She continued to stare at the stranger, who was now holding the phone to her ear and pointing her finger towards the property. And Flick became unnerved when she was joined by a man, overdressed for the balmy climate in dark trousers, a shirt and a jacket. Flick frowned as he patted his jacket pocket as if checking something was still there.
Their undue interest in the house didn’t sit comfortably with her and her body tensed. Her intuition suggested she should leave quickly. Scrambling to her feet, she slipped on her trainers, grabbed her phone and a vegetable knife from the kitchen side, hiding it under the waistband of her jeans.
She exited through the front, only to stop at the sight of two large all-terrain vehicles with blacked-out windowsparked on the grass verge directly opposite the house. She was sure they hadn’t been there earlier. The window of one was ever so slightly ajar, as if someone was watching her from behind it.
Flick was surrounded.
Chapter 72
CHARLIE, MANCHESTER
Charlie traced the scar on his thigh through the surface of his jeans.
It was raised and ridge-like, despite him not reopening the self-inflicted wound for weeks. He pushed his finger a little deeper until it flattened, and then deeper still to make an indentation. He felt nothing physically, but emotionally, something inside had definitely started to deviate. The action was making him squeamish.
It wasn’t the only thing that had altered. He was feeling apprehension and a joy he had not experienced in as long as he could remember. His Match Your DNA notification was reshaping everything. That single email was lighting the embers of the Charlie of old, but without the crippling anxiety. And tomorrow, he would be coming face to face with the person he’d waited his entire adult life to meet.
He removed a crisp white shirt from its packaging and slipped it on. He attached a pair of platinum cufflinks and zipped up his black leather Chelsea boots. Then he studied his reflection in the mirror, confident in his choice of ensemble.
Charlie had not dwelled on what he had lost the night a furious Alix stormed out of his life. Instead, he clickedthe email link informing him of his Match, paid his fee and almost immediately, Rosemary Wallace’s details arrived. She was a twenty-nine-year-old nurse in County Louth, Ireland. He waited until he had returned to Manchester before he made the first approach via a new burner phone and email address. The conversation flowed without effort. Rosemary enjoyed travel, was fascinated by conspiracy theories and felt her Matched friends had outgrown her. It was as if she was reading from his script. Naturally he was suspicious.
He cross-referenced all she had to say with social media profiles and the web, electoral register and the School of Nursing and Midwifery in Dublin searching for untruths, exaggerations or signs this was a trap. Only when he was convinced that she was genuine did he allow himself to accept that he might have found his Match.
After several days and dozens and dozens of emails, Charlie had been the first to pose the question about meeting in person. But with her on a poorly paid nurse’s salary and him unable to leave the country, he offered to book and pay for her flight if she was willing to travel to meet him. She accepted.
Charlie removed his clothes and hung them up neatly inside his wardrobe where they would remain until his date. He reflected upon the last week and how he had chosen to lie low at La Maison du Court, turning his back on anything involving the life he’d forged for himself in Manchester. The friends, the job, the house-share and the woman who’d loved him were cast aside like an outfit that was no longer in fashion. He must close those chapters for good to get the future he’d always wanted.
Only occasionally did he give thought to his pals and wondered if they missed having him in their lives, especially so soon after losing Milo. Had he been around long enough to have made an impact? Unlike his childhood friends, he sensed this group actually cared about him,even if he’d been unable to reciprocate. He briefly considered contacting Andrew to assure him of his safety but changed his mind.
He’d not sought out Alix to apologise for his behaviour, which brought with it another emotion he hadn’t felt in some time – guilt. However, it would be too complicated to explain why she had caught him leaving another woman’s bedroom at the spa without having to lie further about who he really was. It was more convenient to allow her to believe he’d cheated on her and make a clean break. Perhaps one day he’d find a way to say sorry.
Charlie slipped on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie and made his way to the door. He owed it to the programme to remain vigilant, so this would be the third time he visited the pub in Chinatown where he planned to meet Rosemary. He’d already viewed it from outside, and today, he was going to choose and reserve a table where they could sit and not be recognised by anyone passing the window. He’d also locate escape routes and hide a weapon in one of the toilet cisterns.
He desperately wanted to believe that his Match was genuine, but Bruno’s murder was still fresh in his mind. He and Sinéad had clearly made mistakes that had led to their deaths. Charlie was not going to do the same. He had a reason to live.
Chapter 73
FLICK, ALDEBURGH, SUFFOLK
Flick’s skin grew tight as she hurried back inside Elijah’s house, locked the door again and ran through her options. She couldn’t call him for help and risk him being hurt in the event of an ambush, and if she called the police, there would be an official record of their visit and Flick didn’t want to be documented. But if she were to remain where she was, she’d be a sitting duck. There was no choice but to strike first.
As she opened the bifold doors, she formulated her plan of attack. First, she’d take out the man with a punch to the throat or a kick to the groin and then a knife to his thigh, and if she was lucky and caught his femoral artery, he’d bleed out while she overpowered his accomplice. A stab to her neck could be messy but might give Flick enough time to escape before reinforcements arrived. Then she could run to Aldeburgh’s caravan park, pick up the disused railway track at the rear and double-back on herself. Halfway to Thorpeness, she’d locate the camouflage tent and sleeping bag she’d left hidden under a hedgerow weeks earlier. Finally, she’d escape the town through its surrounding fields.
‘Why are you staring at this house?’ she snapped as she approached the couple. ‘This is private property.’
The man responded by moving his hand inside his pocket as his accomplice drew closer.This is it, thought Flick. She pulled her arm back and hit him just where she’d planned, square in the throat. He clasped it, and as he moved backwards to avoid a second attack, lost his footing on the sand and fell to the ground. Without thinking, Flick pulled the knife from her waistband and held it above his head as the woman screamed.
‘Please don’t,’ the man gasped.
‘He’s lost control of the drone,’ his accomplice begged.
Right then she spotted the object he had retrieved from his pocket. His phone lay next to him – the screen contained an image of a drone with remote-control directions.
‘Why is it flying over my house?’ Flick yelled. ‘Who’s paying you?’
‘No one, it’s for his YouTube channel, it’s about luxury homes,’ the woman said.
‘You don’t have permission.’
