by Elena Wilkes
I picked up the phone, feeling its difference in my hand, letting my thumb scroll down and find his number… My thumb stalled.
No, no and no.
Getting up, I went back into the kitchen and grabbed an unopened bottle of wine. I didn’t care that I hadn’t eaten and how late it was getting; I wasn’t interested in how I would feel in the morning. I shivered and walked about the flat, putting the lamps on, not knowing what to do with myself: whether to stand, sit, watch TV… I did all of it, glancing at the phone, the clock moving from seven, to quarter past, half past… He did say he would come back to me, didn’t he?
Sighing, I flicked through the channels curling my feet up under a fluffy blanket and reached for a cushion. There she was again: Cassie Edwards. I almost couldn’t bear to watch her parents at the press conference. ‘Divorced,’ the commentary said unkindly, as though that was important. Never were two people more separate from each other yet at the same time so bound together in joint misery. They sat, all hunched and terrified, the lights and cameras blindly snapping into their frightened faces, the journalists honing in on their confusion in one jabbering, faceless, pack.
‘We appeal to anyone who saw anything… who might know something or someone who might’ve taken Cassie…’
I couldn’t watch it. I turned it off and rang Emma.
‘This number comes up as your old phone. Have you swapped?’
‘Yep, it was Viv’s suggestion. I’m to use this one and give the other to the police.’
‘Sounds like a good plan. Switch it off. Put it away somewhere until Monday. You don’t want the threat of him contacting you all weekend.’
‘No.’ My hand reached for the button. But what if Paul tried to reach me? I left it.
‘So it all went well with Viv, I take it?’
‘Oh, she was lovely. Really supportive.’
‘Good. What did she say about Cassie Edwards?’
‘It was obvious what he was hinting at, but you know what would happen if we start making connections without something more concrete. The powers that be will jump all over her. The sick bastard could be just posturing and grandstanding. Jesus. Can you imagine if her parents found out…?’ I shook my head slowly, appalled at the thought and glanced from the dead TV screen to the window. The curtains were open to the evening sky, framing the blackened panes. My eye registered the thing before my brain did.
Something moved outside in the darkness.
A cold fear snaked down my spine.
‘Luce?’
‘Em—’ The blanket fell to the floor. I darted a look at the window again as a burst of light flashed once, then twice across the glass.
‘You there, hun?’
I stayed motionless, not even breathing, watching for it again.
‘Lucy?’
‘Could you stay by the phone, Em? I’ll call you back in two seconds…’
I could still hear her frantic jabbering as I cast the phone aside and dropped to my knees. Keeping my eyes fixed on the window, I crawled on all fours to the sill. With my body tight to the frame, I peered cautiously out into the shadowed street. The road was empty. The sodium lights burned a sickly orange, revealing nothing but shapes and shadows of the shrubs and bushes. The hedge, shorn part-way, bucked and jerked, the unkempt fronds shivered and went still. I didn’t dare breathe, as, above its outline, something crept, slowly. My heart lurched into a drumbeat of fear. Something black moved and stretched. My heart skidded as a long shadow detached itself, unfolding and lengthening as a figure stepped out and a slap of light sent me instantly to the floor.
‘Lucy.’
I crouched, panting, my phone blaring into a discordant jangle. I scrabbled and dropped it, sending it sliding across the room. Swearing madly, I clawed away from the window on all fours.
‘Lucy! It’s me! Paul!’ The light danced again and I nearly cried out with relief. Scrambling to the sill, I hauled myself up. He stood pathetically in amongst the bushes, his coat hunched up around his ears, looking like an embarrassed schoolboy with an arc of mobile phone light wavering about his feet.
I levered the window catch and wiggled the sash open. ‘What the—?’ I was nearly hysterical. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I hissed.
‘I was trying to see into your window. I didn’t want to tap on it in case I’d got the wrong flat. I kept thinking “why does her phone keep going to voicemail?” Now I know. You were on the bloody thing.’ He was tiptoeing from the muddy path onto the pavement, the light flashing madly again. ‘I gave up in the end. I thought, she’s never going to ring me back so I shall have to see if I can find her address. You’re not an easy woman to track down, you know. Now look at me!’ He lifted one foot at a time, trying to shake the dirt off.
