Watching Over You
Authors: Mel Sherratt
Praise for
Watching Over You
‘
Watching Over You
is a tense, erotic thriller with one of the most terrifying antagonists I’ve ever read. The worst terrors are always
those that hide closest to home and Charley’s experiences –
negotiating
her path alone – will be familiar to many. She is as
vulnerable as any of us, stronger than she realises, and yet still in mortal danger. Charley is my new best friend, and Ella a terrifying villain – outwardly ordinary and utterly unhinged.
Watching Over You
is the book you’ll wish you could read from behind a cushion.’ —Elizabeth Haynes, author of
Into the Darkest Corner
.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2014 Mel Sherratt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13:
9781477819722
ISBN-10: 147781972X
Cover design by the Book Designers
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013920517
To Alison, for being the best friend a girl could wish for – and nothing like Ella Patrick.
Contents
Prologue
Charley Belington stood by the side of the road, the grass verge underneath her bare feet soggy, almost squishy between her toes. Rain lashed down around her. Partly sheltered by the boughs of the oak tree, she was still soaked through, her pyjamas clinging to the goose-bumps that covered most of her skin.
It was the early hours of a Saturday. This had to be a dream – no, a nightmare. She was going to wake up one of these mornings and find that the last twelve months hadn’t happened. It couldn’t be true.
Raindrops dripped from her cheeks – or were they tears? She really couldn’t tell anymore. Running a tongue across her upper lip, she tasted salt. But then again, there were always tears as she relived every moment.
She could see the car, its front crumpled beyond recognition. She could see Dan in the passenger seat, a gash above his right eye the only visual indication that he’d been involved in a crash. She could see the paramedics bustling around fighting to keep him alive, the fireman struggling to get him out of the vehicle; it was embedded so far into the tree. She could hear the shrill sound of the cutters as the roof came off to allow them access, the noise of an army of people trying to help. The flashing of emergency lights in the still of the night.
All these were scenes that she’d conjured up over the days, the weeks, the months since his death, because she hadn’t been with Dan during his last moments. But she did know that it wasn’t the accident that had killed him; he’d been on his way home from work when he’d suffered a heart attack. Only two streets away when he’d smashed into the tree head on. Just like that, she’d lost him.
Two
streets away from home.
And then she’d lost their baby. Consumed by sorrow, raw with pain, she’d miscarried two weeks later. She pressed a hand to her stomach now, almost feeling the swell of her bump. A girl: she’d been due the middle of November. They were going to call her Poppy.
It wasn’t the first time she’d found herself under the tree.
Charley
had visited the same spot quite often over the past year. Each time the grief came rushing back as if it were yesterday. Dan had been thirty-seven when he’d been taken away from her. And at thirty-four, Charley’s life had paused. She was stuck, powerless to move on, unable to deal with the loss of her husband and daughter in less than a fortnight.
Yet finding herself here again, she knew what she had to do. She
had
to move on; find a new home, a smaller place than the one she’d shared with Dan. A flat maybe, not too far away, where she didn’t see him in every room, or listen out for him as she went to bed. Somewhere in The Potteries; she didn’t want to leave her job. Or Stoke-on-Trent. It wasn’t a big city in England but she did love it, having lived there all her life.
Neither did she want to be far from the place where Dan was buried. But there were too many memories in the house. Coming home to them had been comforting at first. Now they stopped her from healing.
Charley dropped to her knees, ignoring the wetness seeping through the thin material of her pyjama bottoms. Shoulders shakin
g a
s she sobbed uncontrollably, she held a hand out in front, wanting to feel the bark, to connect with the last place Dan had been alive. Like the tree with its root, Dan had grounded her, but she didn’t want to touch it either because it reminded her of what she’d lost.
How the hell was she going to live her life without him?
Chapter One
When I was seven, I remember all being well in my world. I had my mum and my dad and my baby sister. I remember day trips to Rhyl and Llandudno, seaside resorts in Wales, to play on the beach.
I reme
mber going to Alton Towers, near to where we lived, and running around the gardens, glad I was too short to go on some of the rides because they looked so scary.
I remember happy days at school, being cared for by a neighbour afterwards until Mum came to pick me and my sister up when she’d finished work. I remember fish fingers and oven chips with lots of tomato sauce. I remember cuddling up on the settee while we watched
Animal Magic
if Dad was home from work in time – or falling asleep to
Cagney and Lacey
if he wasn’t.
