Back at Rupert’s, I tug the sheaf of envelopes out of my bag and dump them on the pile that has grown again on the kitchen counter, reaching into the fridge for a cold bottle of wine. As I cross the kitchen for a clean glass, the pile snags my attention and I give a small smile. Who could have known that when I first saw that bundle of post, on the day of my interview, that a few short months later my own mail would soon be added to it. A bubble of happiness bursts in my chest as I reach out for the pile with the aim of sorting it all out, but my hand catches the edge and the envelopes scatter over the floor.
‘Shit.’ I stoop down, the blood rushing to my head as I collect them up and move to the table, bringing my wine with me. I sift them into two piles – junk and the ones with Rupert’s name on. Most of my post is still going to the flat, so I pause when I come to an envelope with no postmark, just my name written in Sharpie across the front. I hesitate for just a moment, before sliding my finger under the flap and pulling out a single sheet of white paper. There is one word written in block capitals.
BITCH.
I drop the paper to the floor with a gasp, as if it is on fire, before I bend to pick it up, laying it gingerly on the table. The block writing is thick and dark, and I imagine I can smell the hate oozing from the page. Who could have sent it? I see Mags in my mind’s eye shoving envelopes into my bag, but I can’t recall whether this one was in there, or whether it was in the pile already stacked in the kitchen. I have no idea who sent it, or whether it was sent to me here, or to the flat.
I gulp at my wine, realizing my hands are shaking. Would Harry have sent this? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used that word in relation to me. Could Mags have told Harry where I was? I remember her words when I told her I couldn’t go out with her that day, her saying she was meeting ‘old friends’, then seeing him in the pub. Was it really a coincidence? I hear her voice in my ear, He might have followed you from the flat to Rupert’s, did you think about that? Another thought strikes me, one that makes my blood run cold. She said she recognized Harry from the pictures in my phone, which means she must have been snooping as I have never willingly showed them to her. I knew Mags was clingy, and she’s always helped herself to my things and copied my style – I was flattered by it at first – but I didn’t think she would go so far as to snoop through my phone. I get to my feet, pacing the floor, the wine making my cheeks hot and flushed, before I snatch up the paper, running my eyes over the word again, as the paper trembles in my hands.
Hearing the scratch of Rupert’s key in the lock, I hurriedly tear the paper and the envelope into pieces and shove them deep into the bin without thinking. Out of sight, out of mind. A knot of fear and anger sits in a heavy ball in my chest as I force a smile on for Rupert.
‘Everything all right?’ He reaches for me, pushing my hair away from my face, and kissing me. ‘Mmm, wine. That kind of a day? How did the dress shopping go?’ He releases me and pours himself a glass.
‘Yeah, a bit. Oh, it didn’t really. I’m going to go to town with Sadie another day,’ I say, grateful that he’s turning his attention to the wine and away from me. I start fussing in the fridge, pulling out steak and butter and garlic, the word BITCH etched into my brain.
Later, after the rest of the wine and a steak that Rupert declares worthy of restaurant fare, we are snuggled together on the sofa, something mindless playing on the television. The events of today stick under my skin like a splinter, and I find my gaze is drawn repeatedly to the darkness outside the still open blind in the sitting room, almost expecting to see the blurred white oval of a face peering in.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Rupert asks, his stubble rasping against my hair, and I give a little sigh of near contentment. Even though we haven’t been together very long, he knows that something isn’t right. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in tune with anyone to that extent.
‘I met Mags.’ The words spill out, and I shift from where I am leaning against Rupert so I can look at him.
‘Yeah?’ Rupert raises an eyebrow at me. ‘You don’t seem too happy about it. You’ve been a bit jumpy since I got home. Did she say something to upset you?’
‘It wasn’t…’ I flounder, the words sticking in my throat. ‘She said she saw Harry.’ I blink, hot tears burning behind my eyes.
‘Harry? Where?’ Rupert frowns and twists to face me, as he reaches out and nips a stray hair from the shoulder of my jumper. I can smell his aftershave, and my heart rate starts to slow.
‘In town. I’m worried, Rupert. Do you think it was him? Outside the house that night?’
‘God, Em, we talked about this. There’s no way it could be Harry – Mags doesn’t even know where I – we – live, so even if she did see him, she couldn’t tell him.’
‘But if he knew where the flat was… he could have followed me.’ Part of me knows I am being ridiculous; another part is half convinced that
