Authors: Shelley Ellerbeck
Walking up the narrow steps towards Paul’s first floor flat, Allie felt apprehensive. The Victorian house, ornate and beautiful from the outside, suddenly seemed dark and cramped. This could have had something to do with the fact that Paul was right behind her as they reached the first floor, and had to stand very close to her on the confined landing to unlock the door.
As he stood back to let her in, the feeling of being restricted quickly disappeared.
“Wow,” she managed as she entered. “Wow.”
“It has that factor,” said Paul, closing the door and going into the kitchen.
“It certainly does.” Allie was drawn to the huge bay window, which gave onto the narrow cobbled streets leading up to the old school at the top of the hill. Intricately patterned streetlights twinkled, lighting up the fronts of row upon row of tiny red brick cottages, once the homes of the poor and downtrodden, now the province of the well-heeled upper middle-classes. “I bet you pay through the nose for this view.”
“I do.” The clink of glasses could be heard from the kitchen, then the sound of a bottle being uncorked. “Wine?”
“Yes please.”
Allie made her way back across the living room towards the kitchen as Paul emerged, carrying a bottle of white wine and two glasses.
“There’s not enough room for both of us in the kitchen at the same time,” he said, placing the glasses on a low oak coffee table and sitting down in a huge sofa facing the window. “But the size of this room and the bedroom more than makes up for that,” he added. “Not to mention the cupboard the Estate Agent calls a bathroom.” He began to pour the wine. “Or the toilet, as you Brits say. Which, should you need to use it, is the door along the passage.” He chuckled. “Toilet always sounds a bit vulgar to me.”
Allie smiled and glanced round the large, high-ceilinged space. Apart from the enormous green settee, there was a table and two chairs in the window area and a desk and bookcase against the wall. A small Turkish rug under the coffee table was the only covering on the polished pine floorboards. Allie took in the whitewashed walls and ceiling, the swirling centre cornice and black chandelier.
“What a beautiful room,” she breathed.
Paul was gazing at her.
“Everyone needs a haven,” he said.
She nodded, conscious of his regard making her face burn. She focused on some sketches pinned up on a corkboard by the desk.
“Did you do these?” she asked, crossing the room for a closer look. “They’re very good.” She was aware of Paul getting up and approaching her from behind. She looked more closely at the drawings. “I recognise that child,” she continued, not daring to turn round, he was so near.
His voice was low:
“It’s Billy.”
She could feel his breath on her hair. Suddenly, his arms were around her waist and he was kissing the nape of her neck. He spun her round to face him and lifted her up towards him as he began to kiss her lips. She responded eagerly. A warmth spread through her body as she began to realise how long she had been waiting
for him to touch her. Just as she began to relax, the phone rang. She sensed his body tense up slightly.
“Let the answer phone take it,” she breathed, her hands exploring the firm contours of his back beneath his hastily unbuttoned shirt. She had a strange sense of déjà vu.
“OK,” he murmured, guiding her firmly back towards the sofa.
Suddenly, a hysterical sounding female voice cut into their passion, flooding Allie’s senses with panic and causing Paul to stiffen and move away.
“Paul! Paul! Please, help, I need you. He said he was going to kill me this time, and he….”
The voice was cut off abruptly by Paul picking up the receiver. He turned his back on Allie.
“It’s OK, Mel,” he said, gently. “Double lock. Remember? I’ll be right there. Hold on.”
He put the receiver down and grabbed his car keys.
“Allie, I’ve got to go. It’s an emergency.” He was halfway to the door. “Come with me now if you want a lift.” His eyes seemed almost black as he turned back towards her. “Do you want a lift?”
Allie stared at him in disbelief.
What on earth was going on?
“No thanks,” she said, quietly. “I’ll get a taxi.”
“Fair enough.” He hesitated before leaving. “I’m sorry, Allie. It’s a long story. I’ll explain tomorrow. There’s no time now. Can I phone you?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
As he closed the door behind him, she sat down suddenly and put her head in her hands.
Melanie had phoned Paul because she was in some kind of danger. And he had felt compelled to rush off, like some white knight on a charger to save her. And leave Allie behind, just like that.
She glanced
at the untouched bottle of wine, the condensation fresh on its surface. She only hesitated for a second before pouring herself a glass. If she wasn’t going to have the pleasure of Paul’s company, she would at least consume some of his alcohol. After that, she would phone a taxi and go home. Then she might, or might not, ever speak to him again.
Chapter Six
It was Sunday night when the storm finally broke. The still, static electricity that had been hanging over London for the last few days had finally built up to a crescendo and now the skies had opened. The downpour that ensued was so violent it flattened flowers and made trees bow low.
Allie opened her front door and gazed in disbelief at the raging torrent her lit
tle road had become. This year, the drains and gutters seemed unable to cope with the deluges that were now regularly visited on the streets of south east England. She watched for a moment as her car was transformed from dusty, gritty mess to smooth rain-drenched sphere. Seemingly unstoppable, the water cascaded off the bonnet and ran down to join the flow gushing towards the end of the cul de sac. In the distance, the caterwauling of car alarms mingled with the wail of a fire engine.
That’s the car cleaned for another week
, she thought, closing the door firmly.
She walked back towards the kitchen and her marking. As she sat down, she smiled to herself. Jeremiah’s resubmission had been excellent. He had addressed all the points she had asked him to and
was well on his way to passing. She quickly finished writing her comments and glanced up at the clock: nine p.m.. Time for a bath and bed. She had been glancing at the clock far too often today. Not that it mattered to her anymore whether Paul phoned. He had had all day to get in touch with her and had obviously found something better to do.
