JEN
I’m sitting on a bench on Kite Hill, the place where it all began. But I’m not thinking about the attack now. Instead, I’m holding two sheets of paper, the ones I picked up from the landing on the first floor. I suppose when Penelope had gone down the stairs earlier she must not have seen them lying there. Or had Penelope deliberately left them there for me to find?
After the interview with Julia was over I had come downstairs and quickly bent down to sweep the papers up. I had said goodbye to Julia and, instead of going straight to the flat, I’d come back to the viewing point. After the day of interviews I needed some time to myself.
Words jump out at me like nasty little tacks, but I try to remain calm. Part of me wants to tear the sheets into the smallest pieces possible, so I never have to read their contents, but I realise I have no choice but to confront what’s in front of me. The typed pages take the form of an interview transcript, presumably carried out by Penelope, with a woman whose name I don’t know – it looks like I’m missing the beginning and end of the interview. It’s only as I read, that I begin to understand.
—and he was a lovely little boy. No trouble at all. Always was beautiful, even as a baby. But of course he grew up to be proper handsome. A real heartbreaker. The girls couldn’t get enough of him and he got through plenty, especially when he was a teenager. Some of the scenes I had to witness, you wouldn’t believe. Tears. Phone calls in the middle of the night. Oh, the drama of it all. He was a bright little thing too. Wanted to go places. Wanted more, much more, than what we could give him. And always good with money, even from when he was small. Such a little businessman he was, always trying to sell you something. Me and his dad used to joke about how he’d get his own market stall one day, but of course he went and did better, a lot better, than that. We were so proud of him. Of course, he had his problems, we knew that.
What kind of problems were they?
Like I told you before, the last time you came, it was drugs. Cocaine mostly. Helped him with his job, he said. Gave him an edge, or something like that. I told him it was bad for him. I could see it was making him worse. Nervous. Anxious. Paranoid. And his jealousy. Like I said, that was always a thing with him. Something you had to watch. Of course, it was endearing when he was a boy. A sign of his passionate nature. A sign that he cared. Do you know what I mean? When I was young and I was courting his father he could be just the same. I suppose that’s where Dan got it from. That temperament. Having said that, I never expected that Dan would do … what he did.
[Sound of crying, sniffing.]
No, that was something completely out of the blue. I don’t know what pushed him over the edge. I suppose Vicky wasn’t right for him. Probably a cut above him, if you know what I mean. He probably would have felt happier with someone from his own background. But that was typical Dan, always wanting more. And what he did to Vicky was horrible. But I suppose it was his jealousy, like I said. He must have discovered that Vicky was having a relationship with another bloke.
Do you know who that was?
No, I never did find out. And now they’re saying she was pregnant. No wonder Dan lost it. I mean, as I say that’s no excuse for what he did. But you’ve got to put yourself in his shoes, haven’t you? He was in love with her, with Vicky I mean. I know that. And to suspect that the love of his life might have been carrying another man’s child. Well, that must have hit him hard. Like any red-blooded man. If Vicky told him that she wanted to leave him for this other man, this man might be the father of her child, that would have pushed him over the edge.
The last time I came to see you, you told me about Daniel’s infatuation with an older woman. Can you tell me a little more about that?
Did I? I can’t really remember. Oh you mean with – yes, of course. I do remember telling you now. Yes, Dan did get into a bit of trouble there. I suppose it was the other way round – the opposite of what Vicky did to him. He was the one who ended it all, or tried to end it.
And what happened?
Oh, there was such a scene. He’d had enough of her. I think he’d secretly taken up with another girl on his course. He was only at college, you see. Only 18 or so. And this woman – the one who caused all the trouble – she was older than him. I think she was a friend of Tina’s – that’s my daughter, the one who lives in Australia. But when he tried to break it off with her, she threatened all sorts of things. Said that she’d kill herself if he left her. He thought that she was just pretending, that they were empty gestures, but she did it – or nearly did it, I should say. They found her just in time I believe. He felt sorry for her, I think. Said that he wouldn’t leave her. But of course, he’d fallen head-over-heels in love with this other girl. That didn’t last neither.
Do you know what became of this woman?
What, the one he fell for at college?
No, the one you said was older. The one who attempted suicide?
I don’t know. She moved away I think. Never liked her, though. Had cold eyes. Like she was always scheming.
[I take out the photo and show it to her.]
Is this her?
[She is shown the photo.]
Yes, that’s her all right. [Karen pauses.] Anyway, what’s this got to do with all that happened on Hampstead Heath? What’s Becky got to do with—
Becky. The name was there in black and white, but this couldn’t be my Becky. I knew that Bex had grown up in Essex, but this couldn’t be her. No, not Bex.
I’m walking back to the flat when my phone pings. Another message. Before I even open it I look around me to check the street for any sign of him. I scan the faces around me. Nothing. I hear a scream. I jump and turn around only to see a gaggle of schoolgirls who’ve come out of La Sainte Union. I stop in the street and raise my phone.
@ImStillWatchingYouJenHunter It’s nearly time.
With shaking fingers I follow the address and tap out a direct message.
@onlyoneJenHunter For what?
As I wait, I continue to look around me. The girls disperse, their screams fading away into the distance. A cyclist – male, balding, rake thin – speeds past. At the end of the street I see a jogger, a man. I squint past the cars, the other pedestrians. I take a couple of steps and feel the prick of a yew hedge on the back of my neck. He can’t do anything here, I tell myself. It’s daytime. There are people around. I edge towards the gate. Is there anyone inside the house? I strain my head to look up. The jogger is coming closer. I can only see his legs pounding along the pavement as the rest of him is obscured by a couple of mums pushing what seem like excessively large prams. My phone pings.
@ImStillWatchingYouJenHunter You know.
@onlyoneJenHunter WHAT??
And then the messages come thick and fast.
@ImStillWatchingYouJenHunter You saw what happened on the Heath.
@ImStillWatchingYouJenHunter You know how easy it is. How quick it is.
I feel all my strength seep out of me as if my blood has already been spilled. I sink back against the hedge and slip down on the ground. I hear the sound of running coming towards me.
@ImStillWatchingYouJenHunter I’m going to slaughter you like a pig.
I realise then, as I slump down onto the tarmac, that I don’t want to die like this. I’m not ready. Laurence has already nearly destroyed me. He’s taken away my job, my home. He’s attacked me on the Heath. He’s raped my best friend. I whisper the word ‘No’ to myself, repeating it as a mantra. I’m not going to take this any more. I swallow a great gulp of air and push myself back up. I look around for something – anything. I search my pockets and my bag for a makeshift weapon. My fingers wrap themselves around my set of keys. I clasp my hand behind my back. It’s not much, but I figure I could stab him in the eye.
@ImStillWatchingYouJenHunter By the time I’ve finished with you you’ll be begging for me to kill you.
Just then as I dig the edge of a key into the palm of my hand, priming myself with pain, readying myself to strike, the sound of running intensifies. I focus, open my mouth to scream, but as the jogger speeds towards me I realise it’s not Laurence: he’s blond, younger by a good decade. He casts me an odd sideways look as he dashes past, and disappears.
The tension in my body feels as though it could break me into a thousand pieces. I let out an almighty exhalation of breath. I can’t carry on like this. I don’t want to be a victim. It’s time to fight back. It’s time to kill Laurence.