He's After Me (19 page)

Those pictures. They all had one thing in common.

In every single one of them, Jude was totally oblivious to the fact that her photograph was being taken.

And understanding finally hits me like a two-ton truck.

Jude would never, ever, in a million years have had anything to do with the likes of Jem.

He knew who’d shopped him straight away.

The whore. Discovered at last he’d borrowed her credit card. Well, she obviously didn’t need it; it had taken her long enough to find out he’d been milking her account.

Couldn’t prove a thing, he’d said, but they’d still arrested him. Laughed in his face, the bastards. Her word against his, and she was the big-shot lawyer.

Yeah, well, they had nothing on him. His Anna would stick up for him. His Anna would get him off.

T
he next day, things move rapidly. Dad comes round early, his face grim.

‘They need you down at the station for a statement.’

‘Have some breakfast first,’ says Mum.

I shake my head.

‘No, I can’t eat a thing. Let’s just get it over and done with.’

‘I’m coming with you then.’ Mum goes out to the hall to grab her coat. ‘Livi!’ she shouts, ‘We’ve got to go out.’

Livi appears at the top of the stairs in her pyjamas, her hair tousled. ‘Where you going?’ she asks.

‘Police station,’ says Dad. ‘We’re going to nail that little toe-rag once and for all.’

Livi’s face turns ugly with fury and she disappears into her bedroom and slams the door.

Down at the station we are met by a DC Blane who ushers us into an interview room. It’s cold and bare, just a desk with chairs either side. He and a woman police officer sit down to question me. I’m scared but I insist my parents leave the room while I talk to them. I don’t want them to hear all the details.

They’re not unkind, but it’s blatantly obvious they think I’ve been an idiot. I do too. How easy did I make it for Jem?

‘Why did you leave him in the apartment on his own?’ asks the detective.

‘I trusted him.’

His left eyebrow rises, barely perceptible, but enough to convey his opinion. ‘Miss Davenport tells us she kept her pin number in her diary. Probably not the best thing to do, in retrospect. Could Jem have had access to this?’

I nod, remembering. ‘I saw him reading Jude’s diary one day.’

‘Good.’

I tell them what they want to know. I don’t tell them everything. I don’t tell them about us going out graffitiing. We’re in enough trouble as it is. I don’t tell them about the photos of Jude on the computer either. Why not? I’m a lawyer’s daughter. They don’t ask and I don’t want to complicate things.

Before long I’ve given my statement and am reunited with my parents in reception. They put their arms around me and give me a hug.

‘What happens now?’ I ask.

‘They’ll charge him and he’ll be given a date to appear in court.’

‘Will they let him out?’

Dad nods stiffly past me. ‘There’s your answer.’

Jem is walking out of an interview room accompanied by a man in a suit carrying a briefcase.

‘His solicitor?’ asks Mum.

‘Well, you didn’t expect me to represent him, did you?’ says Dad wryly. Jem sees me and his face lights up.

‘Anna!’

‘Come on,’ says Dad, taking me firmly by the shoulders. ‘Time to go home.’ I turn away, my eyes blinded with tears.

In the car on the way home, my phone starts ringing. It’s Jem, of course. I ignore the calls, so he texts me. I open it.

Big mistake!
I read, then the car swerves as my phone is snatched out of my hand.

‘What are you doing?’ I shout.

‘I’ll take care of that!’ says Dad grimly. He switches the phone off and sticks it in his pocket. I stare out of the window, furious.

At home the house is quiet. Livi has left for school. I go upstairs and get my things together. When I come back down, Mum and Dad, who are in cohorts in the kitchen, turn to look at me.

‘Where are you going?’ asks Dad.

‘College, where do you think?’

‘I’ll give you a lift.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘No bother.’

I know what he’s doing. Making sure I go nowhere near Jem. ‘Can I have my phone?’ I ask.

‘No. I want to hang on to it for a while.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Why?’

‘For your own protection. I don’t want you to have anything to do with that man.’

‘Neither do I! Don’t you trust me?’

‘Yes! Of course we do!’ says Mum.

‘
He
doesn’t!’ I scowl at Dad.

‘I do,’ he says, but I don’t believe him. Then he adds, his voice gentle. ‘It’s him I don’t trust, Anna, not you. I don’t want him talking to you. I’ll keep it for a day or two, that’s all. He’ll soon give up if he can’t get through.’

Yeah? You don’t know him like I do. I blink hard, trying not to fall apart. Don’t be nice to me, Dad, please. If you’re cross with me I can cope, but if you’re nice I’ll dissolve into a wailing, blubbery mess.

‘Keep it. What difference does it make?’

I get through the day somehow. Dad insists on picking me up, which is a pain because I’m free last lesson but I’d forgotten to tell him, so I have to hang around.

I go into the library to wait for him. It’s busy in there, all the computers and most of the tables full. I sit down and work for a while but my brain soon gives up. I’m knackered.

I can see Zoe seemingly working away at a computer. But when I go up to speak to her, I see she’s on Facebook.

‘Skiver!’ I say and she jumps. We’re not supposed to go on social sites at college but we all do.

‘I’ve finished now,’ she says.

‘Can I check mine?’

She gets up obligingly and I log into my account.

Jem has posted a comment on my wall.

Anna Williams is a thieving, lying slag.

Underneath Livi has posted one too.

Yeah, you’re right.

I gasp. Which one hurts the most?

Quickly I log on to my messages. There are loads from Jem. I scroll through them. I wish I hadn’t.

