I rounded the corner of Gower Street and headed for Tottenham Court Road. I glanced at Warren Street tube station and felt the claustrophobic nausea grab me by the throat and I nearly regurgitated. I decided to wait for the bus.

When I finally reached home, Steven had surprisingly kept the place neat and tidy; I laughed when I found the plates stashed away with the table cloths. I knew he meant well and I wasn't mad at him because it gave me something to do until he came home.

It was whilst I was giving the cooker a good going over when the phone rang. It only rang twice before I could answer and it abruptly stopped. I didn't think anything of it at the time and I carried on with my chores. After what must have been about half an hour, it rang again. I was passing it on my way upstairs when it started, so I picked it up after the first ring.

"Hello?" I asked, but there was no answer.

I wondered upstairs, thinking it was just kids who had lost their nerve at the last minute. I started to run the bath and went into the bedroom. I looked at the phone sitting on the bedside table and as I looked, it rang again. Hesitating for just the slightest of moments, I answered.

"Hello?"

"I know who you are." It was a man’s voice, very strong but in a controlled whisper as if he had been practicing before he spoke.

"Who is this?" I asked, not feeling as scared as I thought I would be.

"I know who you are, Jenny. And I know where you live. And I’m coming to get you, you whore."

The phone went dead again. I stood there with the phone in my hand. The fear that seemed to have eluded me crept up my spine, chilling my very being. I slowly put the receiver down and sat on the edge of the bed. I don’t know how long I sat there, but it wasn't very long because when I went back to the bathroom, the water was just passing halfway up the inside of the bath. I turned the water off and went to the bedroom.

As I lay in the hot water, feeling the warmth seep into me, I thought of what I should do. After a lot of thought, I decided to wait until Steven got here and tell him what happened. It was probably a joke by one of his friends, although I didn't think that they would stoop so low as to actually become phone sex pests.

As I was drying myself, the phone rang again. I stared at it through the mirror, not wanting to turn and face it. It persisted. I stood up from the stool and went to it. As I reached my hand to pick up the receiver, it stopped. I scolded myself for letting it get to me.

I was back in front of the mirror, looking at my reflection, when it suddenly dawned on me that this guy knew my name. He also said that he knew where I lived. My mind whirled, trying to make me believe that it was one of Steven’s friends. Somehow, I think it was my subconscious coming through, I didn't believe, not with all my heart, that it was a harmless joke. I prayed that Steven would get home soon.

I was in the kitchen, reading over the letters that Steven had gracefully placed on the table behind the ornamental flower arrangement that Cathy had made for me for my twenty—second birthday. There was a postcard from her showing a Greek coastline. ‘ANDROS’ was emblazoned across the bottom of the picture. As I was reading it, the phone rang again. Determined not to let it get to me, I boldly strolled over to it and answered.

"Hello?"

"I saw you undressing. You have very sensuous body. If I didn't have to kill you, I would very much like to know that body."

"Who is this?" I asked, sounding very courageous. "What do you want with me?" I was shaking with fear; what did he mean, kill me?

"By the way, Jenny, please don’t try anything stupid. I know what you do and I know everything about you. I wouldn't even bother telling Steven; I’d only have to kill him as well." The line went dead again.

This was getting too much to be joke. I was being threatened. How did he know that I was going to tell Steven? How did he know Steven? How does he know who I am? I had to do something. I put my coat on and went to the front door. I stopped suddenly. If he knew where I lived, he may be out there now, waiting. He must be; how else could he have seen me undressing in my bedroom? I didn't know what to do. I didn't dare go out. I didn't dare tell Steven. I thought about calling the police. I contemplated that for a short while. Has he got my phone tapped? I was getting desperate. I could feel the scars from my operation tightening.

An hour passed by so slowly, it seemed to take a whole day. I comforted myself by sipping a strong cup of coffee. I looked at the kitchen clock, mounted above the dining table. Three thirty-five. Steven wouldn't be home until eight at the earliest, probably a lot later if he was meeting people from abroad. I sat there, staring at the postcard from Cathy, wondering what to do next. I picked up the postcard and re—read it. The postmark was dated the fifteenth. It was now the thirtieth; she should be back by now. Maybe she would come round. That hope lasted me two hours. She never turned up. Nothing unusual about that, but I really wished she’d pay me a surprise visit. Should I risk calling her? Why not? I had nothing to lose. He couldn't do anything to me when there was someone else here with me.

I picked up the phone and put it to my ear. The pleasant,

monotonous dialling tone was there. I half expected to hear that cold, deep, whispering voice to reprimand me, saying that I have been a naughty girl and I would have to pay for my insolence.

