I hurried around the supermarket in a daze. I kept my head low. I felt vulnerable in a way I never had before, reluctant to draw attention to myself. I threw items into my trolley – the basics to get us through a couple of days – and tried to shut out any unwelcome thoughts.
What if the killer had followed me here? He mightn’t be able to hurt me, here in this public place, but he could still get close enough to touch me. To spook me. To find more out about me. More ways to inveigle his way into my life. Could he be the man who’d asked me if the brand of shampoo he was buying was the best for highlighted hair? Who’d said his wife had asked him to pick some up and he didn’t want to get it wrong? Could he have been the man who’d brushed into me as I waited at the checkout line? He’d apologised profusely, taking a cursory glance at my trolley. Was that something more sinister than simple nosiness?
I didn’t know who to trust, and I found myself fumbling with my purse and bank cards as I paid for my shopping and packed it into bags.
‘You’re all fingers and thumbs,’ the cashier said with a smile.
I gave her a weak smile. A wicked part of me wondered if I should tell her the truth. That she would be on edge, too, if she was possibly being hunted by a killer.
Crossing the car park, I felt my pulse quicken as I pushed my trolley between lanes, hyperaware of the moving cars around me. Aware of doors opening and closing. Aware of the man standing by the trolley station, smoking a cigarette and looking around as if he was waiting for someone. I assigned his more distinctive features to my memory: a tattoo the full length of the calf of his left leg of a footballer mid strike. A Celtic band tattooed on his arm. A red Adidas T-shirt, baggy grey shorts. Sunglasses. Stubble. Short back and sides.
As I loaded the last of my bags into the car, he walked away – waving to a young woman pushing a trolley out of the shopping centre.
I climbed into my car and as I reversed out of my space, I saw a familiar-looking blue car in my rear-view mirror. I couldn’t be sure, but I was fairly confident it was the same one that had stopped in the lay-by where Michael and I had last met. There was no one in the driver’s seat, but even so, I pulled an envelope and a pen from my bag and scribbled down the registration number.
Trying to settle myself, I set off on the short drive to meet Michael. But as I was still queuing to leave the car park, I noticed the same blue car was second in line behind me. The beeping of a car horn brought me back to my senses. The queue of traffic in front of me had cleared while I was staring through my rear-view mirror. Hands shaking, I drove off.
My eyes darted to the mirror again. The blue car was now directly behind me. I could just make out the shape of a figure driving, the same black hoodie that I’d seen before was pulled up over their head. Was it the same hoodie-wearer who’d been outside Molly’s crèche?
I reached my hand across to the passenger seat, felt around for the phone the police had given me. All I would have to do was press one button.
I remembered the police station across the street, so I doubled back on myself. The blue car turned too, continued following me. It was only when I pulled into the lay-by outside the station gates that it sped up and raced past. Trembling, I put my head on the steering wheel and wished for everything to go away. I jumped when my own mobile rang seconds later. It was Michael phoning to see if I was on my way.
Hearing the timbre of my voice, he knew something was up.
‘Rachel, are you okay? What’s wrong?’
I was shaking so hard by then that my teeth were chattering and I couldn’t stop shivering.
‘I think I’ve just been followed.’
I heard a sharp intake of breath. ‘Who by? Where are you?’
‘Remember that blue car that was at the lay-by the other night? It followed me out of the Tesco car park. I’m sitting outside Waterside Police Station now. I figured if I drove here, whoever it was wouldn’t be able to get to me.’
‘Jesus, Rachel! I don’t like this. Stay there. I’ll come to you.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s too public here, Michael. We might be seen.’
‘Does it matter? Can we not just be seen?’
He was pleading and I knew he wanted me to say to him that I didn’t care if anyone found out, but I did. I had to care.
‘Please, Michael. I … I’m sure he’s gone now. I’ll come to you. It’ll be okay.’
With more than a hint of frustration in his voice, he agreed to wait for me. Told me to be careful, just as Paul had done.
My nerves were still on edge as I turned the car onto Oughtagh Road towards the country park. Even the dappled shadows from the trees on the ground had taken on a sinister look. I kept glancing back in my rear-view mirror, wondering if I’d see that blue car again, wondering what I’d do if I did.
When I finally reached the car park, I sagged with relief to see Michael’s car. Tears sprang to my eyes when he got out of it and starting walking towards me, enveloped me in a bear hug so tight that it stilled my shaking. I let him whisper that everything would be okay. Let him whisper that he wanted to protect me. I let him tell me he loved me, even though I knew that I was going to hurt him.
‘I know in the grand scheme of things we’ve not known each other that long, but sometimes you just know, Rachel, and I know with you. The thought that someone could hurt you …’
His voice trailed off and I looked up into his green eyes, so vibrant against his swarthy skin. He bent his head towards me and kissed me, full on the lips with such tenderness that I wished I could feel like I did in that second forever.
I should have pushed him away. I knew that in kissing him back I was lying both to him and to myself, but I needed this. I needed him. Adrenaline was still coursing through my veins. My senses were still on high alert and I couldn’t resist.
I allowed the tenderness of his kiss to give way to passion. I gave myself permission to give in to my body’s desire.
‘I don’t have long,’ I whispered to him as his lips snaked their way down my neck.
His hand slid from my waist to my breast, cupping it gently until I gasped with pleasure. I stumbled backwards, felt his body push mine against the side of my car. I could feel he was hard, could tell from the way he hitched my skirt up, pressing himself against me so that I felt the delicious weight of him pinning me to the car, that he wanted me.
I could shut everything out. I could pretend not to be scared. Or hurt. Or confused. I could give in to my base desire just to feel desirable. To feel wanted.
I pushed him back from me for just a moment. Just enough to open the car door. I stood in front of him, lifted my T-shirt over my head and then lay across the back seat.
He bent down and climbed in over me, his hand sliding up the bare skin of my legs to my thighs, pushing them apart. I slid my hands inside his T-shirt to feel the firmness of his muscles, the soft hairs on his chest, and I couldn’t hold back any longer.
I unbuckled his jeans, revelled at his sharp intake of breath as I took him in my hand, and then revelled in my own pleasure as he took control, pushed my hands above my head and entered me.
For those minutes, nothing else mattered. There was silence amid the chaos and calm instead of fear. It was the perfect lie.