She tried not to jump
as lightning flashed around the room, closely followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Through the rumble, she heard the phone ring. Her hand shot out immediately, then hovered. She couldn’t have him thinking she was too eager now, could she? She let it ring twice before picking it up.
“Hello?”
Nobody spoke. Her heart began to pound. She attempted a more confident tone. “Hello? Who is this?”
“Sorry Allie, I took a sip of my tea just as you picked up the phone.”
“Oh, Jeremiah. Hi.” It was hard to sound enthusiastic on a Sunday evening. For her, Sunday evenings always had a slight tinge to them: the faint dread of the looming panic on Monday morning, rushing to get the boys to school, accelerating to join the queue of traffic, frantically searching for a space in the college car park, running to get to the classroom before her students. It was a wonder she hadn’t had a heart attack before now. She made a conscious effort to inject a more upbeat tone into her voice:
“How are things?”
“Er…. Fine.” His voice sounded flat.
“Sure?”
“Yes.” There was a short pause. “Well, no actually. Liz isn’t very well.”
“I’m sorry, Jeremiah. Nothing serious, I hope? Is there anything I can do?”
“No, no. She just needs to rest. She’s exhausted, I think.” He coughed. “I’m sorry to phone you so late, but I won’t be in college tomorrow. I need to look after her.”
“That’s OK, Jeremiah. You’re not teaching
tomorrow, are you?”
“No, not until Thursday. She should be all right by then.”
“OK. I’ll drop the notes off for the theory session, if you like.”
“Thanks, Allie.”
She sensed he needed cheering up.
“Your assignment passed, by the way.”
“Oh.” There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm in his voice. “That’s great.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do, Jeremiah?”
“No. Thanks anyway, Allie. See you Thursday.” Allie heard screaming in the background. “I’ve got to go,” he continued. “Sorry. One of the girls must be having a bad dream. Bye.” He put the phone down.
Allie stared at the receiver for a moment. It wasn’t like
Liz to be ill. She always seemed to have boundless reserves of energy. Maybe the commuting was wearing her out?
She
stood up and put the kettle on. A camomile tea was what she needed. The perfect accompaniment to her hot, deep bubble bath. As she waited for the water to boil, the phone rang again. She picked it up slowly, smiling to herself. Better late than never….
“Hello?”
“Hello. All alone?”
She felt her heart begin to beat faster.
“I’m not scared of you, you know.”
There was a pause.
“How do you know you’re not scared of me, if you don’t know who I am?”
“I’m not even going to waste my time listening to you.”
“Oh no? Then why are you still on the…”
All of a sudden, the line went dead. Allie replaced the receiver as calmly as she could, but had to make an effort to stop her hand shaking. Almost immediately, it rang again. This time, the receiver was to her ear before she had time to think. The adrenaline coursing through her veins had transformed itself into pure rage.
“Now, look. You can fuck off. I’m not going to be your victim…”
“Allie?” The voice sounded shocked.
“James! God, I’m so sorry. I thought it was someone else.”
“Someone you’re not too keen on at the moment, obviously.”
She laughed. It was a quick, dry sound.
“You could say that.” Suddenly, she felt drained, completely exhausted. She sat down heavily and reached into the drawer for a cigarette. Fingers still trembling, she lit up.
“And you can put that out, for a start.”
“How did you know what I was doing?” She exhaled slowly, reeling from the rush of nicotine to her senses.
“An ex-husband always knows when his wife’s lighting up.” She got up and opened the fridge. “And looking for a bottle of wine,” he added, chuckling.
“Now that
is
spooky.” She sat down at the table again, having found a half-finished bottle of Chardonnay and a glass.
“Now you’re pouring it out,” he said, “and settling down at the table to drown your sorrows.”
“James! You’re freaking me out!”
“Sorry Allie. I was just kidding.” He coughed. “So, who inspires such wrath in you? That kind of language reminds me of old times. I used to be the one you swore at.” He was beginning to sound nostalgic. “Who has that dubious honour now?”
She hesitated for a moment.
“Er… I don’t really know.”
“You mean, you’re insulting someone you don’t know? Let me guess… Some kind of computer helpline? Or did the Civic Centre put you on hold again?”
She giggled. “No. I…
How can I put it? I’ve got an anonymous caller, who calls to warn me off a certain man. I think.”
His response was lightning quick.
“Who’s the man?”
“
I don’t know.”
“You mean, you have that many men in your life that you’ve lost track?” There was an edge to his voice.
“No, no.” She felt an irrational urge to defend her own honour. Not to mention to annoy James. “I’m seeing someone. On and off.”
“The Canadian?” His tone had dropped.
“Yes. Sort of.”
“Sort of.” She could hear him take a deep breath. “And who would be warning you off him? His wife, perhaps?”
“He hasn’t got a wife.”
“Are you sure, Allie? Some men are good at hiding these things.”
How ironic
. Allie grimaced inwardly.
“I know. I’m sure.”
There was a silence. She felt exhaustion settling over her again. Tangible, it brought pressure to bear on her body. It was like a heavy cloak, pushing her down.
“Allie? Are you OK?” James sounded worried now. “Shall I come round? I could answer the phone to your stalker, if you like. Scare him off?”
“No thanks, James. I normally just ignore him. Or her.”
“You mean, you don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman?”