The Waiting Game Read online

  Jim seemed distracted tonight as well. They barely spoke to each other during the first drink. Every few seconds, he’d check his phone for new messages. It was driving Ellen nuts. After the second drink, she decided to call an end to the evening.

  ‘We should go,’ she said. ‘Mum’s babysitting. I promised her I wouldn’t be late.’

  He looked surprised. ‘Okay. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘Neither of us are in form,’ she said. ‘I can’t stop thinking about work and I can see you’re miles away, too. More interested in your text messages than talking. Maybe it’s better to leave and grab an early night.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m waiting to hear about a possible job tomorrow. Very bad manners. Maybe you’re right. We should go.’

  On the short walk home, he seemed to perk up. They spoke about things they wished they’d done but never had.

  ‘Have kids,’ Jim said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ he said. ‘Don’t sound so surprised. You said yourself it’s the best thing you ever did and I can see when you’re with Pat and Eilish how happy they make you and how much you love them. I’d like to know what that feels like.’

  ‘It’s not too late,’ Ellen said. ‘Lots of men have kids in their forties.’

  ‘Not so many women, though,’ Jim said. ‘And right now, I can’t imagine that I’ll ever want to be with anyone except you.’

  ‘If kids are so important,’ Ellen said, ‘then maybe I’m the wrong woman for you.’

  He stopped walking and turned to her. Cupping her face with his hands, he kissed her – oh so softly – on the lips.

  ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘You’re most definitely not the wrong woman. I haven’t felt this right about anything in such a long time. These past few weeks with you, it’s been amazing, Ellen. You’re amazing. I don’t want this to end.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ she said. ‘But when you get to our age, life is complicated. Things like kids. Pat and Eilish are enough for me. I don’t want anymore. Besides, I’m too old. Don’t fancy my chances of being a mother again at forty-two. Forty-three, even. You know, if I got pregnant right now, I’d be forty-three before the child was born? There are too many risks for women of my age. I’d spend the nine months terrified.’

  She was babbling and needed to shut up. He’d think she was a loon. She certainly sounded like one. Except now she’d started, she couldn’t stop.

  ‘I get scared,’ she continued, her tongue acting as if it had no connection to her brain. ‘So many things can go wrong. Having children, it makes you so vulnerable. Pat and Eilish are my life. I love them so much, but all the time I’m aware how precarious it all is. At any moment, something bad could happen and if it did, I wouldn’t survive it, Jim. I know that sounds mad and I’m sure it’s not normal to feel like this and I know a shrink would tell me it’s all to do with my mother and what happened to Vinny, but I can’t help it, you see. I’ve tried to be different, but the fear is always there.’

  She would have kept going if he hadn’t leaned in right then and kissed her. Soft, at first, like before, then changing to something else. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. She melted into him, desire blocking out everything except the feel of his mouth on hers, his body against her, his warmth. Him. All of him.

  When they pulled away from each other, she was dazed. The world had tilted. Moments ago, she hadn’t been able to stop talking. Now, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He was still holding her and she knew if he wasn’t, she would fall over.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, nodding at something behind her. ‘Look at that.’

  She turned her head. A full moon hovered over Greenwich, against the lit-up backdrop of Docklands and the O2. A bat flew across the sky, in front of the moon, its silhouette black against the white gold. Ellen started to comment on the bat but found herself kissing Jim again instead. He kissed her back, his intensity matching hers. In that instant she knew it would happen tonight. It felt right and natural.

  They walked back to the house. Fast. Somehow, her shaking hands managed to get the keys from her bag and open the front door. She pulled him in after her.

  ‘Ellen?’

  Her mother. How could she have forgotten her mother was here? Putting her finger on his lips, Ellen told him to go into the kitchen and pour himself a glass of wine. Said she’d be there in a minute.

  ‘It’s not wine I want,’ he whispered. ‘Besides, if I don’t go and say hello, your mother may never forgive me.’

  Ellen groaned.

  ‘I’ll need to drive her home,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t drive and normally insists on walking but I don’t like her doing that if I can help it.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Jim said. ‘Okay if I come back after dropping her off?’

  ‘You’d better,’ Ellen said.

  Her parents lived on Fingal Street, two long minutes the other side of Trafalgar Road. While she waited for Jim, Ellen paced around, unsure what to do. She went to put a CD on, but couldn’t choose one that suited her mood. Everything reminded her of Vinny. She needed something new. Jim music. Stupid. What was she thinking? She wasn’t. That was the problem. Only it wasn’t a problem. It felt good to follow her heart for once. Do something without over-thinking it first. Still the problem of the music, though. She pulled out a Nick Drake album then put it back. Too depressing. Grabbed something at random without reading the spine. A compilation. The Tommy Dorsey orchestra with Frank Sinatra. Perfect.

  Trombone, then the rest of the orchestra, followed by Frank’s pure, pure voice. I’ll be seeing you. When he hit the line about looking at the moon, Ellen smiled. She swayed out of the sitting room into the kitchen where she poured a glass of wine for Jim and water for herself.

