The quiet one, p.9
The Quiet One, page 9
‘Where in God’s name do you put it?’ I eye her slim figure, genuinely wondering how large her stomach is and how all that food can possibly fit inside such a svelte frame.
‘It’ll all catch up with me one day,’ she says as she licks at the spoon like a small child, making sure every last drop of ice cream is consumed. ‘My mum and her sisters all used to be slim and now they’re as fat as butter. My Aunt Lucy can barely get out of bed because she’s so big and when my Aunt Rachel died, they had to take her body out through the patio doors because she was too large to get through the front door. She truly was one humongous lady.’
I smile, shake my head and look away. I have no idea is any of it is true. Astrid is one for elaborating if it gets her a laugh or two. I guess it doesn’t really matter either way; she’s helping to take my mind off our next task and that is all that counts.
‘Right, I’ll get the bill.’ Astrid makes a face and shakes her head while reaching for her purse. I wag my finger at her and shake my head in return. ‘My treat, for coming along and helping. Don’t try to stop me.’
She sighs, mouthing a ‘thank you’ at me as I fumble for my card and head to the bar.
By the time I have settled up, Astrid is at my side, tugging at my sleeve. ‘Right, come on. Let’s strike while the iron’s hot. I’ve got a full stomach and I’m in fighting mode after a day of teaching geography to little shits who don’t seem to care a jot about the world around them. I mean, Christ almighty, Warren Adams didn’t even know the capital of France when I asked him. He asked if it was Madrid. I actually felt like walking out of the class.’
We both know this isn’t strictly true. We also know that the bulk of the pupils at Westland Academy are decent kids. But all it takes is a handful of disaffected youngsters to play up and it feels as if the entire class is against you.
We step outside and it becomes even more apparent that I am not functioning as I should be. I’ve put on a brave face but things feel horribly out of kilter, skewed and disconnected, like I’m trapped in a parallel universe, unable to properly connect with anybody and anything. I feel as if my life and everything I have ever done is about to explode in my face.
I take a deep breath and walk. The ground is spongy under my feet as we weave our way through the car park. I can barely manage to open the car door, to get in and fasten my seatbelt. My hands are cold, my usual dexterity absent as I fiddle with the strap, trying numerous times before it finally clicks into place. I can feel Astrid assessing me, trying to get inside my head. Wondering if I’ll come apart this evening. I am hugely relieved she has accompanied me here. I wouldn’t have been able to do this on my own. Astrid is the perfect person for this – strong, challenging, even confrontational. Everything I am not.
‘Take it easy, Stell. You’ll be fine. Just remember, you’re one step ahead of him. He doesn’t know you’re coming.’ Astrid’s voice is like a cool breeze over my skin, her reassurances helping to put everything into perspective and calm me down. Astrid is exactly what I need at this point in my life.
‘Thank you,’ I reply as I start up the engine. ‘I couldn’t have come here alone.’
She pats my hand, nodding over her shoulder and eyeing up the oncoming traffic. ‘Once this car’s gone, you’re good to go. Take the next right and keep on going for a mile or so before taking the next left. I’ll just sit back and enjoy the scenery.’
I don’t tell her that I know the route off by heart. Instead, I drive, letting the music wash over me, savouring the relaxing tunes of the early-evening radio. The playlist is designed to soothe and calm, to still the nerves of drivers caught up in heavy traffic.
Ten minutes pass in silence, the music lulling me into a near hypnotic state, Astrid saying nothing. I suspect she has closed her eyes, is possibly even asleep. I don’t glance her way, happy to leave her be. Instead, I focus on the road, listening intently as the presenter speaks softly into the microphone, addressing me as if I’m the only person in the world, the only one paying attention to their neutral, beige words.
‘Follow the road to the end then take the third exit on the roundabout.’ Astrid’s voice causes me to jump.
‘You sound like the sat nav woman. And you scared the life out of me. I thought you were asleep.’ There’s a distinct tremble in my voice. It doesn’t take much to bring me crashing back down to earth, for the harshness of reality to hit me.
