I stare at my phone aghast as it continues to buzz in my hand – Alison. Brrr. I’m going to have to answer it. Brrr. My finger hovers over the handset. Swallowing hard, I go to tap Accept Call, then hesitate. What if she shouts at me again? Brrr. Blames me for the breakdown of her marriage? Brrr. I’m not sure I can cope with that right now, not with this… this thing, which began as some sort of emotional ransom but has quickly escalated into something darker, or dare I say, sinister, hanging over me like a hungry wolf; not without Teddy here. Brrr. I take a deep breath. Come on, Lucy, stop being such a wuss and answer the bloody phone. You’re going to have to speak to her sooner or later.
‘Hello,’ I say with trepidation, as if a hand is about to burst through the phone and squeeze my throat.
‘Jesus, Lucy, where the hell have you been?’ Alison asks anxiously. ‘Why aren’t you answering your phone? I must’ve rung half a dozen times. I’ve been going nuts here. Mum and I are sick with worry.’ I frown. Not the greeting I was expecting from a woman who thinks I’m shagging her husband. ‘Xenia and Spiros are having kittens.’
I gasp audibly at this but she’s too busy blabbing to notice. Didn’t they find the note I pushed through their letterbox? I go to speak, then Alison says, ‘Are you okay?’ Blimey, she sounds frantic. ‘I was going to text you but Andrew told me he’d already spoken to you; you got cut off or something, said he was going to text you with the news. Did he?’ she asks, hopefully. ‘He hasn’t bothered to phone back here or message. Typical bloody Andrew. Are you okay? Do you want me to pick you up? Are you still stuck on the motorway?’ A lift? From Alison? And then it dawns on me – she knows.
‘Has Simon told you the truth about kissing me?’ I blurt, without preamble.
A few moments of silence hang between us and then, ‘Yes,’ she says faintly, and my entire body slumps with relief. I’ve been vindicated – at last. ‘He didn’t have much choice. I’ll tell you all about that in a minute. Did Andrew fill you in on everything else?’ Alison presses on.
I shake my head. ‘Yes, he did.’ I’m not sure why Alison thinks that Andrew and Jasmine’s temporary split is breaking news, but I don’t say anything. Instead I drink in her excitement. ‘Alison, I…’ There’s so much I want to say but I’m suddenly stumped for words. ‘I was in a bit of state earlier, when Andrew called, but I’m fine now. Well, apart from running out of–’
‘Simon and I are getting divorced,’ Alison interrupts. ‘I’ve thrown him out. I think you should know. You’ve every right. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for what I’ve put you through, for blaming you. He’s been screwing around for months, Lucy, probably years. I found some texts from his tart on his phone.’ I close my eyes – thank God she no longer thinks it’s me. ‘Stuff on his computer. Dating sites, porn – hard core.’
I’m about to tell her that I know about the texts, the dating sites and porn, that Teddy has filled me in with her news too, when his voice reverberates in my ears – If Alison calls, let her do the talking. I don’t want to lose my job, not with winter around the corner. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Alison,’ I say stiffly. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I will be,’ she says immediately. She’s being stoic but I know that inside she’s breaking. Simon was the love of her life – her hero.
‘That’s good,’ I say simply. ‘Time’s a great healer.’
‘Good?’ she replies, and I press my fingers to my lips. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’ No, I’ve got lots to say, actually, but my hands are tied. ‘Don’t you even want to know how I discovered it was Simon who came onto you that night?’ I stay silent, anxiety seeping into my bloodstream.
Alison breathes heavily down the phone. ‘I know I can apologise until I’m blue in the face and it still won’t make any difference. I wrongly accused you of having an affair with my husband. You. My lovely, lovely sweet friend,’ she admits, voice breaking. ‘You probably hate me now, anyway.’ Silence, and then, ‘I’ve been a right cow to you. But I really am sorry, and I promise to make it up to you if you give me a chance.’
I think about her apology as she continues to rant about Simon – he’s a rat, a pervert, she doesn’t know what she ever saw in him. Alison’s wrong. I don’t hate her. I am bloody annoyed with her for putting me through this, for not believing me. But hate? No, that’s too strong a word. Any woman would’ve reacted in the same way. Picture it. One day, out of the blue, a multimedia message pings through on your phone. You open it, full of anticipation, and see your best friend and husband snogging. What would be your first reaction? Shock? Horror? Disbelief? Probably all three condensed into one blinkered, seething ball of fury. In your mind’s eye you’ll trace recent events. Question everything. That look she gave him last Christmas when he complimented her on her clingy outfit, the way she touched his hand when he said something funny at the summer barbeque, how they belted out ‘We Will Rock You’ at your birthday bash, arm in arm, as you stood in the audience watching, wishing you loved Queen as much as they did, wishing you loved karaoke; his hand lightly touching her back as they walked out the front door on that fatal night when he gave her a lift home at your insistence. All innocent gestures at the time, but now? Evident signs of betrayal.
