The Dead Dog Day (32 page)

He'd stayed in the apartment all day, staring miserably out at the driving April rain and trying Cora's number every couple of hours. Each time, she refused to answer. He hadn't seen her on the TV this morning, which probably meant she was off filming somewhere. And he had no idea where, so there was no point in getting in the car and trying to find her. By four o'clock, Benjamin was close to despair. He slumped in a chair, head in hands, and then nearly jumped through the adjacent window in shock as his phone finally rang. He grabbed it, elated, and then dropped it again. Alice. He couldn't talk to her, not now.

And so the long, grey day continued, Cora rejecting Benjamin's calls and Benjamin ignoring Alice's. As the sun started to set outside his huge windows though, the plan he'd been formulating all day finally came together. He would see Alice, one more time, and finish it properly. He had to work tomorrow, but Thursday. Thursday evening would be good. And then he'd go and find Cora.

50

Cora yawned loudly and reached out a hand to flick the bedside light off. Stuffed full of crab and prawn pasta, and suddenly too weary to concentrate on a film, she'd done a quick tour of the house checking that doors and windows were locked and then headed upstairs. She glanced at the clock. Only nine o'clock. She was so rock and roll, honestly. She managed a smile as she snuggled down under the duvet. An early night would do her good. Tomorrow she'd go and pootle around the shops in Moraira, treat herself to a new handbag or a piece of jewellery, maybe have tea and a pastry in one of the sunny coffee shops. Then she'd look into flights home. She wasn't quite sure yet how she was going to deal with Alice, or whether she was ever actually going to speak to Benjamin again, but she'd work it out … an early night would help … she was just so tired and …

Within seconds, she was gone, sleep rolling over her and wrapping her in its comforting numbness, her whirling mind finally at rest for a few blessed hours. And then a dream, in which she was back in London, in the newsroom, frantically trying to finish a script, and Jeanette was standing over her, screaming, and Cora started screaming back and Jeanette screamed louder and then ran, ran straight towards the window and plunged through it, and the ghastly sound of glass shattering and falling filled her ears and she screamed louder …

Cora woke, sweat streaming down her face. Trembling, she looked at the clock. Just after eleven. She'd only been asleep for a couple of hours. What a horrible dream. She sat up slowly, trying to get her breathing under control. It was just a dream. Nothing to worry about. Just a stress reaction to all the things that had happened recently. Her heartbeat slowed. She'd go down and make a cup of tea, maybe sit up for a while and watch some late night TV. She swung her legs off the bed. And then …

‘Oh, shit!' She gasped in horror as she heard it again. The sound of glass, falling and smashing. Not a dream then. Here, in this house, somebody was breaking a window. There was somebody downstairs.

For a moment she sat motionless, horror-stricken. Then her mind started to race. What did one do, in this sort of situation? Call the police. That's what she needed to do. Call the police NOW. There was another noise from downstairs, a soft thud followed by more tinkling glass. Shit, shit, shit. Cora frantically fumbled for her phone on the bedside table. It wasn't there. She scanned the room, desperate now. Where had she left it? Nothing on the dressing table, nothing on the window sill. She stood for a second, breathing hard, trying to calm her brain enough for coherent thought. She'd been so tired, she must have left it downstairs. Yes, she had. She could see it now, in her mind's eye, lying on the arm of the sofa. So, no mobile. Was there a landline phone anywhere up here? Her parents' bedroom? Cora couldn't remember, didn't know. She looked around again, trying not to let panic take over completely. Definitely no handset in this room anyway. She'd have to go out, find a phone …

She grabbed her mother's dressing gown from the chair by the bed and pulled it on, just as there was another sound from downstairs, a gentle thump, as if somebody had bumped into something. Please don't come up here, please don't come up here, please …

Chanting the phrase in her head like a protective spell, Cora tiptoed to the dressing table and picked up a large and – she noted even in her state of abject terror – shockingly ugly yellow vase. She needed a weapon, and this would have to do. Still on tiptoe, she crept to the door and opened it slowly. It swung silently on well-oiled hinges. Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much, she thought.