‘Just resting my eyes. And I got you here, didn’t I? Keep going for a mile or so once you take that third exit.’
We’re getting close now. I remember this from my Google search. We chose a restaurant in the village next to where he lives. We can’t be too far away now. I swallow and grip the steering wheel even tighter.
‘Only a couple of minutes and we’ll be there,’ I say under my breath, more to steady my nerves and prepare myself than anything else.
I can see Astrid in my peripheral vision, watching me, gauging my state of mind, trying to work out whether I’m about to go into a meltdown, whether or not I will suddenly refuse to go through with the whole thing. That won’t happen. I’m nervous, that’s to be expected, but I’ve come too far to back down now. I’ve walked a long, dark path to get to this point but I can see a chink of light at the end of it.
We turn into a narrow, crescent-shaped road. I take my foot off the accelerator, slowing down to take the bends.
I see it before Astrid does, having thought about not much else all day: a small bungalow with a low, white fence. ‘That’s the one,’ she whispers. The lawn is perfectly manicured and trimmed. A red Suzuki sits under a carport. My innards churn. Somebody is home.
My confession doesn’t take Astrid by surprise when I make it. ‘I looked this place up earlier on Google maps. It’s not quite what I expected,’ I say quietly as I chew the inside of my mouth pensively.
‘What did you expect?’
I sigh loudly. ‘I’m not sure really. But not this. It looks like a retirement home, like somebody twice his age should live here.’
We sit for a couple of seconds saying nothing until the silence becomes too much to bear. ‘Come on,’ I say as I wrestle with the car door handle. ‘Let’s get this thing over with.’
Every sound is amplified, an array of noises rattling around my head as we walk up the path towards the bungalow: the thud of our feet on the concrete driveway, the wild squawks of the birds circling overhead, even the sound my own breathing is accentuated, a deafening, oceanic roar that overloads my senses as I raise my fist and knock on the door.
A distorted shadow on the other side of the glass tells us somebody is approaching. I grip Astrid’s arm, a sudden bout of dizziness threatening to take my legs from under me. The ground feels as if it is about to fall away under my feet.
The door is pulled open and there he is, right in front of me: the man I slept with. The man who has been prosecuted for stalking Astrid’s friend. The same man who is now stalking and threatening me. My skin prickles and I’m suddenly hot and cold at the same time, my blood like fire and ice, meeting and merging, exploding in my veins. I let out a whimper, clear my throat to disguise it.
‘Can I help you?’ His voice is soft and welcoming. But not for long. Not when I tell him why we’re here. He knows who we are; he has to. Somewhere deep in the darkest recesses of his brain, something is stirring, I am sure of it, and yet there isn’t a flicker of recognition in his expression. He is standing there, his eyes vacant, his expression blank. Just standing there, watching us, calmly, nonchalantly. Like he hasn’t got a care in the world.
Suddenly, I am riddled with doubt, crippled with anxiety. I need to say something, not just stand here, mute, useless. Before I find the courage to open my mouth, Astrid steps forward, her hand resting against the doorframe, her face inches from his, her voice a confident drawl. ‘I think you probably can, Glenn. Remember me?’ She turns then and points at me, her eyes ablaze. ‘And more importantly, do you remember this lady? Please don’t insult us by saying you don’t know who we are because we all know that’s an outright lie.’
My heart batters against my sternum. My skin shrinks against my bones, shrivelling like cling film as the colour drains from his face. He takes a step backwards with Astrid in close pursuit. ‘I’m sorry?’ His voice is a low, joyless croak, echoing around the hallway, accentuating how fucking awkward and unreal this situation actually is.
I step forward so I can scrutinise his expression, watch as he tries to move away from Astrid’s probing gaze.
‘Don’t act all innocent.’ She is pointing now, her finger close to his chest. ‘We know exactly what you’ve been up to. Now you can either let us in the house where we discuss this matter like adults, or we can do it here on the street where all your neighbours can hear. It’s up to you. We’re easy either way.’
