Rebound (31 page)

I’m woken up by the Piano Riff ringtone of my iPhone. It’s Michael. He asks how I am and then we move on to last night’s bizarre incident.

‘There’s been a development,’ says Michael lightly. ‘Tom is pressing charges.’

‘What!’ I’m not sure I heard him correctly.

‘He’s accusing Giorgio of causing ABH. Actual Bodily Harm.’

‘I don’t believe it!’

‘Well, it’s true. It’s a step up from Common Assault and it carries a maximum penalty of five years’ imprisonment or a fine, on indictment of course.’

‘But that’s absurd! OK, he ended up with a bloody nose, but it was justifiable.’

‘I know, it’s quite mad, but he claims Giorgio’s actions have given him whiplash. And, wait for this, he’s caused him psychological harm.’

‘God, the man is crazy. What was he doing in my house anyway?’

‘I don’t know what his excuse is. I’m sure his wife has come up with something plausible. Apparently she’s firmly standing by her man. And they do have a good
lawyer.’

‘I’m so sorry, Michael, I feel awful. None of this would’ve happened if—’

‘Don’t worry, sweetie, it’s all right. I’m sure we’ll have a good laugh about it once it’s over.’

‘I really don’t feel like laughing now.’

‘It’ll be fine. Listen, do you fancy coming over tonight? Giorgio and I are having a small party.’

‘Thanks so much, honey, but I think I need some time to myself. To count my sheep . . .’

‘. . . instead of your blessings. Or was it the other way round in the song?’ Michael chuckles. ‘I totally understand. But do come if you change your mind.’

‘I will, thank you.’

Before I put my phone down I check the time. Good grief, it’s nearly 11 a.m. I’ve slept for five hours. I’m surprised Wispa didn’t come to wake me up, demanding her
morning walk. I jump out of bed, driven by a feeling of guilt. Before I take Wispa for a run I dial DCI Jones’s number. My call goes straight to her voicemail, but I don’t leave a
message. I’m actually not sure what to say to her.

It’s a glorious autumn day outside and Wispa and I are heading for the Heath. As we trot down Fitzroy Park, my mind begins to clear and I’m able to focus on the events of the last
twenty-four hours. Why was Tom trying to break into my house? He’d always seemed like a nice and friendly guy. And then there is Samantha, the quiet powerhouse of the Collins household,
standing by her man, for better or worse. The woman who knows my secret. Except it’s not a secret any more, since I spilled my guts to DCI Jones. I have a feeling all these elements are
somehow connected, that there is some devious logic to everything that’s been happening to me recently but, whatever it is, it eludes me.

As we enter the Heath, its autumnal beauty takes my breath away. The pond shimmers in the warm sunshine, black coots dotting its surface. There are a lot of people milling around, dog walkers,
joggers, families with kids, all grabbing the last rays of sun before the winter gloom descends on the scene. I run up the hill at full speed, then slow down before turning off into the woods.
It’s much darker here and almost empty, most of the walkers staying out in the sunshine. A shiver runs through me and I stop abruptly. The damp chill smells of rotting leaves, decaying
matter, mouldy earth. The smell of death. Somewhere in these woods the Dior Man spent his last moments, fighting for his life, gasping for breath, slipping into unconsciousness, darkness closing in
around him. I don’t know how he died; the details have been kept confidential by the police and I haven’t asked DCI Jones. I don’t want to know. I want to remember him alive. I
suddenly feel cold, despite my heart pounding furiously. I can’t shake off the feeling there is someone lurking in the shadows of the bushes, watching me, following my every step. I know
there is a rapist and a murderer still out there somewhere, and yet I’m drawn to the place, unable to resist its pull. I whistle quietly at Wispa, who’s rummaging in the damp leaves
ahead of me. She comes back instantly, her tail wagging. Whatever I feel must be a product of my imagination then, I tell myself, but the sense of danger persists. I cast a quick glance behind me
and start walking backwards towards the brightness of the open space. I keep my eye on the dark bushes, listening for any noise, bracing myself for something terrible I’m convinced is just
about to happen. A branch cracks under my foot, I slip in the mud and fall backwards, landing hard on the ground. I’m back on my feet instantly, breathless and shaking. The safety of the open
meadow with other people in it is only a few steps away. I turn and run towards it, followed by a bouncing Wispa. The brightness and warmth of the sunshine hits me, but I keep running at full speed
until I see other people – a teenager with a kite, a female runner in a pink outfit, an elderly couple with an elderly dog, a family with screaming kids. I run towards noise and movement,
towards safety and life.

