by Amanda Fleet
“Rick,” I said, grabbing the menu and partially hiding behind it. “Am I being paranoid or are loads of people looking at us?”
He glanced around, frowning. “No more than usual. You okay?”
“Yeah. A bit jumpy since Stephen came out. Especially after yesterday.”
Rick ran his nail along the checked tablecloth. “I didn’t want to tell Finn yesterday, given the funk he was in over the door, but Stephen came in yesterday morning, asking about getting a new tat.”
Any lightness I had, disappeared. “You going to do it?”
“Why not? I can’t bar him, just because you and Finn have history with him.”
“He smashed our fucking door down yesterday. You could bar him on principle.”
Rick paused, his focus still on the table. “Any news from the police on that?”
“No. No witnesses, other than Mike who couldn’t give any real description. No fingerprints on the sledgehammer, apparently. I suspect there’ll be no fingerprints from him in the cottage, either. Mike didn’t think he’d gone in.”
The waitress came over and took our orders for coffee. As she left, I tucked the menu back into its holder, scanning the square. Everyone seemed to have moved on.
Rick shuffled the packets of sugar in the bowl on the table. “The parole board wouldn’t agree to his release unless they thought he was no longer a danger. He would have to have shown remorse and they would have to believe that he wouldn’t re-offend.”
I sucked down a deep breath. “Yeah, well, Stephen’s always been good at getting people to believe his version of things. Manipulative little fucker. I mean, how long did Helen and John take his word over mine and Sarah’s? It took him nearly killing me before they realised what he was capable of. Anyway, he’s broken the terms of his parole by smashing our door in.”
“Except there’s no proof he was the one who did it.” Rick’s gaze finally lifted to my face.
“You think it wasn’t him?”
Rick shook his head. “No, I’m pretty sure it was him. But if there’s no evidence against him, there’s no reason to put him back inside.”
I caught my breath, a lead lump forming in my guts. Would I ever be free of Stephen?
“Did Finn tell you Stephen came to the gym on Thursday? Threatened me,” I said.
“Finn didn’t. Billy did. Said he wasn’t sure Finn would have kept his cool if he hadn’t gone out.”
“Yeah, I think it was a close call.”
Rick breathed steadily. “I told Finn he needs to be careful. He throws a punch at Stephen and it’ll be Finn who’s inside, not Stephen.”
I sighed, dipping my head and rubbing the back of my neck. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
The noise levels in the cafe rose as a group of women with their kids arrived and filled up two tables behind us. None of the kids seemed to have been taught how to sit still. One banged a spoon on the table, repeatedly, another was bellyaching about not having been allowed to have an ice-cream, while the other two were squabbling about which seats they would each have. Two of the women were chatting as if they were the only two there. The other was bent over her phone, ignoring the kid banging the spoon.
Rick fiddled with the sugar, making small piles of the packets. “Finn told me that you found a weird book.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Er, yeah. When did he tell you?”
“This morning. I popped in to the gym to see Billy and grabbed a coffee with Finn.”
Why the hell had Finn told him? And what else had they talked about? “What did he say about it?”
Rick didn’t answer for a while, his focus on the table as he shifted the packs of sugar around. “He said it had pictures in it that looked like the pictures you draw – of that place you dream about. And that the writing was in runes.” More building. More fiddling. “And that you said you could read it.”
“Mm.” Why was Rick so cagey?
“Do you still sleep-walk?”
I blinked at the change in direction. “Um. No. Why?”
Again, no reply for a while. I pieced it together. “Does Finn think that I made the book?”
Rick finally looked up. “He’s not sure. He’s worried about you. Said you were having bad dreams all the time. And you used to sleep-walk when you were really stressed, and you have painted things in your sleep. He wondered if you could have drawn it in your sleep and not remembered.”
He’d certainly like that explanation better than one that involved someone being able to enter the cottage when it was locked up.
I opened my mouth to deny it, and then stopped. Could I have made the book? I couldn’t remember ever buying a blank book like the one I’d found, but it was the kind of book I liked. The pictures showed scenes that could have come from my dreams, and despite the fact the writing was all in runes, I thought I knew what it said.
But although the pictures looked like mine, I knew it was a different artist – the technique was different. And the runes were printed. And when I’d done all those paintings in my sleep before, they were at best described as abstract, but more accurately described as looking like someone blind had done them.
“He’s just worried about you,” said Rick, brushing my knuckles with his and snatching my attention back to him. “Don’t be mad with him.”
I chewed the edge of my lip. “Is this what he’s talking to his mum about?”
Rick’s face softened. “No. That’s something else.”
“What?”
“Rea, I can’t tell you. But it’s nice. Don’t stress about it.”
I fixed him with a beady stare. “Is it about my birthday?”
He grinned. “Sort of. Seriously, I can’t tell you. He’d kill me.”
I let it drop, my head running back over what Rick had said. “Does he really think I made the book?”
“Yeah. Though he thinks you did it in your sleep and don’t remember doing it. He thinks the stories in it are what you’ve been dreaming about. Rea… go to the GP. Tell them about your nightmares and that you can’t sleep.”
