Scare Me (2 page)

 

CHAPTER THREE

 
 

Seated by the dark green water, Will leaned against his palms and tried to enjoy the moment. It was always a challenge for him. His hyperactivity was difficult to contain, but Carla was able to harness his energy as well as her own. She lived and breathed organisation and the drive she'd had before the miscarriage was steadily returning.

She'd led Will to the pond in the grounds of Easton Grey. The earthy scent there mingled with jasmine and cut grass. Neither of them really liked champagne, but Carla's sense of occasion continually surprised him. Recreating the day they'd shared a bottle of fizz as registry office newlyweds was the sort of touch that reduced Will's romantic gestures to matchwood by comparison.

She knelt and leaned into the pond to check the temperature of the bottle chilling there. Will examined her determined profile and the freckles the sun had spritzed on the tops of her white shoulders. The pale C-section scar on her midriff was also getting rare exposure.

She was the most resilient person he'd ever met. The miscarriage was less than a year ago and he recalled how, waking from the ordeal, she'd gripped his hand and asked him if he was OK. She'd squeezed his fingers so hard he'd felt the bones grind against each other. After the amount of blood she'd lost he couldn't believe how much strength she'd still had.

She'd been a senior corporate lawyer at Ingram for fourteen years, but hadn't been back there since. The one consolation about their daughter's surprise pregnancy was that it had become a catalyst for Carla's recovery. She was talking about returning in the autumn. She'd always worked voluntarily with the Water Aid Alliance. Her role operated in tandem with his, ensuring Ingram's resources were applied in areas of critical need. Carla had kept herself busy coordinating their overseas projects from home as well as the protest against the Motex plant.

She'd got involved in the demonstrations before the miscarriage. If Jessie had survived she would have attended Hanworth Primary. Will knew Carla was still channelling her energies there to compensate for the loss.

“Libby knows her own mind.” She plucked the bottle out of the water. “You have to let her do things her own way.” She twisted off the wire and pursed her lips as she unsuccessfully attempted to uncork it.

“She's eighteen.” Will gestured for the bottle to be handed over, but knew it wouldn't be.

“Exactly.” She grimaced, rotated the bottle and the cork shot out and landed in the pond. “That's why the decision's hers.” She shifted herself back up the grass bank so just her bare feet were in the water. The fizz foamed and she took an unrefined gulp from the neck.

Carla had prepared a picnic, just like the one they'd had nineteen years ago. Except then they'd been renting a one bedroom flat. They'd also been sat at the edge of the Serpentine rather than their own lake, and they hadn't had a pregnant daughter to discuss.

He persisted when he knew he shouldn't. “So, are we suddenly trusting Libby to make the right choice because she's passed the adult mark by a couple of months…”

Carla suddenly folded the spread of her saffron skirt over her legs.

Will knew his recalcitrance could prevent the evening turning out the way it was meant to. “I mean, how much do we really know about Luke's history?” He sounded exactly like the Dad he didn't want to be. He actually thought Luke was a good kid, but recognised too many elements of himself in him. It was good to be ambitious, but now he had to put Libby first.

“She's been with him for nearly two years and she's carrying his child. What more do
we
need to know?” Carla looked past him to the plumes of green weed in the bottom of the pond.

Nineteen years as man and wife,
 

And still so many years ahead,
 

He still hadn't found the words. “So you're just going to let her and Luke live together?”

Carla handed him the bottle and he poured champagne into the glasses.

“No. We're both going to let her and Luke live together. If that's what they choose to do.” She took one from him and they automatically clinked them.

“Can we not just lock her away and keep her to ourselves?”

Carla smiled ruefully. “The escape is already underway.”

“I was thinking maybe we could go camping for a few days. D'you think she'd go for it?”

Carla checked a look of bemusement when she saw he was serious. She knew why he was suggesting it. When Libby had been thirteen they'd had a disastrous weekend in the New Forest. A collapsed tent, cremated hot dogs and all of them had been eaten alive by insects. But it was the best three days the family had spent together and they still talked about it. “I think we've established I'm no girl scout,” she deflected. “And I don't think Libby can survive more than thirty seconds without tweeting.” She was letting him down gently.

Will hardened his lips. He knew the idea was wishful thinking.

“I think the trip was the best possible idea for them. They can talk; see how they are with each other. And they can make a decision without anyone's interference.”

