That sliding bolt. I can’t stop shaking.
‘Is he gone?’ I whisper.
‘Who, Jim—’
‘The photocopy guy?’
‘Yes. Why—’
I push past her. Grab my bag and coat.
Run.
The streets are busy. I see him everywhere, walking into the chemist, punching numbers into the cash point, loafing at the bus stop.
I’ve left my car behind, knowing it will be quicker on foot, knowing that parking would be a problem when I get there, but without its steely casing and locking doors, I feel vulnerable.
At last I hare into the right street. Thunder up the steps and push against the front door. It’s locked.
‘Francesca!’ I bang on the door, not caring if she’s with another patient. ‘Francesca!’
It’s been so long since I’ve been here, I wonder if she still rents this as office space but the plaque by the doorbell tells me she does. She might have a day off. I pull out my mobile to see if I can find her home address online when I hear footsteps behind me. I swing around. It’s Francesca and for a second I am so relieved I can’t speak.
‘Leah?’ She looks wary, afraid. I must appear as though I’ve gone mad. Sweat streaming down my forehead, my hair wild and cheeks burning.
‘Please help me,’ I rasp. With one last worried glance over her shoulder, she ushers me inside.
While Francesca makes tea we both know I won’t drink as I haven’t handed her my own mug, I wash my hands three times in the bathroom before shaking them dry and pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. My clothes feel vile, my skin filthy, but it’s the best I can do for now.
‘It’s back,’ I say as soon as she returns to the room.
‘Your contamination OCD?’ Her eyes flicker to my gloves.
‘All of it.’
She gives a sharp intake of breath.
‘Look, Leah, I don’t know if I’m best placed to treat you any more.’
‘It’s back.’
‘I can recommend a colleague—’
‘It’s back,’ I say again, before I follow up with a ‘please’ filled with desperation. ‘I know I stopped coming and I ignored all of your messages asking me why. I’m sorry but I was feeling so good. I wasn’t even wearing the gloves any more. It was silly to stop treatment and ignore you but… but I thought it was over and I wanted to put everything behind me – but now…’ my voice breaks, ‘he’s out.’
‘And you think you’ve seen him?’
‘Yes.’
‘And have you?’
I swallow hard and think carefully about my answer. ‘I don’t know… It felt real…’
Francesca sips her tea. The clock ticks.
And as I wait for her answer, I remember.
It was a few years before Archie was born. My mental health always plummeted around anniversaries, Marie’s drinking escalated, Carly became a virtual recluse, relinquishing her regular charity-shop expeditions and replacing them with buying things on eBay, hoping to take better photos, write better descriptions, sell them at a higher price. Graham had called to let me know he’d been released again and my OCD skyrocketed. Not just the contamination side but my rituals too. Everything having to be done three times, everything taking three times as long. I’d already been seeing Francesca for a while – her support along with George’s was just about keeping me upright, just about keeping me together – but the news that he was out there once more sent me plunging into an abyss that I just couldn’t scale.
The first time I thought I saw him I was terrified. The police wouldn’t do anything, couldn’t do anything. He hadn’t approached me. Hadn’t threatened me. It wasn’t a crime to be walking down the street. I felt exposed and alone in a world that felt shaky much of the time anyway. Marie tried to hide in the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels while Carly hid indoors. Home felt like the safest place until I opened the door to a pizza delivery man, and it was him. I screamed and he ran away. This time the police visited him but he whipped an alibi from his hat and with sleight of hand he was free. It was me who was trapped. I saw him everywhere, documenting it all in a diary while George took me to the station again and again until they arrested him for stalking. I hadn’t known they were holding him and when I went to file another report about him coming to my house – this time wearing a post office uniform – it was me who was arrested for wasting police time. He was in custody, they told me. Currently in a cell in this very building. It was impossible that the postman had been him ‘unless he’s bleeding Houdini’ I was told sarcastically. I cried. I wouldn’t admit to lying because I hadn’t been. I stuck to my story over and over until at last I was released into the freezing car park. A light mist swirling around my ankles, breathing in damp. There was a figure by my car, waiting.
Him.
I screamed and screamed until the officer who had interviewed me had raced outside and escorted me back to the small interview room.
‘Please.’ I looked over my shoulder. ‘He’s following me. Please.’ Why wasn’t I being taken seriously?
‘I don’t know what game you’re playing but…’
I threw another glance behind me. It was definitely still him. Still following me.
My legs were shaking so hard I collapsed. A duty doctor was called who verified that the man by my car – the man who followed me back into the station – was Detective Inspector Lansford. He had wanted to make sure I was okay.
I wasn’t.
It was impossible to pull myself together. To change my story. I knew what I had seen, and I had seen him. The doctor recommended I was sectioned for my own safety and George was called. He raced to the station, having picked up Francesca on the way, and it was she who had saved me. Confused by my garbled stories of being stalked at my therapy sessions, and my subsequent charge, she’d been researching and she realized I had Fregoli Syndrome.
‘Freg— xswhat?’ the officer dealing with us asked scathingly.
‘Fregoli Syndrome. It’s a rare neurological disorder. There aren’t a huge number of diagnosed cases but there are thought to be a high number of undiagnosed cases.’
‘And what is it exactly, this Fregoli?’
‘It’s a delusional disorder in which the sufferer mistakenly believes that a person present in their environment is a familiar person in disguise. Leah might see his face, or she might get a sense that it is him masquerading as someone else. It is very real to her. She believes wholeheartedly that he is persecuting her.’
‘I’ve never heard of this.’
‘As I said, it’s rare but we believe if more health professionals were aware of it then the number of diagnoses would increase. I believe a proportion of cases where people report they are being stalked could be because they have Fregoli.’
‘And you can just… catch it?’ He steps backwards as though I am contagious.
‘There are several known causes. Leah hasn’t sustained a head injury but she suffers with other mental health issues, which can cause an onset of Fregoli. For instance, Leah has contamination OCD, paranoia and panic disorder. Every incident where Leah claims she is being followed is very real and very frightening to her. She thinks she sees his face everywhere, or sees him disguised as other people, but it’s not him.’