She paused, listening. Silence. Where was he? Or she, or whoever it was? Cora was suddenly filled with a white-hot anger. Was this her stalker, following her to Spain? Or just an opportunistic burglar? How dare they invade someone's home like this, how dare they break windows and creep about? Her fingers clenched around the vase, a steely determination taking hold of her. Why not just turn on a light, demand to know who was there, shout out that the police were on their way? They might just run. She looked around, saw the light switch that would illuminate the landing, stairs and hall in one quick movement, and reached out a hand.

Then a floorboard creaked in the hallway below, and the anger left her again as suddenly as it had arrived, fear flooding back, her fingers suddenly icy cold and her feet leaden. She froze, hand still outstretched towards the switch. No. No light. In the dark, she might be able to evade whoever it was, this stranger who couldn't know the layout of the house she knew so well. Maybe she could get out, run to a neighbour, get help. She took a deep breath and listened again. Nothing. OK, this was it.

One hand gripping the vase, and the other on the banister, she began moving stealthily down the stairs, one step at a time like a small child. She stopped every few seconds, peering into the darkness below, listening. Still nothing. Almost silently, she crept downwards, down and down, only a few steps to go now …

And then, suddenly, a dark shape loomed below her, and she heard a man's voice, shocked and loud in the stillness, and the untied belt of the dressing gown, dangling unnoticed, wrapped itself around her ankle and she was falling, crashing down onto the hard floor of the hallway, her skull smashing onto the tiles, the vase slipping from her hand and shattering, sharp yellow shards peppering the floor, and lights were flashing and stars bursting and pain searing and blood roaring in her head. And then, there was only darkness.

51

‘Cora. Cora, please! Oh for God's sake, Cora, wake up, please wake up!'

The voice was loud and urgent, and startlingly familiar. Cora groaned. What was going on? She slowly became aware of a sharp pain in her forehead and a dull ache in her left ankle. And it was so hard, and cold, this bed she was lying on …

‘I'm so sorry, Cora. I didn't mean to frighten you, please wake up!'

Who was that? She recognised the voice, but her brain wasn't working properly. Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes, squinting in the glaring light, her vision blurred. Where was she? All she could remember was coming downstairs and then … she gasped in fright as the memories flooded back. There was someone in the house. Police. She needed to call the police. The phone. Where was the phone?

She hit out wildly with her right hand, using her other arm to prop herself up, then recoiled in shock as her flailing fingers made contact with skin.

‘Ouch!'

Again, that familiar voice. So familiar …

Justin
? It couldn't be. But it was, she was sure of it.

‘Justin? Is that you?'

‘Yes, it's me. I'm so sorry … but that's quite a right hook you have there …'

Cora sat up carefully and rubbed her eyes, her vision clearing. To her utter amazement, it was indeed Justin, crouching next to her in the hallway, rubbing his own eye.

‘Justin, what the
hell
?' She couldn't quite take it in. Was
Justin
her stalker?

‘I know, I know, I have a lot of explaining to do. But please, don't be scared. I never meant to hurt you. In fact, quite the opposite – I've been trying to protect you.'

Cora stared. ‘Protect me from what, exactly? Was it you, stalking me? Am I dreaming? None of this makes any sense …'

‘It's a long story. No, it wasn't me following you, but I know who it was. And he never meant to frighten you either. Look – can you stand up? We need to get you off this cold floor. You were only out for a few seconds, but we probably need to get you checked out by a doctor too. I was so scared when you tripped …'

Justin had slipped an arm around her and was gently easing her to her feet. She whimpered slightly as her weight shifted onto her left foot.

‘Ow. Think I've sprained my ankle.'

‘Lean on me.'

He half led, half carried her into the lounge and helped her onto the sofa, propping her injured foot up on a cushion. Then he pulled an armchair closer to the couch and sat down himself. Cora looked at him properly for the first time, her heart lurching a little. Despite everything, despite what he'd done to her, the callous way he'd simply left, it was so good to see him. He was a little thinner than he'd been when they were together, but the muscles were still there, his arms looking hard and defined through the thin fabric of his long-sleeved blue T-shirt. He ran his fingers through his dark crop and returned her gaze.

