Stalker (8 page)

In the tea-room, Georgio asked, ‘Working over the weekend?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Which shift?’

‘Why did he want to know? Lily felt closed in, and suspicious. And then she felt ashamed of herself.
Fancy suspecting Georgio. She must be paranoid. Old Georgio couldn’t organise the tea and biscuit roster. How could he organise to stalk someone without her knowing?

‘Graveyard, as usual,’ Lily replied.

‘Jamie told me you’re getting an unlisted number’ Georgio was making conversation, just to be friendly. ‘That makes you a celeb. doesn’t it?’

‘Did he tell you the number, too?’ responded Lily quickly.

‘No, of course not.’ Georgio looked hurt. ‘D’you need it because of that photo with Monty’s red car this morning?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Lily feeling a bit ashamed of snapping. She was really losing it if poor Georgio was a suspect. ‘Sorry Georgio. How’s the bonsai?’

Georgio beamed. ‘Water them every night. Won a prize at the weekend show.’ Bonsai were mini Japanese plants. Georgio was ultra short and bonsai were his passion.

‘Would you like me to do a segment on bonsai on the graveyard shift?’ Lily offered. ‘Could tie them in with some singer. Fame game plants.’

‘Celeb plants,’ suggested Jamie who overheard. ‘Some film stars have them too.’

‘There you are,’ said Georgio happily.

‘I’ve found out some more about Stalkers,’ said Jamie quietly. ‘Anything else missing around your place?’

‘I’ll check, but I’ve got to meet Ben now for a game of squash. And show him the car.’ Lily hurried off, and then turned. ‘I couldn’t find my toothbrush this morning. That was weird. A stalker wouldn’t take that, would he? I’ll have to buy a new one—TWO new ones, just in case!’

************************************************************

At the gym, the track-suited girl at the desk punched Lily’s card and pushed a locker key across. Lily squinted at the colour and number. Last time she’d been given a male locker-room key and it was a long walk back to Reception. Green for male. Red for female.

The gym smelt of sweat. Triathletes powered up the fast lap in the pool, creating side waves which swamped the SLOW lane. Through the blue-tinted glass, there was a steam of effort.

Ben was late. For a brother, he was pretty reliable. She hadn’t noticed his special bike in the park. So he must have had an okay excuse.

She sat on the hard wooden bench, waiting. It was important to see Ben as he meant reality and the predictable. When he finally arrived 45 minutes late, he said cheerfully, ‘I got your second message.’

‘Which second message?’ Lily hadn’t sent one.

‘To make it 7.45 instead of 7 o’clock.’

‘How did you know it was me?’ Lily was holding her voice together. No more freaking out. The fear clouds were growing again. Another clue to chaos. ‘Was it voice mail? Did you actually hear my voice?’

‘No. Switchboard passed on the message. What’s up?’

‘Let’s play. We’ll talk about it later. We only had the court for an hour, and most of it has gone.’

The squash game was fast. Lily kept hitting to the back so Ben had to run. His legs were stronger, but if she placed her shots, she could keep him on the run. Each time she slammed the ball, she wished it was the Stalker she was hitting… Thud!

POW!

After a quick shower, they had a drink at the café table. Ben was physically big and reassuring. His shoulder blades curved like smooth sculpture. It was time to tell him. ‘I didn’t change the times. My stalker did.’ Lily informed her brother. ‘That guy I told you about. He’s still around, mucking things up.’

Ben’s reaction was reassuring, for about ten seconds.

‘Get a life Sis. Don’t let some little nutter freak you. He’s got the problem, not you. Why do you think you’re being stalked? What’s his problem?’

‘I don’t know. And that’s the most worrying thing, no reason. The only thing I can think that I’ve done which might upset some people was during that interview with the Cult. When I asked Y about going into the God Business. At the time, it was just a question to keep him talking on air. But some people get uptight about religion. And maybe they thought I was having a go at religious types.’ Lily slurped her juice.