“Yeah. Finn and I had this discussion this morning.”
Our coffees arrived and we made space for them. Sighing loudly, the waitress tossed all the sugar packets back into their bowl and glowered at Rick before clumping off. Rick smirked.
I took the chance to change the topic. “Anyway… when are you and Billy going to get a place together? You’ve been together for ages now.”
He rasped his palm over his stubble. “Oh, I don’t think we’ll ever move in together. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“Cheaper to run one place than two.”
“Not the most romantic of reasons.”
I smiled. Rick always looked far more like he’d play a thug than a romantic lead, with the tats, dreadlocks and heft. “Do you and Billy do romance?”
“Fair point. But I don’t think we’ll ever live together.”
I peered at him. “You and Billy are okay, aren’t you? Nothing’s happened?”
“No! No, we’re fine. I just like my space.”
“Have you two talked about it?”
“Yeah. Billy would quite like us to get a place, but…” He shrugged and turned to peer out of the window. “Jeez. You’d think no one had ever seen a tall woman and a black guy before.”
I followed his gaze. The people who’d been staring before had now gathered next to the cafe. They locked eyes with me for a moment before moving on. My heart race picked up and I swallowed hard.
My eye caught a glimpse of the man who’d been in the gym yesterday – the man who looked like a maths teacher. His attention was on me as he walked, and he collided heavily with someone, making them stumble. He caught the man’s elbow, steadying him. The man’s body sagged and I tried to see what had caused it. The maths teacher man had his hand on the other man’s chest, his head bent as if speaking to him. Slowly, the crumpled man straightened and looked straight at me, before the pair parted and went their sep
arate ways.
“Do you know them?” Rick must have seen all of this, too.
I turned back to him. “No. But the guy in black was in the gym yesterday, sitting in the cafe, staring at me.”
“Stalker?”
“Dunno. Hope not.”
Behind us, banging-child and bellyaching-child ratcheted up the volume. I flinched, looking across at Rick.
“Time to go?” I said, nodding at the group.
“Yeah.”
We downed our coffees and paid up. From the scowls being hurled at the noisy table, the waitress would quite like them to either leave or pipe down, before they drove everyone out.
We were pulling our jackets back on outside the cafe and contemplating going back around the market when Rick caught sight of Finn and Alison making their way across the square. Rick waved to them and a couple of minutes later they joined us by the cafe.
“Had a good chat?” I asked, pointedly.
Alison gave her son an enigmatic smile and Finn blushed.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” she asked me.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Well, they’d be stupid not to give you the job.”
I hoped she was right.
The four of us headed out and said our goodbyes at the edge of the market. Finn draped his arm around my shoulders and I tucked my hand into the back pocket of his jeans.
“So, what were you talking to your mum about?” I said, as soon as we were out of earshot.
He squeezed me. “You’ll know soon enough.”
I cast my mind back to the discussion we’d had a few days ago. “Please don’t get me a dog for my birthday.”
“It’s okay. I won’t.”
“But it was about my birthday?”
Finn shook his head at me, eyes bright. “Wait and see!”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“I know. You might like this one. I hope you’ll like this one. But stop fretting about it; it won’t be for a while. I just needed to sound Mum out about something.”
“Finn! Tell me!”
“Patience, woman! You’ll know in a couple of months.”
I still wish he hadn’t waited to tell me.
***
That evening, we were at our other favourite once-a-month treat – the “Eat All You Can For A Fiver” buffet at the local Indian. They might have run it more often than once a month if Finn and I weren’t such regular customers to the event. I mean, Finn can pack it away like it’s going out of fashion, but I’m not far behind him.
The restaurant was busy – we weren’t the only cheapskates in town – and we managed to get the last available table. The place had an unfashionable feel, with lots of red and gold decor that had faded past shabby without ever being chic. The tables all had crisp white tablecloths on, but the paintwork on the walls was scuffed and the chairs were all dinged. Tacky tea-light holders dotted every table, though their light didn’t add to either the atmosphere or the brightness of the room. I don’t think any of the lightbulbs in the place were more than a 40W equivalent. But even if you could only barely see what you were eating, it always tasted amazing.
The buffet was laid out according to spiciness of the dishes, with the milder curries near one end, progressing to the vindaloos at the other. Finn would, of course, always head for the hot end. I restricted myself to the milder end, with occasional forays to the middle of the table, not having Finn’s lead-lined gullet.
We sat down, plates piled high. I don’t know why we both did that – there were no restrictions on how many times you could refill your plate – but we always loaded our plates, just in case anyone changed their minds.
“Do you honestly think I made the book?” I said, stirring some of my korma into the rice.
Finn chewed slowly and swallowed, blue eyes full of caution. “Ah. Rick told you.”
“Yeah.” I’d been stewing since the afternoon.
Finn put his knife and fork down and took a swig of his beer. “It’s crossed my mind.”
“Except I’m not sleep-walking any more.”
He put his glass down, positioning it carefully. “You never knew you were when you did. I’d just wake up and find you somewhere random, saying weird things like you needed to wash all the tar off your hands. You tried to make a fried breakfast once, despite the fact neither of us would have eaten it.”
