distorted when he was asked to identify her body.
He wonders – this terrible burning inside him – how
long it took for her to die. What she felt. What his beloved
gran felt. All alone.
After the hearing, he is called to the police station and
is allowed to take the final single-line note and the folder
stuffed with all the newspaper cuttings. All written by
Alice Henderson. Her picture is at the top of some of the
longer features. He stares at the face. Alice with her neat
hair and her neat smile. Do-gooder Alice. Know-it-all
Alice. Some middle-class, privileged bitch who knows
nothing of real people’s lives, and just took it upon herself to back the stupid campaign and to push and push and
push until the politicians began to listen.
At home, he rereads his gran’s diary. The true sto-
ry. The whole story – how she became more and more
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desperate week by week when the campaign suddenly
and unexpectedly found wings through Alice wretched
Henderson. The tone of his gran’s daily jottings changed
further as the campaign gained even greater momentum.
From the final entries, it was clear she was beside herself.
She wrote that she simply could not face a future living
somewhere else. Away from her memories. Away from
the beloved bench. She had always thought the campaign
would come to nothing and was shocked to be proven
wrong. She cursed Alice Henderson and her stupid local
paper. Why couldn’t she leave it alone? She scribbled that she told no one how she felt because what was the point?
Local authorities never listened to people like her. So
when the notice to quit arrived, she made her decision.
She would not move. No way…
She asked him in her letter to keep the diary safe, as
she did not want strangers poking about in her business.
He holds that final letter in his hand again. He has
read it so many times that he can recite it in his head.
Once more he imagines her sitting that last time at the
table to write it … all alone.
He has not cried since he was a child. Since those
terrible Wednesdays with Brian. He thinks of what he
did later to try to keep his gran safe. He thinks of Brian
in that alley. The blood spraying. The hammer blows.
Bash, bash, bash.
He hated that place – the housing block. But she loved
it. His gran. And he loved her. So he came to accept its
future in his life for the sake of the only person who had
ever cared for him. He did the right thing for her. He was
strong. And he promised his gran she could stay.
He watches a tear drop on to the letter as he scans the
words, his gran’s voice in his head.
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My dearest boy.
I am writing to explain a bit. You must try not to
be too cross with me or too sad. This is best for me.
I am so proud of what you have become. Please,
please forgive me and go forward in your wonderful
new life.
I am just not strong enough to move. I cannot
bear it. Too old and much too tired, my beloved
little soldier.
I honestly never believed it would come to
anything – this demolition campaign. They’ve
been moaning for years. But this Alice woman has
suddenly whipped it all up. It’s in the paper every
week. And it’s all gone wrong. They’ve given me a
date to get out.
And I can’t face it, my sweet boy. I’m so sorry.
I just can’t.
Your loving gran. Xxx
PS I’m sending you my diary because I
don’t want people poking about in my business.
We never liked that – me and your grandfather.
People knowing our business.
He wipes his face and tells himself that he will never cry
again. He needs to find something better than tears. He
looks again at the final newspaper feature – tucked into
his gran’s diary – trumpeting the decision to demolish
the flats. The headline: we did it!
He spits on the picture of the journalist and recites
her name out loud.
Alice Henderson.
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CHAPTER SIXTY
Matthew
Amelie is perched on her booster seat, ready for her second
breakfast. She woke early again this morning and Sally
was a heroine, leaving him to lie in while she negotiated
early cereal, early warm milk and cartoons on the telly.
Matthew smiles, remembering the days when they were
sure they would never allow telly early in the morning.
‘Still hungry, princess?’
‘I’m not a princess. I don’t have a crown.’ Amelie
pauses and tilts her head as if reconsidering. ‘Could we
get me a crown?’
‘I’ll look into it,’ Matthew says, avoiding eye contact.
Negotiations over royal apparel could most definitely go
downhill.
‘Why does Mummy make skinny pancakes?’ Amelie is
frowning as Sally puts a plate of large, traditional pancakes in the centre of the kitchen table. She rolls one on to a
smaller plate for Amelie, sprinkling sugar and drizzling
lemon juice and slicing the long tube into bite-size pieces.
‘I like fat pancakes. Daddy makes fat pancakes. Why
are some pancakes skinny and some pancakes fat?’
Matthew is about to intervene when his phone rings.
Caller not recognised. It’s a call forwarded from his office.
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‘Hi. Matthew Hill. Can I help you?’ He’s not on
duty with Alice until 10 a.m. and was hoping for a quiet
breakfast first. He expects a long and difficult day.