‘It’s okay, Alison. I’d have thought the same if I were in your shoes.’
‘Oh. Right. I don’t expect you to–’
‘Alison, listen,’ I interrupt, ‘we definitely need to talk about this but…’ I’m dying to find out what happened but I’ve got to keep my phone free in case Mum calls; in case Teddy needs to get in touch. I wish he’d hurry back. ‘But… um… my battery is low and–’
‘Lucy, Andrew did tell you about Teddy Fallon, right? Because you sound pretty calm to me.’
I snort. ‘Tell me what?’ Then I quickly replay Andrew’s texts in my mind. ‘Oh, you mean about the psycho comment?’ I pause, wait for her to chuckle at the absurdity of it, tell me how ridiculous and jealous Andrew is, but instead I’m met with an eerie silence. ‘Andrew’s name calling like a bloody child, Ali. He’s just bitter because there’s trouble in paradise. I mean, he’s only seen Teddy once, he’s hardly in a position to judge.’
I hear a long crackly inhalation of breath and then, ‘Did Teddy tell you about what happened at my mum’s this morning?’ I frown. Apart from Karen going out for a run and moving pots around, all he divulged was that she tried paying him twice for that fence. But I’m not sure if I should disclose this information to Alison. He was taking the piss out of her mum. Not that I approved of his piss-taking, but I don’t want to get him sacked. Come on, Teddy, where the hell are you? And then I look up and spot him ambling back – a tiny dark figure in the distance. ‘I’m sorry, Ali, I don’t know anything,’ I mutter absently, eyes not leaving Teddy. The figure disappears into a parked car and my heart sinks. It wasn’t him.
‘Lucy, I know you’re trying to protect him, but I really need you to be honest with me. This is serious.’ I pull a face. Serious? ‘Did he say anything about me? Anything at all?’
Yes, I want to say, he told me that you found out Simon was seeing another woman and you thought it was me, your best friend. Again. I swallow the words and they trickle down my throat like acid. ‘No, he hasn’t mentioned you at all,’ I lie, and then a thought enters my mind. ‘Oh wait, he did say that you called him last night to cancel a gig for Monday, but that’s all.’ I squeeze my eyes tight, cringing. I won’t say anything else. I won’t say anything else. Oh, fuck it. ‘Actually, yes, he did say something else. He told me you’d found out Simon had another woman on the go and you claimed it was me. In fact, you were certain of it.’
There’s a long unbearable silence and then she says, ‘Lying fucking piece of SHIT.’
I drag my bottom lip along my teeth. Gosh – what’ve I done? Alison’s furious. Teddy’s going to lose his job. He won’t be able to give Lydia the child maintenance he promised – might lose visitation rights. ‘Hang on, Ali, I might’ve…’
Alison’s sigh is loud and desperate, and I have to move the handset away from my ear. ‘Did he tell you about our altercation this morning at Mum’s?’ she asks, exasperation sliding into her tone. ‘And, for the record, I didn’t ring him to cancel Monday’s “gig”. Jesus.’ She pauses, blows loudly. ‘Teddy called me yesterday evening to confirm our appointment for Monday. But I was in the middle of an explosive row with Simon. Yes, I might’ve mentioned Simon’s tart but that was mainly for Simon’s benefit, to humiliate him, but I didn’t say the texts were from YOU. That you were the other woman. Christ!!!’
I look at the deserted street again, nonplussed. Teddy definitely said Alison thought I was the other woman. And I’m positive he told me SHE phoned him last night. I narrow my eyes at a plastic carrier bag caught on a tree branch, billowing in the wind. He obviously misunderstood, either that or something is very wrong here. ‘Look, Alison, I’ll double-check with Teddy as soon as he gets back, but you must’ve got your wires crossed. He shouldn’t be too long now. I…’
‘You’re not still with him?’ she asks, voice so cold that it sends an arctic trickle along my spine. ‘Andrew said you’d had a fallout, ditched him at the service station.’
‘No, that was a misunderstanding. Alison, it’s fine. Teddy and I are–’
‘Jesus Christ, Andrew,’ Alison cries. ‘I don’t fucking believe this.’ She sounds manic. What has Andrew told her?
