Stalker (3 page)

‘Harassing,’ said Jamie, scratching his head. ‘Sexual harassing, that’s what it’s called. According to the stats, 70% are male. Usually ex-lovers. Got many of them?’

‘None of your business.’ She wasn’t going to tell Jamie about old boyfriends since there were fewer than he’d expect. Since she’d been on radio regularly, she felt different, more confident, but there still wasn’t anyone special.

‘But, it’s not really harassing.’ She didn’t want to call it that and make it official. Like having to tell the police. No-one was trying to threaten her sexually. It was just as if someone was stopping her from living normally. The
How to Drive LilyMad
Campaign. Things she counted on, no longer happened. Ordinary stuff. Not being able to find her interview folder that she knew she’d left on the kitchen bench. Next morning, it wasn’t there. How could a green folder walk, unless someone was carrying it? Even the clock in her car was the wrong time. How could it jump two hours like that? An electronic fault? Or something else? Another week, she would have thought it was something to do with the daylight saving change-over. But not this week. And it was TWO hours difference, not one.

‘You’re officially a ‘stalkee, now,’ said Jamie. ‘Hi-profile jobs come with a price.’

‘You’re joking!’ Lily couldn’t stop a laugh. Jamie wanted to think public radio was high profile because he did it, and always considered panel operating more skilful than presenting. ‘I only got the graveyard shift because no-one else wanted it. And you know how hard it is to get another operator for your swot vac. Voluntary doesn’t mean mega bucks, as Genevieve keeps reminding me.’

‘But you are a stalkee,’ Jamie was determined to have the last fact.

Lily laughed, feeling cheered by the silly name. ‘Stalkee sounds like a bean pole, you know… a stalk. Something which sticks out. ‘

‘And that’s what’s happening to you. Someone thinks you stick out.’

warned Jamie. ‘Like a middle-sized poppy. ‘

‘Mmmm.’ She didn’t want her head cut off. Lily felt the studio was no longer special. Glass on two sides had been great at first… she could sign to Jamie and feel part of a working team. Or glance at her reflection, just to check how professional, Lily the presenter, looked. But the red ON-AIR sign warning visitors to keep quiet was no protection against intruders. Her mind was being harassed, not her voice. Those panic waves were swamping again. And she was freaking out. Sort of! Cool it Lily, she told herself.

‘You could be a subject for my thesis,’ suggested Jamie. ‘I’m looking for a topic, and I’ve got to get to my Adv. Behav. tute now. Stalking might be an okay topic.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks. Choose another flower. My name’s Lily, not Poppy.’

Sometimes Jamie went over the top. You know how someone acts casual, pretends something doesn’t matter and then drops words in, so you won’t forget their real job. He was studying ‘Behavioural Modification,’ and was a bit up himself about that. Jamie even listened to the song lyrics on air and commented whether the motives were believable.

‘Motivation is the key,’ said Jamie, getting up from the table.

‘Forget it.’ Lily didn’t want to be a case- study or a police case or a patient who was a doctor‘s case. When she was a kid, she imagined a doctor packing up a patient inside a brown suitcase and carrying it to hospital. Kids had weird ideas. But they weren’t the only ones. Kids’ ideas were sort of clean weird. This seemed dirty weird. No wonder Jamie was intrigued by her stalker’s mind.

‘You mean why he’s doing this? The reason?’ Lily dumped her cup on the trolley labelled DON’T ACT LIKE A PIG, CLEAN UP THE SWILL’.

Trays banged, cutlery crashed and students heading for lectures pushed their way out of the crowded cafe. As Jamie dumped his cup, he said reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry Lily. I’ll read up on Stalkers and let you know what he might do next. Stats wise, they follow a pattern.’

‘Thanks a lot Jamie, but don’t bother. I’ll find out for myself.’ Lily was determined to do something, but she wasn’t sure what.

Fans often left gifts at the station. The Stalker had left her a gift all right: the gift of fear. Like last Friday, at her flat. When the ordinary stuff started going wrong.

