| |
––––––––
BREATHY GRUNTING SOUNDED from the bushes behind Alison’s seat, sending an icy chill through her. A flock of ducks took off down the park. She jumped up, grabbed her handbag and went to flee, but a rasping, puce-faced man flung himself into her path.
She screamed and clutched her bag tighter.
The man sucked in a toothy breath and reached for her with a clawed hand, his blood-shot eyes wild beneath a heavy brow.
‘Get away from me,’ she yelled in a booming voice she didn’t recognise as her own. Her heart banged against her ribcage and her legs trembled as she grappled in her bag for her attack alarm. One firm squeeze set off its piercing siren.
The man lurched forward, his arms flailing around as he lumbered towards her, his eyes mad and drool running down his chin.
‘Gerrof you perv,’ she shouted, through chattering teeth.
The man’s eyes widened. He turned his head and hacked out something brown onto the grass.
She tried to scream again, but this time no sound came out. In utter panic, she threw the alarm at him. It clipped his brow, rebounded off and ricocheted along the footpath.
He clapped his hand to his head and growled.
No, I’ve angered him. She wanted to run across the field to the safety of the footballers, but her feet were stuck to the concrete.
The alarm continued to scream from its resting position ten metres away. Her attacker staggered forward. Alison noticed he was clutching his chest. He stumbled towards the seat.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, her voice tremulous.
The man shot the alarm a panicked look as he grappled for the arm of the bench. He emitted a wheeze through blue-tinged lips and nodded. ‘Cor Blimey,’ he gasped, flopping onto the seat, his chest heaving.
Alison immediately felt less afraid. Her father used to use that phrase. He hated profanities. ‘Are you unwell?’
He shook his head.
‘Sorry, I thought you were a pervy lurker, about to attack me.’
He gawped at her with horrified, round eyes and garbled something incomprehensible. Then he hacked up another gruesome chunk. ‘No. Dear me, no.’ He pulled a cotton handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his brow and mouth. ‘Excuse the spitting.’
His politeness surprised Alison. She noticed his sharp suit. ‘Yes, I realise that now.’
The alarm continued to scream at an ear-perforating pitch. He shot it another, desperate look. ‘Do you think –’
She hurtled over to retrieve it. ‘Sorry,’ she said, clicking it off and dropping it into her bag. The silence was almost audible. She turned, ready to apologise to anyone dashing to her aid – there was no one. The people dotted around must have heard; she could hear the boot of the football across the park, quiet compared to her alarm. She shuddered as she realized she’d ventured out and about for years, with the misapprehension that help was only ever an eye-watering siren away.
Alison turned back to the man, who looked ropey. ‘Do you need medical help?’ She held out her empty hand as if to offer an invisible lifeline of some sort.
The man drew in a deep breath and exhaled through pursed lips that had started to pink up. ‘I feel stupid.’
‘St Mary’s hospital is opposite the park. Shall I help you over to Accident and Emergency? Or if you don’t think you can walk, I’ll call an ambulance.’ Alison reached into her bag for her mobile.
He shot the bag a nervous glance. ‘No. Honestly, I’m fine. Thank you.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m –’
‘Oh, sorry.’ Alison took his hand with both of hers, planted one foot firmly behind the other and put her full body weight into trying to haul him to his feet.
The man resisted her efforts and remained on the bench, his face turning crimson. ‘Oh heck.’ He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands.
Alison noticed his wedding ring. ‘Shall I call your wife?’
He shook his head.
She leaned over, rested her own hands on her knees and peered at him, checking for signs of respiratory distress.
‘Are you in pain? Can you speak?’ She spoke in slow, measured tones. ‘Tell. Me. Your. Name. Please.’
The man’s shoulders started to shake.
Alison stepped back and glanced around, not knowing whether to leave a potentially poorly man, or stay only to discover he was dangerous after all.
He let out a hearty laugh then wiped his eyes and smiled up at her.
She noticed the colour, a striking green, flecked with hazel. There was something strangely familiar about them.
‘I was about to introduce myself.’ He stood up, straightened his suit jacket and offered Alison his hand again. ‘Hello, I’m Christopher Barker. Thank you for trying to help me.’
‘Oh, I see.’ She blushed. He was taller than she expected. His handgrip was firm but gentle. ‘Alison Riley, how do you do.’
‘Sorry I scared you. And please forgive all that unseemly hacking. It was a piece of half-chewed bacon sandwich.’
Alison grimaced.
‘You didn’t need to know that disgusting bit of information...’ Christopher looked at her, his eyes filled with mirth. ‘I’m having a dreadful morning. Sandy, my wife, made me a bacon sandwich. But I have an appointment at the health centre, and I didn’t have time to eat it. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I shot out of the house, thinking I’d save time if I ate it on the way. My car’s in for an MOT today.’
Alison nodded in comprehension. ‘Ah, I see. And that set off your angina?’
‘Crikey, no.’ He stood up taller. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I was chewing and hurrying along the path when a piece of bacon got stuck in my windpipe. It was awful. My life flashed before me. I was doubled up behind those bushes where no one could see me, panicking at the realisation I was about to die a terrible death. I had to get out into the open in case I choked.’