I was such a happy child when I was seven.
When I was nine, my whole world changed as you were all taken away from me.
And that was when my life became all. Fucked. Up.
My mum and dad and little sister were killed in a car accident.
I w
as the only one who survived. I didn’t come out without a scratch, mind you. My right leg was broken, along with my right thumb and two of my ribs.
I h
ad to have pins put in my leg to hold it together but it’s fine now.
How do you get over losing your family at such a young age? Answer: you don’t. I was so lonely. We didn’t have an extended
family
. I had no one to care for me. Why had I been left behind? Why didn’t I die too? It wasn’t fair.
I was in the children’s ward for ages afterwards. I had a nurse called Angela and she looked after me all the time. I had an injury to my head, you see. I know, I know. If you’re reading this, you’re going to say this is what caused me to be how I am. It could have been the cause; it could have been the start – who knows, it could have happened without the head injury. It could have been inside me anyway. I could just
be
evil.
What makes someone evil? Something has to set it off. The accident has always been called my trigger point, in all the therapy groups I’ve been part of, and believe me, there have been a lot. Every professional said it made me change but I reckon not. I reckon I was an evil bitch on a path to destruction. Maybe I would have killed my parents and my sister in a fit of frenzy one night. Paths in lives are not destiny; they lead you to where
you
choose to go. Dreams, goals, achieving or not – that’s all in the mind, right? So if I’m a bad one to start with, then nothing will make me better.
If my family hadn’t been killed in the car crash, does that mean I would have turned out right, married a rich and gorgeous man, become a wonderful wife and a mother to two or three kids? Was that the path I should have taken until some mindless fucker rammed our car off the road? Who knows? WHO FUCKING KNOWS?
Ella Patrick pushed her long auburn hair away from her face as she tried to gaze seductively at the man sitting next to her. Having drunk enough for three women and far more than her small frame could manage, she hoped tonight wasn’t about to turn into a disaster. Earlier she’d tried to pick up another fella but he’d refused her advances. And he’d only bought her the one drink, the tight bastard.
The man by her side was giving off ‘stay away’ vibes too. They were polite ones – but she would have him. He wouldn’t be able to resist her. And if he did, she could always pick a fight with someone instead, get rid of her aggression another way.
She’d been in Chicago Rock in the city centre since nin
e th
irty
and it was now close to midnight. It was Friday and the place was heaving. The air was charged, the mood lively. Groups of women chattered loudly, swishy limp hair, panda eyes and remains of lipstick around the outside of their lips. Groups of men with splashes of beer down their shirts, red faces and sweat patches.
Couples getting to know each other in every direction she looked.
Perched precariously on a high stool at the bar, Ella hitched her black dress up her thigh a little bit further, a platform shoe dangling from the toes of her right foot. She swirled a finger round the rim of her glass, then popped it into her mouth to suck it dry. The man glanced at her, then away just as quickly.
‘Where is it you said you came from?’ she asked, trying to remember their earlier conversation.
‘Manchester,’ he replied in a broad accent.
‘So what are you doing in Stoke? Business or pleasure?’
‘Coming to Stoke can hardly be called a pleasure.’
She opened her mouth to speak out.
‘I’m joking,’ he explained. ‘I like the city – it has a good vibe to it.’
‘It’s a great place to live. We have,’ Ella frowned. ‘We have
…
what do we have? Ah, a couple of football teams. We have M
r Robbie
Williams of Take That fame. We have a pottery industry with some good names – Wedgwood, Moorcroft. Not so many as in the good old days but we’re still making the stuff and selling it proudly. And, well, we do okay for a small city in the Midlands.’
‘I suppose. It definitely seems to be up and coming.’
Ella snorted. ‘I wish you were up and coming, if you catch my drift.’ She placed a hand on his leg but he moved it away. ‘Another drink, then?’ She waved to get the attention of the bar man.
‘No thanks.’
Before she could protest, a woman behind her jostled to get to the bar. Ella turned to glare at her, not at all intimidated with the way she would have towered over her had she been standing up. She was blonde, curvy to Ella’s stick-thin appearance. Right now, her chest was level with Ella’s mouth.
Ella smiled, licked her lips – not bad. But she turned back to the man at her side. She had more important things on her mind. She didn’t want a woman tonight. She wanted
him
to screw her.
‘So you’re not for up and coming then?’ she said.
‘I don’t think so.’