  A knock on the front door. He was back. In the hallway, she paused to check her face in the mirror. In the dim light, she looked fine and she made a note to keep out of the unforgiving light of the kitchen. She wiped her damp hands down the front of her jeans and opened the door. Grinning like a bloody fool, ready to throw herself into his arms.

  He was leaning against the doorframe, like he’d walked straight out of the album she was listening to. In the background, a new song. That Face. Something about lips and eyes. Jim spoke. She didn’t hear him. Mesmerised by his face. The tug of desire so strong it scared her. No turning back.

  He walked in and scooped her into his arms. Something buzzed in her pocket. Her phone’s ring-tone blocked out Frank’s voice. Apologising, she pulled away. Took her phone out and saw Monica’s number on the display.

  ‘Leave it,’ Jim said.

  ‘I’ll only be a minute.’ She put the phone to her ear. ‘DI Kelly.’

  Jim rolled his eyes but he smiled and she was relieved he wasn’t really upset.

  ‘I’ve poured you a glass of wine,’ she said. ‘In the kitchen. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  ‘There’s someone outside my house,’ Monica said. ‘I’m scared, Ellen. Can you come over?’

  Ellen glanced into the kitchen. Jim had his glass in his hand and seemed quite content browsing through her cookbooks. Vinny’s books, not that it mattered.

  ‘You have the emergency number,’ Ellen said. ‘You should call that instead.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Monica said. ‘I couldn’t find it. Please, Ellen. I’m really freaking out here.’

  Her voice was slurring. Not a lot, but enough to tell Ellen that Monica had been drinking. Not that she blamed her.

  ‘I’ll get a car out to you,’ Ellen said. ‘I can’t come over myself. I can’t leave my children alone in the house.’

  When Monica started crying, Ellen told her to hang up and wait by the front door. Ellen would organise a car and call her back, stay on the phone until the car arrived.

  Through the glass doors that separated the sitting room from the kitchen, Ellen saw Jim. The thrill of him being here had gone, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty. He needed to go. She couldn’t deal with Mo
nica while he was here. He was too much of a delicious distraction.

  He had a cookbook open in front of him and was flicking through the pages. As Ellen watched, he looked up, caught her starting at him and smiled. Ellen tried to smile back but couldn’t get her mouth to work.

  When she told him what had happened, he couldn’t have been more understanding. Part of her wished he wouldn’t be so damn nice about it. Wished he’d plead with her to change her mind. He didn’t, of course. Simply kissed her on the forehead and said of course, he understood. Which he couldn’t because she didn’t understand herself, but she supposed it was good of him to say it. She stood by the front door and watched as he climbed into his battered green Saab and drove off.

  And just like that, he was gone.

  A cloud floated across the sky. It blocked out the moon and plunged the street into sudden darkness. Ellen waited for it to pass. Gradually, the moon came back – a sliver of white light that grew until it was a round whole once more. She went back inside and pulled the front door closed. It shut with a click. The sound echoed through the silent house, taunting her.

  Nineteen

  Chloe liked working in Lewisham. She could walk to work and not have to bother with public transport. She felt good this morning. Her night out with Anne had been fun, although it would have been a lot better without Nathan. He’d insisted on picking her up and driving her across. Then he’d stayed for the whole evening and driven her home afterwards. She knew he was only being kind, but sometimes she felt a bit stifled by him.

  Anne’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when Chloe showed up with Nathan tagging along beside her. Anne was nice enough to him, but Chloe could see her trying not to laugh a few times. Like when Nathan’s big belly nearly knocked the table over.

  But she shouldn’t be cruel. It was thanks to Nathan that she had the alarm and it was making a big difference. She was more relaxed in the house. The remote was brilliant. She’d got used to using it now and kept it with her all the time. She turned the alarm on each time she left the house. If anyone tried to break in, the alarm would go off and the police would be straight over there.

  It was a twenty-minute walk from her house to the office. She walked fast, checking every now and then, making sure no one was following her. Before all this started, she used to walk along the back streets, taking the footbridge over the railway track and into Lewisham that way. These days, she kept to the busy main roads: up Ennersdale Road and down Hither Green Lane. It was a busier, noisier route, the air thick with exhaust fumes. But there were enough people around to stop her feeling scared.

  She was earlier than usual, hoping to get to the office first so that she would be sitting at her desk, calm and relaxed, when Carl arrived. She knew Nathan had an appointment first thing. With a bit of luck, it would be just her and Carl for a while.

  Thinking about Carl, her attention wandered, which was why she didn’t notice the man standing by the bus stop wearing the light blue jacket until it was too late. She’d just reached the office, had her key in the door ready to open it when he jumped forward, grabbed her wrist and shoved her against the door. Hard.

  His smell was the first thing she recognised. Even before she looked up and saw his face. Ralph Lauren Polo. The only cologne he ever wore. The smell of it filled the air around her, suffocating and sick-making.

  He twisted her wrist and she whimpered, begging him not to break it. He smiled.

  ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

  He took the key from her useless fingers, fitted it into the lock, opened the door and pushed her inside. She fell to the ground and started crawling, desperate to get away, as far away from him as she could.

