Page 60 of The Girlfriend

S HE SOMETIMES THOUGHT SHE WAS GOING MAD.

SHE WAS MAD. HOW had she gotten caught up in this?

Laura couldn’t see a way out. Fear followed her everywhere.

She would sit in the evenings, trying to watch television, but unable to concentrate fully as a mix of anxiety and loneliness settled on the sofa next to her.

She hated being able to see through to the hallway, dark and silent from where she perched on the sofa, so Laura started to leave all the downstairs lights blazing.

This way, there was something to welcome her when she got up to get another drink or just wandered into the kitchen, wondering whether she could be bothered to make something to eat.

At night, she was more conscious than she ever thought possible of Howard’s absence and her lone presence in the house.

She’d started bolting the front door, top and bottom, at first just when she went to bed, then as soon as she got in from work.

She rarely walked anywhere, preferring the safe capsule of the cab.

She was afraid of being followed. She was afraid of not knowing for certain if she had been followed.

* * *

She walked up the stairs to her office now, the drizzly Monday morning clawing at the windows outside.

Willow went to make her a filter coffee from the machine in the kitchen.

Laura went into her office, switched on her laptop, and looked to see if the end-of-series latest draft was in.

Her writer had promised it for today, but writers often promised things, then didn’t always stick to deadlines.

In a few weeks, they would start shooting and she was grateful for the distraction that would bring.

Her mobile rang and she looked at the name on the screen, then picked up.

“Alison.”

“Hello, Laura.”

“How are you?”

“Not great.”

Alert, Laura sat up straight.

“I’ve had our lead on the phone.”

Laura was instantly wary. Why would Julie call the channel and not her?

“I’m afraid I’ve got some pretty bad news. She’s been sent a package, from you, the note said. It arrived this morning.”

Cold fingers of dread walked down Laura’s spine. “What was it?”

Alison sighed. “I don’t quite know how to say this. It was a dead puppy.”

“What?” she whispered.

“In some sort of box. The note also said something about her solving her first crime.”

“Christ!”

“She was hysterical. Still could be, all things considered.”

“I’ll call her.”

“No.”

“But I need to—”

“Laura, Julie doesn’t want to talk to you. To anyone, in fact. She’s walked.”

“What?”

“We need to stand everyone down.”

Willow appeared at the door with the coffee, but Laura furiously waved her away and she cowered out.

“Now, just a minute . . . she can’t just walk off the production!”

“We can sue her if we want, but I think she’ll have a pretty good case when she’s been receiving threatening parcels in the post. ”

“We’ll recast.”

“ Who? You know funding was subject to casting. The Americans won’t go for it.”

“So you’re canceling the show.”

“Laura, we don’t have a lead actress. We don’t have a show.”

She started to panic. “You have to let me talk to her. I’m going to call her now.”

“She won’t answer. She’s switched off her phone. Thinks there’s a possibility someone’s got the number . . . ,” Alison trailed off, leaving a heavy silence in the air.

“Alison, you know this has nothing to do with me, don’t you?”

“Of course, but that’s not the point. Someone’s got it in for her. Do you know who?”

She thought about lying, but considering the magnitude of the disaster, realized she had to give a worthy-enough explanation.

“They haven’t got it in for Julie. I think it might . . . It’s me. There’s a girl, a stupid girl, who’s on some fantasized vendetta.”

“I see. Are you calling the police?”

Laura paused. “Are you?”

“Julie wants it hushed up. Nothing to the press, either, obviously. I don’t think we’ll need the police in order to get our insurance payment.” She paused. “Laura, how did this girl get Julie’s address?”

Laura went cold, glanced guiltily around her office.

“I have no idea.” She held her breath, waited for Alison to say something more; for a moment, she thought she was going to, but then: “Right. I’m sorry, Laura, it seems like a sad end.

The lawyers will be in touch. We’ll have to catch up again, when all this has blown over. ”

When would that be? Months, years, probably never. And ITV wouldn’t be the only door slammed in her face. The abrupt end of such a high-profile show would be around town in a matter of days. Through the office window, she saw Willow rise from her desk, and, then seeing her, she sat down again.

Laura sat in silence as the true scale of her loss started to sink in.

The production fee, the repeats, the second, third, fourth series.

The international sales, the DVDs. The hoped-for accolades.

Her reputation. Her company. Her career.

All gone. She felt a sudden surge of rage.

How dare she! Laura grabbed her bag and, tight-lipped, strode out of the office.

* * *

Laura’s anger didn’t subside in the cab, rather it smoldered into red-hot embers that would reignite the minute they were aggravated.

She felt herself tense as they got nearer Daniel’s flat .

. . and then she saw her. Walking along, as happy as you like, in her skinny pants, designer jacket and heels, expensive bag held over her shoulder with stylish, glove-clad hands.

She was casting benevolent smiles around as she might, seeing as she’d wormed her way into the biggest scam she could.

Laura thrust some cash at the driver, then got out and marched up behind her.

When she was within touching distance, she clamped a hand on her shoulder and Cherry reeled around.

Pushed her glasses onto the top of her head.

“Laura! You scared me.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, cut the act. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Cherry cast an eye sideways at the curious glances they were getting from passing shoppers. “Has something happened?”

“You get a kick out of posting dead animals to random strangers? Do you know what this has cost me?”

“I really don’t know what you mean, Laura, but I don’t like your tone.”

“The show is canceled and you . . . ” She was shaking with anger and jabbed her finger at Cherry’s face—

Suddenly she stopped. She was going to shout at her more, threaten her, but Cherry didn’t look scared, not even unnerved.

Her eyes were cold. A ripple of unease went through Laura.