‘No, you don’t understand,’ I say smoothly, trying to placate her. ‘Teddy and I had a bit of a disagreement earlier. Well, it was more of a full-blown row, to be fair. I thought he was still married. Anyway, we’re fine now.’
‘Fuck sake, Andrew,’ Alison yells, ignoring me. I hear the scuffle of movement, a crackle and a hiss, and then, ‘If you… do… it…’ She’s cutting out. ‘Where… bloody… keys?’ she yells. God, what’s wrong with her? Is she drunk? ‘Okay,’ she says, voice clearer. ‘Obviously, Teddy didn’t tell you what happened this morning when he came to secure Mum’s fence. The fence he bodged up yesterday because he hasn’t got a bloody clue.’
‘Alison, you’re not making any sense. I don’t understand.’
‘Okay, hear me out and please try to stay calm. You know that mother at the school gates who told me about her gardener just before the summer break?’ I tell her that I do. Teddy came highly recommended. ‘I saw her yesterday, the kids are back at school and she said Teddy Fallon is still waiting for me to phone him about mowing my lawn.’
I pull a face – she’s totally lost me now. ‘You did phone him, Ali,’ I say carefully. Alison’s obviously confused. This thing with Simon has hit her hard. I must admit, I was a bit spaced out when Andrew left me but I was completely compos mentis. ‘Alison, he’s been round to mow your lawn several times.’
‘Lucy, I’m not bloody senile. I didn’t… he isn’t…’ she falters. I can almost see her running a hand over her face. ‘Teddy Fallon, the gardener I was meant to hire, is a sixty-seven-year-old man from Hertfordshire.’
‘A sixty-seven-year-old man?’ I repeat. I look up at the deserted street again, tiny headlights sparkle in the distance. ‘That can’t be right.’
‘Lucy,’ she pauses, and then, ‘the man you’re with is not Teddy Fallon,’ she says quietly. ‘I got the number wrong, lovey. I scribbled it down on the back of a Sainsbury’s receipt at the school gates and wrote eight instead of three. I wrote three but I wasn’t wearing my glasses. When I read it back it looked like an eight. You know what my handwriting is like sometimes.’ Not sometimes, Alison – always. It’s like hieroglyphics. We all joke about it.
‘Wait. Slow down.’ I put a hand out. ‘You’re scaring me now. You got the number wrong and called someone else called Teddy Fallon who’s also a gardener?’ I know it’s random, but I’m desperate for her to be wrong, confused, drunk, anything but this.
‘That would be one hell of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?’ Alison says gently. She stays silent, giving me a few moments to process it all. But I can’t think straight. What the hell is happening? Everything’s fuzzy. All I can hear is a whirring buzzing sound in my ears, like a lawnmower whizzing around in my head. ‘He’s a liar, Lucy. An imposter.’
‘What?’ I gasp. ‘No… how?’
‘When I rang him that first time it went straight to voicemail. I left a message, saying something like, “Hi, this is a message for Teddy Fallon. I’m Alison, a friend of Sandie’s from Orpington Road. I’m desperate for a gardener. If you’ve got time, please give me a call back on this number.” He rang back within five minutes. He was nice, friendly, he even told me he’d give Sandie a discount for the referral if I hired him. After a brief chat about prices, I gave him my address and the rest is history. He’s a chancer, Lucy, a phoney. I know more about flipping plants than he does.’ I clamp a hand over my mouth, sealing in a silent scream. No, no, NO. It can’t be. She’s got it all wrong. ‘He’s been winging it. After my conversation with Sandie, I googled him and, surprise, surprise, no Teddy Fallon of his description. I mean, what professional hasn’t got a profile online these days? I confronted him with Mum this morning and he just turned, got into his car and sped off without a word.’
I suddenly feel faint, lightheaded. I think I’m going to pass out. I go to speak when I hear a string of knuckles rapping against my window – bang, bang, BANG! Snapping my head round, I gasp loudly, heart in my mouth, as I stare into watery, bloodshot pale-blue eyes.
‘Lucy, what’s wrong? Lucy, talk to me?’ Alison’s little voice cries out from the handset.
I open my mouth to speak but my tongue feels like lead. The man continues to glare at me – late-sixties, with dough-like features and a huge veiny nose. ‘You can’t park here,’ he snaps in a West Country accent.
I open the door and he takes a wobbly step back in his muddy dark red wellies. ‘We’ve broken down, sir,’ I manage, catching my breath. ‘I’m sorry if we’re trespassing. My… my friend has just gone to get petrol.’ I point at the BP sign.
