The Game Changer (6 page)

Sarah hadn’t cried since the day they told her how sick Lily was. She wouldn’t allow herself to cry, but in her heart she knew that Lily would never leave her, and now they were together again, and
she had had her first proper feed. Neither John nor anyone else was going to spoil that. For the first time in five years, she allowed the tears to flow.

Pulling a blanket over both of them, she thought how lucky she was to have her darling Lily beside her. She remembered Saka’s words, about taking it one step at a time, and how each step would bring her closer to where she needed to be.

THE RUN BACK TO THE APARTMENT HELPED KATE TO settle her thoughts, her steady breathing easing her anxiety. When she turned the key in the front door, she heard the phone ring and saw from the caller ID that it was Malcolm.

‘Hello,’ she said, sounding as upbeat as she could.

‘Are we still okay for later on? I’ve booked the restaurant for eight thirty.’

She could hear traffic noises at the other end of the line. Darn it, she’d forgotten they were due to meet for dinner. ‘Sure. If Adam gets back on time that should be fine. He’s working on a new investigation, so I can’t be a hundred per cent. I can let you know later.’

‘What’s the case about?’

‘A suspected suicide.’

‘Suspected?’

‘You know how these things are.’

‘Actually, I don’t, Kate. Why don’t you explain them to me?’

‘All sudden deaths are investigated, and this one was a little unusual.’

‘I suppose it can pay to have a suspicious mind.’

‘I guess it can, Malcolm.’

‘Are you still writing in your journals as I suggested? It’s a great way to free the mind. I know it certainly helps me.’

‘Yes, but …’ She thought about what had happened earlier, her feeling of being watched, and her reaction to the dog. ‘I’m writing about old stuff.’

‘You can put anything you want in the journal, Kate. It’s your call.’

She wondered should she tell him about the repeating dream, and how that sentence kept going around in her head. She wasn’t seeing him professionally, but at times it was as if he was treating her like a client, or was it her? Was she depending on him more than she knew? ‘The writing seems to be triggering a reaction of sorts, that and other things.’

‘What other things? What kind of reaction?’

She had no intention of telling him that he was part of it. At least, not yet. Instead, she said, ‘It’s weird. I mean, I’ve never been happier than I am now, spending time with Charlie, taking a step back from work, being with Adam, living a less hectic existence. I’m even getting to know my neighbours.’ She laughed.

‘So what’s the problem?’

Be honest, she told herself. He’s only trying to help. Isn’t that a good thing? ‘The problem is that every now and then I’m getting this negative feeling, a kind of fear, I guess.’

‘What are you afraid of?’

‘Different things. Like today, when I was out running, I was terrified by a dog. That hasn’t happened to me in years. I got over that phobia a long time ago.’

‘The journal writing could be a factor, Kate, depending on what you’re writing about.’

‘You sound like you’re psychoanalysing me, Malcolm.’

‘Sorry, force of habit.’

‘No need to apologise. It’s fine. I know you want to help.’

‘So, if it’s not a big secret, Kate, what exactly are you writing about?’

‘As I said, most of it seems to be focused on years ago, my childhood, things about my parents and other stuff.’

‘It’s not unusual to look backwards, but I suppose it depends on whether or not there’s a particular area of concentration.’

She didn’t respond. ‘Kate, if you don’t want to talk to me about it, you don’t have to.’

‘No, it’s not that. It feels strange talking about it out loud, that’s all.’

‘Now you know how our clients feel.’

‘I guess.’

‘Kate, are you still worried about those memory gaps? You know it’s perfectly normal for everyone to have them.’

‘It’s not only that.’ She wondered whether she should be more specific.

‘Kate, are you still there?’

‘Yes, I’m here … I keep going back to that time I was attacked.’

‘When you were twelve?’

‘Yes.’

‘Maybe there are still some unresolved issues around it. I don’t need to tell you how the mind works.’

‘Perhaps I have too much time on my hands.’

Kate wasn’t sure why, but all of a sudden, she didn’t feel like talking about it any more. ‘Look, Malcolm, I’m really sorry, but I’ve only just arrived back at the apartment, and there’s a few things I need to do. We can talk later.’ She heard a police siren down the phone line.

‘That’s up to you, Kate.’

‘Where are you by the way?’

‘I’m out having a stroll. I’m not as energetic as you are – no running as of yet.’

‘You know the mantra, Malcolm. Thirty minutes a day to keep the body healthy.’

‘That’s what they say.’

‘Look, I’d better go.’

‘Can I ask you one last question, Kate?’

‘Sure.’