I don’t stop until I’m back by the ponds, where a small crowd has gathered by an RSPB tent. I walk towards the display board, purely to feel the proximity of other people. I surround
myself with the comforting fraternity of birdwatchers and stare at the display board, not seeing any detail, concentrating on my breathing and heartbeat. Once my pulse slows down I continue up
Merton Lane, careful to have other people in my line of vision all the time.

When I get home I look up the number for the local locksmith and request an emergency visit to change the locks. They seem very busy, but when I say I don’t mind paying double the call-out
charge to have it done as soon as possible, they agree to send someone straight away. I must also call Dennis, my handyman, to have a look at the guttering damaged in last night’s scuffle.
I’ll have him check the garden fence and maybe install some barbed wire in the most vulnerable spots. I know that if an intruder wants to break into my house he’ll find a way anyway,
but having done something about the security of my home makes me feel better.

The locksmith is the same guy who came to my house before. If he is surprised by the frequency with which I change my locks, he doesn’t show it, just gets on with the job. Twenty minutes
later he hands me a new set of keys, takes my cheque and tells me with a grin that he’ll see me again soon. I lock the door behind him, check if the garden doors are locked as well, and get
into the shower. I stand under the hot stream of water until all the mirrors are steamed up and the bathroom feels like a sauna. The rest of the house seems cold compared with it. I go to the
kitchen and make scrambled eggs with chorizo and mushrooms. As the comfort food settles in my stomach I begin to relax at last. I’m determined to have a normal Saturday, catch up on calling
friends, cook a simple dinner, watch a movie on iPlayer.

The doorbell sets my heartbeat racing again. Wispa rushes to the hallway, barking, but with her tail wagging. It’s someone she knows. I put the chain on and crack the door open. It’s
DCI Jones, in her fleecy weekend attire. When I open the door for her I catch a glimpse of her red Mini parked behind my car. She apologizes for calling in unannounced, but I assure her it’s
fine. I offer her a coffee, which she accepts, and settles at my kitchen table.

‘We’ve got Tom Collins in custody,’ she says without preamble.

‘Oh, I’m surprised his wife hasn’t got him out yet. As you probably know, she’s accusing Michael’s boyfriend of causing Tom Actual Bodily Harm.’

‘Yes.’ She dismisses it with the slightest of shrugs. ‘Anna, what I’m going to tell you isn’t official yet. But I think you deserve to know.’

She pauses and I hold my breath. Her phone blips, but she ignores it.

‘We’ve sent Tom’s DNA sample for analysis to Forensic Science Service. They can process urgent samples in eight hours. We’ve just had the results back.’

She pauses again and I wait for her to continue, unsure where she’s going with it.

‘It’s a match, Anna. A match with the Heath rapes.’

I stare at her, speechless. This can’t be true.

‘This is serious, Anna. We’re checking his alibis for all the dates but it looks like he might be the Heath attacker.’

‘But that’s impossible. He’s got a wife and kids . . . He’s a dentist . . .’ As soon as it comes out of my mouth I know how ridiculous it sounds.

‘I know.’ DCI Jones smiles sadly. ‘Most rapists appear ordinary and innocuous. Until they attack.’

‘Is he – Has he—’ I can’t bring myself to ask whether he’s responsible for the murders as well, but Vic guesses my question.

‘We don’t know at this stage, but it’s likely.’

‘Oh my God.’ A wave of extreme exhaustion washes over me. I don’t feel shocked or angry, just desperately sad. ‘If only I’d known . . . I could’ve stopped
him.’

‘No, Anna.’ Vic puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘You couldn’t have. Don’t blame yourself.’

‘But why?’

‘Why do people commit violent acts?’ She sighs. ‘There are a thousand answers. Because that’s human nature?’

‘What happens now?’

‘The usual process: he’ll be charged and kept in custody until the court hearing.’

‘He won’t come out on bail?’

‘Unlikely, given the seriousness of the crimes.’

‘Do you really think he did it?’ I still can’t get my head round what she’s just told me.

‘That’s what the evidence is telling us.’ Her phone blips again and she looks at it this time. ‘I’m afraid I have to go. It’s a busy day for us.’

