The girlfriend, p.1
The Girlfriend, page 1
THE GIRLFRIEND
GEMMA ROGERS
For the ‘Best Little Gang Ever!!!’
Thank you for keeping me sane.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Thank you!
More from Gemma Rogers
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Gemma Rogers
The Murder List
About Boldwood Books
1
When the email arrived that changed everything, I’d been sitting at my desk for an hour, gazing out of the window at the bus stop opposite the studio, watching drizzle dampen the commuters huddled beneath. It was a dreary Monday in early March, and I needed to finish a commission for a house portrait I’d been working on. The project was an uninspiring two-bedroom mid-terrace and the photo I’d been sent barely had any colour in it, just muted browns and beiges. I wanted to paint a cherry blossom tree in their front garden or brighten the bricks from their dull shade, but that wasn’t what the customer had ordered. They’d purchased an A4 replica portrait in watercolour.
I couldn’t complain, my business, Edgewater, was flourishing, with new orders arriving every day since a popular influencer had raved about one of my portraits on her Instagram story. She’d sent in a photo of her house – or rather a mansion with pillars by the front door. I hadn’t known who she was, too old for her target demographic, but she’d ordered an A3 on canvas – the most expensive commission I offered. Once received, she’d posted it everywhere, exclaiming Abbi Montgomery’s portraits were amazing and to check out Edgewater, giving me loads of free exposure to her hundreds of thousands of followers. Orders had flooded in, which meant I could take on less of the freelance design projects I’d been relying on for income over the past two years and concentrate on doing what I loved, creating bespoke portraits of places or buildings that meant something to people.
A sound from my laptop distracted me from the window and I wiggled my mouse to wake the sleeping screen, wishing it was as easy for me to spring to life this morning despite the coffee I’d consumed. The email itself was innocuous, and at first, it looked like spam. The address gogetter@gmail.com didn’t raise alarm bells and there was nothing in the subject to indicate what it contained. I assumed it was another potential customer asking for a quote for a wedding venue portrait as those too had been common in recent weeks.
However, when I opened it, scanning the text which jumped out, shouting in uppercase, the small studio I rented seemed to shift and adjust around me. My fingers splayed out across the keyboard, taking on a tremor as blood swam faster in my veins.
ABBI,
TELL ANYONE OR CONTACT THE POLICE AND I WILL RELEASE THIS VIDEO TO EVERY SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM INSTANTLY.
I’LL BE IN TOUCH, AND DON’T FORGET, I’M ALWAYS WATCHING.
YOUR FRIEND
The link was a URL I didn’t recognise, one that had likely been shortened. Normally, I would never click on an unknown link in an email, especially from a stranger. It was the first rule of internet safety, phishing was rife, but the email had been addressed to me personally. Even the spelling of my name was correct – an i at the end of Abbi instead of a y.
I hovered my mouse over the link, anxiety leaving a lead weight in my belly. What had I done – or, rather, been recorded doing – that someone could blackmail me for? Either way, it was ominous; the threat of not going to the police had sent my blood pressure skyrocketing.
Steeling myself, I clicked the link, which opened a web page with a photo filling the screen, a still image captured from a video that thankfully didn’t play but had an instant impact. My hand flew to my mouth, tears blurring my vision as I took in the scene. It was my boyfriend Rick’s bedroom, the walls painted Edgewater blue – a colour so pretty I’d named my new business after it. The shot looked as though it had been taken from the doorway of his en suite bathroom, a full view of the bed and rumpled white sheets, on which I sat astride Rick, naked amidst the throes of passionate sex.
A volcano erupted in my chest. What the hell! Despite my reaction being delayed by the initial shock, I scooted back from the desk as though I’d been stung, gasping for breath.
I stared at the screen in utter horror, as the image of the woman swam before my eyes. Head raised to the ceiling, dark ruby red curls cascading narrow shoulders, the arch of the spine and tiny dimples of a backside which melted onto Rick’s thighs, left me in no doubt I was staring at myself.
My face scorched, brain taking over and switching first to denial and then disaster recovery mode. You couldn’t see my face, or barely any of Rick for that matter, only his hairy legs and size ten feet, arms outstretched about to snake around my hips to guide me up and down, riding him to climax. The shame rained down upon me like shards of glass.
No one ever could see this photo. But it wasn’t just a photo, was it. I steeled myself before clicking uselessly on the image, but it didn’t animate. In the email, they’d said it was a video, did that mean they had footage of me and Rick having sex? How long was the video, a ten second clip or the full extent, and when was this? I stared at that screen, trying again to convince myself it wasn’t me in the picture despite knowing it was.
Shit, shit, shit! Vomit forced its way up my throat, and I jolted up from the chair, the wheels leaving grooves in the fluffy rug, barely making it to the bin before throwing up the overnight oats I’d eaten for breakfast.