‘You look good, Cora,' he said softly.

She smiled. ‘I look like someone who's just woken up, had a horrible fright and then fallen down the stairs, but thank you.'

He grinned back, then reached out and gently touched her forehead. She winced.

‘You'll have a bruise there tomorrow. I'm calling a doctor, OK? And once that's done, we'll talk. There's so much to tell you, so much I need you to understand. But I need you to know right now, that I've never hurt anyone, OK? And I will go to the police. I'll come back with you. Once I've told you everything. Is that alright, Cora?'

She nodded, slowly. She'd been so scared, but somehow she felt safe now. This was Justin, her Justin. Well, not hers any more, but she still trusted him, believed in him.

‘Right, let me find a medic, and then – tea, maybe?'

‘Tea would be great.'

It was nearly 1 a.m. by the time the local emergency doctor had been tracked down, arrived, declared her to be generally fit and well and issued a prescription of painkillers, ‘taking it easy' for a couple of days, and a cold compress on her sprained ankle.

Justin had been a star. He'd lit the fire, arranged blankets and pillows around her on the sofa, fashioned an icepack from an old tea towel and something unrecognisable from the freezer, and made copious cups of tea. Now he settled down into the chair next to her, proffering a plate of buttered toast.

Cora took a piece, surprised at how hungry she felt at this strange hour. It was weirdly comforting to find herself being looked after by her ex after such a ghastly few days. But now she was suddenly desperate to hear what he had to say, to get some sort of explanation about his appearance on the CCTV footage, the odd tweets, the stalking. She munched her toast, waiting.

Justin carefully put his tea down on the floor and took a deep breath.

‘Right. Here goes. Cora – this is going to sound mad, insane. And I know you won't believe me, or WANT to believe me, when I tell you what I'm about to tell you. But I'm pretty sure I'm right. I'd stake my life on it.'

Cora sat up a little straighter against her pillows, and swallowed her toast. She suddenly felt a little sick.

‘Well – go on then. I'm listening. But first – you said you knew who was stalking me?'

Justin nodded, a little sheepishly. ‘He wasn't stalking you, not exactly. He was … this sounds crazy, but he was a private detective. I hired him, Cora, because I was worried about you. I thought you might be in danger – I'll tell you why in a minute – and I wanted someone to be there, to keep an eye on you. I tweeted you a couple of times, trying to tell you to be careful, but I didn't want to terrify you, and I wasn't sure I was right, and …'

His voice tailed off as he noticed Cora's face, which had taken on an astounded expression.

‘But – I thought
you
were threatening me, when you sent those tweets. I thought that you thought I was going to tell the police about the CCTV, and that you were warning me off. I was really scared, Justin. I thought I had a stalker, for goodness' sake!'

Justin's head was in his hands. ‘I'm so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. I'm an idiot.'

‘Well, did he follow me all the way here? How did you know where I was? I don't understand …'

‘No, but he managed to follow you to Heathrow. He's been cursing you with all your tearing up and down the motorway! He watched you check in for a flight to Spain and then called me. I made an educated guess, thought it was likely you'd be coming here, and decided it would be a good place to come and talk to you, sort all this out. Amazingly, I remembered how to get here, and –'

‘That car. That navy car! I
knew
I was being followed. He's rubbish at undercover work, Justin – I hope he didn't cost you too much. I spotted him loads of times. But anyway – back to you, you idiot – you couldn't have knocked on the door, like a normal person? What possessed you to break in in the middle of the night? I presume that was you, creeping around in the bushes earlier?'

‘Yes, that was
so
stupid. I spotted you by the pool, and I didn't know what to do, whether to just walk up and say hello, or phone … so I went for a walk, trying to decide, and ended up in a little restaurant. Then before I knew it, it was dark. It was just so late, and I didn't want to scare you, and also – well, also, I thought you might call the police or something if you saw me outside in the middle of the night, and then we'd never get to sort this all out. So I broke a window – just a tiny one, in the back door, I'll fix it tomorrow … and thought I might nap on the sofa till you got up …'