I close the door behind her and go back to the kitchen. Tom is the Heath rapist. This is not what I’d expected, even after his strange break-in yesterday. I don’t know whether I
should allow myself to feel relieved. So much has happened within these last couple of months. Will anything good ever come out of this period of my life? I doubt it.

I unlock the door to the garden and step out onto the stone-paved patio. The garden looks peaceful, though slightly unkempt. If not for the pieces of broken guttering someone’s put in a
neat pile by the fence, there are hardly any signs of yesterday’s struggle. It’s as if nothing has happened here. This is life, I think, erasing any traces of turmoil, growing scar
tissue over the wounds, self-healing. I remember Pia is due tomorrow for her gardening blitz. After her visit the garden will look even more tranquil and immaculate, a blank canvas, ready to be
painted over with my moods. But it’s not blank, I realize. Even though it looks almost perfect, it carries the memory of yesterday’s fight, the anger and aggression of it. I go back to
the kitchen and close the door behind me, but the feeling persists. The house seems claustrophobic and cold, full of menacing vibes, as if some stranger who hates me has moved in, unbeknown to me.
I crank the heating up and turn on my Bose sound system. The smooth jazzy sound of Hidden Orchestra fills the rooms, but it’s unable to shift the gloom. I need to get out, clear my head, get
some positive energy from other people. I grab my car keys and head out through the door, unsure why I’m doing this or where I’m going. Wispa follows me closely and I have no heart to
leave her behind. We both get into my car, one of the rare occasions Wispa’s allowed on the front passenger seat, the place she loves. I drive off, nearly hitting another car that has to
brake suddenly to let me out. We go down Highgate Hill, meander around the Archway Gyratory then continue along Holloway Road. Surprisingly for a Saturday afternoon there is very little traffic and
we breeze through Highbury Corner, Islington and Shoreditch, and soon reach my improvised destination, Brick Lane. This is where I used to come when I was a fresh-faced and eager freelance producer
with no money but plenty of time and ideas that were supposed to lead me onto the red carpet at the Cannes Festival. The red carpet never happened; the dreams of youth got stifled by the pragmatism
of comfortable, corporate life.

I leave the car in a side street, just outside a derelict building decorated with beautiful street art, a combination of paste-up, spray-painting and tags. With Wispa on a short leash, we walk
past newly refurbished arty shops and merge with the pedestrian traffic of Brick Lane. It’s busy here, the colourful locals mixing with awestruck tourists, snapping photographs of London life
at its most vibrant and genuine. I head straight for the bagel shop at the top of the street and get their salt-beef special with a large dollop of mustard, which I eat outside on a small bench,
next to an old man in a bowler hat, who’s been a permanent fixture outside the shop for as long as I remember. It’s Wispa’s lucky day – she gets a big chunk of the beef,
which she swallows in one greedy gulp. Our hunger dealt with, we walk back down Brick Lane at a leisurely pace, window shopping. I stop at a quirky clothes shop run by two Italian guys who sell
dropcrotch trousers of their own design. Encouraged by the moustachioed Marco, I impulsively buy three pairs of different fabric and design. It’s time I ditched the corporate look and
regained some of my past cool street fair. Then it’s time for two stunning jackets in the shop opposite. My retail therapy complete, I head for the cafe at the Vintage Emporium in Bacon
Street, a Victorian-style tea room and one of the few places in the area that welcomes dogs. Wispa immediately befriends the resident shaggy greyhound, while I order a cappuccino and a piece of
scrumptious-looking coffee and walnut cake. As I soak in the bohemian atmosphere of the place, refusing to look at my iPhone, I feel the stress that has held my body in a vice for the last couple
of days is beginning to ease off. This is what I’ve missed all these years stuck behind the corporate desk. And this is what I’m going to regain now. I’ll start an art gallery, I
decide. There are still plenty of vacant places for rent in the area. I’ll look for artists who defy pigeonholing and curate exhibitions of urban art, graffiti, paste-up, stencil,
spray-paintings, installations. I’ll organize workshops, create a space where artists will be able to work and hang out. That’s what I’m going to do. Perhaps I can rope Michael
into my project. Maybe Sue will be tempted as well, although I doubt she’d want to abandon the security of a full-time job because of Olive. As the sugar rush provided by the cake hits me, I
feel I’m ready to face the new life head-on.