I wondered then whether my name was on other sites. Maybe my address was on them! “I can come round to yours,” the man had said. Did he know where I lived?
I jumped up and went to the window, pulling the curtains shut. As I did so I could see in the distance two men walking down the road in the direction of my flat.
I froze. Were they coming here?
I had no reason to think they would but the way they walked, with such a determined air, frightened me. As they came near to the edge of the row of shops I reached out and turned the lamp off and, holding a curtain to one side, peeped out. In darkness I watched as they walked past, with no hesitation or glance toward my flat, and continued on down the street.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief. My heart was thudding and I put the lamp back on and slumped onto the sofa.
Who had put my name on that site? I sat in the quiet room thinking who it might be. My age was in the right category. The woman in the photo was a brunette, just as I am. I thought of the calls I’d had—there’d been well over a hundred by now—and shuddered.
Again I regretted not having a bottle of wine in the fridge, but knew it wouldn’t really help. This was something I had to do on my own. I poured a glass of water with shaky hands and went back into the living room. I was afraid to play music or watch a movie on my laptop in case I didn’t hear someone knock or call my name. Someone wanting to pay me for sex.
I couldn’t read. Couldn’t focus. I just sat curled up on that sofa, careful to avoid the dip that made my back ache, and tried to think who might have done this to me.
CHAPTER 41
Ruby
When the agency in Chester had told me the job was basic, they really did mean it. After a few days, I thought I was going mad.
I turned up on Thursday morning, wearing a smart dress, and found the other admin staff looking hostile. They were a lot younger than I was and dressed more casually. One wore shorts and flip-flops and I don’t think I saw her do any work in all the time I was there. They eyed me with suspicion from the moment I arrived. I tried to be friendly. I’d brought a big jar of coffee and a tin of biscuits with me and I was happy to talk to anyone, but the thing that ruined it for me was the fact that the manager, Mike, was impressed by me. That meant they couldn’t accept me as one of them. They still ate the biscuits, though.
I was there to work on the reception desk but they didn’t have many visitors; it was mainly deliveries that had to be redirected to the warehouse. There was a large office for administrators behind the reception area and Mike had a small office off that room. Upstairs were individual offices for other managers. As soon as I got there one of the admin staff hauled a computer into reception for me and they all piled work on my desk. On Friday, an hour before we were due to go home, I’d finished everything that had to be done and went to the bathroom. When I came back I found my in tray was suddenly full to the brim and when I looked into the admin office nobody would meet my eyes. I preferred to be busy but didn’t want to do their work as well as my own. I couldn’t say anything, though. There were six of them and not one of them had given me a friendly word. The door between reception and their office stood open and as I did their work for them I’d hear them chatting about what they were doing that night. My mind was far away as I typed up their work, daydreaming about what I’d do after my house was sold. I could buy a house here and rent it out, then live off the rental income while I traveled the world. I’d have to stick to cheaper areas, I thought, full of enthusiasm, but then had a sudden vision of myself lying on a beach with a bunch of twenty-year-olds. Just then I heard one of the women in the office say, “I’m going to Thailand in September,” and I hastily rearranged my plans.
At 4:30 there was an exodus to the ladies’ bathroom, and at 4:50 they all emerged with fresh makeup and straightened hair. The smell of hair spray and entitlement lay heavily in the air. They headed straight for the door without saying good-bye.
* * *
• • •
Just as I got into the car a message came through from Fiona.
They arrived safely. Do you know when they’re going back? They are refusing to answer the question and Mum is talking about being here for Christmas. Pray for me.
I laughed. There was no way she’d put up with them for that long. As I drove out of the office car park I decided to stop at the supermarket on my way home for alcoholic reinforcements. I’d changed my mind about staying off the drink; if I was going to work there, I’d need something to help me, at least on weekends. Next to the supermarket was a pizza takeaway and I couldn’t resist paying them a visit.
I drove back to my flat, my car smelling of pepperoni and cheese, and couldn’t wait until I got inside and could relax. I was facing two days away from those women and I planned to enjoy every moment.
As I scrambled out of the car I struggled to keep my leather shoulder bag away from the greasy box and the bottle of chilled white wine away from the pizza, too. I really wasn’t looking where I was going and as I put my key in the front-door lock, I froze.
Someone was behind me.
And then I heard, “Hello, Ruby,” and I turned quickly.
It was Tom’s son, Josh.
CHAPTER 42
Ruby
Josh?” I wanted to kiss him. I always kissed him when I saw him, but my hands were full and he didn’t look as though he wanted me near him. “Hi! It’s lovely to see you.”
“I got your message,” he said. “So this is where you live?”
I could see from his face as he looked at the bare dangling lightbulb in the entrance that he wasn’t impressed. “Take these, will you?” I handed him the pizza and wine and pushed the front door wide open. “Coming in?”
He grunted and followed me upstairs. “Just dump them in the kitchen,” I said. “What can I get you to drink?”
“A large Scotch.” He’d been saying that same old joke since I first met him.
I winked at him. “You’re not eighteen yet. Fancy a Coke?”
“Yeah, great, thanks. I couldn’t have a drink anyway,” he added casually. “I’m driving now.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Driving? When did you take your test?”
“Just last week. Tuesday. There was a cancellation.” He looked at me then and grinned. “Someone had crashed their car so they couldn’t take their test.”
I laughed.
“Dad bought me a car to celebrate.”
“Oh, I wish I’d been there.” I was upset at the thought of missing this stage in his life. He’d been working toward his driving test for months; I used to test him on road signs and the rules of the road when he came to our house. “What kind of car have you got?”