No Longer Safe (4 page)

We’re here and everything is set up. It’s
going to be a very lonely road from now on. I need to keep track of every
detail. Mustn’t stuff up.

Alice is so innocent and unaware. She has no idea why
she’s here. Quite sad, to be honest – she’s clearly missed me heaps and is so
keen and excited about being invited.

Had a near miss soon after we arrived, when she went
and banged her head under the sink. Totally blacked out and I was in a real
stew thinking I was going to have to rush her to A&E. I checked her pulse,
of course, and made sure she wasn’t having any weird kind of fit. She moaned a
bit and when she finally came round I managed to convince her it wasn’t that
bad. Luckily, she trusts me. Really didn’t want to risk her being kept in for
observation or whatever – I need her right where I can see her, the whole time.

If only she knew why I’ve got her here. If it all goes
smoothly she’ll never know. I’m banking on her, hoping that she won’t ask
awkward questions. Or, if she does, she’ll take my word for it and shut up when
I tell her to.

She’s come a long way emotionally by the sounds of it
– trying to stand up for herself and be her own person. Good luck to her. She’s
trying at least. I don’t mind a bit – as long as she doesn’t get too big for
her boots and mess everything up.

When I woke the next morning, the world had
changed. It was eerily quiet and still; as if all the sounds outside the
cottage had been sucked away. I could tell from the quality of the shimmering
grey light that there had been a fall of snow and I tugged at the curtains to
see how deep it was.

Living in London again, I’d forgotten about the impact of a
vast snowfall. Not just a dusting, but the dense accumulation that smothers
everything in sight by dawn. I’d forgotten how it blanches the colours out of
the air, smoothes over hard edges and creates new plump mysterious shapes.

I could see shades of white backed up for miles across the
valley, over pine trees, crags and the occasional rooftop, but the scene was
quickly closing in on itself. It felt as though the whole world had stopped and
I’d stepped inside a black and white photograph. Nothing moved except the hands
of the clock.

As soon as I turned round the headache hit me again. It was
like being smacked by a blunt instrument. I knew the only reason I’d slept at
all was because I’d taken a sleeping tablet. 

Thank goodness I’d brought them. I’d grabbed them only as an
after-thought, once my bags were packed and lined up by the front door. This
was such a special opportunity and I didn’t want to be so overexcited that I
didn’t get a wink of sleep. I’d never used the pills before. They were meant to
be a last resort after I was mugged in September, but with the bang on my head
yesterday, I don’t think I’d have had a decent night without them.

I put the heater on and huddled under the covers. I waited
and waited; the heater clicked and rattled, but it felt like the temperature
was still hovering around zero degrees.

My mind drifted back to the day Karen and I met. We didn’t
share lectures or any of the same subjects. All we shared was a kitchen – known
as B2 – with around twelve other students along the corridor. In fact, I didn’t
even belong there; my designated kitchen was at the other end, but for some
reason the reception I got in mine was standoffish, verging on hostile.

With nothing to lose, I’d tried my luck in B2.

‘I’ve not seen you before,’ said Karen, introducing herself with
a show-stopping smile as she skimmed past with a tray of beers. ‘It’s
all-comers here. Grab a seat. Fancy some noodles?’

I felt like a valued customer in an exclusive restaurant.
Everyone was chatting, sharing jokes and even toasting marshmallows on that
first visit. I found out that, in the evenings, students gathered with
instruments to form an impromptu band, drawing in an audience from other floors
in the block. While the concerts were underway, another group would put
together a huge pile of food – spaghetti bolognese or risotto – and share it
with anyone who turned up. Karen, I discovered, was the one who instigated this
communal supper idea; her generosity was a revelation to me. She regularly
handed round bottles of wine and pieces of cheesecake; she never seemed, like
me, to buy any of those meals-for-one. I didn’t hesitate. I shifted over my
tins and jars from one locker to another and made ‘B2’ kitchen my new home.

I’ve thanked fate a thousand times for that encounter. It
was as though my life really began that day.

I blew on my hands and, gritting my teeth, planted my feet
inside my furry slippers and pulled on my bathrobe. I glanced at my reflection
in the speckled mirror on the wall and caught the frown on my face. I was still
mystified that at such a poignant, delicate time, Karen had chosen
me
to be here.

At University, Karen had throngs of friends and they all
seemed to have more in common with her than I ever had. She’d made a point of
befriending me, but I wasn’t so naïve not to realise that there were plenty of
others she was fond of. What about the friends she’d met since then, through
her jobs or in Brixton? Why had she invited
me
?