‘Aye, just warning you, miss,’ he says, displaying a set of yellowing teeth. ‘You’ll get a hefty fine if a copper turns up.’ With this, he touches the rim of his filthy flat cap and hobbles off, limping with each slow step. I watch in silence as he clambers onto his ageing four-wheeled scooter and zips off. A harmless stranger warning me, not an axe murderer.
‘Lucy!!!’ Alison’s voice again. ‘Lucy, can you hear me? LUCY!!?’
‘Sorry, some stranger just accosted me about parking here. He’s gone now.’
‘Why didn’t you ask him for a lift?’
‘Um… let me think, because he looked like a serial killer?’ I say, unable to keep the cynicism out of my voice.
‘There’s no need to be sarky.’
‘Are you positive that the man I’m with isn’t Teddy Fallon? I mean, he might be. It might all be one big coincidence. Stranger things have happened.’
‘I’m sorry, Lucy. You need to get as far away from him as possible.’
I look up at the glowing BP sign feeling numb, wishing I’d hopped onto the back of that well-meaning serial killer’s moped after all. ‘Are you telling me he’s dangerous?’ I ask, lips trembling.
‘I’m not sure if he’s dangerous, per se, but we think he’s the one who sent you that picture message.’
‘WHAT!!?’ I blurt, blinking wildly. Teddy can’t be the blackmailer. NO. He can’t be. This is insane. Unreal. I thrust a hand through my hair, face on fire. This type of thing only happens in those psychological TV dramas that Andrew loves to watch, not in real life. ‘But he can’t be.’ My mind races. ‘It’s impossible. I got the first threatening text on the day I met him. That photograph was taken over a week before.’
‘Don’t get in a tizz but…’
‘But what?’ Silence. ‘ALISON!!!?’
‘Please try to stay calm, Lucy, freaking out isn’t going to help anyone.’ Her deep inhalation crackles down the line. ‘I showed him your photograph, which he loved, by the way, because his pupils dilated and he went a bit red, about a week before you met him.’ Jesus, why is she telling me all this now? ‘An hour later, I caught him reading my address book in the hallway. When I questioned him he told me he knocked it off the side table bringing a plant through. I believed him, why wouldn’t I? It was feasible. But…’
‘Go on,’ I urge, blinking furiously at the empty road ahead. ‘I haven’t got much time. He’ll be back soon.’
‘The page was open on the initial L and your name, address and phone numbers were on that page.’
‘That doesn’t prove anything.’ Maybe Teddy Fallon is a liar and a cheat, an opportunist, but he isn’t the blackmailer – he can’t be. ‘Next you’ll be telling me he’s the one who took the photograph of me and Simon that night.’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘At least we agree on one thing.’
‘No one took a photograph of you that night. The image was–’
I tut. ‘Alison, someone has been blackmailing me with a picture message,’ I interject. ‘It exists. You’ve seen it.’
‘If you just let me finish,’ Alison says firmly.
I glance at my watch. Teddy’s been gone eleven minutes. ‘Go on,’ I say impatiently.
‘Remember that night Simon dropped you off home in Mum’s car?’ I nod, even though she can’t see me. How could I forget? Simon used Karen’s VW Golf, because his was in the garage and Alison’s insurance had expired. ‘Mum had a dashcam fitted recently, which none of us knew about, by the way. She kept finding random scratches on her car and Trevor, her new bloke, suggested she invested in one. Once it was installed, she forgot all about it. It’s tucked behind the rear-view mirror. Anyway, the day after she got back from that yoga retreat in Devon, she noticed a small dent on the back wing.’
There’s a pause, a shuffle, the mutter of voices. I think she’s covered the mouthpiece. ‘Sorry, Oscar’s just come in. Anyway, Mum wasn’t sure if it was a hit and run, or if it was one of us.’ She lowers her voice. ‘You know Oscar’s got his provisional licence?’ I tell her that I do, he’s had it a few months. Karen gives him lessons in her car because Ali’s Lexus is too big and Simon’s is a company car. ‘Mum didn’t want to start pointing any fingers until she was sure, then she remembered the dashcam, but had no idea how to use it. She couldn’t ask one of us, for obvious reasons, and didn’t want to ask Trevor, because deep down she suspected it was Oscar.’
Alison pauses and I picture her rolling her eyes. Poor Oscar’s always blamed when something breaks or goes missing. Let’s say, he’s a bit heavy-handed. ‘So she called Teddy in from the garden, asked him if he had any idea how the thing works.’
I listen in silence as she goes on to tell me how Karen had paid Teddy thirty quid to upload the footage from the dashcam SD card onto her computer and check it for any discrepancies. She made him a cup of tea, then left him to it while she went up to clean the bathroom; about ten minutes later, he called up to her from the bottom of their stairs, told her he’d skimmed through it and it was all clear, the dent must’ve already been there, and no, there was no need for her to come down – he’d see himself out and see her next Friday to jet wash her patio.
