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The media was agog with news of the carnage running rife through the European bond market. Dorothy thought it best to err on the side of caution, and called Claudia Healy to discuss the situation. The guru advised her to keep her eyes and ears open for any investment opportunities. The good ones were thin on the ground, she said. If her client should chance to hear of something interesting, she was not to hesitate to pick up the phone. Better to be safe than sorry and all that.
Dorothy pulled a face as she rang off. She was certain she would not recognise a good investment opportunity if it started beating her around the head with a baseball bat. When her phone beeped, she was still pondering Claudia’s words, and glanced at the message without really seeing it. It took her a full minute to process the sentence on the screen, which simply read: You don’t deserve the money bitch.
She gaped at the text and wondered if it was somebody’s idea of a joke. The number did not have an international prefix, ergo was unlikely to be Jamie acting the maggot somewhere in the antipodes. She saved the number in her contacts as Nasty Text then called it, fully expecting to hear giggling at the other end. Instead she heard the out of service message.
For a horrible moment, the possibility crossed her mind it might be from Victor. He had compensated for his lack of conversational skill by making full use of his opposable thumbs. Consequently, he had been a prolific texter throughout the months of their relationship. Surely he was not coming out of the woodwork now?
It had been years since she had seen or heard from the bloated ego. Given his egomaniacal nature, how likely was it he would resort to an anonymous text? Highly unlikely. She speedily dismissed the notion. Absolutely not. Whoever the prankster was, it was not Victor Hines.
The situation was annoying, but Dorothy put it out of her head and focused on other things. It was not the first time she had received an odd text, and was unlikely to be the last. The following evening as she was getting ready to go to the theatre with Bel and Amanda, her phone beeped again. She had almost forgotten the previous day’s incident, hence it was even more of a shock when she read the latest message: You don’t deserve it bitch. You should have given it away.
Sitting down abruptly on the bed, Dorothy rubbed hard at her chest where the Space Ache had suddenly flared. She stared at the phone, her mind racing. It was the same number she had saved in her contacts, although when she tried calling it, only heard a robotic voice telling her it was out of service.
Undecided about what to do, she spent the evening with her friends as planned, but refrained from mentioning the messages. She did not want to worry them over something which was very likely nothing more than a nasty practical joke.
Bel was looking much better and said she was feeling great. Dorothy knew from speaking to Viv that Bel had confided in her about her marital woes. Bel was aware Viv had survived the news of Garry’s affair, and was also something of an expert on financial troubles, which meant she felt able to open up to her. The two women discovered common ground, and enjoyed the sort of chat they used to regularly have when they were in their twenties, but which they had not engaged in since Naomi’s death.
Viv reported back that, in her opinion, the Kinsellas would be fine once Gerald resolved the management issues at his firm. She was also inclined to think Bel was right to believe her husband when he denied the existence of another woman. ‘Whatever you think of Gerald,’ Viv said, ‘there’s no denying he was always a one woman man, even when he was very young.’
After hearing this, Dorothy was even less inclined to mention the texts. Now that Bel was feeling better, she did not want to throw any sort of spanner in the works. Nothing happened the next day while she and Rosa tackled more paperwork and de-cluttering. Alas, her peace of mind was shattered as she was preparing for bed that evening. Her phone beeped and she picked it up with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. This one read: You don’t deserve to live.
Glenda was in the kitchen when Dorothy went to make herself a cup of valerian tea. She stared at her employer in surprise. ‘Are you okay, Boss?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You look pale. I hope you’re not coming down with the bug Bel had last week.’
‘I’m grand, thanks. I have a slight headache, that’s all,’ Dorothy replied quietly, and escaped with her tea, not knowing what to do for the best. Nothing happened on Sunday, and she forced herself to remain calm and even did some shopping. Although it was her favourite time of the year, she was struggling to get excited about Christmas. She put it down to a combination of moving nerves and annoying texts.
When Rosa showed up for work on Monday morning, Dorothy showed her the three messages and asked for her opinion. Her assistant was knocked for six she had not seen fit to mention them earlier. ‘You might have a stalker, Boss,’ the American woman said urgently. ‘You have to report this.’
