Blast From the Past (26 page)

Jack could only look on, his heart hurting for her in her distress. It was unbearable to see her this way. She seemed so helpless, her body shaking with her sobs, her chest, still half naked through the gaping shirt, shuddering jerkily with sorrow.

‘What’s he doing to you now, slag?’ Peter’s voice
filled
the room. ‘Has he come? Has he spunked his stuff into you yet? Maybe he’s beating you up? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Polly? It’s all tarts like you deser—’

Jack wanted very much to meet this unpleasant pest. He crossed the room and picked up the phone.

‘Where are you speaking from, pal?’ he asked in a friendly, matter-of-fact tone as if addressing an acquaintance. ‘We could talk about all this stuff face to face.’

‘I got my knife back, pal. And I’m going to kill you with it.’

‘OK, that’s fine. That’s good. Where are we going to do this thing?’ Jack could have been arranging for a couch to be delivered. ‘I can meet you anywhere. We could get it over with right now if you like. Tonight. Just tell me where to go.’

Down in the box in the street Peter could see that his money was running out. He had only one more coin and he hadn’t yet fixed upon his plan.

‘You can go to hell, mate,’ he said and slammed down the phone.

Back in Polly’s flat Jack hung up.

‘Pleasant fellow. I think I met him earlier,’ Jack remarked casually to the top of Polly’s head, her face still being lost in her hands. ‘I guess he’s your stalker, right?’

Polly was regaining some control. ‘Yes,’ she said in a snotty, teary voice. ‘I’m sorry. Usually I try not to let it affect me, but it’s been going on so long. He’s always like that, disgusting, horrible …’

‘Let me see if I can catch him,’ said Jack, and he might have been talking about the postman.

Jack took up his coat, slipped his gun back into his pocket and hurried out of the flat, leaving Polly in a state of shock. Jack figured that there was a good chance that the man had been phoning from the callbox where Jack had seen him skulking before. It was certainly worth giving it a go, because life would be a great deal easier for Jack if he could catch the sad bastard that night.

Peter had been making his way back from the callbox on the other side of the road when he heard the door of Polly’s house opening. Quickly he retreated into the shadow of a doorway. For all his bravado on the phone he realized how dangerous the American man was. Peter watched as his former assailant emerged from Polly’s house and ran up the path. Peter considered leaping with his knife from the darkness as Jack ran past but the memory of their last encounter was too fresh, the taste of his own blood still in his mouth. Peter would have had to cross the road to get to the American and by the time he did that the man might have pulled out a knife of his own. Peter reasoned that he could take no chances. If he lost the fight he would never be able to take his revenge on Polly for betraying him.

Jack ran past and round the corner towards the phonebox. Peter had intended to remain in his hiding place, but then he saw something extraordinary.

Jack had left the door to Polly’s house open.

46

IT WAS TOO
good a chance to miss. Peter had not been inside Polly’s house since the very beginning of their relationship, and now the door was open and Polly was alone. Peter darted out from the shadows and scuttled across the road and up the path of her house. He hesitated for only a moment before pushing open the door and going in.

Once inside the hallway he paused and breathed deeply, taking a moment to absorb the atmosphere. This was her private place, her home, her ‘sanctum’, she had called it in court. He was risking a prison sentence just being there, but it was worth it. It was exquisite to be a part of her private world. He almost thought that he could smell Polly.

He began to climb the silent stairway, torn between the need to hurry and the desire to luxuriate fully in the moment. As he ascended he dragged one hand gently along the banister, imagining her hand upon the same polished wood, each morning and night.

In his other hand Peter held the knife.

A few moments later he stepped into the orange
semi-darkness
of the top landing. Only one door led off it, which Peter knew to be Polly’s. A light shone through the crack beneath it. She was inside, and she was alone. This, then, was it. The supreme moment. Peter did not know what would happen next. He had made no plan. His great opportunity had sprung itself upon him too quickly for that, but there was one thing he did know: if anyone was going to spend the night alone with Polly it was him.

He knocked on the door.

Inside the flat Polly stirred herself. She was grateful that Jack had returned so quickly; she had so hated being left alone. She got up from the bed, buttoned up her nightshirt and went to the door. Contrary to her usual habit she did not glance through the spyhole before beginning to undo the chain.