I dialled her number and waited for her to answer, counting the rings. After the fifteenth ring, there was no answer. My heart slumped. Reluctantly, I replaced the hand set and looked at the phone. How I hated that instrument. I turned to go back to the kitchen and as I did so, it rang. I froze where I was, halfway through the kitchen door. The anger boiled up in me and I turned and answered it, giving my full onslaught without a moments hesitation:

"If you bother me one more time, I’m gonna call the police, you pervert."

"Hey, what’s wrong?"

It was Steven s voice. I shuddered with relief. I started to cry, thanking God that he was all right.

"Oh, Steven. Please come home. I need you." I pleaded.

"I can’t. We've been delayed. The flight from Paris has been grounded due to some technical problems. They could take off at any time. Are you O.K.?"

I was about to tell him about the calls; then I stopped myself. I couldn't risk harming him, however strange the circumstances. I pleaded with him to come home quickly, but he couldn't promise. He rang off after hearing an announcement for the delayed flight. I put the phone down and regarded it for a few moments. A tear burned its way down my cheek and I wiped it away as I went back to the kitchen.

A half hour passed uneventfully. I was dozing in front of the television. I think I fell asleep during a debate about sexism in the office. The dreaded ringing woke me up. Drearily, almost obediently, I went and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Jenny, you sound sad!"

That commanding whisper.

"I am. You make me sad. This was going to be the beginning of a happy new life. But you wouldn't let me have that."

"My heart bleeds for you." He laughed. It was the most maniacal laugh I have ever heard. It reminded me of the sound that the Joker would make when he’d hatched a ridiculous plan to capture Batman. "Steven isn't really waiting for a plane from Paris. He’s having some extra-marital exercise with Cathy; your best friend. You sounded so distressed, how could he not come to you? Even if his career was on the line? He doesn't love you. But I do. And you never showed me any compassion. You married that dipstick and now he’s dipping his stick in your best friend!"

I couldn't control myself anymore. "Who are you? Tell me, who are you?" I screamed at him

"Not who, Jenny. But what. I am you; your dark side. I am what you've always wanted to be but were too scared. I am everything you wanted to do but were too self righteous to do. When you had that operation, I was taken from you; discarded like a piece of dirt. I am the cankerous heart of your darkest desires; the blackest pit of your heart. That was no growth inside you; that was me. We were becoming. Your heart knew me and embraced me. But your mind wouldn't accept me. So you had to kill me. That is why I am here; to kill everything that killed me: you, Steven, Cathy, even Doctor Dhami. You are all going to suffer the same as I did."

The line went dead.

I must have fainted, because the next thing I was aware of, Steven was coming in through the door. I was at the top of the stairs and he walked in, humming something tuneless, then stopped suddenly, looking down into the hallway. I got scared by the expression on his face; he looked shocked, scared and guilty all rolled into one. I called out, but he just ignored me and went into the hall, out of sight.

I went to walk down the stairs, and as I reached my hand to grab the banister, I realised that my whole arm felt numb. I held my hand out in front of me, although I couldn't really feel myself doing so, and I screamed; my arm was transparent.

I felt a cold gust of wind caressing may face and at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me, was a woman. She was staring at me through small, evil eyes that seemed to penetrate into my mind. The face looked familiar. It was my face!

I screamed. I wished that Steven would come to me, but he still ignored me. The hideous face began to laugh; it was the same laugh that mocked me over the phone earlier. It shifted and began to move in Steven’s direction.

Then everything became clear; Steven was having an affair with Cathy; he had been with her all day; and somehow, I don’t know if it was my subconscious or some other external force, I created this monster that was a living part of me, revenging everything that had caused me grief or would cause me grief.

The last thing I am sure of is that the police responded to a call by one of the neighbours and when they forced their way into my home, they found me holding a bloodied knife and standing over Steven’s body.

At my trial, the prosecution argued (quite amiably, I must say), that I must have made up the whole thing about the telephone because they had checked with the phone company and my line had been cut off. Apparently, Steven had never bothered paying the damn bill. My lawyer could not argue with that, so he opted for the insane vote, saying that I was not mentally stable whilst the whole sorry business happened.

I was sentenced to a mental institute. I now spend my days wondering what really happened and whose face was staring at me from the bottom of the stairs.

There’s a lot of people in here. Most of them are drivelling university lecturers who have gone over the other side of intelligence. I got talking to one of them, Sheila, who used to lecture psychology. She told me that the person who was looking at me was a government agent and that I had been set up. I asked her who would set me up, and all she could say was that the little people who lived inside the televisions and telephones were the real government and the cabinet that resides this country is just a load of mad eccentrics who believe that they are leaders of the land.

I thought about what she said. I didn't believe it, I mean, how could you? So now, instead of socialising with my fellow inmates, I think back to what happened that day when I came home from hospital and I now realise that everything that happened was all my fault.

I started out by writing these memoirs, and, once I had read over what I had written, it came to my attention that Steven never really loved me in the first place. And I also know that one day, when I am free (I will be), Cathy will receive a telephone call.