Page 19 of Wistful Whispers

As I get closer to my car I see something that rips me right out of my thoughts. An envelope, stark white against the windscreen. I feel my stomach drop, a sour taste rising in my throat. No one ever leaves me notes and my first thought is something’s wrong with the car, maybe a parking fine or complaint. But when I get close enough to see the handwriting scrawled across it my gut twists into knots.

It’s my name, written out in sharp, heavy strokes. This can’t be a fine.

I feel my fists clench instinctively and my jaw tightens. Every single piece of advice I’ve been given floods my mind—don’t engage, don’t call, let the police handle it—but that all flies out the window the second I open the envelope and see his name.

Call me

07512 345 876

Grant

I barely register hitting the buttons on my phone before it’s ringing, the sound piercing the tense silence around me. It’s answered after a couple of rings and his voice comes through with a slick, almost amused tone that instantly sets my blood boiling.

“Hello?”

“It’s Jake,” I hiss through my clenched teeth.

“Tsk tsk tsk, Jake. Not nice that you ignored my little invitation.”

“What the fuck do you want?” I bite out, gripping the phone so tight it’s a wonder it doesn’t snap. “How did you even find my car?”

A low chuckle. “To be honest I’d kind of forgotten about your ugly mug. But here I am, minding my own business on a little weekend break with the missus, and who should I spot? You. I promised you that one day I’d find you and I didn’t even need to look for you. You didn’t hide very well!”

“If you don’t stay away from me I’ll call the police again!” It’s all I can say. In this moment I feel helpless.

“Did you really think sending the rozzers after me would scare me off? You don’t want me anywhere near you, fine. Not a problem. Doesn’t mean I can’t get to you.” Panic rises in me. He has one of his men following me. I look around but I can’t see anyone.

It was one thing when I knew who to look out for but now we have no idea who’s after us.

“Stay away from me. And stay away from Hannah,” I spit, feeling every muscle in my body go rigid. “You come anywhere near her and I swear—”

He cuts me off, his voice dropping to a colder, darker tone. “Or what, Jake? What do you think you’ll do? You should have stayed out of all of this back then. I wouldn’t have wasted years in the nick and your brother would still be alive.”

When he mentions Sean the word hits me like a brick, right where it hurts.

“What do you want from me?”

“You cost me years and you cost me a lot of money. I don’t forgive and I don’t forget. Now I’m here to take what’s most important to you. And guess my surprise when I saw I get two for one, your bird and an ankle biter. If you’re a good boy I’ll wait until she’s popped the baby and just take the missus.”

“Don’t you dare bring her into this. She’s got nothing to do with it. You don’t get to—”

“Oh, but she has everything to do with it,” he snaps, his voice sharp and venomous now. “You took from me and now I’m taking from you.”

“It’s because of you that my brother is dead. You’ve done enough. Don’t even think about trying to worm your way into our life now.”

“Still not made peace with the fact that your stupidity killed your brother?” he sneers. “Tell me, does she know who you really are? Does she know that you have blood on your hands? Maybe I should enlighten her.”

My pulse thunders in my ears, and for a split second, I picture driving over to wherever he is and shutting him up myself. “You come near her, even once, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do, Grant. That’s a promise.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he says, his voice almost cheerful now. “See you soon, Jake.” The line goes dead and I stand frozen in the car park.

My stomach churns, a sick, cold wave rolling up my throat. Before I can stop it I’m hunched over the bushes, emptying whatever’s left in me. I cling to the edge of the car, knuckles white, as my stomach heaves again. Each ragged breath claws through me, every nerve wired with fear. I spit, wiping my mouth on my sleeve, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I fumble for my phone, hands shaking as I punch in the number. It rings, the sound sharp in the tense quiet, and then a voice answers, low and steady. I force myself to speak, words tumbling out—Grant’s note, the threats, the way he knows exactly how to worm his way into my life, the threat against Hannah.

The officer listens and tries to reassure me. They’ll put a patrol around Hannah’s work, another by the cottage. He reminds me to keep watch and not to engage with Grant. If he gets in touch the officer wants me to call them.

“Let us handle it,” he warns me. His words should calm me down but my pulse is still racing.

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