The phonebox had been empty. Jack had not expected anything else; hunters rarely find their quarry presented to them on a plate. There had been no point in trying to search the street either. There were so many shadowy doorways, basement stairs, gates and walls that it would have taken the rest of the night to investigate them all. Jack had longed for a set of infra-red nightsights, but of course, he reflected, you never have the right tool when you need it. He walked back to the house deep in thought. Turning the corner into Polly’s road, Jack noticed suddenly that the door to
her
house was wide open. He broke into a breathless sprint.

Polly turned the deadlock, and before reaching for the latch dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her nightshirt. She dreaded to think what sort of state her face must be in. Her eyes stung and she wondered if they were red and puffy, but there was nothing to be done. She opened the door.

Peter had seen Polly’s shadow in the crack of light beneath the door, he had even fancied that he’d heard her breathing as the door chain rattled – but he was too late. He could hear noisy footsteps bounding up the stairs behind him. His enemy had returned. Quickly he stepped back out of the gloomy light and crushed himself into the darkness of the landing, pressing himself hard against the wall.

The door of Polly’s flat opened. The American reached the top of the stairs and rushed in without breaking his stride. He did not see Peter in the darkness and Peter did not leap out to attack him as he had half intended to do. It was all too quick, too confusing. Killing was not an easy business. The door closed.

Peter stood for a moment, dumbfounded, scarcely able to contain his thoughts. She had been there. The door had been open. He had missed his chance to kill the man and possess Polly, have her for his own. On the
other
hand, he was inside the house. He had penetrated her environment and they did not know it. They thought themselves safe. He must work out his next move. Peter retreated down the stairs and sat down on the threadbare carpet to think.

47

INSIDE THE ATTIC
flat Polly kissed Jack, grateful to him for trying to fight the Bug and glad not to be alone. Jack returned her kisses while trying to catch his breath, tasting the salty tears around her lips. She felt so small and helpless. Jack longed to protect her, to possess her. At that moment, he and Peter were experiencing very similar emotions. Jack steeled himself against such thoughts, against Polly’s magic.

‘I didn’t get him,’ he said. ‘He’d gone.’

‘You’ll never get him,’ Polly replied. ‘He’s invulnerable. I’ve been trying for so long.’

Jack put his lips to Polly’s ear. ‘Did you ever think about killing him?’ he whispered.

What a question. Of course she’d thought about killing him. Victims of stalkers often find themselves thinking about nothing else. Polly had wished that sick bastard dead a thousand times.

‘No, I don’t mean wishing him dead, Polly,’ Jack said. ‘I mean actually getting him dead. Killing him. For real.’

‘Don’t joke,’ Polly replied. ‘You don’t know what it’s like. If you knew what it was like to be a victim,
how
awful it is, you wouldn’t joke.’

Gently Jack sat Polly down upon the bed and fetched her drink. ‘I’m not joking,’ he said. ‘I’ll kill him for you.’

‘Oh, Jack, if only.’ She was near to tears again.

‘Polly.’ Jack spoke firmly now. ‘I’ll kill him for you. I just need to know who he is and where he lives.’

Polly’s head swam. It was such a lovely thought. Such a truly lovely thought. To have the Bug dead. Squashed. Gone for ever. Not warned off, not threatened with arrest, not made to give a solemn undertaking to stay away, but dead. Completely and utterly ceasing to exist. It was a beautiful dream. But that was what it was, a dream. You couldn’t just kill people.

Jack knew what she was thinking. ‘I’m a soldier,’ he said. ‘Killing people is what I do. It’s not such a big deal.’

‘When soldiers kill people it’s legal?’

‘Since when did you ever care about the law? Certainly not when I knew you. There is a higher law, that’s what you used to say. Or maybe you think it’s OK that I kill strangers whose only crime is that they come from a different country. Persecuting the weak and intimidating women is fine as long as it’s legal.’

‘I’m not talking about justice,’ Polly said. ‘I’m talking about the law, that’s all. You’d get caught.’

