Look Behind You (16 page)

No, of course not. What am I thinking? Liam isn’t capable of doing something like that to me. Which can only mean my kidnapper is someone I don’t know.

I wish I could remember, but all I feel is a scratching inside my head, as if maggots are gnawing on my brain. I’m so lost in thought I don’t hear someone talking to me at first.

‘…this way.’

I snap my head up, and a woman with a short, choppy caramel-coloured bob is standing in front of me. ‘Sorry?’ I say.

‘I’m ready for you now, if you’d like to come this way.’ She walks past reception and stands behind a chair in the middle of a row along one wall. I sit down and stare at myself in the mirror. I’ve lost more weight, even in the last few days. I look like a woman twice my age. I feel it, too. ‘Are you OK?’ She narrows her eyes at my scratches.

I make a mental note to wear some thick foundation the next time I go out. If people keep asking me whether I’m OK, I’ll probably break down into a gibbering wreck. I muster up a convincing smile. ‘Yes. I’m fine, thanks. I fell off my bicycle into a bush, that’s all.’

She nods. ‘So, you want a complete change, then?’ She tilts her head, lifting up my hair. ‘Shame. Your hair’s gorgeous. In good condition, too. What do you fancy?’

I meet her gaze in the mirror. ‘Can you do it like yours? A chin-length bob? And a lot lighter in colour.’

‘Do you want it all coloured or just highlights? A whole head of colour will be quite drastic. Highlights will be more subtle.’

‘A whole head, please.’

‘No problem. And it’s your lucky day.’ She smiles. ‘We’ve got a sale on at the moment. You get a free cut and blow dry with every colour.’

Lucky?
That almost makes me laugh hysterically.

An hour and a half later, I don’t recognize myself. I walk past the shop windows, catching glimpses of the new me as the air breathes on the back of my bare neck. Liam will hate it. He likes my hair long and kept down. Thinks it looks more feminine. Well, fuck him.

My stomach’s shouting in hunger by the time I arrive home, but the thought of eating makes me nauseous. I open the fridge door. It’s almost empty, and I only have five pounds left over from what Liam gave me to get some food. I close the door again and look at the fruit basket. A lone apple and two bananas stare back at me. I bite into the apple and ring Sara again. No answer. I wonder what she’s doing. Knowing her, she’s probably trekking in the mountains or white water rafting.

As I throw the apple core into the bin under the kitchen sink, I notice it’s full. I tie the ends of the black bin liner together and heave it from the metal casing before going out the kitchen door and round the side path to the front of the house where the wheelie bin is. Since the refuse collectors still haven’t been, it’s stuffed full, the lid pushed up and gaping half open, as if it’s laughing at me. I put the bin bag on the ground next to it, and as I’m walking away, a thought strikes me. The plate that Liam told Summers we’d rowed about. The one he said I smashed. If that really happened, the remnants of broken crockery would be in one of these bin bags.

I pick up the bag I’ve just put down in one hand and take the top one from the wheelie bin in the other, carrying them both into the back garden. I retrieve the final two bags and deposit them next to the others. Then I hear a mangled, melodic sound, like a dying bird. Even though it’s distorted, I know exactly what it is.

It’s the ringtone from my missing mobile phone, and it’s coming from inside one of the bags.

18

My fingers shake as I undo the knot on the first bag, the one I’ve just taken from the kitchen. The ringing has stopped now, so I don’t know which one it’s in. I dump the contents out onto the lawn and frantically pick through. If Summers could see me now, he’d definitely think I’d lost the plot. I let out a snort just thinking about it as I pick up soggy used tissues, kitchen waste, discarded post, empty shampoo and ketchup bottles, the mug I dropped that Liam wrapped up in newspaper, the red dress I had on when I was found, which the hospital must’ve given to Liam. It’s now ripped and torn, and I don’t know why they thought I’d want it back.

Disgusting muck covers my hands when I finish putting the contents back in the bag and start on the next one.

That’s where I find it.