***********************************************************

She’ll be leaving the studio soon.I
know she’s there I heard her on air. I can switch her on. Or switch her off. I know where she is but she doesn’t know where I am or where I was. That’s the thrill. Her voice floats through the air…. She does the midnight shift. All those lonely ones ring her.…interviews with people not worthy of her attention. How dare they answer her in that way! If she were interviewing me,
I’d give much more intelligent answers. Maybe she’ll interview me on air, one day, about my campaign, my strategies. But not yet. And of course, only if I decide to do it.

I know what time she’ll finish. So I wait slumped down in the driver’s seat, parked on the roadside of the highway she’ll pass. I watch in the rear vision mirror.I don’t want her to see me. No, that would spoil the feeling… that I know her whereabouts her life is open to me, but she doesn’t even know I am here. I’m like a golden circle around her life.

I switch on. Sometimes I get lucky. The station plays a promo and I hear a snatch of her voice. ‘Hi, this is Lily’ has become so familiar. She says it just for me. I tape and replay, often. I’ve worn out the first tape.

When I wake up in the morning, I think about the snatch of her voice. I replay it in my mind. Ahead, the day seems grey unless I have planned to connect with Lily in some way. Long hours until she is on air again. Will I see her earlier? Waiting near her house is cheating. There has to be a risk. A gamble. Action soothes me. That’s why I went through the car-wash four times today. My car needs to be clean inside and out. It always is. Even the smell must be clean.

Adjusting the rear-vision mirror, I can just see the driveway beside the studio. A car noses out. Is it hers? No. Shit! The mirror gives a reverse picture. I’m checking the wrong place. There’s a 7-11 place alongside. That’s a worry. Too many cars coming out of there. Not her. Why not?

I drive and drive. Every time I see a yellow car, I feel her in my gut. Right model. Right colour. Wrong number plate. If I just see her today, I won’t do anything else. That will be enough. Just to know that she is nearby. The sense of her doing ordinary things and not knowing that my watching makes all her actions special. Maybe she’ll even wear that perfume I smelled in her bathroom.

She’s easy to track. I know when she’s on at the studio or at uni. That’s when her home can be visited, like last Friday.

Key Problems

Last Friday had been the key problem.

Using your front door key is normal stuff. You expect it to work. To Lily, the outside of the flat looked ordinary with faint patterns of dust swirls on the windows. It was only because she was leaning against the front window, juggling her key ring that Lily even noticed the dust. Cleaning wasn’t something she worried about much. A bit of dust pollution wasn’t going to ruin her world, but…

Tight, thin strips of plastic supermarket bags cut into Lily’s hand as she tried to slip her key in the door. Unlike Genevieve, shopping wasn’t her hobby, but you have to eat.

‘Shit!’

Her key didn’t fit. It wouldn’t go in! Why not?

She jangled her bunch of keys to check. No. That was the right one. Red nail-polish mark. She tried again. It went part-way in and stopped. It didn’t match any more. Had this key got twisted or something? Lily pulled it out and held it up to the light. It did look a bit crooked, but nothing that serious.

The spare key. Where was it? They’d agreed to leave it under the rock near the African Violet pot plant. Lily scrabbled around. Just damp soil and a tiny snail. ‘Bloody Genevieve. Why can’t she put things back!’

What’s the use of having a flatmate and a spare key if you can’t use them?

This flat didn’t have a backdoor, well not one you could get into from the street. The back was all high-walled. Should she try the windows? Even the cat had trouble getting in the house. The previous tenant had nailed down most of the ground level ones and if you didn’t have a toolkit with a hammer, it was easier to leave them nailed. So that’s what Lily had done. Genevieve didn’t notice, until the night of her house-warming when a guest complained, and Lily said ‘nailing’ was the latest fashion.

Dumping the plastic bags, Lily fiddled in her bulging backpack for her phone. Then Lily punched the numbers of Genevieve’s mobile.

‘Genevieve… I’m locked out and …
beep beep beep… Hi, this is Genevieve. I’d really like to talk to you, but
if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I turn my phone on.’

…Not the voice-merry-go-round! Those flat electronic voices give her the feeling she didn’t exist.
A personality drain. You talk, but never feel sure it gets to the person.’