‘I don’t want my parents finding out about it. Please, Rose. It might just blow over. It’s very likely somebody’s idea of a sick joke. They might get bored soon. Let’s see what happens, okay?’
Rosa reluctantly agreed to leave it for the time being, but wanted Dorothy to change her number. The only thing her boss would say on the subject was, ‘If it gets any worse, I’ll change it. I promise.’
For five days, nothing happened and Dorothy began to relax. She was certain the prankster had become bored of the nasty little game and given up. She spent time with Rosa, discussing the possibility of going into business with Sharon from the Divine beauty salon. There was also Cara O’Shea to consider, as she was desperate to set up her own bakery.
Since the Lyles had encountered her at the holistic fair in Wexford, they had been in contact on various occasions. Mia and Patsy from M&P Catering reported back that Cara’s cakes and cookies had wowed at the fiftieth wedding anniversary party. They had subsequently used Cara’s services for a couple of other events.
Unfortunately, Cara was limited by her domestic kitchen, which meant Mia and Patsy could not place any large orders with her. They had hinted to Dorothy more than once that the young woman would do wonders in a bakery of her own.
Dorothy mentioned this situation to her mother, fully expecting her to have forgotten the girl. On the contrary, Pat clearly recollected meeting Cara at the fair, and had fond memories of the porter cake she had purchased on the day. When she discovered her daughter was considering investing in a bakery, she professed herself more than willing to put the prospective investment through her paces.
At every available opportunity, the Lyle family ordered cakes from Cara. When this became known to Glenda, she too began to commission the occasional treat for the Falcon residents. It was a huge compliment to Cara O’Shea that the housekeeper quickly became her biggest fan. With Mia, Patsy, Glenda, Helen, Patrick, and Pat all singing the baker’s praises, Dorothy felt it behoved her to give the girl a chance, recession or no recession.
Part of the problem was there were only a fixed number of hours in any given day. As well as a multitude of personal obligations, it did not seem fair to forget about Sharon and Divine just because Cara had her supporters. They were both potentially good businesses, but needed an investment of time and money.
Sharon would need to move to larger and more central location, while Cara would be starting from scratch in commercial premises. Dorothy told Rosa that even though it was a lot of work, she felt they should plough ahead with their plans for both businesses.
The renovations for the chocolate factory were ticking along nicely. Aileen and Iris were all set for their big move, and keen as mustard to get started. As the project was reaching completion, Rosa agreed that taking on two new ones was doable. She and her boss put their heads together and invited Sharon and Cara to meet them at Falcon with a view to discussing their possible futures. Even though the schedule was hectic, the extra projects successfully diverted Dorothy’s thoughts from the nasty texts, and she began to feel better.
This reprieve ended mid-November when she took a call from a withheld number. She rarely answered such calls, since they usually turned out to be companies trying to sell her something. On this particular day, she was feeling decidedly reckless and stubborn. She pressed the green button and said, ‘Hello’.
‘I’m watching you, bitch. I’m gonna get you,’ the distorted male voice uttered the words in a voice teeming with malice.
‘Who is this?’ Dorothy whispered, ashamed to hear the tremor of fear in her own voice.
‘The one who’s going to get you, rich bitch. Watch your back,’ was the reply, and the caller disconnected.
After that, Rosa almost marched her employer to the phone shop, where she changed her number. It was annoying, although Dorothy admitted she had procrastinated long enough. Rosa made a note of all the details pertaining to the text messages as well as the threatening phone call. They fully intended to report everything, and were determined to be as accurate as possible. Both women privately acknowledged they had was very little solid information to give An Garda Síochána, the Irish police force.
Nevertheless, they rang Irishtown Station and asked if they could make an appointment to come in and file a report of harassment. There was no problem making the arrangements, and the personnel who dealt with the complaint were very helpful and took careful note of all of the details. As none of the phone numbers were likely to be traceable, the officers said there was very little they could do at that time.
They advised Dorothy to consider a panic button and personal attack alarm. They cautioned her to stay vigilant, and let them know if there were any further developments. When they heard she had changed her number, they said it was the sensible course of action, and it was unlikely she would hear anything more.
