‘This has been the best evening for… for ages. So good to have my wing woman back.’
I grin at JoJo and drape an arm round my friend’s shoulder. The two of us have just left ‘the sherry thing’ – a tasting event at a hip new Spanish sherry bar in Shoreditch. Dominic is on a work trip to Southampton, so JoJo and I pressed ahead with our New Year’s resolution to try new things.
‘It was great fun. Well done you for coming up with the idea. Even if all that sherry has gone right to my head.’
I don’t want to provide grist to JoJo’s mill by saying so, but privately I’m thinking that this is probably the happiest I’ve been for a while. It’s been ages since Dominic and I had any fun, though I’m hoping to rectify that with our imminent baby-making weekend in the Cotswolds, booked after JoJo suggested the venue.
She pulls my arm away and turns to look me straight in the face. She’s suddenly serious. ‘Are you okay, hun?’
‘What d’you mean? Course I am.’ I’m slurring slightly.
‘Only, I don’t know… I worry about you sometimes. Are you sure you’re happy? You know, at home.’
‘I’m fine. Everything’s fine,’ I say. To be honest, JoJo’s expressions of concern annoy me a little. She’s always been possessive of me and doesn’t like sharing me with other people. That includes my husband.
‘You going to tube it back?’ she asks me.
‘Think so, yes. I can jump on the Central line at Liverpool Street – shouldn’t take too long.’
‘I meant with, you know, the mystery attacker, wouldn’t it be better to get a taxi to your door? That’s what I’m going to do.’
There have been a series of violent rapes in West London in the past few months, with one victim dying from her injuries. The most recent attack took place only the previous night.
‘It’ll be fine,’ I say, with more bravado than I feel.
‘Have you got a rape alarm?’
I shake my head.
‘Here – borrow mine.’ JoJo rummages in her handbag. ‘In fact, you may as well hang on to it. I’ll order another one on Amazon in the morning. While it’s still dark so early, you’re going to need it.’
It’s unseasonably wintry for late March; raw and cold with a chilly drizzle. I turn up the collar of my coat and hunch my shoulders as I trudge home from Queen’s Park station. There are still people about and businesses open on Salisbury Road, but when I turn onto Waverley Gardens, the street is quiet, apart from the sound of leaves being whipped across the pavements by a north-easterly wind. The residents are inside; lights on, TV screens flickering.
As I round the bend in the road, reaching instinctively for my keys, I see a figure, half hidden by shadows, on the pavement outside my house. I drop the keys and reach instead for JoJo’s rape alarm.
It’s okay, I tell myself, the lights are on next door. I can go there.
I hesitate, instinctively slowing my pace, and as I do so, the figure steps under the street light, and I can see that it’s a woman. A young woman.
‘Can I help you?’ I ask, pausing next to the front steps of our neighbours’ house, just in case.
‘Are you Dominic Gill’s wife?’
I nod slowly.
‘Can I have a word?’
I step a little nearer. The woman is somewhere between twenty-five and thirty: quite heavy-set, with her reddish-blonde hair in an unflattering bushy bob. ‘What’s this about?’ I ask her.
‘I don’t really want to talk on the street.’ She has a faint accent, though I can’t quite pinpoint it. South African? She indicates the front door of the house with a nod.
‘I’m sorry, but whatever you have to say, you can say here.’
I’m being appraised, with a look that takes in my expensively cut hair and my Miu Miu boots, but she says nothing more, so I turn and walk briskly up to the front door. She follows me, grabbing hold of my shoulder as I try to put the key in the lock.
‘Hey! Get off!’ I instinctively raise my voice.
A few seconds later, Jeremy, my next-door neighbour, opens his door and sees me scuffling with the woman, trying to free myself and get into the house.
‘Everything okay, Alice?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I shrug my right shoulder to push the woman off me. ‘This woman’s trying to get into our house after I asked her to leave.’
Jeremy, a portly barrister in a pinstriped suit, strides up my garden path and grabs the woman’s coat, marching her back onto the pavement. ‘Now clear off!’ he says sternly, pulling his mobile from his pocket and waving it in her direction. ‘Right now, or I’ll be calling the police.’
‘Call the police?’ She gives a grimace, smoothing down her coat. ‘Now that would make for a very interesting conversation… Especially if it’s about all the stuff your husband’s been up to!’
Jeremy starts to dial, but I shake my head at him, heading back down the garden path towards the street. ‘Hold on!’ I shout after her. ‘Exactly what do you mean by that?’
The woman has already started walking east along Waverley Gardens in the direction of the main road, but she doubles back a few paces. ‘I told you, we can’t talk in the street,’ she says, not unpleasantly. ‘If you really want to hear what I have to say, you can come and meet me tomorrow. The Novotel, London West.’
She turns again. ‘Wait a moment,’ I call after her. ‘How will I find you?’
‘Room 422,’ she says, reaching into her bag and scribbling something onto a scrap of paper before walking back and handing it to me. It’s the address and a mobile number. ‘Text me to arrange a time.’
I grab it from her and hurry back towards my front door, relieved to see that Jeremy is no longer watching this domestic drama but has gone back into his house.
The woman cups her hands round her mouth to ensure her voice carries. ‘Oh, and make sure you tell hubby I said “hi”.’
‘Oh God!’ Dominic is actually laughing. ‘I can’t fucking believe it. Don’t tell me – she had a Scottish accent? Reddish hair?’
‘Well, yes,’ I say. ‘Sort of. Except I thought she might be South African.’ I’m thrown by his reaction.
‘That’ll be Shona. Shona Watson. She’s someone who I worked with in Scotland. A total bunny-boiler.’
We’re in the kitchen the following evening. It’s the night before our anniversary trip away and Dominic is just back from his business trip, his unpacked suitcase still on the front mat. Armed with a glass of wine, I confronted him the minute he came through the door.
‘So you’re saying you do know her?’
‘Yes, but I’ve never been involved with the mad bitch.’
‘So why does she want to talk to me? She even gave me her number.’
‘You didn’t call her?’
I shake my head. ‘I wanted to speak to you first.’
‘She came down to London to try and reconnect with me, and because I knocked her back, she’s gone feral. She’s a stalker.’
‘So she wants to talk to me… why?’
‘Well, I’m assuming it’s just to make trouble. The best thing you can do is to ignore the cow.’
I hesitate a fraction of a second too long.
Dominic comes over to me and takes my wine glass from me, setting it down on the table before enveloping me in his arms. ‘You silly chook. Listen – I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. You can’t get a restraining order without making a complaint to the police first, but I’ll take the first step. As soon as we’re back from the weekend, I’ll go to Paddington Green and file a report. In the meantime, please just ignore her if she gets in touch again.’
I wriggle out of his embrace and look up at him. His gaze is calm and steady, and he is clearly completely serious.
‘You can come with me if you like. It will probably carry more weight if we both complain. You can tell the cops what Shona said to you.’
‘She didn’t say a whole lot. Just where she was staying. She gave me this.’ I go to my bag and pull out the scrap of paper.
‘It’s up to you… but I think this needs nipping in the bud. And I don’t want you having any doubts at the back of your mind.’
‘I suppose I could come with you.’
‘That’s my girl.’ He kisses me on the forehead, then takes the slip of paper and throws it into the kitchen bin. ‘And you won’t be needing this.’