Icicles had formed like dried glue on the inside of the
window, but I didn’t marvel at them for long. A knock at the front door shook
me and I stood still to listen. I heard Karen hurtle down the stairs to answer
it, as if she was expecting someone.

 ‘Yay – they’re here!’ she squealed.

I ran out onto the landing.

‘Who’s here?’ I called, hurriedly tying the belt of my
bathrobe, my mouth wide open.

‘The others…’

Others? Karen hadn’t mentioned any others…

There were whoops and screams at the front door. Karen’s
arms were wrapped around a man’s neck, dislodging his backpack. She was jumping
up and down, circling around the two of them like a puppy. I didn’t remember
her face lighting up with such unbridled joy when I arrived on the doorstep.

‘Didn’t I say? You remember Jodie and Mark,’ she cried. I
tried to raise a smile as I tentatively descended the stairs. I was
crestfallen. I thought it was just going to be the three of us.

I stood still on the bottom step. I did know Jodie and Mark
– we’d been at Leeds together for three years, but they’d always been Karen’s
friends not mine.

‘Hi,’ I managed eventually, nodding in their direction.

Mark Leverton still looked about nineteen. He was tall and
wiry like a bendy cartoon come to life. He’d created a stir with the female
population at Uni – black shaggy hair, shifty eyes that made him appear
inscrutable and out of reach. I’d never seen the attraction myself.

‘Hey – how’re you doing, Sugar?’ he said to me. I’d
forgotten what he sounded like. I’d expected a squeaky voice to match his body,
but it was deep and rumbling, like thunder was on the way. It all came back:
the way he used to call me after anything sugary – as if he could never
remember my name.

Mark had always been a ‘bad boy’; the dark, moody sort that
girls seem to drool over. I remember asking Karen at the time why so many fell
for blokes like him.

‘Because they’re exciting, I suppose,’ she’d told me. ‘You
never know what they’re going to do next. They’re mysterious, intriguing. Women
want to work out how they tick; they see dangerous men as a challenge.’

Mark invariably wore black back then; most of his t-shirts
featured skull and crossbones or logos of indie bands he’d seen at Glastonbury.
He’d been a talented drummer (his studies had suffered), and he’d lapped up the
kudos of being in a band. Musicians were allowed to be glum, irritable and
leave their dirty dishes about the place. I was pleased to see he’d ditched his
trademark black eyeliner and his t-shirt was maroon, instead of black, and had
an Armani label, with the logo of a US department store printed across the
front. He still had three holes in one earlobe, sporting two studs and a silver
scorpion.

Jodie Farringday had always been gorgeous; five foot ten,
with thick frothy dark hair tied up into a ponytail and striking supermodel
looks. Her legs were twice the length of mine and her typical facial expression
was built around a plump pout; her lips enviably claret-red without the need
for lipstick. She looked exactly as I remembered her – complete with kitten
heels encrusted with snow – she hadn’t changed a bit.

I felt a pang of inadequacy. I wasn’t dressed and hadn’t
even brushed my hair. I was acutely aware of the bruise that now resembled a
plum stuck to the side of my forehead. I hadn’t had the chance to dab a blob of
make-up over it.

‘We’ve had a staggeringly awful journey,’ Jodie moaned. ‘We
got here so late last night, we had to stay in Fort William.’ She shrugged off
her leather jacket in my direction. I caught it and hung it up. She did a
double take as she saw the bruise on my temple. ‘Why did you choose this
godforsaken place?’

Jodie had been that odd mix of super-confident on the
outside and insecure on the inside. She’d been obsessed with fashion and
self-grooming, always washing her hair and making appointments at the tanning
centre. She never went anywhere without a glossy magazine and even in company,
she used to plonk one on the table to browse through in coffee shops, the pub,
restaurants.

Mark did a circuit of the sitting room and emerged looking
forlorn. ‘There’s no bloody telly! How am I going to survive without
Strictly
...?’

‘He’s not joking,’ snorted Jodie.

Karen threw her eyes up in mock offence and took Jodie and
Mark each by the hand. ‘I’m making you both a bacon butty,’ she declared,
dragging them into the kitchen.

Karen turned to me as I lingered in the hall. ‘It’ll be
fun
, Alice. Come on – you’ll see.’

I hurried upstairs to change and we settled in the
sitting room with hot drinks and bacon sandwiches. Jodie had Melanie on her
knee, but didn’t seem to know what to do with her. The child didn’t look too pleased
to be there, either. She started whinging and flapping her hands in Jodie’s
face. Jodie couldn’t wait to hand her back.

‘She’s a bit overwhelmed with all the new faces,’ said
Karen, picking her up and cooing.