‘Have you written anything specific about your mystery attacker?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I’m concerned, that’s all, or perhaps concerned is too strong a word.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sometimes a physical reference can conjure up all sorts of possibilities that may or may not be reliable. Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.’

‘You’re not prying. And thanks for the warning. As I said, it’s probably nothing more than having too much time on my hands.’

‘Call me if you need anything.’

Hanging up, she checked her watch. It was two o’clock. She needed to pick Charlie up in less than an hour. Why had she held back with Malcolm? Maybe a part of her didn’t want to share the information until things made more sense to her.

Taking out her journal, she recorded her visit to the house, along with the feeling that someone had been watching her, wondering whether she had imagined the curtain moving in what used to be her parents’ bedroom. It was only then that she heard the footsteps walking towards the front door of the apartment. Putting down her pen, she closed the journal and went out to the hall. The footsteps had stopped. She was about to go back inside when she saw the large white envelope on the hall floor. It must have been slid under the door. Picking it up, she looked at the front – it was blank. Perhaps it was meant for Adam, but either way, she tore it open, finding what looked like cut-up newspaper clippings inside.

Walking into the living room, she laid them flat on the coffee table, realising the cut-out shapes were joined, each one forming an individual letter. They combined to make a sentence. She stared at the words, hardly believing what she was reading, and at the same time wondering what the message – ‘I REMEMBER YOU KATE’ – actually meant. The edges had been cut using pinking shears, a line of small triangles on each of the sides. Who remembered her? It couldn’t be him. Could it? Not after all this time, surely.

She contemplated phoning Adam, but what could he add that her own two eyes didn’t tell her?

It was then that she wondered if someone had followed her from her old house. She looked through the peep-hole in the front door,
but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Nervous, she opened the door, looking left and right, jumping when she heard movement in the apartment above, her heart skipping, relieved that the communal hall was empty. But someone had been there. Someone had put that envelope under the door. It hadn’t been there when she arrived. It had to have been delivered when she’d heard the footsteps. How had someone managed to get into the building without a code? It didn’t make sense. But no matter how she thought about it, there was no denying one simple fact. Whoever had created the message knew where she lived.

DACNOMANIA
: AN OBSESSION WITH KILLING, encompassing the method used, the level of terror and agony felt, including specific details of density of wound or wounds, and the length of time it takes a person to die.

ADDY KEPT HIS HANDS TUCKED DEEP INSIDE THE pockets of his grey hoody as he listened to ‘Work Song’ by Hozier on his iPod. He crossed the road at the mini-shopping centre near his house in Templeogue, an area made up of a series of interconnecting housing estates built in the early seventies, predominately occupied by middle-class families.

Looking at his reflection in the newsagent’s window, he smiled – every afternoon after school he’d used the glass to check his height. There was a time when his reflection barely reached the Slush Puppie machine in the window. As a kid he’d used it to measure any gains in height. His growth had been limited from the age of thirteen, but that changed after his fifteenth birthday when he’d shot up. His copper brown hair had become longer over the summer and, much to his mother’s annoyance, he wore it in a man bun with unruly strands constantly fighting to get free.

He checked the time on his phone. It was an hour since he’d had the text from Aoife, asking him to call over. Addy liked the way he didn’t have to pretend with her. She didn’t go on like his mother did about giving Adam a chance. Aoife understood his hurt, and how being ignored by your father for your whole goddam life, especially one living in the same goddam city, made you feel like shit. Adam wasn’t anything like Addy had thought he would be. Addy had seen all those programmes on television about lost family members being reunited and how, when they met, there was an instant bond between them. As far as he was concerned, Adam might as well have been landed on the earth by aliens for all they had in common. He had called Addy on the mobile earlier, but Addy
hadn’t answered, not keen on having another of those strained, meaningless conversations.

Leaving the newsagent’s, he texted Aoife to say he’d be there in ten minutes. She lived on the other side of a large communal green, and on the way there, he worried that something was up. She’d been a bit elusive lately, and he had to admit, he preferred it when she depended on him more. Then, he felt on safer ground.

Reaching her house, a three-bed semi-detached identical to his own, with cream pebbledash and large windows, he pulled his earphones out, ringing the doorbell, more convinced than ever that things mightn’t be as cool as he wanted them to be. A couple of alarm bells were going off in his head, like how she’d been acting differently recently, and the fear of her dumping him had crossed his mind more than once. Sure, he knew he’d been a bit needy, but he’d been there for her when things were tough. Still, he told himself, best not to go on about Adam just in case.

‘Hiya,’ he said, as she opened the door. He bent to kiss her.

‘Stop.’ She giggled. ‘Come in, before the neighbours see you.’