‘You don’t know me but I’m very worried about
Alice Henderson. Someone’s taken her car. And she’s not
answering at her boyfriend’s flat.’
‘Sorry? And you are?’
‘It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is we need
your help. Urgently.’
‘I’m sorry but I need to know who’s calling. Why are
you at the flat?’
‘Look – I’m not there now. I followed the car and I
don’t know what to do. It’s been abandoned. There’s no
sign of her.’
‘Right. Give me the location. I’ll get there and I’ll
ring…’ He almost adds ‘the police’ but realises he has
no idea what he’s dealing with. He will phone Melanie
Sanders quietly. Secretly. As soon as he can.
Matthew stands. ‘Listen. Can you stay on the line? I’m
just going to my car. Don’t hang up. I just need a minute,
then you can give me the details.’
‘You’re not going already?’ Sally’s face is all alarm. ‘I
thought you were starting later today.’
‘Change of plan. No choice. I’ll be fine. You’re not to
worry.’ He kisses his wife and daughter on their foreheads,
his phone still clamped to his ear, and heads for the door,
grabbing his car keys on the way.
He has no idea if this is a trick – the sta
lker him-
self calling as some kind of sick wind-up – or some-
one genuine. He will need to be very, very careful. He
doesn’t want Sally to worry but his mind is racing with
options.
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He needs to keep this guy on the line. Try to get a
name. More information. But he also needs to find a way
to phone Mel Sanders for backup. Jeez.
What the hell is going on?
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CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Alice
I try so hard to calm my breathing. Slowly, Alice. Slowly.
I breathe in for three beats and out for three beats, pray-
ing that my nose will stay clear. I don’t want him to see
my fear. I have this strong feeling that’s what he wants.
My fear. The truth is he has it completely. I am utterly
terrified. I am so afraid that it feels as if I may wet myself.
I clench my muscles and try to keep my head above the
water but it feels like drowning. Yes. As if I am actually
drowning in my own fear.
In… two … three … Out … two… three… My laboured
breathing makes me close my eyes and I picture my mother
with her little plastic tubes into her nose for her oxygen. I realise how truly awful it must be for her all of the time.
Not being able to breathe properly.
I can’t help it; the image of my mother makes me
buckle.
He seems to take in this movement but says nothing.
He has not said a single word yet. He just sits there, all
dressed in black. In the shadows of the room so that I
cannot see his eyes.
I am trying to remember his height as he first walked
into the room and sat down. Is this Alex? Is he the right
height? Could he have escaped? Alex has been in an open
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prison for some time and I’m wondering if this is possible.
An escape. If this was his plan all along. Did he set this
up while he was on parole?
I try to imagine what Alex is capable of. Would he
really hurt me – face to face? Could he have hurt Tom?
Worse? Oh dear Lord. What has he done to Tom? I
think of Alex in a motorcycle helmet and Tom totally
unsuspecting.
I cannot bear this. Him just staring at me in this
silence. Me not knowing what is coming next. I have
glanced around and can see no evidence of the things
I fear the most – cheese wire. Acid. I am trying not to
let myself think of these things. The objects I fear. No.
I need to focus on breathing. I need to stop imagining
what he is going to do.
I keep my head still but move my eyes from left to right
to take in the room again. And now something strange is
happening. There is this odd wave of familiarity. Yes. The
shape of this place feels somehow familiar. Not this room
per se, but the layout. I can feel myself frowning as my eyes dart from left to right and my brain tries to process this.
What is it? Why does it look familiar?
I take in the shape again. The left-hand side of the
room is the kitchen with old-fashioned cupboards fitted
around a window with its curtains drawn. There is a sort
of breakfast bar which divides this space from the rest of
the sitting room and this is what feels familiar. The front
door is directly across from the breakfast bar.
There is an internal door ahead of me which is ajar
and seems to lead to a small corridor and to a bathroom
and possibly a bedroom.
And now it is dawning on me. The layout is the mir-
ror image of a flat I know quite well. It is much smarter
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than this one, the cupboards replaced with painted wood.
The furnishings much more stylish in that other place.
But – yes. The same layout as here but a mirror image.
This is the same as the flat lived in by Gill, one of the
demolition campaigners. I have interviewed her there
many times. I glance around again. I can imagine myself
walking in the front door of Gill’s place. She is on the
top floor. The third floor.
I don’t understand. It makes no sense. Why is this
room so like Gill’s place?