‘Does she have to have that mask on all the time?’ asked
Jodie, appalled.

‘The doctors want me to wean her off it gradually, but she
needs it most of the time, for now.’

Melanie still wasn’t happy. Karen tipped a pile of toys onto
the floor and tried to interest her in something. ‘Look – how about we play
with the shiny ball? Or the jolly truck?’ Melanie reached out instead for the
little playhouse Karen had made out of a large cardboard box.

It must have taken her ages to put together, to paint the
brickwork blue on the outside, cut the four-pane window in the side and ruche
the paisley curtains with string. There was a soft blanket and toys inside, so
Melanie could explore her own little space. Karen set up the oxygen tank
outside the box and lifted Melanie into the middle.

I played peek-a-boo at the window with her for a while
before Karen insisted I stop to have a bacon sandwich. I took half a slice to
join in, but I wasn’t hungry. I was still in shock from this intrusion and
still had a headache. Why hadn’t Karen said anything? Why hadn’t she warned me?
Then, it suddenly clicked: she hadn’t mentioned it because she must have known
there was a chance I wouldn’t have come if I’d known Jodie and Mark would be
here. She wanted all of us – her own select reunion.

Karen got to her feet, poised for an announcement. ‘I know
it’s not Christmas – but Santa got his dates mixed up this year and came
early.’ I looked on in horror as she produced immaculately wrapped gifts for
everyone. There was a CD for Mark, a fitness DVD for Jodie and for me a thick book
on photography. I felt terrible – I hadn’t thought to bring any Christmas
presents, not even for the baby.

Jodie prolonged the embarrassment by pulling out a parcel of
her own from the bag at her feet. A delicate necklace with the letter ‘M’ on it
for Karen. She turned to me. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming,’ she
said, ‘but I’ve got these.’

She dipped into her handbag, gave me an unwrapped box and
sat back to watch me open it. ‘I made them on the train,’ she added with pride.
She reached over and held an earring up against my ear, at which point her face
fell. ‘Oh – you don’t have pierced ears.’

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I was thinking of getting them done.’

‘I can do it for you if you like – we just need a sharp
needle...’ She looked like she was about to get to her feet to find one.

‘No – it’s fine,’ I said hastily.

Even Mark had brought a gift for Melanie – a toy piano,
which played a different tune with each key pressed.

An awkward silence followed the impromptu gift-giving
ceremony. Jodie was looking at me – I was off the hook as far as she and Mark
were concerned – but she was waiting for me to produce something for Karen and
Melanie. I hadn’t come up to scratch. I’d failed to grasp the unspoken
etiquette. The odd one out. As per usual.

Karen saved me. ‘Alice brought some lovely things for Mel.’

‘Oh – what?’ Jodie asked.

‘They’re upstairs. I’ll show you later,’ she said, without a
blink.

I tried to thank Karen with my eyes, but she was watching
Jodie, who had started telling some story about a friend at work.
Unfortunately, Jodie was giggling so much I missed the punchline. As the others
laughed, Mark was stabbing at burnt logs in the fire with the poker, sending
sparks everywhere. A cluster of embers shot out on to the rug.

‘Careful,’ said Karen, touching his shoulder. 

Jodie stood over a hole. ‘Look - you’ve burnt it!’ she said.
‘Stop it – it smells like a dead sheep.’

‘How would you know?’ he retorted. He took hold of her
ankle. ‘Give me a kiss and shut up.’ His Geordie accent made him sound
friendlier than he really was. Jodie did as she was told, then the pair of them
cuddled up together on the sofa.

When Karen took the plates into the kitchen, Jodie called
over to me. ‘I don’t really like little kids, do you?’ I noticed her hands were
trembling.

I glanced over at Melanie. ‘I haven’t got a clue what to do
with babies either, but I just follow what Karen does.’

Melanie was wearing a woolly hat indoors, because it was so
cold. It made her look cute. ‘She’s adorable,’ I said.

Jodie grimaced. ‘I’m not doing any of that nappy stuff.’

Mark nibbled her ear and I took the mugs into the kitchen.
From what I remembered of her, Jodie needed a lot of male attention and Mark
was good at that.

Karen rolled her eyes as I joined her by the sink. ‘They’re
just as soppy as they were at Leeds,’ she said.

I leant against the fridge and folded my arms in silence.
She spotted me staring into space and waved her hand in front of my face.

‘I was just thinking back,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘Do you
remember at the end of our second year when Jodie told us that Mark wanted them
to get engaged?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘She started looking for a platinum ring with an oval stone
– do you remember?’