Beep. Beep. Beep
. Just as Lily went to hang up after leaving no message except her name, on came her
flatmate’s real voice.

‘Hi, this is really Genevieve…Is that you Lily?

‘Yes. I went home. I put my key in the lock. It didn’t work,’ said Lily.

‘Wrong key?’ suggested Genevieve, ‘You do carry lots of keys.’

‘I don’t know my own front door key? Is that what you’re suggesting? I’m not that…’Lily tried to think of the right word….’Spaced out. It was my front door key. It even had the red nail polish mark… but it just didn’t open my own door any more.’

‘Had the lock swollen? That happens in wet weather. Rain was forecast for the weekend…’ offered Genevieve.

‘I don’t care about the bloody forecasts, unless I have to read them on air. What’s happening now, to me, is the important thing.’ Lily felt her voice going thin and squeaky… and out-of-control.

‘I’m in a hurry. So what are you going to do?’ Genevieve was signing off.

‘Where are you?’ asked Lily.

‘In the city. I’ve got a job interview.’ Genevieve’s voice was definite.

‘So you can’t come home?’ Lily’s voice was not hopeful.

‘No. Why don’t you try to climb in a window? Or go in through the skylight?’

‘We don’t have a skylight. The Neighbourhood Watch woman will think I’m a burglar if I go in anyway other than the door. Anyhow, the windows are nailed, and we don’t have a hammer.’

‘Ah. I remember. The latest fashion in window security.’ It sounded like a laugh, but Lily wasn’t sure, as Genevieve continued. ‘So what will you do?’

‘Camp out on the step counting my frozen peas. No. I’ll ring information and get a locksmith. Thanks a lot Genevieve.’ Next time, when SHE wanted a favour….

‘I’ll be home by midnight,’ offered Genevieve . ‘After my interview… and the film.’

‘Thanks, I’m working the graveyard shift tonight. When I get there.’

Luckily the information number didn’t charge. Lily knew that number by heart. ‘Could you give me the name of a locksmith in this area please? ‘Lily gave details, listened to the auto voice and dialled the locksmith.

‘Can you come quickly?’ Lily wondered if a dying mother, giving birth or a smell of burning might hurry the locksmith. My ice-cream is melting didn’t seem a good enough reason.

Luckily the locksmith arrived before the ice-cream totally melted. The mini-van arrived with JUST LOCKS painted in bright orange calligraphy. A cheerful, sunny sign to calm frustrated customers who needed the services of a locksmith, yesterday or even sooner.

Lily’s shopping was still dumped on the step, where she’d left it. The peas were thawing for sure.

‘Smithy’s the name… not really. But it’s easier for people to remember.’

As the locksmith inspected the lock, Lily put the frozen peas on top of the ice cream to share their remaining cold. Smithy ran a stained, thick finger over the surface of the lock. Lily expected an expert in locks to have delicate hands. He didn’t. The gold circle of his wedding ring stood out against the bulky fingers. One nail was bitten. The others rough. His overalls were orange too, with sloping black writing across his chest. Suddenly that reminded Lily of the nightclub experience and her world seemed full of sign-writing. Were there invisible messages in her life that she hadn’t read yet?

The locksmith seemed reassuringly ordinary, as if getting locked out was an everyday experience, which it probably was for him. Like ambos and cops, he had the cheerfulness of most emergency workers used to dealing with distressed people. He seemed likeable and so ordinary, rather like Ben, her brother.

‘Has anyone changed this lock?’ He looked closely. ‘No scratches. Got your key?’

He tried Lily’s key, his
huge hand completely covering it.

‘Same key but it doesn’t work anymore.’

Lily knew that. Smithy dived into his tool kit, took out what looked like a nail file and fiddled with the lock.

‘So what’s happened?’ A trickle of icy water was leaking out of the frozen peas. She couldn’t afford to throw out thawed food, she’d have to eat it quickly.

‘Some one’s had a go at the lock. Changed one tumbler.’ He looked at her, and explained. ‘The pin.’