Once she had made contact with the authorities, Dorothy thought it best to come clean with Bel, and tentatively called her with the news. The other woman was frantic when she discovered what was going on, and berated her friend for not telling her sooner.
‘I know, I know. I’m really sorry, please don’t be mad,’ Dorothy pleaded. ‘I was hoping it would all blow over. I’m terrified Mum will find out. You know how excitable she can get. I told her I changed my number because I was getting a lot of cold calls from sales people.’
Bel said she understood, but made Dorothy promise to let her know straightaway if anything else occurred. It was quiet for a few days and they ploughed through a considerable amount of work, mainly because Dorothy did not feel like leaving the apartment. This was partly due to the cold weather, and partly because she was finding it difficult to shake off the feeling a stranger was watching her.
Rosa told Glenda what was going on and although the housekeeper remained calm, she was deeply disturbed. Even though they were on the twelfth floor, she kept glancing worriedly out of the apartment windows.
Things settled down for a few days and there were no further incidents. All three women were beginning to think changing the phone number had done the trick, and were starting to relax and congratulate themselves and each other on managing a crisis so effectively.
That was until Dorothy went online during the last week in November. She was absorbed in an article about the Conger assassin who had struck again, this time in North Africa. She was preoccupied by the gory details involving a single gunshot to the head from a ridiculously long distance, when she heard the tone that indicated an incoming email. As the subject was simply ‘Otter’, she assumed it was from Elaine and clicked on the message without paying much attention.
The email opened and a large animated hand materialised on the screen, clutching a gun. The hand turned until the weapon was pointing directly at her and then it fired. Although the sound was turned low on her desktop, Dorothy clearly heard the bang. A banner caption appeared across the screen. With growing horror she read the words: Bang Bang. Two in the head, the rich bitch is dead.
This time, they did not hesitate to report the incident to the Gardaí. The officers who took the report said they would try to trace the IP address of the other computer. A few days later, they reported that their technicians had traced it to an internet café in Dublin. Unfortunately, the establishment did not have any decent CCTV footage of the clientele. They were at a dead end. This time, the Gardaí hinted Dorothy should get some additional security.
As Falcon had a manned concierge desk, an entry phone system and full CCTV throughout, Dorothy was not sure what other practical measures she could possibly implement. She dutifully reported the latest incident to Bel and Viv, but steadfastly refused to tell her family, and swore her friends to secrecy.
She had a crucial appointment at her dental clinic and was determined not to become a prisoner in her own home. Her temporary veneers had been a big success, and she had been able to test drive her new smile for a week before getting the real things. She was looking forward to finally having them, although the concerns of recent weeks had overshadowed the initial excitement. Now, as November waned, and Christmas and the big move drew steadily nearer, she resolved not to succumb to the fear.
Taking sensible precautions, she headed off to the clinic. Once comfortably settled in the giant chair, she spent the required number of hours having the newly manufactured slivers bonded to her teeth. Even though the temporary veneers had been good, Dorothy was thrilled with the look of the real ones.
Despite her recent troubles, she could not stop grinning at the dentist and his assistant. Her gaps and off-white teeth were no more. They had been replaced with what could only be described as a Hollywood smile. Still grinning, she booked the required follow-up appointment. For now, the dentist told her, she merely had to live with the veneers and see how she got on.
When she arrived home without incident, Dorothy felt more positive, and began to ask herself if perhaps she had been overreacting about a few nasty texts, a silly phone call and one dodgy email. Perhaps it was one of her former colleagues from Premier. She had gotten on fine with them during her years there. Six months after she left, she had made arrangements to meet up with the five women from her own department.
She confessed everything, and gave them each a generous gift. She also swore them to secrecy. After they recovered from the shock, they readily agreed to keep her news to themselves. They had all given it as their opinion that it was only a matter of time before the story leaked out anyway, but had no objection to keeping schtum for now.
Rita had been sorely disappointed to hear her old supervisor had no plans to remarry. She was visibly appalled when Dorothy confessed it was her intention to remain single for the rest of her life. Dorothy smiled as she recalled the other woman’s horrified countenance.
I can’t believe somebody from Premier is responsible for any of this. There must be another explanation. Surely it will stop soon.