‘Could be. Some dropkicks take things the wrong way.’ Ben drained his drink. ‘Want me to come and sleep on your sofa for a few days? Maybe if he thinks there’s another male around, he’ll back off.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll have to deal with it by myself. Anyway, Genevieve is there.’ Lily didn’t want to embarrass her gentle giant brother, again.

At the house-warming, Genevieve had come onto Ben really fast, when she’d had a few drinks, but he wasn’t interested. He already had Anita and a triathlete training schedule. There was no room in his life for anyone else, apart from his sister. Squash was one way they kept in touch while their parents were away, volunteering.

‘Genevieve’s not there often, from what you’ve said. Sure you don’t want me, Sis? Stop playing the celebrity. This might be real. Maybe you shouldn’t have used your real name on air. Your first name anyway. Want another drink? My shout.’ He went over to the juice bar and returned with two carrot juices. ‘Here. Drink that. Might help you see in the dark.’

Lily smiled, as Ben drained his glass. They were always honest with each other, and that was sort of comforting. Lily tried to explain.

‘Sure I liked having a bit of fame. For a while. But now I feel as if my life is invaded. It’s like being under siege. I’m starting to do strange things. Forgetting. My memory is bad. I’m feeling really narky and critical about people. I don’t know which button to press on the tape recorder. This is seriously creepy stuff.’

‘Be careful Sis. I’d hate anything to happen to you. Call me any time you’re worried. Listen, I’m going to have to go, ‘cos we’re a bit later than I thought we’d be. Anita’s waiting.’ He collected the two glasses in his thick knuckled hands.

‘Say hi to Anita for me. See you. And thanks,’ called Lily.

As Ben’s enormous back walked away from her, Lily felt a surge of love for her brother. He was okay, and even Anita was all right. Sort of ordinary and normal.

‘Hey Ben, I forgot. Would you like a lift home?’ Lily grabbed her bag and raced after him. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’

‘A lift in the Vomit? Forget it.’ Ben towered over her. ‘My bike can’t fit.’

‘I know. Mine fits in the Vomit , but… come with me. See that red car. It’s mine, for a couple more days. Sure you don’t want a lift? Your bike would fit in the boot. ‘Lily enjoyed the look on Ben’s face as she zapped the door open. ‘Glad it worked this time.’

**************************************************************

It was so easy to get your credit card number. All I said was:

‘Excuse me. My girlfriend Lily bought a 21
^st
birthday present here yesterday and she’s just realised that she’d mislaid the receipt. Did she leave it here? No? Would it be possible to get a copy? Would you mind? The chemist said ‘No’, but the girl with the tatts at the garage said, ‘No probs.’ And gave me a copy for my girlfriend. The secret is to tell just enough. To add enough details. I was going to say that my girlfriend was a bit forgetful, and that’s why it happened… but then it might look as though I chose a forgetful girl who wasn’t perfect. And I wouldn’t be so careless. I could have made up a bit more about the 21
^st
, how it was held on the riverbank, or in a marquee… and suggest that we go out to places like that together a lot. But I didn’t with the chemist, he was one of those athletic types, probably has lots of girlfriends. The other secret is to ask, and then say why they shouldn’t do it. The garage girl fell for that. ‘Oh, I know you’re not supposed to give out copies of receipts, you have to keep them safe in case a card thief might try to get the number…’ then you pause and they jump in to show that they aren’t limited by rules, especially if they don’t like their Boss. Showing their independence.
But they’re not really independent like I am. An agile mind like mine allows you to do anything. Not that they know me well. Who does? I’m too clever for that. They thought you belonged to me Lily, and you do. I control your life. Stage one was getting the numbers. Later I decided I’d borrow the actual card. Just to see if I could copy the signature. L Noelle is easy to forge.
So many loops.

