July 2015

She is shocked and shaken but also angry with Sarah. She marches after her to try again, pushing through the people all crowded together, dancing and drinking. Suddenly the club is too dark. Too noisy. Too alien. The smell of sweat and alcohol everywhere she turns. She feels a little giddy.

‘We promised to stick together.’ She grabs at Sarah’s arm but can hear that her own words are slurring slightly – sees now that Sarah is unsteady, too. ‘We really need to go now. I don’t feel safe. Please, Sarah. I’m begging you . . .’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, don’t be such a baby, Anna. So dramatic.’ Sarah again shakes her off. ‘I told you already. If you want to go, just go. But I’m not ready. Why don’t you just lighten up. Have another drink.’

‘I’ve had enough here, Sarah. We need to go.’

‘Then – you go. I’ll see you later. Back at the hotel.’ And then Sarah is gone again, through the crowd, heading after Antony into one of the other rooms.

Anna stands very still, just watching her. She has to position her legs wider apart to stop the swaying. Everything is swaying. The room and the shadows and the lights and the people. The music pounding right through the floor and up through her body. She feels her eyes narrowing and her vision is ever so slightly blurred. She sees a man looking at her, swigging from his beer bottle. He winks. She looks away, suddenly all paranoia. Again checks her handbag, its long strap across her body. Checks the zip. Her purse. Her phone. She follows the signs to the toilets and waits for a free cubicle. Puts down the lid. Sits down and leans forward to try to calm herself; takes out her phone. She skims the contacts. Home. She looks at the word, blurring in front of her. She thinks of her dad in the car. How angry with him she was. The photograph. Him and that woman. She lets her finger hover for a moment but then – no. She wipes her thumb against her dress. She considers the fallout; that her mother will never, ever let her do anything on her own again. She sits for a while, wonders how long it will be until she feels more steady. For just a

moment, she thinks of Sarah’s dad but then remembers the warning . . . If you phone my dad, I will never speak to you again.

Anna has had too much to drink before, but never on her own. Not like this. She wishes that she had downloaded the app for taxis but Sarah had said she would do that.

She has no choice, then. Anna decides to go outside and hail a cab. She remembers that it must be a black cab, has read about the danger of fake minicab drivers. She feels afraid and so, to calm herself, she tries to picture herself in the back of the cab. Safe. Right up to the front door of the hotel. Where she will ring Sarah and maybe her parents next, even the police if Sarah still won’t listen, still won’t come . . .

Outside it is drizzling. There are a few people smoking. Quite a narrow street. Hardly any traffic. She waits a while and tries not to look at anyone. But no cars pass. No taxis. She sees the bouncer at the door and wonders if he might help her find a cab but he is suddenly distracted by a group of three men who are playing up because he won’t let them in.

She is getting wet. Still feels so unsteady on her feet. And then . . . ‘Anna. What on earth are you doing here?’

She turns, and relief and surprise and a whole myriad of emotions flood through her so that she bursts into tears.

‘Tim. Oh my God.’

He is shushing her and she is embarrassed and relieved all at once.

Wiping her face with her sleeve.

‘Oh God, Tim, I’m so pleased to see you. But what on earth . . . I thought you were in Scotland?’ She is clutching at both his arms, using them to steady herself. Confusion. Relief. Disorientation.

‘Where’s Sarah?’ Tim is looking right into her face.

‘In the club. She won’t come. I’m trying to find a taxi. I can’t make her come.’

‘Well, you won’t find a cab here. No chance.’ He is glancing around the street. ‘Come on. This way. Let’s get you out of this rain.’

Tim is leading her then by the arm, and she expects him to take her into a doorway. A café or a pub or something. The tube? But he is saying that the tube stopped hours ago and they need to get to a place where they can order her a cab. ‘This way. We need to take the night bus. Just a few stops. Then we can get you a taxi easily.’

They seem to be walking quite a long way. A bus stop. Then on the bus. No one else. She asks, ‘Does the bus go near the hotel?’ She gives him the address again. He says no. It doesn’t go that far. But she is not to worry. They will be able to order her a cab for the last stretch.

And then they are off the bus, walking again. And Tim is saying, ‘Here it is. The flat. Here. We can get you dry and order the cab from here. Wait in

the dry.’ She can hear keys jangling. There is a porch which is keeping them dry. And then they are inside.

