I See You(87)

‘As soon as we can.’

Across the road I see Isaac getting into the police car.

‘Can we give you a lift home?’ PC Swift says.

‘I’ll walk, thank you.’

Megan reappears at my side as DI Rampello and PC Swift drive away, and it’s only then I realise she had melted away the second the police arrived. ‘So you’re all right, then?’

‘I’m fine. Thanks for looking out for me today.’

‘Thanks for looking out for me every day,’ she counters, smiling.

I throw a coin into her guitar case as she starts strumming the chords for a Bob Marley song.

The evening is crisp and cold. They’ve been forecasting snow for days and tonight I think it’s on its way. Thick white clouds hang above me, and the road sparkles with early frost. I replay the journey home from work in my head, trying to pinpoint the exact moment I knew someone was following me; the exact moment I broke into a run. The act of remembering is a distraction from what is really troubling me: what the hell am I going to say to Katie? That her boyfriend was stalking me? The closer I get to home, the more I doubt myself.

When I open the door I hear the radio playing in the kitchen, Simon’s tuneless accompaniment fading in and out in proportion to his familiarity with the lyrics. I haven’t heard him singing for a long time.

The front door bangs behind me; the singing stops.

‘I’m in here!’ Simon calls, unnecessarily. When I join him I see he’s set the kitchen table for lunch. ‘I thought you might like something hot,’ he says. There’s a pan bubbling on the hob; prawn risotto with asparagus and lemon. It smells delicious.

‘How did you know I’d be home early?’

‘I phoned you at work and your boss told me he’d sent you home.’

I think how much I’d like to live without someone monitoring my every move, then instantly feel ungrateful. The police, Graham, Simon: they’re trying to keep me safe, that’s all.

‘I thought he was going to sack me.’

‘Let him try. We’ll have him in an unfair dismissal tribunal before you can say “to let”.’ He grins at his own joke.

‘You’re very chipper. Can I assume the job interview went well?’

‘I had a call even before I’d reached the Tube station. They’ve invited me in tomorrow for a second interview.’

‘That’s fantastic! Did you like them? Does the job sound good?’ I sit down and Simon places two steaming bowls of risotto on the table. I have the sudden hunger that follows a period of high adrenaline, but the first mouthful turns to acid in my stomach. I have to tell Katie. She’ll be waiting, wondering where Isaac is. Worrying, maybe.

‘Everyone’s about twelve years old,’ Simon is saying, ‘the circulation’s only eight thousand, and I could do the job blindfolded.’ I open my mouth to ask about Katie, but he misreads my intention and cuts me off. ‘But, like you said yesterday, it’s a job, and the hours would be better than at the Telegraph. No weekend working, no late shifts covering the news desk. It would give me a chance to work on my book.’

‘It’s great news. I knew something would come up.’ We eat in silence for a while. ‘Where’s Katie?’ I say, as though it’s only just occurred to me.

‘In her room, I think.’ He looks at me. ‘Is something wrong?’

And at that moment I decide I’m not going to tell him.

Let him focus on tomorrow’s interview without worrying that he should be staying home to look after me; without worrying that Katie is involved with a potential stalker. I ignore the insistent voice in my head; the voice that says I don’t want to tell him because I’m not even certain I’m right.

I hear footsteps on the stairs and the unmistakable sound of Katie’s shoes heading towards the kitchen. She walks in, staring at her phone. ‘Hey, Mum. You’re home early.’

I look between her and Simon; a rabbit in the path of an oncoming car, wondering which side of the road to run to. Katie flicks on the kettle; frowns at her phone.

‘Everything okay, love?’

Simon looks at me curiously, but doesn’t say anything. If he can hear the note of anxiety in my voice I know he’ll put it down to what’s been going on. The ‘stress’ with which Graham has signed me off work.

‘Isaac was supposed to be coming over, but he texted to say something’s come up,’ Katie says. She seems surprised, rather than upset, and I know it’s because she isn’t used to being let down. I hate myself for being the one to do it to her.

I had assumed the police would have taken Isaac’s phone straight away. I imagine the conversation in the police car, or in custody.

I need to get a message to my girlfriend.

One text. Then hand over the phone.

Maybe it was nothing like that. Maybe they all got along famously: Isaac charming the female officer; getting chummy with her male colleague.

I really need to let my girlfriend know what’s happened – she’ll be worried. You’ve seen her mother, she’s not stable …

‘Did he say what had come up?’ I ask Katie.

‘Nope. It’ll be something to do with the show. He’s always working – I suppose you have to be, when you’re self-employed. I hope everything’s all right though – it’s curtain up in seven hours!’ She takes a Pot Noodle upstairs and I rest my fork on the edge of my bowl. It’s the opening night tonight. How could I have forgotten? What if Isaac is still with the police?