I See You(81)

‘Attempted murder?’ I manage. Justin’s eyes widen. Simon reaches out a hand and touches the only part of me he can reach; my feet, curled up between us on the sofa. On the telly, a nine-year-old boy with a fractured femur is rushed down a corridor on 24 Hours in A&E.

‘I don’t think it will stick,’ PC Swift says. ‘To charge him we’d need to prove an intent to kill’ – my breath catches in my throat and she rushes to finish – ‘and he claims that wasn’t why he did it.’

‘Do you believe him?’ Attempted murder. Attempted murder. The term rattles around my head. If I’d said yes to a drink, would he have killed me?

‘I do, Zoe. It isn’t the first time he’s used this technique to approach a woman. He … er … he thought you’d be more receptive to being asked out, if you believed he’d saved your life.’

I can’t find the words to express how revolted I am that someone would think that way. I pull my feet under myself, sliding Simon’s hand off my ankle. I don’t want to be touched right now. Not by anyone. ‘What will happen to him?’

PC Swift sighed. ‘I hate to say it, but possibly nothing. We’ll pass the file to the CPS to look at, and he’ll be released on police bail with conditions not to make contact with you, but my guess is, he’ll be refused charge.’ She pauses. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we brought him in to shake him up a bit. To see if we could get any information out of him that would help us identify the ringleader.’

‘And did you?’

I know the answer before it comes.

‘No. I’m sorry.’

After she ends the call I keep the phone pressed to my ear, wanting to delay the point at which I explain to my partner and son that there is a man in custody in North London under arrest for pushing me in front of a train.

When I do, it’s Justin who reacts instantly, while Simon seems stupefied, unable to process what I’m telling him.

‘He thought you’d go out with him if he pushed you?’

‘White Knight Syndrome, PC Swift called it,’ I mumble. I feel numb, as though it’s happening to someone else.

‘They’ll harass kids on the street for hanging out, but they won’t charge someone who’s actually admitted to trying to kill someone? Pigs.’

‘Justin, please. Their hands are tied.’

‘They f*cking should be. To a pipe at the bottom of the Thames.’

He leaves the room and I hear his heavy tread on the stairs. Simon is still looking lost.

‘But you didn’t go out with him. Did you?’

‘No!’ I take his hand. ‘He’s obviously nuts.’

‘What if he tries to do it again?’

‘He won’t. The police won’t let him.’ I say it more firmly than I believe. Because how can they stop him? And even if they stop Luke Friedland – Harris, I remind myself – how many other men have downloaded my commute? How many other men might be waiting for me on an Underground platform?

‘I’ll come to work with you tomorrow.’

‘You’ve got to be in Olympia at half nine.’ Simon has an interview with a trade magazine. He’s absurdly over-qualified for what even I can see is an entry-level journalism job, but it’s a job, nevertheless.

‘I’ll cancel.’

‘You can’t cancel! I’ll be fine. I’ll ring you at Whitechapel before I take the Underground, and again as soon as I’m out. Please, don’t cancel.’

He doesn’t look convinced, and although I hate myself for doing it, I twist the knife a little. ‘You need this job. We need the money.’

The following morning we walk to the station together. I throw a coin in Megan’s guitar case then slip my hand into Simon’s. He insists on putting me on the Overground before taking his train to Clapham, and I watch him looking around us on the platform.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘Them,’ he says grimly. ‘Men.’ There are men in dark suits all around us, like badly lined-up dominoes. None of them are looking at me, and I wonder if it’s because Simon’s here. Sure enough, once Simon has left me and I’m sitting on the Tube alone, I notice one of the suits sitting opposite me. He’s watching me. I catch his eye and he looks away, but seconds later he’s looking at me again.

‘Can I help you?’ I say loudly. The woman next to me shifts in her seat, gathering her skirt so it isn’t touching me any more. The man flushes red and looks down at his feet. Two girls at the end of the carriage giggle to each other. I’ve become one of those mad women on the Tube; the sort you go out of your way to avoid. The man gets off at the next stop and doesn’t look at me again.

At work it’s increasingly hard to concentrate. I start updating the Hallow & Reed website, but find myself listing the same property three times. At five Graham comes out of his office. He sits in the chair on the opposite side of my desk, where clients sit if they’re waiting for property details. Silently he hands me a printout of some particulars I typed out this morning.

These superior serviced offices offer meeting rooms, super-fast internet and a professionally staffed reception.





I stare at it, but don’t see the problem.