against the edge of my desk,
ready to start our Monday session. Jamie shoots me a crooked smile
as he takes the seat next to me. I try to avert my gaze, which is
hard because he looks so handsome in his blue shirt and
straight-cut jeans. But I won't let a pretty face fool me. My
stalker didn't bother me for the rest of Sunday and today. Could it
be because he knew he'd see me at the club? I feel the color drain
from my face and my heart begins to hammer like a drum. I might be
staring at a sick, albeit good-looking, stalker this very minute,
and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Is something wrong with me?" Jamie whispers
as he draws closer. "You're staring like my clothes are soaked in
blood and there's raw meat hanging from the corner of my mouth." He
laughs.

"What?" My eyes scan his clothes, taking in a
stain the size of a coin on his chest. He follows my gaze.

"Are you serious? That's just ketchup. I had
a burger loaded with all the fixings." His finger rubs against the
material. "I got nailed at lunch right before the big meeting. Talk
about Murphy's Law in action. Anyway, I came straight from work and
didn't have time to change."

"Busted again." I look down at his ripped
jeans. "You're allowed to dress like this?"

"Okay, so I changed in the
McDonald's
bathroom. Did you really need me to admit that?"

"There's this neat invention," I say. "It's
called a napkin."

He winks. "I might give it a try because this
self-cleaning silk shirt was a rip-off."

The corners of my mouth twitch, but I'm not
going to show him I appreciate his humor. I set my jaw and turn my
back on him, eager to start the session. Lucy's sitting the
farthest from Jamie, so I focus on her as I speak, "Last week we
learned how to blame the ex-spouse. This week, we'll work with that
to boost our self-esteem. When someone leaves us, our confidence is
shattered and we keep asking the same questions over and over
again. Were we not good, attractive, or desirable enough to keep
their heart and love?"

Mindy starts to take notes; the tip of the
pencil's making a scratching sound against the thin paper. I feel
Jamie's gaze on me. My nerves are on edge again.

I rub my temple. "Mindy, could you please
stop that for a second?" She shrugs and halts her scribbling. I
breathe in and out to calm my thumping heart before I continue,
"When someone cheats on us, most women will forgive and attempt to
work it out, but not because the relationship's worth fighting for.
Moving on doesn't come naturally to us, because we're scared to end
up alone, unwanted and unloved. We're afraid that we're past our
sell-by date and there's no one else out there who'll see beyond
our sagging skin and chubby thighs."