Jack smiled that charming, confident smile. ‘Hey, I’m out of here tomorrow. I’m gone. I’m on an army transport to Brussels and then home to the States. You think
if
I bump off some sad lowlife, nolife nut in Stoke Newington, somebody’s going to say, “Hey, I bet a general in the United States army did this.” Never in a trillion years.’

‘Stop talking like that.’

‘I was in Special Forces, Polly. Believe me, I know how to hit a guy discreetly. I can do it on my way to the airfield and still get breakfast.’

Polly was silent now. She wanted to tell him to stop again but the words would not come.

‘I mean, the guy’s connected to you,’ Jack continued, ‘but he’s not connected to me, right? Of course you’re connected to me, Polly, but only you and I know that, don’t we? That’s true, isn’t it, Polly?’

By a stroke of great good fortune Jack had stumbled upon a way of finding out exactly what he most wanted to know.

‘I mean, if I’m going to do this thing I need to be sure that there’s nothing to connect me with you. Is there anything?’

Polly spoke as if in a trance. ‘I only told the whole story once, to a guy called Ziggy, in a VW camper near Stonehenge, but he was stoned and didn’t hear me.’

‘Anybody else?’

‘A few people, you know, over the years. Every now and then I get drunk and say that I once fucked a soldier at Greenham, but I never go into details. I don’t like to remember, Jack.’

Polly was speaking, but it seemed like she was listening to someone else. She could hear herself reassuring
Jack
. ‘There is no way on earth anyone could connect me with you, Jack.’

They stared at each other for a moment. Jack was grinning.

‘Well, there you are, then,’ he said breezily. ‘Where do I find him?’

He wasn’t joking, she could see that. She was in a dream, but it was rapidly becoming reality. Polly drew herself back from the brink. It was time to put an end to this dangerous fantasy.

‘You can’t kill him. I don’t want you to kill him. I don’t want you even to talk about it. No matter how much I hated someone I would never ever want to kill them.’

Jack just kept grinning, his handsome eyes sparkling and his voice light. ‘People die all the time. It’s no big deal.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Just try to think of this guy as an exploiter of the planet. You remember what I was saying before? About how every breath we take we’re doing damage to others? Consuming the world’s resources, abusing the world’s peasants. Why not let me reduce the abuse?’

‘Shut up!’

‘This man is an evil, useless, pointless waste of food and air. Let me take him out. We’ll all breathe easier. You’ll be doing the world a favour.’

Jack was still smiling; it was such a friendly smile. ‘Tell me where he lives.’

‘No!’ said Polly, deeply shocked at the sincerity of
Jack’s
tone. He really did mean it. He really did believe that murdering people could be justified just because you didn’t like them. She was horrified at the thought. No matter what a person’s crimes, the death penalty was never justified. No one had the right to take a life. The fact that she was the victim did not change that fact.

‘Shut up, Jack! I mean it. Stop talking like that, it’s horrible.’

Jack shrugged and went to fix more drinks. ‘OK, OK,’ he said. ‘If you don’t have the courage to defend yourself. If your precious principles have so weakened you that you don’t have the guts to make your own personal decision about what’s right. Lenin knew what to do, didn’t he? If you have something you believe in you defend it by any means necessary. Don’t you believe in your right to happiness, Polly?’

‘Of course I believe in it!’

‘Then have the courage to defend it.’

Jack poured Polly another huge Bailey’s and Coke and she gulped it down hungrily.

‘Polly, I have to do something to help. This guy is truly a terrible thing. We can’t just let him carry on abusing you.’

Even in her distress Polly thought about asking at what point Jack had suddenly become so concerned about her wellbeing, but she didn’t. For the first time someone was genuinely trying to help her with the problem that had been destroying her life.

‘Come on,’ said Jack. ‘Maybe I wouldn’t even have to
kill
him. I could just scare him a little. It’d be very easy to scare him.’

‘It wouldn’t do any good. He’s too mad.’

‘Polly, believe me. I know how to scare people and I know how to hurt them. When I do it they’re scared and they stay hurt … Come on. You have a right to defend your life. Not in the law, maybe, but under any concept of natural justice. Tell me where he lives.’

Polly did not believe in violence of any sort.

She absolutely did not believe in violence.