I dashed to the bathroom down the corridor, carrying the bin, almost knocking into Linda who ran a pottery business from the other studio.
‘You okay, Abbi?’ she called as I dodged her.
I raised a hand, unable to speak for fear I might throw up again and bolted through the door to the sink. Sweat beaded at my hairline, a ghostly reflection staring back from the mirror, a rabbit caught in headlights. I looked away, mortification shining its spotlight over me, and washed out the bin, forcing the sludgy mixture down the plughole.
‘Must have been something I ate,’ I managed when the door swung open and Linda stood frowning at me. I gave her a weak smile, trying not to cry.
‘You don’t think you’re…’ She pointed at my stomach, her eyes glinting.
‘No, no, definitely not.’ My gut churned at the thought.
Your mother is a whore who was posted all over the internet having sex. I imagined the bullies my unborn child would have to suffer years from now and winced. Who would do this to me, violate me in such a disgusting way? It was abhorrent.
‘Sorry, I’m in the middle of something; I better get back to it.’ I squeezed through the gap Linda had left between her and the open door, catching disappointment cloud her features at my lack of gossip.
‘This came for you.’ She pushed the jiffy bag into my hand as I passed, and I muttered my thanks. I didn’t have time to deal with her today, there were far more pressing issues, namely what the hell did the sender of the email want in exchange for not sharing the video.
I struggled to catch my breath, the enormity of the situation crushing my lungs like a vice. How on earth had they got it? Had someone snuck into his penthouse and planted a camera, because it couldn’t be Rick, not in a million years. He’d never do something so seedy. Even if he wanted to film us, he’d ask permission first and he wouldn’t email me a screenshot.
I cringed as soon as I entered the studio, my naked behind still displayed on the laptop for anyone to see if they walked in. Thank goodness Linda hadn’t followed me back from the bathroom. I took a photo on my phone in case, for some reason, the link disappeared, and closed the web page, reading the email repeatedly. The dull mid-terrace commission now forgotten, as I searched for some clue to who this was, what they wanted and why they were doing this. It had to be blackmail, there was no other reason, but why hadn’t I been given any demands?
If the video or even the picture ended up on the internet, it had the potential to ruin me. It would destroy the business I’d recently established, my good name would be in tatters and I wouldn’t be able to leave the house, let alone face my parents.
Oh my God, my parents. Panic consumed me and I forced myself to breathe deeply, in through my nose and out through my mouth, before rummaging in my bag for my phone. Rick had to know; it affected him too. It might only be his legs and feet on display, not massively easy to identify, but I was sure he didn’t want to become an overnight sensation either. The photo could ruin both of our lives.
< br /> Rick worked as an account director for a wine subscription merchants, receiving impressive bonuses and, to be fair, he did well for himself. He was ten years older than me and earned enough to afford a penthouse apartment near Crawley train station. My own lodgings were shabby by comparison. A one-bedroom flat in a small block, it was the top floor, but by no means penthouse standard, which was why I spent more time at Rick’s than I did at home. I’d only had it for a year, moving in two months before I met Rick at a bar in town. It had taken me ages to save the deposit and three months’ rent despite my parents’ help. I guessed, at twenty-four, the age I’d finally moved out, they were happy to get their life back as my younger brother Ben was already living abroad as a holiday rep in Turkey.
My fingers hovered over Rick’s number. He’d left early this morning, driving to Farnborough to meet a potential client and would likely be right in the middle of his meeting now. I’d barely managed to mumble a goodbye, so exhausted I’d passed out on the sofa the night before and Rick had carried me to bed. I dialled, listening to it ring before voicemail kicked in and I hung up.
Glancing back at the laptop, the harsh capital letters seemed to jump out at me from the screen where I’d left the email open. I’M ALWAYS WATCHING, YOUR FRIEND. Whoever they were, they were no friend of mine.
Were they watching now? Was there a camera planted somewhere in the studio? I got up, looking through my paints, brushes, the paperwork on my desk, rifling through shelves lined with art books, but had no idea what I was looking for. I spent five minutes examining a tiny round metal item on the floor until I worked out it wasn’t a bugging device but a screw cover which had fallen off the desk.
I sighed, a knot woven so tightly in my chest it wouldn’t give. There was nothing to do but wait for further instructions because they wanted something in exchange for keeping my sex tape off the internet. What if there were more? What if this was just the beginning? Never mind the multitude of other crimes the perpetrator was committing – breaking and entering, filming someone without their consent at the top of the list potentially with extortion and blackmail to follow – none of those things mattered right now because they had me over a barrel, there was nothing I wouldn’t do in exchange for that recording.