A narrow hall, then a sitting room with a bay window. Brown curtains.

He is explaining that this is the flat left to him by his father. To be rented out so the income can fund him through uni. That was the deal in the will. The reason he is in town. The trip to Scotland got cancelled. This flat is normally let. ‘Remember, I told you all, when my dad died?’

She does, sort of. Vaguely. Tim’s dad showed no interest in him all his life, then suddenly got cancer. Got God. Got in touch. No one else in his life, so put Tim in his will . . . She is glad to be safe. Out of the rain. But where is the tenant? And how far are they from her hotel now?

Tim says the tenant has just done a bunk and he’s in town to tidy the place up. Sort out a new lease. He was planning to contact her tomorrow to explain Scotland was cut short; see if he could meet her and Sarah after all.

‘I thought you girls were at a musical tonight?’

She explains how the club was recommended online. Does not mention Karl and Antony. Ashamed. She can hear her words slurring still and tries to speak more slowly. She feels so embarrassed; she does not want Tim to judge her. She is trying to sound sensible, but she is wondering now what he was doing near the club. He says he had a curry with a mate at an Indian nearby.

‘Just as well, eh? You shouldn’t be on your own, Anna. Not in London.

Especially that bit. Dodgy area.’ ‘You were there.’

‘It’s different for blokes.’

And now Anna needs to sit down. She’s still so woozy.

‘Right. We need to make sure Sarah is OK, too,’ he is saying. ‘I’ll go back for her once you’re OK. She’ll be safe in the club for now.’ He is taking out his phone; she hears him ordering a cab for her. Double-checks the name of her hotel. He says cabs are more reliable this time of night when you order them to come to an address. They are saying it will be fifteen minutes. Not too bad. Right. So he will see her off safely, then he will go back himself for Sarah. Bring her to the hotel. Is she OK with this?

Anna is thinking that maybe they should have gone back in for Sarah straight away. She is grateful but confused, and begins to cry again. He is sitting next to her, his arm around her shoulders. Tells her not to worry. That it is all right now, Anna. He is going to make sure that everything is all right.

And then she closes her eyes. And she is remembering the awful picture Tim sent her this morning. Her dad with April – Tim’s mum. She hasn’t wanted to mention it, to think about it even, but wonders why he hasn’t said anything either.

‘Why did you send me the picture, Tim?’ She is still crying. ‘I mean – why this morning?’

It hit her phone just before her dad drove her to the station. Such a terrible shock.

You disgust me.

‘I just felt you had the right to know. It was a terrible shock to me, too. I thought we should decide together what to do. Whether to tell your mum.’

‘I wish you hadn’t. I had a big row with my dad.’ ‘Sorry. I didn’t think.’

‘But how did you get it? The photo?’ It was so graphic. So foul. Her dad and April. Naked. Her legs up in the air on the bed. Like porn. Disgusting . . .

And now Tim is standing, saying he doesn’t want to talk about that anymore just now, and that he will make them coffee. It will do her good. She is thinking that there isn’t time, surely. No point. With the taxi? But he says even a few sips will do her good. ‘The state you’re in . . .’

While he is gone, cluttering about in another room, Anna begins to glance around. And now she doesn’t understand. There are quite a few books on one of the shelves. Walking books and map books. And there are magazines, too, ones she knows that Tim likes. She narrows her eyes. There’s a stack – months’ worth of them. She looks down at the coffee table: they’re from the past three months. It doesn’t make sense.

‘You OK in there, Anna?’ ‘Fine.’

She reaches down to the shelf under the coffee table to find a book of walks in Cornwall. A frisson of unease passes through her. The book has several places marked with bookmarks. No. Not bookmarks. She flicks the pages to find that there are photographs marking the chapters.

The first makes her smile. It is a group shot – that birthday party her mum threw for Tim. They are wearing hats made from balloons, and she and Sarah are clutching sausage dogs that the boys made. Tim and Paul.

She turns the pages to the next photograph, and then suddenly there is this truly odd feeling within her. Like a change of temperature. For it is a picture of her, taken from a distance. She is at her bedroom window looking out, just about to draw the curtains.