‘Poor Mum took his word for it,’ Alison continues. ‘You know how trustworthy she is. But as fate would have it, last night Mum tried to upload some photos onto her computer. A few had vanished, so she checked her recycle bin and that’s when she stumbled across the dashcam video file. Once she realised what it was she sat there and watched it all – frame by frame and then bingo, there you both were.’
‘Oh my God.’ My stomach tightens. ‘It recorded the whole thing?’
‘Yep – stupid sod left the engine running when he got out. Mum rang and told me right away. She wanted to call you but I managed to persuade her to wait until morning to give me a chance to see it first.’
‘Oh, God,’ I utter, raking a hand through my curls. ‘Karen’s dashcam. I can’t believe it.’
‘I watched it all, Lucy. Simon jumps out of the car, meets you at the bonnet, hands you something – your phone, I think, and then…’ Alison hesitates. ‘And then.’ Another pause. God, this must be so hard for her. ‘And then he kisses you. It’s all on film. You pushing him off, everything,’ she admits, voice breaking. ‘We even saw you wiping your mouth in disgust and spitting on the ground. I can’t believe I fell for his lies. I’ve been such a bitch to you.’ Another pause and a sniff. I think she’s crying. So that’s how Simon Maxwell got caught out – he didn’t finally develop a conscience. The snake.
‘Okay, but how is Teddy involved in all this?’
‘Teddy saw it all, obviously.’ Alison pauses, blows her nose loudly. ‘Took snapshots with his phone, deleted the video clip, probably thinking that an old biddy like Mum would never find it, then lied to her about his findings. That way he’d have access to the footage if he needed it again, probably to blackmail Simon.’ Shit, is that how he intended on paying Lydia the maintenance arrears? I can’t breathe. ‘And he’d also have something on you if you rejected him. A bit of security in case things went pear-shaped. It’s how these psychopaths think.’
‘Psychopaths!!?’ Is she serious? Hot tears blur my vision. ‘But why would he do such a thing?’ I cry. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I think he’s got a fixation on you. I’d go as far as saying that he fell for you from the photo stage, followed you, pursued you, with the aim to alienate you from everyone and everything, so you’d end up relying on him completely. Think about it, Lucy, he knew there was nothing going on between you and Simon because he saw the footage. Your first date didn’t go well, did it? You told me and Mum that you didn’t want to see him again.’ That’s right. I didn’t. He wasn’t my type. ‘He must’ve picked up on it, knew he wasn’t going to get a second date, so he sent you the threatening text and then the picture message, to weaken his prey, make you vulnerable, powerless.’
A feeling of dread tears through my guts. ‘When he saw you breaking, he forwarded it to me to end our friendship. That’s when you fell for him, wasn’t it, when you were all alone and needy?’ My insides sink. She’s right. It was. ‘He’s a very clever and calculating man, Lucy. He lied to you about what I said too, about me ringing him to cancel, about me saying you’re Simon’s bit of stuff. Why would he do that, hmm? I think you’ve got yourself a stalker.’
I quickly kick the door open and vomit onto the grass footpath. Gripping the door frame, I retch again but nothing comes out. I wait out another bout of nausea, hair in my face, spittle drooling from my lips, before collapsing back onto my seat. Alison’s tinny voice drifts from my phone. I lift my hand up weakly and press it to my ear. ‘Alison, how could you have set me up with a madman?’ I ask, wiping vomit from my lips with my sleeve. ‘I’m stuck in the middle of god-knows-where with him now. I can’t get away. What am I supposed to do?’
‘Oh, God, I know. I’m sorry! He seemed so normal. Nice. Decent. Where are you now? I’ll come and get you. Phone the police.’
‘I don’t know,’ I whimper. ‘Parked up on a country lane somewhere. We’ve run out of petrol.’ I swing my legs round, carefully avoiding my vomit, eyes darting around for a road sign, for someone to help me. ‘Alison, I’m going to have a quick scout.’ Tiptoeing around my puke, I round the car, then cross the road, craning my neck for a better view, but all I can see is stretches of tarmac and the BP petrol sign.
‘Oh, Ali, I can’t see a thing.’ I scan the isolated street wildly. ‘I don’t know what to do. I could make my way towards the petrol station but I might meet him on the way back. What do you think?’
Silence.
‘Alison?’ I hope we haven’t been disconnected. I look at the black screen on my phone.
Shit. I’m out of fucking juice.