Hunted by arsonist
This menace left me too terrified to go out alone...
Scooping fries into the paper, I chatted away to a regular customer.
‘Enjoy your dinner,’ I smiled, handing him his fish and chip supper.
It was an October evening last year, around 8.15pm, and we were about to hit our quietest part of the day.
I’d worked in the chippy for three years and loved it.
When I’d first started I’d been a shy teenager with buckets of nerves.
Now, I was confident, had a great rapport with the regulars.
As I cleaned down the worktops, I heard the door swing open.
‘Portion of fish and chips, please,’ said a man with a bald head and stubble.
‘Of course,’ I replied with my usual grin.
Heaping chips on to the paper, I noticed the man was standing very close to the counter.
I assumed he was smelling the chips.
‘I’m a police officer,’ he then blurted.
Nodding and smiling,
I placed his cod on top.
‘There’s been quite a few murders round here,’ he said. ‘Oh, right,’ I replied. ‘Bad neighbourhood this,’ he added.
I knew he was talking nonsense, and he seemed very odd.
Still, he was a customer, so I smiled.
‘How long have you worked here? Where do you live? What’s your name?’ he barked.
One question after another.
That’s a bit much, I thought.
His gaze fixed on me, I suddenly felt uncomfortable.
‘That’s £5.20,’ I stuttered, ignoring his questions and handing him his food.
I hoped he’d see it as his cue to leave. But he carried on. Not once did he take his eyes off me as he wittered on, asking endless questions. When I moved, so did he. My boss was cleaning nearby and noticed what was going on.
‘We’re closing now, thank you,’ she said sternly.
Thankfully the strange bloke left. But by then he’d been harassing me for 20 minutes.
‘He was starting to freak me out,’ I said, relieved. I tried to forget about it. Only, two weeks later, I was chatting to a regular about my upcoming holiday to Cornwall.
‘I can’t wait, all those pasties and ice creams,’ I laughed. I heard the door swing open. Looking over, my stomach just dropped. Him again!
Seeing the fear on my face, my boss stepped in. ‘How can I help?’ she asked. Placing his order, he stared right at me. I grimaced. What’s his problem? I thought. He was sending shivers down my spine.
Again, I tried to forget about him after he’d left.
Only, that evening, I was
scrolling through work e-mails – I was also an animal portrait artist, drawing people’s pets. One new message. I’d like a commission, please. This is my number... it read. Great! I thought. At the end of the message were a dozen kisses. Weird!
But I needed the money, and a commission was a commission.
What portrait are you looking for? I texted.
Within seconds, my phone bleeped.
How old are you? Are you single? it said. What on earth!? The phone bleeped again. A message about my holiday to Cornwall. I was shocked. How did this person know so much about me?
Another message came through on the phone. You work with food, right? I know the hours you work.
By now I was really freaking out. But as more messages streamed in, something suddenly clicked. It was him. The creepy guy from the chippy. I realised he must’ve picked up one of the animal portrait business cards I displayed in the chip shop. Over the next hour, he sent around 50 messages. And he tried to call me dozens of times. Terrified, I blocked his number. Then I knocked on my
Not once did he take his eyes off me as he asked questions
mum’s, bedroom door.
‘Look at these,’ ’ I cried, showing my mum Colette the messages. She was shocked, worried. ‘We should go to the police,’ Mum, 53, said. So I did. ‘He’s known to us, his name is Terry Waymark,’ an officer said.
All they could say was that he had a history of harassing women.
Officers suggested I send one reply, telling him not to contact me again.
Then, if he did, they’d take action.
Doing as they said, I then waited.
Meanwhile, I changed my shifts at work, hoping I wouldn’t bump into him. But I was a nervous wreck. I didn’t know this creep – or what he was capable of.
‘You’re so quiet,’ my boss said.
Mum would walk me to and from work, or I’d take my lurcher Rosie.
Checking over my shoulder wherever I went, I felt like he was watching me. Waiting. And, a few days later, more
messages came through. Can I call you? What you doing?
I knew it was him, using a different number.
This time, the police arrested him immediately.
With my call log and the screenshots of messages, officers had enough evidence to charge him.and, thankfully, he was held on remand. Relief! In March this year, Terry Waymark, 36, appeared at Portsmouth Crown Court, charged with stalking involving serious alarm or distress.
He denied everything, so I had to give evidence.
Terrified, I cried throughout my part of the hearing.
But Waymark was found guilty, jailed for four years and handed an indefinite restraining order.
Turned out I wasn’t his first victim.
He’d previously been jailed for harassing another woman. Sending threatening letters.
He was also a convicted arsonist. Chilling.
I’m just glad we’re all safe now he’s locked up.
If I hadn’t have gone to the police when I did, who knows how far Waymark would have gone?
But it’s had a lasting impact on my life.
I’m no longer taking local portrait commissions, and barely go out alone.
All because of him.
I didn’t know this creep – or what he was capable of