‘And that’s when you stumbled out of the undergrowth, and I thought you were a pervert who’d been lying in wait.’
Christopher shook his head and held up both hands. ‘I can assure you...’
Alison clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled. ‘Yes, I know. But you have to admit, you were rasping on a bit... The bushes and the mad popping eyes... I didn’t know what to think.’ She broke off to guffaw.
He raked a hand through his hair as he watched her cackle. ‘It’s a wonder somebody didn’t call the police. I could’ve been arrested. That alarm is rather... alarming.’ He started laughing again. ‘I’m going to buy my wife and daughter one each.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ she cackled. ‘It’s rubbish. No one batted an eyelid. I’d have been on the evening news – murdered in plain sight.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Actually, you’ve cheered me up. I’ve been to the medical centre myself this morning. What a debacle that was.’
Christopher checked his watch. ‘I’d better crack on.’ He smiled at her. ‘Lovely to meet you, Alison.’
‘I hope you’re not seeing Dr Smedley,’ she said, noticing how clean his teeth looked considering he had just eaten.
He gave her a wave as he set off towards the park exit. ‘Practice nurse. It’s only for a check-up for an insurance plan, nothing wrong with me. Cheerio.’
‘Bye.’ He did have rather lovely eyes.
***
THE VITAMIN PILLS RATTLED in their over-sized container as Alison stepped out of the pharmacy onto the busy high street. The thought of having to return to the office without any understanding of why she’d been thinking like a psycho of late, or hope for a better night’s sleep was depressing.
She consoled herself with the fact that she wasn’t trapped in her job forever. In two years, she would be at university, picking up where she left off when she fell pregnant. It was more starting from scratch than resuming her studies. Alison didn’t care. She loved studying and she would love being a physiotherapist. A flurry of excitement somersaulted in her stomach.
Alison smiled to herself. In two years, the twins would have graduated from university and she and Martin would have amassed enough money to pay for her course. Maybe she would sleep better, too. Feeling inspired, she decided to pop along to Henleys bank to withdraw some money to treat herself and Martin to fish and chips for tea. She could check the balance of the savings account while she was there. There were cashpoints dotted along the way, but she preferred the indoor type. She felt more secure inside the bank, with its heavy doors and real people.
After withdrawing money for the fish and chips, she found she couldn’t access the savings account. Her login attempt failed – three times – resulting in getting locked out altogether. A fruitless conversation with an unhelpful bank clerk yielded nothing but a call centre telephone number. Martin liked dealing with that clerk, he reckoned he was on top of his game. Alison didn’t. She thought there was something odd about the man – the substance on his hair and shifty look in his eyes. He reminded her of a dodgy second-hand car salesman.
There was no real need to check the account; she had kept a record of the savings since she received her first wage packet. At first, they had only been able to afford a couple of pounds a month, but as their earnings increased, so did the savings. Most of it came from Alison, as she liked to hunt for bargains so she could make extra deposits. Martin liked nice things. ‘Buy cheap, buy twice,’ he’d say, if she objected to the price of his Hugo Boss suits.
As she left the bank, she hitched her bag strap onto her shoulder and the container of pills clanked out onto the ground. A young lad in a scruffy grey tracksuit spied it rolling towards him. He drew on the cigarette hanging from his mouth and kicked the tub away, roaring, ‘Goo-aal’, with a jump and an air punch. Alison scurried after it, her outstretched hand just missing it as it disappeared beneath a display of fruit and vegetables outside the greengrocers.
‘Sorry missus, I thought it was rubbish.’
She looked up to speak but tripped and landed on her hands and knees with a thud. He bent down as if to help her then thought better of it and scarpered.
By the time she’d retrieved the container, it was covered in a smelly gunge from something rotten and unidentifiable. The same goo had clagged to the knees of her trousers and a decaying cabbage stench had wrapped itself around her. If she’d wanted to harm Billy before, she’d have taken great pleasure in beating him senseless right now. Not one passer-by offered to help her.
Her knees and hands stinging, she hobbled back into the pharmacy for anti-septic wipes. Someone commented on a ‘smell of drains’ in the shop. She made the purchase without making eye contact and scuttled out of the shop. Once outside, she paused to clean her hands, gently picking out gravel from her palms, the antiseptic smarting as it seeped into the wounds.
Glancing up, Alison noticed she was outside Caffè Alessandro. She peered through the window, it looked vibrant and cosy at the same time. Despite his penchant for expensive clothes, Martin said Alessandro’s was too pricey and the coffee bitter. He’d never been in, but to him, their Fairtrade products were leftovers after the giant, unethical companies had taken the best stuff. He had no such qualms about consuming expensive ‘unethical’ products.
Alison had planned to end up there, but not in this state. Taking out a fresh wipe, she scrubbed at the knees of her trousers. ‘Sod it.’ She rummaged in her bag, gave herself a generous blast of Chanel Chance and pushed open the door to Caffè Alessandro.