I started almost laughing and crying in terror.
‘But I wasn’t on the phone until—’
‘Oh – yeah. Right,’ he made a duck quacking motion. ‘Yak, yak, yak…’
‘How the hell did you find out where I lived?’
He tapped his nose. ‘You said Highbury, and I remember you said green and leafy. This was the greenest leafiest place I could find.’ He gazed round. ‘And besides,’ he shrugged, ‘you’re on 192.com.’
I laughed. ‘Christ Almighty, you could’ve given me heart failure, you silly arse! Hang on, I’ll come and get the door.’
I ran along the hallway and flung it open.
‘Steady on!’ Paul staggered back, fiddling with the torchlight on his phone. ‘You are pleased to see me, aren’t you?’ He slipped his arms around my waist and his breath skimmed my cheek. ‘Are you pleased?’
I grinned. ‘Of course I’m bloody pleased… God!’
‘Shhh!’ he laughed. ‘I’m sure all your neighbours need to hear.’ He glanced behind him and I glanced out there too. It all looked different now that we were playing and being silly. It was ordinary, unthreatening, just houses with steps and gardens and shadows, nothing weird, no Simon Gould, nothing scary. I was being hyper. Crazy. My phone lit up again as I ushered Paul inside.
‘Em!’ I laughed. ‘No, I’m fine. Sorry, it was just me being daft. Yes… it was Paul, scaring the bloody life out of me.’ I glared at him. ‘Mmm… I know… he’s a tosser…’ I shot a glance at him, laughing. ‘Yes… Have a relaxing evening…’ All the time I was talking to her I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he bent to wrestle his shoes off. It was the way his shoulders worked, the muscles moving deftly, the sweet look of concentration on his face. I put my hands on his hips as I eased my way past him and went to close the door.
‘Hey, you.’ He caught my hand and kissed it, drawing me to him. We stood there, holding each other in the doorway, half in, half out, and I glanced into the street. The bushes still crouched in their huddled shadows, hiding their secrets, but it was nothing bad, I could see that now. It was part of the railing, a caught plastic bag, some stunted tree, that was all.
Giggling, we pushed the door closed, feeling the lock catch tight and I led him by the hand along the hallway, kissing him as we stepped over the threshold and again as we closed my front door, and then by the TV and the sofa, and then by the window as I went to close the curtains. I glanced out. The hunched blackness sat there by the entrance to the garden as the wind sent a scutter of leaves down the pavement. It really isn’t him, I told myself. It’s really not, I repeated, as the breeze bundled and gusted slowly and I saw the blackness lift its head.
Chapter Four
‘Jesus.’
Paul sat on the sofa listening and frowning and nodding and asking all the right questions as I told him about Gould. In the end, he sat back, cradling his glass of wine and studying me thoughtfully.
‘Have you eaten?’
I nearly laughed.
‘Have I what?’
‘I bet you haven’t. I bet you’ve been too wound up. So show me your fridge and your cupboards.’
‘Wow! I’ve never had an offer like that!’
He stood, holding out
his hand to help me up.
‘This is the thing. Gould gets his power from worming his way into your head.’ He tapped his temple. ‘Your job, my job, is to keep him out. Don’t let him in. Is there anything else you want to tell me about that conversation?’
I shook my head.
‘Then that’s it. He’s gone. He’s out there. We’re in here. This is now a completely safe space. There’s just you, and me and –’ he picked up my wine glass and handed it to me. ‘– a very nice bottle of St Emilion.’
‘Oh… Err… I don’t think I have a nice bottle of St Emilion. Sorry—’
‘Ah, but I do.’ He reached for his jacket. ‘Taa-dahh!…’
‘I didn’t see that!’ I laughed.
Paul pulled a mock serious face. ‘That’s the thing you’ll find with me. I am definitely full of things you’re not expecting.’