Will swigged and nodded, but only because a reaction seemed appropriate. He hadn't got his head around the idea of Libby leaving home yet. Much as he loved her, he thought she was completely unrehearsed for real life. She hadn't even finished college. Where did she think the money for a family would come from? Luke certainly wasn't qualified to provide for her.

He'd offered to take him on as a trainee at Ingram, but he'd diplomatically refused. Luke's online enterprises were far from paying off. He was sharp enough, but so were thousands of other kids in IT.

“Who knows what they'll decide. We'll support them whatever it is, though.”

He nodded emptily again and took a gulp.

Carla put her fingers in her mouth and summoned the dogs with a whistle. Three contrasting heads looked up from nuzzling the opposite edge of the pond and then the lab, cocker and collie bounded round the perimeter to join them. She fed them with snacks and sent them back to the house.

“Now, how about us at least trying to mimic relaxation…”

She brushed at a smudge on his forehead and he kissed the heel of her hand and tasted her skin moisturiser. Her fingertips came to rest underneath the overhang of hair at the nape of his neck.

At eighteen he'd fully intended to lose his virginity to Eva Lockwood, a half-Dutch anthropology student, or Jenny Sturgess, a trainee lab technician. He'd been happy to submit to Carla's gentle dissuasion though. His faithfulness had been implicit since. She was the only person he didn't have to prove anything to. He'd met her at Brunel University and when they'd first been introduced she'd regarded him as if she'd been waiting to resume a conversation they'd already started.

Will had been an only child of low-income, academic parents and their significant investment in his education meant he'd heaped more expectation on himself than they had. His mother and father had Will in later life, and never got to witness his accomplishments. Had he only recently learnt that family was more important than approval?

Libby had her own plans and quality time with her frequently absent, workaholic father probably wasn't one of them. She was as obstinate as he was. Throughout his life he'd made decisions and stuck to them. Now, he was uncertain. Libby didn't have a clue about motherhood or what lay in store for her.

He followed Carla's gaze to the bobbing cork in the pond. Evening pink reflected in the dark water. “Is it our fault? Should we have been stricter?” He knew it wasn't the first time he'd said it to Carla and certainly not to himself. “If I'd been here more...”

“And what were we doing when we were in our late teens?”

“But we were sensible. We knew about consequences.”

“How can we possibly lecture Libby about consequences?”

She was right. Jessie had been completely unplanned.

They'd both quickly got used to the idea of having another baby in the house, even though Libby was almost an adult. She'd been as excited as they had. They were still trying to fill the void of a joy that never came home.

“So….” She cocked her wrist. “It's 7.22pm on our last night alone. How much longer are you going to leave me in these clothes?” She raised her chin slightly as she waited for him to answer.

Will tried to keep himself in shape. Morning runs along the South Bank and the nervous energy he expended during office hours saw to that. When was the last time he'd been alfresco naked though?

Carla watched his mild panic with amusement. “Libby's not back until early tomorrow morning.” Mischief glinted in the green pigment of her eyes. She took the glass out of his hand. “Summer house if you're bashful.”

She got up and started towards the hexagonal structure they'd constructed at the edge of the pond five summers ago. They'd sat outside it on many a warm, family barbecue evening. Libby had appropriated it as her teen hideaway for the past couple of years. She'd hung so many chimes and mobiles of coloured glass from the ceiling you could scarcely stand up in there. For all Will knew, it was where she'd conceived. It was theirs again for tonight and he knew Carla had recently stashed her obsolete CD collection in there. She unclipped her hair as she mounted the steps, her red locks dropping to her shoulders.

Will scraped up a stone and aimed it at the cork. It missed, but shivered the pink clouds on the water. He knew he'd get melancholy if he stared into the pond for too long. When was the last time the three of them had been together?
A dull throb at his abdomen interrupted the thought. Another ulcer?

Scott Walker's voice oozed from the open double doors of the summer house.
No Regrets
. She'd found the CDs. It was Carla's favourite Walker Brothers album. He got to his feet unsteadily. Not even a whole glass down and he was already lightheaded. He was such a cheap date. Will followed the sound, to where Carla was waiting.

 

The crab scrabbled its broken claws against the rusted sides of the empty paint pot, its remaining legs fighting for purchase as it circled its prison. Will looked down at its fractured, dark blue shell and the pinkish white flesh exposed through the cracks.