My heart continues bouncing around my chest as he steps aside, ushering us into the living room, closing the door behind us with a muffled click. We find ourselves in the middle of a small room that is reminiscent of something from the eighties. The window is adorned by heavily patterned, brocade curtains. An array of twee ornaments sit on the flaking sill: porcelain cats, toby jugs, a ghastly collection of bright teapots. The walls are devoid of any pictures or photographs and look freshly painted. The floorboards have been stripped back to bare wood and a tin of white paint sits in the corner of the room.
He holds out his hand, indicating for us to take a seat. ‘Look,’ he says as he sits down opposite, ‘I did recognise you but have absolutely no idea what this is about. I honestly don’t know why you’re here.’
‘Then let me enlighten you,’ Astrid replies, her tone sharp as flint as she leans towards him, staring deep into his eyes. ‘We’re here to tell you to stop sending Stella threatening letters.’
He jumps up as if burnt, staggers backwards, his face creased, his veined, bloodshot eyes bulging. ‘Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about? Is this some sort of sick joke?’ His voice is a crescendo as he begins to pace around the room. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong man here. You have no right forcing yourselves into my home. I’m asking you to leave. Right now!’
‘We’ll leave when we’re ready,’ Astrid barks, her voice thin and feisty like the snap of a rubber band.
It’s my turn to step in, to stand up and speak, hoping to defuse the escalating tension in the room. This is my problem; this whole situation is my doing and it’s down to me to sort it out. Time to start talking, to dismiss my worries and fears, to open up to this man. Despite feeling anxious, I explain our visit, reminding Glenn of his previous conviction and the similarities between that episode and my situation.
‘And you think I’ve sent those letters?’ His voice rumbles through the room, resonating around us, his timbre powerful, authoritative, every syllable enunciated crisply and clearly.
‘You’ve been to my house. You know where I live and you’ve done this sort of thing before. You have form. It has to be you.’ I feel light-headed as I speak. Astrid is watching me, assessing my words and reactions, waiting to jump in if necessary. I ball my hands into fists and vow to keep going until I know the truth.
‘Look,’ he says as he suddenly slumps back down into the chair, ‘I know what I did was wrong but I can assure you, this time it isn’t me. I lost everything after that conviction – my job, my house. My whole life went down the bloody toilet. Do you really think I’m going to do anything like that again?’
I hold his gaze, wait for him to continue. I want to hear him speak, to listen to what he has to say. I need to know it all. Every little detail, no matter how ghastly it is.
‘I’ve never told anybody this,’ he mutters, his face now a sickly shade of grey, ‘but I had a breakdown at that time. I’m not using it as an excuse for what I did but it was a torrid time in my life and one I’d sooner forget. After losing my job and house, I had to move back in here with my mum. She died a few months back and left me this place. Without this, I’d have nothing. I’m self-employed now and slowly building up a portfolio of clients. I’m not about to ruin all that by sending out some stupid bloody letters to somebody I hardly know, am I?’ He lowers his eyes and clasps his hands together in front of him as if in prayer.
A tight band of pain wraps itself around my head. He sounds so convincing; I no longer know what or who to believe. What if I’m wrong? What if we’ve come here making wild accusations and it isn’t him? I know what Astrid will be thinking and can’t bring myself to look in her direction. She’s too fiery, too unwavering in her beliefs to back down, even when faced with overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Glenn stands up, paces around the room, his feet thudding on the wooden floor. ‘When did you receive these letters? If you give me dates, I might be able to prove that I didn’t send them.’
‘Thou doth protest too much.’ Astrid’s voice is a murmur but he hears it and spins around, finger outstretched as he thunders over to where she’s sitting, his eyes ablaze with unconcealed rage. His body appears to have multiplied in size as he towers over Astrid’s tiny slim frame.
‘What?’ he roars at her. ‘What the fuck did you just say? Say it again! Go on. I dare you. Fucking say that again!’