And now he is fidgeting in his seat and taking a phone
out from his pocket. I can’t see it properly but he puts it
right up close to his mouth. He takes off one glove to
press the screen several times and then he talks through
it. It’s on loudspeaker. And it is the voice from that very
first phone call to the office. Distorted through software
of some kind. Low. Robotic. Menacing.
‘Are you figuring it out yet, Alice?’
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CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Matthew
Matthew checks the postcode which was texted to him,
and sees two cars on a patch of wasteland ahead. He
recognises Alice’s car, and in front of it a second, darker
model. Very odd. It looks like the black Golf that he
thought was following them once before. The one owned
by her work colleague.
Matthew pulls his phone from his pocket and rings
Melanie again.
‘I’ve just arrived, Mel.’
‘Uniformed should be there very soon, Matt. I’ll be
ten, maybe fifteen minutes. What’s happening?’
‘It looks like it’s her colleague, Jack.’
‘Jeez. But he’s a suspect. We’ve interviewed him. Any
sign of Alice?’
‘You wait for us, yes?’
‘I’ll keep you posted. I’ve got to go.’
Matthew hangs up and gets out of the car slowly. Jack
then does the same, hurrying over. ‘OK, Jack. So what’s
happening here? Where’s Alice?’
‘That’s the whole point. I don’t know. I just followed
the car but I kept losing it. It was too far ahead. I lost
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Teresa Driscoll
quite a lot of time. Took a wrong turn. By the time I
finally found it, there was no one inside.’
‘So why didn’t you give me your name on the phone,
Jack?’
‘I was afraid you wouldn’t come. That you would
think it was a wind-up or that you would just tell the
police. They’ve been hassling me. They seem to think
I’m a suspect. I was afraid that I would just be arrested.’
Matthew is walking towards Jack very slowly. He
keeps his hands out from his sides slightly with his palms
open – a gesture to try to keep things calm. The guy is
incredibly agitated, scraping his hands through his hair
and jerking his head left to right. Matthew is trying to
work out if this could be their man. If he’s hurt Alice and
this is some kind of trap.
Once closer, he takes in Jack’s eyes. They are wide
and alarmed, the pupils huge.
‘Why have you been following Alice, Jack? Why
would you do that?’
‘Because I care about her, man. And I’ve been worried sick. The police don’t seem to be able to do much at all.
I’ve been following her to try to help her.’
; ‘Right. So what’s really going on here, Jack?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know. That’s why I need you.
We have to find her, Matthew. We have to find Alice.’
Matthew glances around. It’s quite possible Jack is telling
the truth. It’s also possible he’s obsessed with Alice. Matthew moves over to Alice’s car and glances inside. No clues.
He tries all the doors. All locked. But then, alongside the
car, he spots wide drag marks in the dirt. They lead right
across the patch of rough ground to fencing surrounding a
large old housing block which is boarded up. Some of the
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fencing has been cut and the drag marks continue beyond
the fence towards the back of the block itself.
‘Right. So this is not good.’ Matthew takes his phone
out again. He’s aware Jack could have done this. Taken
Alice inside already and then staged this concern.
‘Mel. A hunch at this stage but it looks as if it’s pos-
sible someone has taken Alice into a derelict block of flats
near the postcode I gave you. Fencing’s been cut. Drag
marks. I’m here with Jack right now.’ Matthew glances
back at Jack.
‘Do you know this place, Jack?’
‘Yes, I do. It’s the place Alice was doing stories on.
It’s Maple Field House – the block that’s going to be de-
molished later this afternoon. I don’t understand. Why
here? Why is her car here now?’
‘OK, Mel. So it seems to be a place Alice has been
doing stories on. We don’t understand. But there is a
connection. And it’s set for demolition today.’
‘OK. Stay put. We’re on it. Is there a sign with the
name of the demolition company?’
‘Not that I can see from here.’
Matthew hangs up just as a uniformed security guard
suddenly approaches from a small white van.
‘Hey. What you two up to? This is private property.
There’s a demolition here later today. It’s not safe. Did
you not see the signs around the other side?’
‘Oh hell. Why didn’t I put it together?’ Jack’s expres-
sion is all alarm. He glances around. ‘Why here? What the hell is going on, Matthew?’
‘OK. So the police are on their way.’ Matthew is now
looking directly at the security guard. ‘But you need to
contact the demolition crew and get someone senior here
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immediately. Get the whole thing halted. I need the name
of the company.’
‘And on what authority? Who the hell are you any-