The Girl That Shouldn't Exist

The Girl That Shouldn’t Exist

Chapter One

Liz

Liz had been on edge all day, as if a thunderstorm was about to break within her. She blamed her angst on her hormones though she’d been through the menopause years ago. The town-centre seemed tense too as she pushed her way through late-night revellers who’d congregated around the bus station. The last bus had long gone but this was where the taxis assembled. Sickly vapes polluted the cold air, reminding her of candy floss and trips to the fair when her boys were small. She side-stepped discarded cans and pint glasses, wondering if her youngest son, Max, was out on the town. Max wasn’t your average drinker, he liked to get totally wasted. Last month he’d collapsed outside a bar and was rushed to hospital. Liz had known nothing of it at the time. It was only a casual remark from Max's girlfriend that had alerted her to the worrying incident. Now she couldn’t get the image of her son lying unconscious out of her mind. She searched for him in the face of every young man she passed. A drunken male pushed past her and staggered into a group of females. The women pushed the man away and he nearly fell in front of Liz. It was, thankfully, not Max. The unfortunate man found his balance and tried to regain his dignity by hurling abuse at the girls. Liz scooted past the gathering, assessing the queue at the taxi rank. It snaked into the distance. She'd be waiting an eternity. But, it wasn’t far to walk and this was Lancaster. Nothing much happened in her sleepy town.

Liz strode away from the hubbub, checking the time on her phone - just after midnight. She shoved the mobile back in her pocket, calculating her route should be around ten minutes. The effects of a night drinking cider were taking hold and she needed the toilet but she'd have to wait. In her younger years, she could give a camel a run for its money in the holding liquid stakes, but not now. The camel would most definitely win. Although she thought wryly, she was still good at getting the hump. She’d left Mark in a dreadful pub, annoyed that he’d refused to come home. The place was heaving with students and she’d felt ancient. She was certain her husband was having some sort of midlife crisis, what with his floral-print shirt and his dancing. Jeez, he might have looked okay headbanging, if he still had hair.

Her irritation pushed her stride and she felt the burn in her lungs as she climbed towards the leafy suburbs. She needed to drink less and exercise more but her resolutions had already slipped weeks ago. A couple walked towards her, breaking the quiet of the previously empty street. The twosome passed, entangled and laughing, oblivious to Liz. The air momentarily tasted of sweet perfume mingled with the greasy odour of kebabs. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t consumed enough calories. Although, she’d had plenty of alcohol related ones. She pressed on. The cold wind burrowed into her chest and she bowed her head. Brittle leaves scraped along the pavement, making her jump like a skittish pony. She liked to think she was sensible, not easily scared. Yet, a few dried twigs had her heart leaping. She took a breath of the freezing air and lifted her gaze. The road was reasonably well lit. Regal terraces loomed on either side of her. All in darkness at this late hour. Blinds shut and curtains drawn, their windowed eyes closed to the world. Liz shuddered, wishing she’d queued for a taxi.

She sensed, rather than heard, someone following. Liz swung around. The couple were no longer visible but there was no knife-wielding maniac or hooded youth behind. Still, there was a feeling of disquiet. The chill air pinched her nose, her cheeks, her fingers but something colder iced down her spine. The need to urinate left as her body focused on getting ready to flee. Her heart thumped as she turned away from the night’s flitting shadows.

Just trees swaying in the wind, she told herself. She marched forward, regretting wearing boots with a heel. Her numb fingers gripped the phone in her pocket; ready to call the police should a potential attacker emerge.

‘Calm down,’ she whispered. It was going to be okay. In a few minutes she would reach the cul-de-sac where her home stood. Solid and safe, in one of the best areas of town. She just needed to get through that glossed-black door and all her apprehension would dissipate . Footsteps behind. Her grip on the phone tightened. She was about to pull her mobile out when she registered the clack of heels. Just a woman. Not a threat. Although, some ancient survival alarm still shrilled through her and she walked at her fastest pace. Practically running, her lungs on fire, she turned the corner to her street. She’d made it.

The adrenaline left her system and the need to urinate became urgent. She let go of her phone and yanked her housekeys out, fumbling with them as she opened the gate and dashed up the path. She bounded up the two steps that led to the entrance. Buster barked as she pushed the key in the lock. Instinctively, she glanced over her shoulder. A figure stood on the other side of the road, seemingly watching her. The yellow streetlight didn’t reach whoever had followed her, but she could make out a slim outline – female. Something about the person seemed familiar, but not in a good way. It was a feeling she shouldn’t be having. No friend of hers or family member would follow her home and then stand motionless as she entered her property.

Liz pushed open the door, stepping onto mosaic tiles, before banging it shut behind her. Warmth greeted her but the chill within remained. Her hand was on the bolt but then she realised Mark would need to get in.