He had a point.
“Anyway,” he went on. “It’s a more sensible reason for where the book came from than it came from the Realm!”
I narrowed my eyes. “Did you tell Rick that, too?”
He arched his brows at me. “No. Cool it.”
“I’m cool. I’m just pissed off with you that you talked to Rick about me.”
“He’s my best friend. And I’m worried about you.”
“I know. But why didn’t you talk to me first?” I stabbed at my dinner.
He sighed. “Because I knew I’d get this response. Rea, I don’t want to fight over this. It was only Rick! And he’s your friend too!” He reached across to hold my free hand. “Seriously. I don’t want to fight about this.”
I glared at him, shoving the piece of chicken I’d speared around my plate, making tracks through the rice. “You really think I’m sleep-walking again?”
He rubbed his thumb across my knuckles. “Rea, we’ve lived together for six years. Every time you’ve got stressed in those six years you’ve started sleep-walking. Every time. So, yes, I think the reason the pictures and the stories in the book are like your dreams is more likely to be because you drew them in your sleep than because someone is able to break into the house, magically arriving from your dreams.”
“Why the runes?”
He gulped back another swig of beer. “Who knows? Why the fry-up at three in the morning? Why the idea your hands were covered in tar? Or that the walls were about to fall on the bed? Or any of the bat-shit crazy things you’ve said or done while you’ve been sleep-walking.”
“But a whole book? Even if I wrote and painted all night, every night, it would have taken me weeks to make that. And anyway, the runes are printed.”
My voice had risen and heads turned to us. Finn bowed his head slightly, shooting looks at me.
“And, I didn’t do the pictures,” I said, trying but not quite succeeding to lower my voice. “The style’s different from how I draw.”
“Even when you’re asleep?” he said, his voice low and urgent. “When you did all those paintings three years ago, they looked nothing like what you normally draw.”
“Yeah, because I had my eyes shut when I drew them! They looked like shite!”
His eyes widened, imploring me to quieten and I turned away, biting the inside of my lip.
“Rea.” He tweaked my fingers. “Rea?”
“What?” I snapped.
“Look at me.”
I did.
“Let’s not fight. I’m sorry. I love you. Let’s enjoy the curry.”
I rubbed my eye. “I didn’t make the fucking book… I am going to see the GP though. Maybe he’ll give me something to help me sleep.”
“Thank you.”
Behind the serving area in the restaurant was a telly, tuned to the local news. I frowned as I recognised our town. Subtitles scrolled across the bottom, and I screwed my eyes up to read them. The main headline said that another two bodies had been found at the quarry, near the place the woman had been found on Friday. Both were men and one had been named as Simon Fraser, a local man who worked at a nearby cafe. All three deaths were being treated as suspicious.
Simon Fraser’s picture flashed up as the subtitles asked for anyone who might have seen anything at all, however trivial, to come forwards. Finn had seen me looking at the telly and turned to see what was on.
“Hey. That’s the guy who was staring at you. Yesterday.”
And the guy who I’d seen from the cafe this afternoon. My stomach flipped. First the woman in the library, now him. I peered at th
e screen. “Are you sure it’s him? I thought I saw him this afternoon.”
“Yeah. I’m sure. That’s so weird. Where did you see him?”
“He was at the Farmers’ Market.”
Finn looked sceptical. The news indicated that Simon Fraser’s body had been found that morning so the man in the square couldn’t have been him. I breathed steadily. I must have been mistaken. He had been quite far away when I saw him.
The news moved on to announce that four people in a local hospital had died of flu and asked people to be vigilant. Viewers were also reminded that the seasonal flu vaccine was still available for free to those over 65 and to people with various health conditions.
“You wouldn’t need a terrorist event to bring the country to its knees,” said Finn, turning back to his food. “You’d just need a flu epidemic. Imagine if ten per cent of the population couldn’t go to work for over a week because of flu. What if schools closed because there weren’t enough teachers available? Then loads of people would have to be off work to look after the kids. Or if there weren’t enough staff to run the power stations? The vaccine should be given to everyone, not just the ones with health risks.”
He had a point, but my brain was still on the fact that two people who’d been staring at me were now dead, presumably murdered, and their bodies dumped within a mile of our house, and my appetite vanished. I poked at my food while Finn cleared his plate.
“More?” he said, nodding towards the buffet table.
“I’m not all that hungry. You get my fiver’s worth.”
I forced a smile. A slight frown flitted across Finn’s brow, but he said nothing, just scraped his chair back and headed for the buffet.
Three plates of curry later, I wondered if Finn was going to come apart at the seams.
“You’re not going to be able to move tomorrow,” I said, grinning at him.
“Yeah, I may have overdone it tonight.” He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his belly and belching, before belatedly bringing his hand up to his mouth. “’Scuse me.”
I laughed.
We settled up and staggered out of the door. The restaurant lay on the same side of town as our cottage and we started back down the street, past the shops and towards the spit-and-sawdust pub on the corner. Just after we’d passed, an all too familiar voice hailed us.