It wouldn't escape. The pot was too deep. But its pincers scraped off peelings of the coating of white paint that clung to the walls as it frantically tried to scratch its way out. Rain fell hard on Will's scalp, but he was transfixed by its energy.

He often saw the crab between sleep and waking, felt the droplets pummelling his head as he watched it.

The scraping continued even as he opened his eyes. He looked at the digital display of the clock beside the bed, but the numbers were blurred. The mobile phone beside it vibrated brusquely and filed at the bedside table. He snatched it up.

“When did you last google yourself, Mr Frost?” A female asked the question and the timbre of her voice had the forced cordiality of a wake up call.

“Libby?” The pall of sleep was slowly tugged from Will's brain.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” she added and then hung up.

He looked at the bedside clock again. He panicked that he'd overslept and that she and Luke were waiting at the airport. But as the numbers defined themselves he could see it was only 3.17am.

He was aware of Carla turning to him while he stared at his mobile. He waited for his recent memories to collate themselves and make sense of what he'd just heard. She sensed his anxiety and didn't ask the obvious as he punched up the caller ID. He wasn't surprised to find the number had been withheld. He felt her sit up and wait.

The room and its position in time fell into place. He knew he hadn't been mistaken about what had been said. His heart dropped a gear, but was still battering the base of his throat.

“Might have been a wrong number.” But the caller's question and sign off still reverberated.

Carla was as convinced as he was. “What did they say?”

“Something about going online.” Not something about going online. Something about precisely what he'd find there, about him. There was no doubt the caller was baiting him.

“Online?” Carla sounded incredulous and relieved. Her daughter was in the air and it wasn't the early morning call she'd dreaded.

Will couldn't release the same sigh of relief. The voice had been economical with its message, lingering briefly before hanging up as if to make sure he'd heard.

Carla took refuge under the duvet again.

Exhaustion was usually the only thing that persuaded them both to sleep. But last night they'd made love twice and been asleep for a good six hours. He wanted to slide back into bed as well, to make love again even though they soon had to get up to be at the airport.

His inflating unease told him he wouldn't be allowed to.

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

After dumping the phone in the bedside drawer Will decided he didn't want to panic Carla. He waited for five long minutes before getting up. It sounded like a prank call and part of him just wanted to dismiss it, but one thing was force-feeding his anxiety, whoever it was had reached him on his private mobile. He owned two, but the one they'd called him on was the phone he used exclusively to keep in touch with Carla and Libby.

“Thirsty?”

Carla's hair hissed briefly as she shook her head against the pillow.

His excuse established, he extracted the pair of shorts Carla had left tubed inside his trousers as she'd tugged them down his legs hours before. He slid them on and padded from the room.

Downstairs he deactivated the alarm and made his way to the office. Despite the time of year the room was still cold and he shivered while he waited for the computer to boot up. He quickly stabbed his name into a search before he could have second thoughts.

 

William Frost
 

 

The results cascaded and he recognised a row of three photographs of himself. He was smiling with a delegation from the US utilities board in the first, stood at the obligatory podium in the second and shaking hands with the president of United HydroPower in the third. He looked uncomfortable in all of them. He'd never been very good at freezing an expression for posterity. He didn't look as uncomfortable as he felt now though.

Libby was a Facebook addict, was forever uploading photos and clips to YouTube. Every moment of her life was shared with her legion of online friends. He dreaded to think how many images of him they'd been party to. She'd told him about a piece of software that would allow him to commit cyber suicide, remove every trace of him from the net. He'd been sorely tempted.

His eyes descended the page. What could he possibly be targeted for? His family and position precluded him from any indiscretions, financial or otherwise. But he knew he was going to find something here. He hoped it was a prank or an industry journalist trying to probe into his home life. It had been attempted once, unsuccessfully, in the past.

But he was sure the mock civility of the woman's voice concealed something ugly. He clicked through the pages of results and one of them immediately drew his eye as he remembered what she'd said before hanging up.
Kiss, kiss, kiss.
 

 

williamfrostxxx.net/
 

 

Three kisses – triple x? There was no other information below the listing. Surely it couldn't be a porn site. He clicked on it.