‘You’re being stupid,’ she muttered. The woman was probably just waiting for someone.

But before rushing to the downstairs WC, she made sure the latch was on.

***

Buster jumped up as she opened the lounge door. Stroking his head, Liz gently pushed the golden Labrador down. He charged to the back door and Liz followed him, letting him out. She locked the door behind the dog, thinking of the slight figure to the front of her property. She shook her shoulders in an attempt to shirk off her agitation. Liz thought about the wine within her stainless-steel fridge. No, she’d had enough booze for one night.

She hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. Under the cover of darkness, she crept along the deep shagpile to the bay window and peeped out of the blind. The woman was still there. Patiently waiting or watching in the freezing January night. Even in the gloom, Liz could make out that she wore a three-quarter length coat which exposed her slim calves and ankles. Liz shuddered, feeling the cold for her. The stranger looked to be a similar height and build to Liz – maybe that’s why she’d appeared familiar? Headlights flashed into the street and the woman was momentarily lit before falling back into shadow. A taxi stopped and Mark practically fell out of it. He paid the driver, oblivious to the petite figure across from him. The cab turned around and their voyeur was once again illuminated. The woman was clutching something but Liz couldn’t make out what it was. Mark approached the house, one step forward, two to the side. The front door eventually slammed and he lumbered up the stairs.

Outside, the woman turned away from their home and disappeared into the night. Just the way she moved, how she held her body, so upright, sent shivers through Liz. She stood there perplexed, her own spine rigid with something akin to dread.

***

Mark stumbled into the room and collapsed on the bed. ‘Good band, should ‘ave stayed,’ he slurred, before falling instantly asleep or unconscious. He snored and saliva dribbled out of his open mouth as he lay star-fished across the duvet.

Charming. She stared at the straining buttons of his crazily-coloured shirt. His middle-age had most certainly spread. He grunted and turned on his side, facing towards her. A cream throw slithered off the bed, pooling on the carpet.

She studied the deep lines on her husband’s sleeping face. They were both fifty but everyone said she looked younger while Mark didn’t attract the same sort of compliment. Though, admittedly, her red hair needed help from a bottle now and her freckled complexion needed smoothing with concealer. Yet, her eyes still intrigued. People were fascinated by the rare genetic condition that had given her one blue iris and one green.

Mark gave a small snort, he was away with the fairies. A smile creased her own face. Some things were more important than looks. She carefully placed the fallen blanket over his rotund frame. Although he often infuriated her, she would never want to be without him. He was her ballast, her safe island in the storm of life. He’d proved a good husband and father, better than she probably deserved.

Liz checked the street again. The stranger hadn’t returned. She made her way downstairs and opened the back door, peering nervously into the dark. Buster hurtled into the house and she bolted the door. After settling him, she returned to the front door and pulled the bolt across that too. Why some lone female had her so worried was beyond her? She would lay off the cider in future, it hadn’t proved a good alternative to her trusty wine.

***

In one of the spare bedrooms, Liz tossed and turned, hearing the rumble of Mark’s snores reverberate around the house. She was still trying to find a logical explanation for the mysterious woman. Why on earth would she be watching their home? Because Liz felt sure that’s what the woman had been doing. An answer flashed into her mind – Mark – was he having an affair? To her knowledge, her husband had only been unfaithful once, a long time ago. But she could still recall those furtive phone conversations, late at night, when he thought she was asleep. She’d been pregnant with their first child and Mark had vehemently denied any wrong doing. Even though she was certain he was lying, she’d stayed. She was having a baby for crying out loud. She’d presumed he’d learned his lesson but now this - some woman hanging around. But Mark had still been in the pub when the woman appeared. Surely any potential mistress would be with him there? Maybe he’d ended the liaison again and his ex-lover wouldn’t accept it and was waiting to confront him? But the woman hadn’t approached Mark. Liz thought of his bulging shirt and dismissed the theory. Her cider-fuddled brain searched for another scenario to explain the stranger who’d stood as still as a lamp post in the cold night. Could she be one of her sons’ girlfriends? Lord only knew they had enough. Tearful girls had turned up at her door before, begging to see one or other of them. Of course that’s what it was and how silly she’d been to get so worked-up.

She wondered if she too might be going through some sort of mid-life drama? Turning shadows into monsters, seeing young women as sinister stalkers. She smiled to herself again. She’d been reading too many crime novels.

Liz shut her eyes, searching for sleep but saw the dark form of the woman again. What had she been holding? If Liz had to guess, she would say it was a bunch of flowers. Flowers after midnight? A bouquet to try and win an ex-boyfriend back? No, that didn’t make sense. You bought flowers for a neighbour, a friend or a relative not for a boy that had dumped you. And why wouldn’t this woman be outside Jason’s flat or Max’s cottage?