The stuff that is written there is vile. They all follow the same theme. I’d led him along.
I’d
stolen the money, the jewellery, not him. Then I’d left him to carry the can. He’d loved me but I’d let him down and now I wouldn’t even answer my phone. I was this, I was that – horrible, abusive labels that make me moan in pain, like I’ve been punched in the stomach.

Hearing me, Zoe comes up and reads over my shoulder, inhaling in horror.

‘Psycho!’ she growls. ‘You don’t have to read that rubbish!’ she leans forward and deletes them all, one after the other. Then she leads me to a table and sits me down. I’m shaking.

‘What brought this on?’ she asks.

‘I shopped him to the cops.’

‘Good for you! Now you can forget all about him. He’s out of your life, for ever.’

She talks me through it, calming me down. Jem has done his worst, she explains. What more could he do? It’s over.

And I almost believe her, there in the sane, industrious world of the busy library.

Till I get outside.

It was easy. Throw it up, one colour, bright red.

Nobody noticed him at the college, just another student.

Straight up the drainpipe on to the roof, dress up the wall in seconds, slide back down again.

Job done.

On to the next one.

I
  don’t notice it at first. When the bell goes and I walk out of college with Zoe, I pause on the top step to look for Dad. I know he’ll be here somewhere, waiting for me.

I spot him straight away. He’s got out of the car and is staring up at the college building. He’s not the only one. As students pour out through the doors and mill about in the car park, waiting for buses, chatting among themselves, getting into cars, I notice something catching their eye above my head. People start pointing. A crowd gathers, looking up at the building. Most of them look stunned; one or two are sniggering.

‘What’s going on?’ asks Zoe and she bounds down the steps and looks back. ‘Oh, no!’ she breathes, her eyes widening with horror. ‘Don’t look, Anna.’

I take the steps two at a time and turn around to gaze up at the building. Just below the flat roof of the main reception, a message has been sprayed in huge scarlet letters.

Anna Williams is a Bitch and a Slut!

Bizarrely, my first thought is: That’s not up to your usual standard, Jem. You must have thrown that one up quickly, up there on the roof in the middle of the day. Did you hang upside down to do it? I’ve seen you do that before. Shame you had to sacrifice aesthetics for speed.

Still, he’d managed to sign it. Only now the savage head of JAWS has disappeared. His tag is back to the solitary, but just as vicious, Fin.

Good. Now leave me alone.

I feel oddly disconnected from it all, like I’m an observer, not the subject, of all this vitriol. I can hear people whispering. Mates gather round, outraged, giving me support, and weirdly, it’s me that’s consoling them. ‘It’s OK,’ I say to Ben, who is shocked to the core. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine.’ My dad comes towards me and puts out his arms and I turn into him, my face pressed against his chest. His arms lock around me and I can feel him trembling. Poor Dad. I pat his back, comforting him.

I hate Jem for what he’s done to me. Even more, I hate him for what he’s putting Dad through. No father should see his daughter’s name blackened like this.

What did Dad ever do to him?

We drive home together, silent, chastened. As we draw up outside the house, we stare in horror at the front door.

He’s been here too.

T
his time he’s written:

Bitches! Whores! The lot of you!

Dad manages to get rid of it by the time Mum gets home from work. It’s not easy. He tries detergent first, then white spirit from the shed. In the end he jumps in the car and comes back with some paintstripper.

When Mum arrives to find the paint stripped from her front door, we usher her straight inside. Dad is really sweet with her. He makes her a cup of tea and sits her down and tells her what’s happened. I’ve read that people go white with shock and I never thought it was true, but Mum’s face drains completely of colour when she hears what he’s written. Dad plays it down.

‘Don’t worry. It’s just stupid, spiteful insults. He can’t do anyone any harm.’

He’s right. To be honest, I’m not scared of Jem. I just feel numb. But I’m so glad my father is here to take charge and I know Mum is too.

And then, as if on cue, his phone rings and it’s Jude on the line, wanting to know where he is.

‘I’m at home,’ he says, adding quickly. ‘At Maggy’s.’

Mum and I can’t help exchanging a wry look. Bit of a Freudian slip that. Dad’s been spending so much time here over the last few weeks, since all this trouble broke, he’s starting to think of it as home again.

‘It’s a bit awkward at the moment …’ he says and though we’re hearing only one side of the conversation it’s obvious she wants him back at the flat. I can hear her voice, high and agitated, though it’s hard to make out what she is saying, and I feel a familiar spasm of irritation.

‘Calm down,’ says Dad. ‘Take a deep breath.’ But she keeps on talking and his expression changes. ‘Are you sure it’s him?’ he says. Then, ‘Have you told the police?’ When he closes his phone his face is fraught with tension.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Now Jem has been charged, Jude decided to look at the CCTV images after all.’ He licks his lips nervously.

‘So?’

‘She recognizes him.’

I stare at him blankly. So they
did
know each other. I was right after all. ‘How come?’

‘Jude was his defence lawyer. She got him off some charge a year or two ago on a technicality, some petty crime or other. Privately she thought he was lucky to get away with it.’

‘I don’t get it …’

‘His name is Jermaine Smith. It was at her last practice. He’s one of hundreds of young thugs who have passed through her hands. After she got him off, Jermaine made a nuisance of himself. Started ringing her up, demanding to see her. Seemed to think there was some sort of special bond between them because she’d defended him successfully in court. Didn’t seem to understand she was only doing her job.’ He shrugs. ‘It happens. Half the people we represent are unhinged in some way. When she moved down here, it stopped.’

I think back to the time Jem told me about his car-crash of a life. The list of women who had let him down. The most recent was a woman who’d left him for some old guy with more money.