Ella leaned nearer to him. ‘I think you’re vey – vey sexy,’ she slurred, reaching forward again to tap him lightly on his leg but missing in the process. He caught her arm before she slid off the stool and onto the floor.
She laughed loudly. A few heads turned her way. She tried to stop, which made her laugh even more.
‘You are gorgeous,’ she tried again. ‘Are you sure you don’t
want to fuck?’
He threw her a murderous look before knocking back his
drink.
‘Don’t you want to talk anymore?’ She smiled in what she thought would be a flirtatious manner. ‘Or is talking too much? Would you prefer action to talking? I like action.’
‘I have to go.’
‘But it’s early yet!’
‘It’s not the time I want to leave behind.’
‘What?’ Ella had only heard him mutter. As he stood up, she jumped down from her stool like a clumsy five-year-old. Steadying herself on her heels, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pouted. ‘You can take me back to your hotel. No one will ever find out.’
He pulled down her arms, not saying a word.
‘But surely you’d like a bit of fun?’
‘You don’t even know my name.’
‘I do!’ Ella thought back to their conversation. Dave? Terry? Or was it
…
‘Paul!’
‘My name is
not
Paul.’ He moved her gently back to sitting on the stool. ‘Have a good night but leave me be.’
Ella watched as he walked away; he had a nice butt, filling out the jeans he wore perfectly. And a crisp white shirt that she wanted to rip from his back, feel his skin next to hers. She pulled her watch nearer to her face. It was just after twelve. There was still time to pick up someone else; some sad soul would always shag her, even if she hadn’t been so lucky yet. But she wanted
him
. No one rejected her!
A little too late, she realised he was leaving. She got down from her seat and followed him quickly.
‘Wait!’
By the time she got to the door, he was a good way along Foundry Street. It had been one of the hottest days of August, hitting a temperature of 28 degrees. A rainstorm earlier had disappeared and, although there was still drizzle in the air, it was undoubtedly hot. Maybe that was why she felt so horny: removing clothes always made her feel sexy.
Dodging the people and the traffic in the narrow street, she ran down the pavement towards him. ‘Paul, or whatever your name is, stop!’
He kept on walking but, reaching him at last, Ella grabbed his arm.
‘Hey, don’t walk off while I’m –’
He turned abruptly. ‘What is wrong with you?’ he hissed. ‘Can’t I make it any clearer? I’m not interested!’
‘But I thought –’
‘No. You saw me, you interrupted me, and now you have me feeling pissed off because I wanted to be alone.’
‘No one wants to be alone.’ Slurring again, Ella pulled him close, seeing an opportunity to hug him as another couple drawing near would need to get past on the pavement. ‘Come home with me instead and you can leave in the morning.’
‘What?’
She pressed a finger first to her own lips, and then to his. ‘
I w
on’t tell anyone. It will be our little secret.’ She cackled.
‘You’re unbelievable.’
In desperation, she grabbed his arm and pointed to a narrow alleyway. ‘We could go down there if you fancy a quickie?’
‘Go home.’
‘You can’t tell me what to do.’
‘I don’t want you!’ He pushed her away. ‘Can’t you see that?’
Ella stared at him for a moment, not quite believing his words. Who the fuck was he to turn her down? If she looked closer, she might see more of a throw-back than a catch. He wasn’t anything special, just someone to scratch an itch.
She still wanted him.
But, seeing the repulsion in his eyes, she slapped him across the face. ‘How dare you!’ she cried.
His arms flailed as he tried to stop her from hitting him again. ‘Get off me,’ she screamed.
‘Will you be quiet!’ Heads turned their way. A taxi beeped a horn.
‘No, I will not be fucking quiet!’
He pushed her again. Stumbling backwards, she lost her
balance
at the kerb and fell down into a puddle.
‘That’s where you belong – in the gutter,’ he sneered. ‘People like you give decent women a bad reputation. Now, piss off and leave me alone!’
‘You piss off, you bastard,’ Ella shouted after him, feeling the water soaking her dress. Another couple walking past gave her a wide berth. ‘What are you fucking staring at?’ she snapped. ‘Haven’t you seen a woman on all fours before?’
As people made their way home from the city centre, Ella sat and cried. Another evening ending in disaster. Why was it so hard to get attention? He didn’t want her…Paul – or whatever his name was. No one wanted her. Why?
‘What’s wrong with me?’ she screamed. She got up, supporting herself on the wall of a nearby building, and staggered down the street. ‘What’s fucking wrong with
me
?’