Liz’s eyelids drooped and she fell into a half sleep. The faint cry of a baby had her sitting up. Sweat tricked down her neck as she stared into the darkness. Her ears strained for the sound again. Silence. Maybe her neighbours had their grandkids over? Though the thick walls didn't usually leak any sound. She settled back down, trying to block her disturbing thoughts.

Liz must have finally drifted off because she jerked awake as the doorbell sounded. Buster barked. A grey light crept in the room. She squinted at the alarm-clock – nine am. Who would be ringing their bell at this time on a Sunday? The ding dong chime went again. She thought about putting her head under the duvet but it might be one of the boys. And there was zero chance of Mark answering it. He would be comatose for most of the day. She threw the bedding back and quickly pulled on her discarded jeans and top from last night. The bell went a third time and irritation heated her face. If it wasn’t one of her sons standing outside, the interrupter of peace would be getting a very sharp piece of her mind. It was still supposed to be a day of rest, even in these frantic 24/7 times. Then she thought of the new crime thriller she’d ordered. Did Amazon deliver on a Sunday? She guessed Jeff Bezos’ empire never slept. She ran down the stairs, pulled the bolt back and flung the door open. No one stood outside and no carboard delivery box waited for her. But something else had been left on her top step.

Chapter Two

Liz

Liz stared at a bunch of wilted forget-me-nots. She blinked, though the sunlight was too weak to blind her. Scrunching her brow, she tried to comprehend what the unexpected delivery might mean? She looked up and down the street but could see no one. The woman from last night filled her thoughts - flowers - that’s what she’d been clutching.

Liz bent, inspecting the small bouquet. A few of the petals were missing as if someone had purposely torn them off. She'd seen wild blooms such as these in the park but surely they weren’t blossoming in January? However, the yellow ribbon that held the bunch together had a professional, looking bow. They’d probably been bought from a florist. Still, a strange choice. Liz tentatively picked up the fragile cluster and sniffed them, inhaling a faint sweetness. The scent reminded her of the couple she'd passed on the way home. Had the strange woman, who’d stood opposite her home, been part of that twosome? She thought not but her senses were tingling. Something wasn’t right. The flowers had no note or card attached. Liz didn’t even know if they were for her. Though her gut informed her that she was the intended recipient. She had been the one followed home. The stranger was interested in her. Although for the life of her, Liz couldn’t think why? And now, for whatever reason, that same stranger had deposited the forget-me-nots outside her door – she was sure of it. Though again, she didn’t know where this certainty originated from. She stepped down to the path, hurrying to the pavement. The street appeared void of activity. Slate clouds smothered the sun, darkening the vicinity. Shivering, she wondered if one of her neighbours had seen who'd rang her doorbell? Harry, next door, had CCTV. Could his cameras have captured the visitor? She would wait until the hour was a little more respectable before calling round to ask. Though part of her didn’t want to disclose this strange business to anyone. She wasn’t one to air her problems, even to her own family, and these odd occurrences had a very personal vibe to them. Someone wanted Liz’s attention and they had most certainly secured it.

She went back into the house and put the drooping flowers on the kitchen worksurface. Studying them until Buster barked again. She opened the back door and watched as the Labrador charged into the long, rear garden. Satisfied no one lurked behind her house, Liz closed the door. Returning to the kitchen, she poured a glass of orange juice. She gulped the drink down. Her thirst felt insatiable but the juice was acidic and didn’t sit well on her stomach. She should eat something, though she didn't feel in the least bit hungry. She glanced at the flowers. These weird happenings weren't helping her appetite. Liz didn’t like mysteries, unless they were safely contained in the pages of a book or on a TV screen. She forced herself to consume half of an overripe banana as she checked for messages on her phone. Nothing from her boys. They both had plans for today, so she wouldn’t be seeing them for the usual Sunday dinner get-together. She was tempted to call Max, make sure he was at home and safe. But she knew if he had been out, there was no way he’d answer at this time in the morning. Then she’d spend the whole day worrying. It was best to call in the late afternoon or early evening.

She googled forget-me-nots. Why did people send them? Apart from the obvious, to be remembered, she was surprised to find out that the flowers symbolised everlasting love. Perhaps the delivery had been meant for one of her boys after all? Though, she didn’t think so. The wild blooms were also given as a promise that a relationship would survive, no matter the length of absence it endured. Or lastly, to signify a shared history and honour a special bond. This final reason sent a tremble through her. There were bonds in her past that were far from special and Liz most certainly didn't want to honour or even recall them.