Anna can feel her heart rate increasing. Her muscles tensing. She flicks through the book to find more pictures – just of her. Her playing on the lawn. Her sitting in a tree. All of them taken from a distance.

She puts the book back and stands just as Tim returns with two mugs. ‘How long till the taxi, Tim?’

‘Not long now.’

‘I think I need the loo.’ She tries to hide that her hands are shaking by her sides.

‘Sit down. You’ll be back at the hotel in a moment. You can go there.’ There is a change in his tone. Clipped. Not nice. Not Tim. He is standing

between her and the door.

She looks at him, the temperature even colder inside her. ‘The bathroom here isn’t nice, Anna.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Drink your coffee. Just remember it’s a good job I found you.’ Finally, he sits and sips his drink. ‘A very good job I watch out for you, Anna. That I always watch out for you.’

‘Yes. Very true. I’m grateful, Tim.’ She is looking at the magazines and the book of walks, her heart thump-thump-thumping in her chest.

‘Did you say the tenant did a bunk?’

‘Yeah. Last week. We need to find another tenant.’ He has started to rock in his seat. To and fro . . .

She can feel her shoulders starting to tremble and is worried he will see this. She looks at the books on the shelves. Notices that some of them are A- level books. Tim’s A-level subjects.

‘Let’s wait in the doorway. Look out for the cab, shall we?’ She has stood up again.

‘No. Sit down. Drink your coffee.’ That clipped tone again. He twitches his head. Rocks faster.

‘I think I need the air, Tim.’

‘You’re fine, Anna. You’re with me now. You’re fine when you’re with

me.’

She sips her drink. She can hear her breath. Her pulse. Her heart. She

can feel the dread building and building, the temperature falling and falling – but knows, too, even through the booze and the fear, that she must not let him see this. Little black dots on the edge of this scene, closing in. Not real.

‘Could I have some water, Tim?’

‘No. You’re fine.’ Tim has started to rock faster. To. Fro. To. Fro. He is all agitation suddenly. Strange, jerky movements of his head.

‘It’s OK. I’ll get the water.’ She stands and moves towards the door to the hall, slowly at first, but then faster and suddenly he is grabbing at her from behind. Instinctively she kicks back hard with her right leg and he recoils for a moment.

She makes it through to the hall, just feet from the door, but feels a blow suddenly to the back of her head. Blackness for a moment. Then her eyes open. She is on the floor. Black and white tiles, cool beneath her palms. A brass letterbox.

She is trying to scream but there is something over her mouth. Flesh. The smell of sweat. She tries to bite into the flesh but cannot open her jaw. She puts up her left hand to her head. A terrible pain. Blood on her hand as she puts it back down, still trying to move his hand from her mouth.

All the time he is saying things over and over. Mad things. That she is

safe with him. Only him.

His voice, muddled and mad. And dreadful. That she needs to let him look after her. Watch over her. That it was much better when they were children. Easier to keep her safe when they were children . . .

She tries to crawl. That brass letterbox.

And then she hears a new sound, a sort of lashing through the air. He has grabbed at something from the coat hooks to their left. For just a second his hold on her is loosened. She lunges forward. The door. The latch. Please . . .

But there is something around her throat now, pulling her back. The smell of leather. Then a new pain. Much worse.

She can’t breathe. Choking, choking. She puts her hands to her neck.

Tries to squeeze her fingers between the belt and her flesh.

She sees pictures suddenly, all swimming and changing and blurring. Her dad in the car. You disgust me. Primroses on the lane at home. Sammy, the dog – his head turned to look at her.

She is fighting and squeezing with her fingers. Trying so desperately to get back to them.

Her mother in the kitchen. The smell of cinnamon. Plum slices. Ready, Anna . . .

Squeezing, squeezing with her fingers.

Her father with Sammy on the lane. Walking back to the house. Ruffling her hair. Primroses for Mummy . . .

She is calling out to them, to all of them in turn, but they cannot hear her. Instead, this terrible gurgling in her throat. Pain in her chest. Still she fights and fights and fights . . .

Cartwheels on the lawn. Jenny smiling at her. Sammy yapping at her heels . . .

Please. She has to fight. She has to tell her father that she loves him really. She has to get back to them.

Please.