2
‘Feeling better, love?’ Linda poked her head around the door of the studio later, making me jump, coming in to hand me a steaming peppermint tea. She was an attractive, curvy woman with a perfectly round face and consistently red-apple cheeks no matter the temperature. Always wearing tent-like flowing outfits, covered in splatters of clay, I aged her in her early forties, although I’d never asked.
‘Yes,’ I lied, ‘thanks for the tea.’ I took it from her and went back to wrapping the completed terraced house watercolour. ‘I’m finally finished.’
‘Was it a fun one?’ Linda asked, hovering to take a look.
‘Not really.’ I held up the uninspiring photo I’d been sent of the house, and she grimaced, deflating like a punctured balloon.
‘Oh.’
‘Exactly,’ I sighed, ‘but I’ve got a gorgeous one coming up next month, a wedding portrait – the church, that is, not the bride and groom, and it’ll be much prettier.’ I brushed my wayward fringe out of my eyes and tried to smile, hiding how terrified I was on the inside.
Despite the email, I’d managed to finish the portrait today. A couple of hours ago, it hadn’t seemed possible, and I’d considered running away, but the thought of going back to Rick’s apartment, where there might be cameras, had kept me firmly in my chair. Thankfully, there hadn’t been a lot to do on the commission, just finishing touches, as my hands had taken on a tremor since the email had come in.
‘Sorry about earlier.’ She pointed at my flat stomach, hidden beneath baggy denim dungarees. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’ Linda’s chin bloomed the same colour as her cheeks.
‘Oh, no worries.’ It had been a personal question, but I hadn’t given it a second thought, not with what was going on. Linda could be abrupt at times, but I’d come to understand it was part of her personality.
She stared at me, a wistful look in her kohl-rimmed eyes, and for a second I imagined she was the blackmailer.
‘I just thought, what beautiful babies you’d make, you and that handsome fella of yours.’ Linda giggled and I let the air escape my lungs.
‘It’s early days for that; we’ve not been together a year yet. Rick hasn’t even asked me to move in,’ I replied, the words cloying as they left my lips. I’d said too much, exposing my true feelings while trying to pretend everything was normal. But I was at Rick’s practically every night, so maybe he didn’t feel as though he needed to make it official. He was almost perfect, kind, thoughtful and funny, but I got the impression he wasn’t ready to commit despite him only being a few years away from the big four-oh.
Perhaps that was my own insecurity talking because I perceived him to be out of my league. It didn’t help the fact that he was tall with broad shoulders and a peppering of dark chest hair, a washboard stomach and rugby player thighs. He had a handsome face too, with a strong dependable jaw and sharp cheekbones paired with a mischievous grin and steely eyes. When he’d hit on me at the bar, all suited and booted, I’d thought I was dreaming.
‘I’m sure it won’t be long,’ Linda said, jolting me out of my memory. ‘Anyway, I’m off out to grab a sandwich, want me to pick you up anything?’
I glanced at the time, it was almost two o’clock, I’d been at it for hours without a break and the fresh air plus some company might calm my nerves, but before I could suggest I tag along, Rick’s voice came from the door.
‘Well, I was looking for one beautiful lady, but it seems my luck is in, and I’ve found two!’
We turned our heads in sync to find him leaning against the frame, his charcoal suit bunching at the shoulders, mouth upturned into a playful smile with the glint in his eye that always made me melt.
‘Charmer!’ Linda said in mock accusation. ‘I’ll let you two catch up.’
Rick stepped back, allowing Linda to leave before crossing the studio and wrapping his arms around my waist. ‘I’ve missed you.’ He planted a kiss on my lips, a mix of chewing gum and a woody aftershave which radiated from his jaw.
‘I’ve missed you too,’ I replied as he bent low, nuzzling his chin against the buckle of my dungarees and walking me backwards until I was against my desk. When I woke this morning, Rick was on his way out of the door, a lukewarm cup of tea waiting for me on the bedside table. It was the little things that grew to be big things, and I’d fallen for him hard.
I opened my mouth to tell him about the email, not willing to keep him in the dark, but he lifted the hair away from my neck, his lips brushing the skin beneath. I shut my eyes, wanting to forget everything for one moment and drink in his affection, until he released one of the straps of my dungarees and his desire pressed against my groin.
‘Not here, Rick.’ I tried to move, but his weight prevented it, still kissing my neck, one hand wrapped in my hair, weakening my resolve.
‘Someone might see,’ I whispered, torn between wanting to stop in case Linda came back and undressing myself to forget it all.
‘That’s okay, we can put on a show.’ He unclasped his belt buckle and my back stiffened as though a bucket of cold water had been thrown over me, Rick’s words jerking me back to that image, of the show we’d unwittingly put on already. Did he know or was I overthinking it?