She took a deep breath. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever vendetta you’re on, I’d like it to stop.

This has gone too far. What you’ve done .

. . it’s completely unreasonable. You’re angry with me, and I understand that, but this is .

. . well, completely disproportionate. ”

Cherry was quietly watching her. Maybe, thought Laura, maybe I’m getting through. The silence went on for longer. And longer.

“Boo!” Cherry was right up in her face.

Laura gasped out a strangled scream, staggered back.

“You know I had a bit of bad luck recently. Someone hacked into my account, sent a tweet that my boss thought was from me. Got me fired.”

Laura’s eyes flickered with guilt and she quickly looked away.

“What does it feel like to lose your job, Laura?”

“You’re insane,” she whispered.

“Sounds like you’re having a run of bad luck too. The divorce, the show . . . You know, they say it comes in threes. I really hope that’s not true.”

Laura stared at her, outraged, but at the same time, a primeval fear swept over her. “Are you threatening me?”

“You really do have a habit of reading the most fanciful things into what I say.”

“I know it was you.”

“You know nothing. And you should think very carefully before saying that again. Remember, Laura, threes. Or fours. Or . . . well, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

Cherry turned and walked away, and Laura could do nothing but watch, rapidly being overtaken by a terrifying sense of disempowerment.

* * *

Laura sat in her living room opposite two officers from the Metropolitan Police Department. She’d put off calling. It signaled a seriousness to the situation that she’d been avoiding. And there was Cherry’s reaction . . . for it would mean she’d find out. But she had no one else to turn to.

The first time they’d come to the house, a few days after her run in with Cherry, she’d told them everything, like some great dam bursting, and the relief of sharing the burden had been so sweet.

Then, as per police procedure, they’d gone away and done their investigations.

Laura had been more jittery than ever before, waiting, praying they’d get back to her soon so she could stop looking over her shoulder.

Now they were back and Laura knew systems and processes would be put in place.

Soon this would all come to an end. They’d recapped the facts with reassuring clarity and the tea had been drunk, the biscuits eaten.

One lone Florentine was left on the china plate and the male officer would longingly look at it every so often.

The policewoman looked down at her notebook.

“So, just to be absolutely clear, you’re not receiving any nuisance or malicious calls?”

“No.”

“Any electronic communications?”

“No.”

“And you’re not being followed?”

“No. Well, I don’t think so.” Laura caught a whiff of boredom, disengagement, emanating from the policewoman as she shut her notebook and alarm bells started to ring.

“I’ve told you, she’s not harassing me, not directly anyway.”

“Laura, we’ve contacted both Marianne Parker and Julie Sawyer and neither wishes to pursue anything about the alleged communications. In fact, Mrs. Parker says that she believes the letter came from you, and Ms. Sawyer denies receiving a puppy or any kind of animal in the post.”

“She’s a well-known actress. She doesn’t want the publicity, that’s all. But it happened!”

“Do you have proof?”

“Well, of course not, but . . . what about Cherry? Have you spoken to her?”

“There’s nothing to speak to her about, as there’s no complaint.”

Laura leaned forward in her seat. “No, you can’t do this.... You can’t ignore everything I’ve told you. She threatened me. . . .”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.”

“Christ, what do I have to do to make you take me seriously?” she exploded.

Neither of them answered at first. Laura swallowed the hard lump in her throat .

The policewoman spoke: “Laura, we are taking you seriously. We just have to follow the proper channels.”

She mustn’t get hysterical, but this—these people, she was relying on them. “Please. I don’t know what else to do.”

The policewoman showed a note of sympathy. “If you do start to receive any unwelcome communication, then this might be useful.” She put a leaflet for the National Stalking Helpline on the coffee table. Two minutes later, they left.

Weary, Laura cleared away the cups and saw the Florentine had gone.

He must have swiped it on the way out. She sat down heavily on the sofa.

Abandoned. Alone. The creeping fear that now permeated every time she was left with her thoughts started up again.

She knew Cherry had picked the cocker spaniel deliberately because of the dog Laura had owned as a child.

The puppy was as much for her as for her actress.

What else had she said, revealed many months ago in front of this girl?

She’d never remember, never know, unless Cherry decided to remind her.

Laura’s life suddenly felt very unstable; it could be picked apart, interrupted.

She’d gone into the office earlier that day and looked around for missing papers, cast contact lists, locking some documents away and shredding some others.

Then she’d deleted some e-mails, things she wouldn’t like other people reading.

She’d wondered if Cherry could break into her e-mail account, her company server.

These things were probably in the realm of a computer-savvy kid—look at that young boy who hacked into the pentagon computer system.

She’d quickly contacted her IT company and they’d tried to reassure her, but she’d insisted on a higher level of security.

The sense she was being followed had intensified.

When she’d left her office to hail a cab, she’d stopped at a shop window, pretending to look in, then turned her head sharply to see if anyone was watching her.

Laura quickly got up from the sofa, double-checked she’d bolted the front door on her way to the kitchen.

Her mind was still full of the puppy. Who in her right mind would send a dead animal to someone?

It was then she realized Cherry must have killed it herself or packaged it alive.

In horror, she stopped still, a chill running down her spine.

Cherry had no fear of anything, of being caught.

There seemed no limit to what she was prepared to do.

She was ruthless and her revenge was palpable.

Nothing tempered her; nothing could stop her.

She seemed to have no moral boundaries and her brain was lightning quick, devious, and imaginative.

She’d made sure that none of it could be traced back to her.

Laura was suddenly afraid for what was left. What else did she care about that Cherry was planning to take from her? Her mind went off in all directions, spasming from one horror to the next. She reached for the phone. She couldn’t call Daniel or Howard. It had to be Isabella.