Close Up

Lily flicked through her album. She liked having photos of herself with friends and family. It made her feel real, as if a photo was evidence. She existed! She was more than just a voice. Embarrassing baby shots. On a lambswool. Naked. The one in the bath, when she was three. Birthday cakes with candles. Slightly out-of-focus. Legless. Starting school with highly polished shoes. Basketball team shots. School camp with a blurry campfire and indistinguishable faces. Ben in his footy gear. Dressed up for the school dance. His first date with Anita who’d been around forever. His first competition race. Mum and Dad waving goodbye at the airport. They loved flying to new places. And where was the extra passport shot of her? It was missing!

It had been in here. The slightly faded outline was there. Proof. Had she taken it out for some reason?

Lily shook her head.

She hadn’t. Her first passport photo. The head and shoulders shot. She’d gone with her parents on a holiday. They needed a passport for Vanuatu. Then, she was young enough to go on her parents’ passport, but they still needed an ID photo for a visa.

‘Where is it?’ she muttered.

Quickly she flipped through the more recent pages.
A copy of her driver’s licence photo. And a photocopy of the actual licence. She’d been so pleased after backing crookedly twice. The bridesmaid photos at her cousin’s wedding where she’d been partnered by that nerd.

Mum wouldn’t have borrowed it. Her parents had taken a duplicate key to her flat, before they left, so they could have got in, but they were thousands of kilometres away. But why would Mum want that photo when she already had a copy herself? That guy at the PHOTO SHOP knew she always got doubles.

Could the photo have slipped out? Lily shook the album. No. All the other photos were held firm. Could someone have taken it? Why? Cold fear started in her tummy again. Things were going wrong too often. It wasn’t just co-incidence. The cold feeling grew, like a paralysis. It was as if she couldn’t think straight or do anything. Would she ever be able to do ordinary, little things again without the dread that maybe the stalker was orchestrating her?

She must move. She must do something. She must not let this guy freak her out. He must not invade her mind and her life.

She lifted up her arm. The watch looked different. No. It was just the same as always. Same shape. Same colour. Why was she looking at her watch?

Time to do something. What was it? The mail. She’d forgotten to collect the mail. Perhaps there’d be a card from her parents? Six months was a long time to work as a volunteer in another culture. Sometimes, like now, she really missed them, but the international time differences made ringing difficult, and expensive and their island phone wasn’t reliable.

Move, she told her legs.

It was dark outside. Street lights shone. She fumbled in the letterbox. A large envelope. Another bill for Genevieve. But no postcard. And another big envelope. Like the last time.

Not again! The paralysis started. The cold feeling. It ran along her back and down her spine. Remembered fear.

Her fear started with that first hate-mail. That envelope changed her life. Usually Lily liked getting letters. Invites. Birthday cards. Even post cards from places she’d never visited. But hate mail wasn’t something she expected. It was so personal.

That someone took the trouble to hate her so much that they wrote, selected an envelope and stamp, find a letter box and posted it. With a 70 cents stamp that meant it had been bought especially. Not an ordinary 45 cents. Who hated her that much?

That was the first time she realised that ‘going public’ was dangerous. The ‘Lily’ this person thought he or she knew and hated was not the real Lily.

A page torn from the community radio magazine—the one with her photo on the cover. Bright blue texta. Strong, downward strokes. A noose was drawn around her neck and drops of blood dripping from her mouth. Not red-red blood. Brown rusty-red, so it looked like real stuff.

No postmark. What had that meant? Hand delivery? Or had the post office franking machine just missed one? But why this one? No clue as to where it had been posted. She hadn’t told Bernie about that one. No reason to think it was the same Stalker.

And here was another one, in a computer printout. Lily handled it like it was a bomb. One sheet. Printed.

Amazed, she read on. Bits of her life were listed on a sheet. Her personal belongings. And her reactions! She was being shadowed. She looked up. Was he watching now?

It was an A4 sheet, rather like a shopping list. Shock overcame her, like an icy wave. He was shopping in the privacy of her life! Even some dates were noted alongside, to show when he’d been in her house!