The glass face of the phone is cracked so much I can’t read the screen anymore, and filth covers it. It looks like it’s been thrown or stamped on. Did I do that? Did Liam? I leave it on the grass and check through the rest of the bin bags for the remnants of the smashed plate. There’s no sign of it, which means it never happened.

I’m not going mad. I didn’t act out of character and throw the plate at him. It’s yet another lie Liam’s told that makes me look irrational and crazy. I replace all the rubbish back in the bin then go into the kitchen. I wash my hands and wipe the phone repeatedly with antibacterial wipes until it’s clean.

It’s useless. I can’t read a thing through the damaged screen. But it must be working if it was ringing, so maybe the SIM card will still be OK. I need to get another phone so I can try it out. It’s not likely I can buy a phone with five pounds, which means I’ll have to get some more money from Liam. If I ask for more, he’ll want to know what it’s for, and he can’t suspect I know things.

I’ll steal it from his wallet then. Yes, that’s it.

Another thought bursts into my head then. The sleeping tablets. I haven’t noticed them in the house, and they certainly weren’t in the bin. If I’d really taken them, they’d be somewhere around here. I search everywhere, starting in one of the kitchen cupboards where we keep a plastic container of medicine. I pull everything out one by one: plasters, bandages, earwax removal drops, Optrex, ibuprofen, paracetamol, Anadin Extra, some out of date antibiotics Liam had for a tooth abscess, vitamin C tablets, laxatives. I search the bathroom cabinets and all the drawers in the bedroom.