The page quickly configured itself. A deep purple background loaded up with images of his home. Photos of room interiors he knew were recent because they'd only been redecorated in the past few months. They were exactly the kind that Will had fought to keep out of the public domain. Now his family privacy was available for anyone in the world to scrutinise. He scrolled down them, quickly acknowledging that something united all the pictures.

Briefly he considered that they might have been stolen from Carla's online archive. She used a community image storage facility to share snaps and décor progress reports with family and friends. A quick scan of the stills of the front lounge, kitchen and hallway confirmed they'd been taken from outside the house. The photographer had stood at each window and furtively captured the interiors.

Cool tingles travelled from his shoulders down the backs of his arms. What was this, the beginnings of a concerted intimidation campaign? Motex Radials glided back into his thoughts like a note thrust under a door. He moved the slider down the side of the screen and revealed photos of the other rooms in the house with their sleek lifestyle appliances – the Blu-Ray home cinema in the TV room, micro-media centre in the lounge and the electronic incline trainer in the gym. The minimalist furnishings made the rooms look more like glossy showrooms than spaces in a family home.

Somebody had trespassed to secure them and he realised the stills had been taken at leisure while Carla had been in. In the dingy light of the one taken of the office he was standing in he could see her working at her desk on the opposite side of the room. They'd been feet away from her.

A car could easily be concealed in the copses of trees around the perimeter and a ladder was all that was needed to gain entry. Would Motex really go to these lengths? If this had nothing to do with the protest then blackmail was the obvious incentive. But did whoever it was think this scare tactic sufficient enough to extract money?

His brain attempted a speedy audit of his past. Was there an industry rival who might bear him a grudge? Or had organised crime decided it was his turn?

In the photo taken of the kitchen he could see through to the window at the other side and the shaded parking area beyond. He recognised the potted sequoia tree that Carla had recently positioned there. How long since she'd been presented it as a gift at the Water Aid Alliance dinner? No more than six weeks ago.

Below the last image it said:

 

CHECK YOUR EMAIL AND GO HOME
 

 

Will heard a movement upstairs. Carla was up. He often snuck into the office on weekends and she saw it as her duty to extract him. He'd been gone too long from bed and soon she would be standing in the doorway demanding his withdrawal.

He quickly logged into his Ingram email account and scanned the contents of the inbox. Nothing jumped out at him. A lot of internal memos and holiday snaps from Libby. There were also the usual chasers from people who wanted his presence at industry conventions plus updates from the Water and Health Bureau. He checked his spam for anything that had been filtered out, but found only junk.

Why wouldn't the creators of the website expect him to immediately pick up the phone to the police? He felt a jolt of fear. He returned to his inbox and opened Libby's last email. His eyes had barely grazed the header because he'd received so many of them on an almost daily basis.

 

Last Snaps
 

 

He opened the shots that had been sent using their picture sharing account. He was relieved to find harmless multiple images of his daughter and her boyfriend. She clasped her baseball cap to her head against a strong wind as she leaned on Luke's wiry, brown body in front of Penang Bridge.

Their beaming complexions looked more burnt than tanned. Libby was squinting through her mother's freckles and looked fuller in the face than some of the previous updates. They'd obviously benefited from the emergency money he'd wired them.

Her dark hair, usually in a bob, hung messily around the fringe of the hat, but he registered how happy they seemed together. Luke's head was shaved, but he was experimenting with a moustache. Far from making him appear older, however, he looked like a kid wearing a clip-on from a Christmas cracker.

He scrolled down the multiple photos. Libby and Luke wearing orange lifebelts and seated with a crowd of tourists aboard a sightseeing boat and then several uninspiring shots of the underside of the bridge. The last few were of them perched at a high table outside a bar at night. Rows of orange paper lanterns glowed above their smudged smiles.

“I should've bricked this room up for the weekend.”

Will turned and Carla was leaning on the doorjamb in her nightshirt.

“Pictures from Libby,” he mitigated, turning back to the screen. He felt Carla standing behind him as he revealed the last image.

The question of whether he should protect her from whoever had targeted their family home was now academic. The last image was of Libby and Luke tied to a rusty strut of what looked like a livestock shed.

Metallic cages were visible in the limited expanse of the flash. It illuminated Libby's dirty tears and the filthy piece of rag that had been stuffed into her mouth. Her eyes bulged in terror and blue plastic flex bound them back-to-back. A piece of card on a string had been hung around her neck. On it was scrawled a mobile number.