The warm, welcoming atmosphere immediately calmed her frazzled nerves. And by the time she had placed her order and tucked herself away at a table in the corner, she was able to see the funnier side of some of the morning’s hideous events. The delicious aroma of fresh basil wafted up as the waitress set down her meal.
What a treat, she thought, dropping the few pennies change from a twenty-pound note into her purse. The buzz from the double-shot latte perked her right up. The first bite of the chicken and pesto baguette tasted like heaven, and never had she seen such luxurious caramel on shortbread.
Despite his criticism of the place, Alison knew Martin would love the baguette. Feeling inspired, she decided to pop into the bakery on her way back to work for a nice fresh bread stick. She’d make him one for his lunch the following day. Martin could get a decent meal at work. Being a private school, the food at Saint Paul’s primary was excellent and certainly a cut above state school dinners. But this would be a lovely treat for him.
She inspected the caramel shortbread – she might even make a tray of it that night – it would help to pass the time if she couldn’t sleep. If, she thought with a wry smile. There was never an if about it.
When the children were young, the insomnia hadn’t seemed such a big deal. In fact, once Chloe and Jack had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep, she had been glad of the extra time to get through the chores. At first, when they lived in the tiny flat above the Pizzeria, she couldn’t do anything that made too much noise for fear of waking them. But getting the ironing and dusting out of the way was a great help.
They had loved that little flat at the start. Once the shock of the pregnancy and having to leave university had subsided, they set about creating a home. On weekends, they’d decorate or browse the second-hand shops in town, searching for furniture and ornaments to create a cosy haven. And then they’d snuggle up on the sofa with a pizza to watch a film on an old portable television. But once the twins were born, the reality of their situation set in. It wasn’t nearly as much fun living on a shoestring, with crying babies, no sleep, and the stench of garlic and cheese permeating the whole place and everything in it.
At one point, she’d feared Martin might leave them. They were both sleep-deprived, but he struggled to stay on top of his studies. Though he’d kept on his room in the student residence for during the week, the constant crying affected his studies on the weekends. Alison knew the insomnia was a result of trying to cope alone with the babies all week, and then keep them quiet when Martin was home. She had somehow managed adjust – sort of. But he hadn’t.
It was after a particularly nasty row, ending in him storming off with a holdall to his mother’s house, that the insomnia ramped up. Two heartbroken days were enough to turn her into a nocturnal coiled spring, jumping from sleep to wide awake whenever one of the babies so much as whimpered.
Once they were married and in the new house, the enormous kitchen extension was the perfect place to escape. Far enough away from the bedrooms not to be heard, she could get on with whatever took her fancy. Because she was working, being wide awake in the middle of the night was a godsend. And the only window of time she could get to fit in an odd Pilates routine.
Mostly it was chores, rather than a downward dog stretch she busied herself with. She couldn’t otherwise have held down a full-time job and look after her family. And that job enabled them to take on the sizeable mortgage loan for their house in Farnby Close.
‘Eugh... What’s that smell?’ said a voice nearby.
Alison’s heart sank. A shifty side-glance revealed two elderly ladies, veering away from the next table and across the room – one of them, to Alison’s mortification, openly nipping her nose.
Desperate to escape unnoticed, she scanned the immediate area. If only she had sat near the door. Pretending to stoop down to retrieve a serviette, she surreptitiously grabbed her perfume and spritzed it over her knees. She should have dashed home to shower. It was too late now. For a moment, she contemplated calling in sick, then dismissed it. That would be wrong. Besides, there was an important team meeting with their service manager later. They had to decide where to place the QC code on the patient feedback cards. She had spent the previous Sunday afternoon making dummy cards to practice, to make them user friendly for someone with an injury or vision impairment. Her stomach churned at the prospect of going into work stinking of drains.
She wrapped the caramel shortbread in a serviette and checked the way out was clear. Glancing out of the window, she saw Christopher from the park striding towards Henleys Bank. Despite her current unbecoming plight, the sight of him powering along the street, straight-backed and confident, after his earlier stumbling, made her smile. He carried himself with an air of authority.
There was nothing pervy about him. A flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks.
With his dark, grey-flecked hair, Christopher reminded her a little of Martin. He was self-conscious about his grey, but Alison loved it. They both suited a well-cut suit, though Martin wore his better, thanks to his daily gym workouts. She felt a fuzzy warmth in her tummy. Twenty-two years together and they still loved each other. Few people could count themselves so lucky these days.
Christopher made a sudden detour towards Alessandro’s.
Crap. She crouched down and pretended to busy herself with the shortbread and her bag.
He flung open the door and marched towards the counter.
After another glance around, she stole away. ‘Phew,’ she said, as she scarpered past the window, momentarily relieved to have escaped unseen by Christopher. She checked the time. The stomach churning returned. Her only option was to get to work and try to sort herself out the best she could with soap and water in the toilets.
As Alison turned back along the street, she remembered the little boutique on the corner. They had a customer toilet. Perfect, she thought. She’d clean herself up and buy a smart new pair of trousers.
‘What a thoroughly awful morning,’ she muttered to herself as she hurried towards the boutique. Christopher’s eyes popped into her mind. Well, maybe not all of it, she thought, with a little smile.