No sleeping tablets.

~~~~

‘What the fuck have you done to your hair?’ Liam’s eyes widen when he walks into the kitchen. A red flush creeps up his neck, a sure sign he’s getting angry. I know all the signs now. I’ve lived with them for too long. I don’t want him to smash a hole in one of the doors or walls again, so I ignore the harsh tone of his voice. With a placid smile on my face, I stop stirring the spaghetti sauce I’d found in the freezer.

‘I…I just fancied something different, that’s all.’ Instinctively, I reach a hand up to touch my hair, or lack of it.

‘It looks bloody awful! You don’t look anything like yourself anymore. Why on earth would you do that?’ His hand goes to his hip. ‘Honestly, Chloe, sometimes you’re just so stupid. When I said get your hair cut, we agreed on a trim, but you’re practically bald!’

‘I just—’

‘This is what I mean.’ He points a finger at me, disapproval thick in his voice. ‘You’re just acting irrationally all the time. I’m going to ring Dr Drew tomorrow and express my concerns.
Again.
’

‘How is cutting my hair irrational?’ I dare to challenge him, suddenly brave.

‘Because you don’t usually do these kinds of things.’ His tone is coaxing, as if he’s trying to convince a child out of a tantrum.

‘What things? Cut my hair? That’s ridiculous!’ I shake my head, but I know exactly what he means. He means I don’t usually go against what
he
wants.

He strides towards me, picks up a tuft of hair, and tugs hard on the end.

‘Ouch!’ I reach for his hand. ‘That hurts!’

‘You’ve completely lost it, and you can’t even see it.’ He drops his hand, turns, and storms out of the room and up the stairs. When he’s gone, I stick my tongue out at the space he’s left. A pathetic gesture, I know, but I’m fighting now. Fighting for my sanity.

And I’m not stupid. If I were, I would never have managed to escape.

As I’m draining the pasta through a colander at the sink, the doorbell rings, scaring me senseless. I spill boiling water over my wrist and gasp.

I hear Liam opening the door and talking to a man. The door closes, and a few minutes later Liam walks into the kitchen with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a small envelope that’s been torn open in the other. He holds them out to me with an amused smile on his face. ‘I thought you had a secret admirer at first, but they’re just from Theresa.’

‘Yes, I meant to tell you someone tried to deliver them earlier, but I didn’t want to open the door. I arranged for them to come back when you’d be home.’ I wipe my hands on a dishcloth and take the flowers.

They’re lovely. Lush lilies and bright roses, all interspersed with green leaves and red ribbon. I slide out the card from the envelope that Liam’s already opened.

Wishing you a speedy recovery.

Best Wishes

Theresa (and all the staff at Downham College)

A speedy recovery? How do you recover from being kidnapped and left for dead? How do you recover from someone trying to make you go mad?

I wonder what Liam has told her and whether Summers has been to see her asking questions. Did they both paint me as a lunatic who’s tried to kill herself? I risk a glance at Liam, who has a smug grin on his face.

‘Shall I put them in water for you, darling?’ He takes the bouquet from my hand and busies himself finding a glass vase and filling it with water. I plate up the spaghetti and pour sauce on top neatly as Liam arranges the flowers.

We sit down at the table, but eating is almost impossible for me. I chew my food slowly and thoroughly to get it past my throat, which feels like it’s closed up.

After I clear the dinner plates and clean the kitchen, Liam retreats to the dining room to use the computer. I pour a glass of red wine then grab a cigarette and lighter and go out into the garden. Hiding on the path round the side of the house, I light up and inhale, taking drags in between big gulps of alcohol. Both the cigarette and wine burn my throat, but it feels great. If I can feel pain, it means I’m still alive. When this is all over, I’ll quit again. I don’t care about getting lung cancer when my death could be imminent.

I stub out the cigarette and throw it over the fence in case Liam finds it. Then I walk to the end of the garden and turn around, looking at the house that feels like a prison.

Liam’s standing at our bedroom window watching me, but I can’t make out his expression from this far away. I exhale a weary, defeated sigh and head back into the house.

Quickly washing up the wine glass and putting it back in the cupboard, I chew on a polo mint to take away the smoky smell. As I finish cleaning the kitchen, Liam’s coming down the stairs. I turn around and he’s there, right behind of me. He pulls me towards him, holding me gently, and I have to wrestle hard with myself to keep the scream deep inside.

‘I’m sorry for moaning about your hair. It’s just that I love you so much, I’m worried about you.’ He strokes my back.

My muscles tense. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’m fine.’ Or maybe that’s what he’s worried about, that I
am
actually fine and not either dead or in the loony bin, and he’s not free to do whatever he wants.

‘Everything you’ve been doing lately is so out of character. I think those drugs affected you more than we first thought. Something’s happening to you.’

Shut up! You keep saying that! Is it me you’re trying to convince or yourself?

‘I don’t want to have the doctors intervene, but you must see that you’re not acting like yourself.’

No. I don’t see! I don’t, I don’t, I don’t! You’re trying to destroy me. Send me bloody insane!

I bite back what I really want to say. ‘Cutting my hair doesn’t mean I’m not acting like myself. I like it. It’s more manageable this length.’ I sniff into his shoulder.

He pulls back, blue eyes searching mine. ‘Well, I suppose it will grow again,’ he huffs. ‘But don’t cut it anymore.’

‘No. I won’t.’

‘Good girl. Now, let me make you a cup of tea. You sit down and relax. This is all taking its toll on you, I can tell.’ He kisses the top of my head and switches on the kettle, humming to himself. I watch his stiff back as I sit nervously at the table, wondering what he’s going to do next. When he finishes the tea, he brings it over and sets it in front of me. ‘There you are. When you’ve drunk that, we can watch a film together. Snuggle up on the sofa, eh?’

The thought makes my stomach bubble. ‘That would be nice.’ I smile, hoping he doesn’t notice it wobble on my face, and bide my time.

19

I steal sixty-five pounds from Liam’s wallet when he’s having his morning shower and tuck it inside my pillowcase. I’m getting dressed in a black sundress he likes when he comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped round his waist, hair still damp.

‘Sleep well?’ He tilts his head, a very slight smile on his face.

‘Mmm, like a log.’ It’s a lie, of course. How can I sleep?

‘Maybe that’s what you need, just some good old rest.’ He folds the used towel up and puts it on top of the dressing table, then pulls on some boxers he’s already laid out neatly on the bed.

My gaze flicks to his body. A body I loved in the beginning.