  The blinds were down, covering the windows, blocking out the light and making it impossible for anyone to see inside. Behind her, she heard Ricky turn the key in the door, locking it. Then his footsteps, steady and certain as he crossed the small space that separated them.

  * * *

  Thursday morning, Ellen drove to Monica’s before work. The two officers who’d responded to Ellen’s call last night had found no sign of an intruder. One of them later remarked to Ellen that Monica had seemed ‘tired and emotional’.

  This morning, the Monica who answered the door to Ellen was calm and composed.

  ‘Come in,’ Monica said, smiling. ‘Although I don’t have too much time. Thought I’d go to the studio this morning. Try to get back into doing some work. How are you, Ellen? You look tired, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  Tired because I was up half the night on your behalf, Ellen was tempted to reply. She was tired, but there was nothing new about that. She was always tired. Monica, on the other hand, looked like she’d had at least twelve hours’ decent kip. If she was hungover, there was no outward sign of it.

  ‘I won’t stay,’ Ellen said. ‘Just wanted to check you’re okay. You sounded in a bad way last night.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Monica said. ‘Maybe I over-reacted. It’s hard to know, isn’t it? When this starts happening to you, it’s easy to become paranoid. You were very kind to me, Ellen. I don’t take that for granted. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything?’

  ‘Like what?’ Ellen asked.

  Monica laughed. ‘Don’t be so coy, Ellen. I know you have a boyfriend. You let it slip the night I called over. Don’t you remember?’

  Ellen shook her head. ‘Too much wine and my mouth goes all loose. Sorry. Listen, if you’re sure you’re okay, then I’ll be out of your hair. Have a good day.’

  As she left, she turned back, looked at the outside of the house.

  ‘I thought you said you’d got an alarm fitted,’ she said. ‘Don’t they normally put a box up so people know the place is alarmed?’

  ‘It fell down,’ Monica said. ‘Someone’s coming over later to fix it. Don’t worry, Ellen, I’m doing everything you’ve told me to.’

  ‘Which system did you go with?’ Ellen asked.

  Monica frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  Ellen knew Monica knew exactly what she meant. She shook her head. ‘Doesn’t matter. Have a good day, okay?’

  As she drove off, she wondered why Monica would lie about getting an alarm fitted when she clearly hadn’t. Only one reason came to mind. Monica had lied about the alarm because she didn’t feel scared enough to get one. A fact Ellen found very interesting indeed.

  * * *

  The stink of his cologne filled her mouth and nose, making her gag. He was lying on top of her, the weight of his body pressing down, his face so close she could see the tiny pores on his nose, feel his breath, warm and damp on her face, when he spoke.

  ‘What the fuck were you playing at?’

  His hand was between her legs, pulling her pants to the side. His breathing was loud and fast and his erection pressed against her thigh. She shook her head, begging him. Not that, please not that.

  ‘I have a business to run,’ he said. ‘How do you think I can do that with everyone reading those fucking lies you’ve written about me?’ he shouted, voice high and angry just like she remembered.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She was crying now, couldn’t help it even though she knew he hated it when she cried. ‘I’m so sorry, Ricky. Please don’t hurt me. Please.’

  But it was too late for that. She should never have spoken to the journalist. Should never, for a single moment, have thought she could fight him and win. She’d never won when she was with him. So stupid to let herself believe it might be any different after she left.

  Twenty

  Ellen spent a frustrating morning trying to find something that linked Chloe Dunbar and Monica Telford. Both women claimed not to know each other. So there had to be another connection. Monica was lying. This bare fact underpinned all the work Ellen was doing. She had no proof, but was basing the assumption on a feeling she had. The sort of gut feeling she’d learned to trust over the years.

  The question was, why? Why was she lying?

  Ellen stood up from her compute
r, frustrated. She needed to talk about it, sort through the different, conflicting ideas racing around inside her head. Apart from Abby, the office was empty.

  ‘Fancy a coffee?’ Ellen asked.

  Abby looked around from her computer and smiled.

  ‘I’d kill for one,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to update the outstanding cases on the system and each time I try to save it, another part of me dies.’

  They went out of the station and across the road to Danilo’s, the little coffee shop that was second home for many of the people working in Lewisham station. On principle, Ellen refused to drink the liquid served in the staff canteen that pretended to be coffee but tasted like burnt mud.

  Once they’d found a table and settled with their mugs, Ellen told Abby how she’d spent her morning so far.

  ‘There has to be something that connects the two women,’ she said. ‘They both swear not to know each other.’

  ‘You think they’re both telling the truth?’ Abby asked.

  ‘Hard to tell,’ Ellen said. ‘More to the point, why would either one lie about it?’

  ‘Monica might lie,’ Abby said. ‘She only made a complaint after Chloe’s story was printed. If she’s some sort of delusional nutter, isn’t it possible that she read Chloe’s story and decided to report that the same thing had happened to her?’

  It was the most likely explanation. Ellen had seen enough attention-seeking delusionists over the years. People turning up at the station to report non-existent crimes. Wasting valuable police time that would be better spent helping real victims.