Chapter Forty-Three
‘Don’t be frightened,’ the guy implored.
Was he for real?
‘I’m not scared,’ I whispered. I was terrified.
Frigging jelly babies. Where was my gung-ho when I needed it – the fight or flight response? I seemed to have neither wings on my heels to run, nor strength to stand and fight. If I could just lift one of my legs. Knee him in the nuts. Or command my foot to give a well-aimed kick to the shins.
But despite my brain’s frantic commands, my body wasn’t responding. I felt as weak as a rag doll – and petrified with it. My stomach lurched, as did my bowels. For one horrible moment I thought I might disgrace myself.
The man was almost upon me. Clenching my buttocks and gritting my teeth, I took a step backwards, still blindly groping for the damned handle on the office door. Where the bloody hell had it gone? I needed to scream. To alert Lisa… the others… any one… that I was being mugged in broad daylight. Right before their eyes – if any of them could deign to look this way.
But what if this man wasn’t going to mug me? What if he planned to murder me instead? Perhaps he was one of those people who’d become addicted to violent video games. And reprogrammed his brain. And was now hellbent on taking out all forty-nine-year-old blonde women.
Your mission, if you choose it, is to go totally nuts.
I risked a quick look at his hands. He wasn’t carrying a knife. Or a gun, for that matter. But maybe he was hiding his chosen weapon within his jacket. After all, it wasn’t zipped up.
A sudden breeze lifted his open jacket. I caught sight of an inner pocket. There was a telltale shape within the lining. A mobile phone – not a weapon of mass destruction.
‘Stay away from me,’ I hissed. ‘Or I’ll scream.’
‘Please don’t do that,’ he begged, as the distance between us closed.
He put out a hand. Touched my handbag. I wanted to shove it into his face, but my arms refused to work. I opened my mouth to waggle my tonsils, but all that came out was a hoarse squeak. He was now towering over me. My eyes widened in horror. This was it. I was going to die. Either that or faint.
I leant back against the office door, just as Lisa opened it. I fell backwards, cannoning into her. Righting my balance, I scuttled behind her.
‘What the bloody hell is going on out here?’ she demanded, glaring at the man.
‘I meant no harm,’ he said. Intimidated by Lisa, he stuck his hands in the air, like a terrorist surrendering to the SAS.
‘Help,’ I croaked.
My legs were starting to feel most peculiar. In the absence of my brain failing to instruct my pins whether to run like a frightened deer or stay and fight like Kung Fu Panda, they seemed to be in a state of confusion. They were juddering violently, as if wanting to flee, but my feet weren’t obliging. Instead, I seemed to be sinking down to the floor while my legs impersonated Michael Flatley doing an Irish dance.
‘Help,’ I bleated again.
I was now sprawled across the large doormat, complete with company logo and greeting message. Welcome to Home and Hearth. Except all that was visible was … come…to…earth .
‘Dying,’ I panted, still clutching my handbag to my chest. ‘Seriously.’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic, Tilly,’ said Lisa bossily. ‘Get up. If Leslie comes back right now and sees this bit of drama, our jobs might be on the line. On the other hand, if I’ve saved you from being mugged, I might be up for promotion.’
‘I was not mugging anyone!’ said the guy, aghast at such an accusation.
Everyone inside the office was now staring at the man framed in the doorway. This unwanted spotlight of attention had turned him scarlet with embarrassment. He gave Lisa an earnest look.
‘I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to this lady for ages,’ he explained.
He was now so red, even his ears were glowing.
‘Got a thing about her, have you?’ Lisa demanded.
Her forefinger shot out, like a 007 gun. She waggled it about in a threatening manner.
‘Into older women, are you, sonny?’
‘No!’ he protested. I’m a regular guy.’
‘There’s nothing regular about your behaviour,’ Lisa insisted. She stepped forward and prodded the guy with her 007 finger. ‘I’ve a good mind to call the police.’
‘Whatever for?’ said the man in horror.
‘Because you’ve behaved like a total creep. So, what do you say’ – prod, prod, prod – ‘about that, eh?’
The guy lowered his hands and batted Lisa’s finger away. Despite still being puce from embarrassment, he was now also annoyed.
‘I’m not a creep and I promise I meant no harm.’
Panting slightly, I stuck out my own 007 forefinger. It wobbled from side to side like an EasyJet flight in the grip of turbulence.
‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ I gasped.
The guy glanced from me to his slack jawed audience. He gave an imperceptible shake of his head, then turned his attention back to me.
‘I was hoping to be discreet. To talk to you in private,’ he explained. ‘But it’s backfired big time.’
‘Cut the crap,’ said Lisa. ‘Tilly has asked a question. Have the decency to give her an answer.’
‘Very well,’ said the man.
As his eyes locked on mine, something deep in my soul violently shifted. I gasped aloud as emotions – buried from long long ago – broke free from their moorings. They rushed up. Through the layers of the past. Through the sands of time. Then smashed their way through a thick wall of ice. It was as if a giant pneumatic drill had shattered a North Pole glacier.
Recognition.
In that moment, I felt two things. Utter joy and deep despair. You see, I knew this man.
He was now watching me carefully. Observing the further emotions streaming through my body. Rippling over my face. Disbelief. Incredulity. And absolute heartbreak.
He nodded, and his face said it all.
Confirmation .
It verified what my heart knew, but what my brain was desperately trying to process. And then he spoke the words aloud.
‘I am your son.’