Page 67 of The World Outside My Window

THEN – SEPTEMBER 1991

‘I can’t stay here.’ I’d been trying to say the words for days, but just couldn’t seem to get them out. But now, the night before Jim was due to go back to Leeds, they’d burst out of me like air from a pressure cooker.

Jim stopped his packing, a folded white shirt hovering in mid-air.

‘What do you mean?’

I sighed, my breath shaky. I wasn’t sure how to explain it to him. How could I convey the constant terror I felt every time I was alone in the flat? Or explain the ball of anxiety that sat in the pit of my belly like a stone, or the fact that I couldn’t ever look out onto the street at the front of my own home in case I saw a shadowy figure lurking there again, watching me, waiting. Jim knew I was terrified my attacker would strike again, or that my stalker would return, but there was something else.

‘The phone calls have started again.’

He paled; his eyes widened.

‘When?’

‘Last week. And twice the week before.’

He dropped the shirt into the top of his case. I couldn’t read the expression on his face, but when he spoke again his voice was tight, guarded. ‘But I changed the number. Are you certain? Could it not just have been a wrong number or a dodgy sales call?’ He reached for my hands and threaded his fingers through mine. ‘Because you know how much your imagination works overtime, love.’

I shook my head. As I’d stood in the darkness of the hallway listening to the person on the other end breathing, I’d been filled with terror, but now, with Jim here and in the cold light of day, I did have my doubts. Perhaps it had just been a wrong number and my brain had filled in the rest.

I stared at our hands, entwined on my lap, and shrugged. ‘I was certain.’ I looked up at him. ‘But you’re right, how would they know our new number?’

He smiled then and pulled me to him, enveloped me in a tight hug. I pressed my cheek into his chest and listened to his heartbeat thrum-thrum next to my ear.

At moments like these, when Jim was here and he was holding me, I felt as though I was being ridiculous. Of course you can get through a few days on your own, I’d tell myself, you’re being daft. And often it worked. Until Jim actually left, and then the demons would come rushing straight back in again. I needed to remind myself of this now and try and get him to understand that it was about more than just the phone calls.

I pulled away from him and clasped my hands in my lap. I stared at my fingers and listened to my raggedy breathing.

‘I still don’t want to be here any more.’ My voice was shaky. Beside me, Jim said nothing. ‘I want to move somewhere else. Somewhere safe.’

‘Somewhere out of London?’

I nodded.

‘But nowhere is completely safe, Lola. What do you think is going to happen if we live somewhere else? Do you think you’ll be happy and relaxed again?'

'I don't know, Jim. But I do know I have to try.’ A sob escaped me and I ran my hand up and down my arm. My skin was pale and covered in goosebumps.

‘Hey, hey, Lola, don’t get upset. You just sprang this on me, that’s all.’

I looked at him. ‘Will you at least think about it?’

He hesitated a moment and my heart stopped. Then he nodded, snapped his suitcase shut and said, ‘I’ll give it some thought.’

* * *

Over the next few days while Jim was away I tried my best to ignore the gnawing anxiety about being alone, and spent hour upon hour trawling through the Yellow Pages and ringing estate agents in towns and villages all across the Home Counties. Jim hadn’t actually agreed to move, but he had agreed to think about it, and I knew that if I could find somewhere not too far outside London he was more likely to agree to it. I’d suggested we move to Leeds but he’d seemed absolutely adamant he didn’t want to live there.

‘But it would make life a lot easier and would mean we can be together all the time,’ I’d said.

‘My life is here, with you,’ he’d replied. ‘I don’t have any connections with Leeds, it’s just a place to work for me, and I prefer to keep my work and my home life separate. Besides, you’d still be alone when I was in London.’

So I’d agreed to look closer to home. More than anything it was good to have something to occupy my mind – and it definitely meant I drank a lot less – and by the time Jim got back four days later I had a pile of house details to show him.

‘You really are serious about this, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’ Just the thought of being in a place where terror didn’t lurk round every corner or down every shadowy street, somewhere people looked out for each other, was already making me feel happier, more relaxed. I was convinced that, if we moved to the right place, I’d get better. I just needed to convince Jim.

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