A thousand horses gallop through my head, pounding at my skull. We don’t know this man. He has a conviction for preying on another woman and now we’ve enraged him, pushed him to the edge and caused him to snap with our assertive manner, our wild, unsubstantiated accusations. What the hell have we got ourselves into? I visualise him running into the kitchen, coming back with a large knife clasped in his fist and bringing it down into Astrid’s chest, or for him to lunge forwards and clasp Astrid’s tiny neck between his large hands, pressing down on her windpipe until every last pocket of air has left her body.
Gasping and struggling to breathe, I bring a trembling hand to my mouth to suppress a shriek before slumping down onto the sofa, my body folding in on itself.
14
‘Please,’ I manage to say. ‘Let’s talk about this sensibly.’ My throat aches just from the effort of breathing. Speaking is a monumental struggle.
Astrid sits perfectly straight, her posture rigid, her features unmoving. Glenn is still hovering over her, his eyes narrowed in anger. Only as he hears my voice does he turn to me and I think I see his expression soften a fraction. Or at least I hope so. I have no idea what the next few seconds hold for us. He will either become horribly violent and throw us out of his house or be the reasonable man I hope he can be.
‘Wait here.’ His voice is a bark. He turns and leaves the room. I hear him banging about somewhere behind me. I’m tempted to get up, to sit with Astrid, but am afraid that the slightest movement or disturbance will infuriate him further. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Astrid watching me. I turn to her and shrug. She gives me a wide smile, looking every inch the self-assured woman who came here to confront this man; however, I know her well enough and can see beyond the façade. The tic in her jaw and the way she has her hands locked tightly together in her lap tells me that she, too, is frightened and wasn’t expecting such a vocal reaction from him. We have no idea what this man is capable of. My instinct tells me he is a decent person but I have no proof of that. All I have is a glimmer of hope burning deep in my chest.
I let out a juddering breath as the banging stops, only to be replaced by the sound of his footfall as he strides across the bare floorboards. His shadow looms over me, an ominous, grey mass that covers my body. I shiver and look up.
‘When did you get the letters?’
I close my eyes and try to think. ‘They started a month or so ago. I got the first one in the middle of April and then the most recent one came last weekend.’
He thrusts out his hand and shoves an iPad under my nose. ‘Here, take a look at this.’
I can barely move. My skin crawls as he continues to wave the iPad around so close to my face, I can feel the heat emanating from the skin on his hand.
‘I said look at it! Just look at the dates on the fucking pictures, will you?’
Snapping to attention and dragging myself out of the thick fog that seems to have descended on my brain, I take it from him, my eyes heavy and aching as I stare at a collection of photographs.
‘Look at the dates,’ he says dully. ‘Just look at them, will you. I was in Thailand in April.’
‘That proves nothing,’ Astrid says from the other side of the room. ‘Do they not have a postal system in Thailand then?’
To his credit, he ignores her comment and leans down to speak to me, his closely shaven beard near to my face. ‘Was there a foreign postmark on the envelopes?’ His voice is softer, pleading. More rational, less angry.
I shake my head. They were posted locally. I stare at the pictures of Glenn next to a group of people, posing in front of various temples and sitting on exotic beaches.
‘Now look at the dates.’
I scroll through and stare at the corner of the photographs at the dates on each one. He was in Thailand for most of April. He’s telling the truth.
‘And what about last weekend and the few days prior?’ Astrid says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Where were you then, eh?’
Glenn shrugs. ‘Sorry if this is going to upset and offend you, but I was in Amsterdam meeting a new client. I’ve got proof if you want to ring the hotel or see the receipt for the plane tickets on my Visa statement?’
My scalp prickles with humiliation as I stand up to face him. I have no words. Instead, I give him a meek smile and look over to Astrid to indicate that we need to leave. He has said enough to convince me. The pictures – plus my gut instinct – tell me we’ve got the wrong person. Glenn is innocent.
‘I’m sure you’re a very nice lady, but I’ve never ever sent you any letters and nor do I plan to. I’ve got a partner, a good life going for me now. It’s taken some time, but I’ve managed it. I’m not going to ruin it, not for you or for anybody for that matter. Now if you don’t mind?’ He holds out his hand towards the door and nods at Astrid, who remains seated.