That Friday night turned into Saturday morning. Hours became an afternoon which became a night again. There was nothing but a tangled duvet, over-heated pillows and sticky skin. I loved it. Nothing I had ever experienced before even came close, I never wanted him to leave.
‘But that’s an ostrich!’
He was showing me how to make shadow puppets on the wall – first a rabbit and then a goat – while we ate Cadbury’s Chocolate Fingers which he’d gone out especially for, because I said I hadn’t had them in years.
‘It’s actually a camel.’
‘Oh, you’re bloody useless,’ I laughed, slapping his hand. His fingers landed on my cheek and he let them linger gently there until it tickled.
‘Tell me about your scar,’ he traced the line on my cheek.
‘Are we comparing defects now?’ I pulled away slightly. ‘What about this one?’ My fingers ran lightly down a silvery long leaf-shape beneath his ribs.
‘You first.’
‘Rollerskating. A lamppost and I got close up and personal.’
‘My brother. Messing about with a kitchen knife.’
‘Wow!’ I shook my head in horror. ‘I thought you didn’t have a brother?’
‘I don’t. Not anymore. It was a car accident. He’d been drinking.’
‘My God.’
‘He was what people, including my parents, referred to as “trouble”. But “trouble” when you’re his kid brother, means being daring and exciting—’ he smiled sadly, remembering. ‘And nicking stuff. Christ, he was always at it. I used to skive off school and he’d let me tag along when he went off on his “jollies” as he called them.’ His smile clouded. ‘That’s how you get to be a psychologist: always trying to figure out how someone you love so much could ever leave you.’
My heart hurt for him.
He took a breath. ‘Yep, the moral of the story is: never nick a powerful car when you’re pissed, and don’t mess about with sharp knives.’
He gave a little smile and kissed me, but I felt his grief and his sadness. I had no idea how to respond. We made love then, quietly, intimately, and afterwards, we lay facing each other, sharing sweetened breath. For a moment I thought he was going to tell me that he loved me. Our intimacy had deepened. Some barrier had broken down. He didn’t say it, I didn’t say it but I knew the words hung there between us. We were both acutely aware of it right that moment, but neither of us said a word.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon we lay in the bath together in my echoing bathroom, his head against my chest. I’d lit candles, and we lay back in the steaming water, breathing in the scents of lavender and sandalwood. The oil bloomed in tiny golden circles on the surface, clinging to our arms and legs, the water running off us like droplets of mercury. The shivery coldness of his hair pressed into my cheek, and I remembered what being in love felt like.
‘Come on.’ He sat up suddenly in a wash of water.
‘Come on what?’ I stared at his naked back as he hopped over the side.
‘Let’s go out.’
‘Out? What do you mean, out?’
‘You know, that weird place with sky and pavements and people.’ He grabbed a towel and started sawing it across his shoulders. ‘Here you go.’ He pulled another off the rail. ‘What’s the matter? I thought you liked mad spontaneity.’
I half got up. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Umm… I dunno. How about Belsize Park?’
‘Belsize Park?’
‘Yeah. I want to show you where I live. Why don’t you bring some stuff and stay the night? You can go to work from mine. It makes sense.’
Sense or not, I wasn’t going to argue.
* * *
The moment we walked down Belsize Park Gardens I knew I was going to love it.
It was a wide, peaceful street. Each side was lined with white stucco-fronted houses, with Italianate stone steps and impressive double-fronted doors. He pointed up at a glossy red front door with a polished brass lion-head knocker.
‘That’s mine. Top floor.’
He mounted the steps two at a time and the door juddered opened to reveal a beautiful black and white tiled hallway. White glossy panelled doors on either side denoted other occupants, but our footsteps carried on echoing as we wound our way up the richly carved staircase. I discovered I was panting. I shifted my bag uncomfortably. ‘Ever thought of having a lift put in?’
He gave me a withering look as he paused to unlock a door before pushing it wide and gesturing for me to go first.
The whole place was black and white: a wide expanse of stripped, pale wooden floors with two black leather couches in the centre, black and white leather rag rugs and an amazing ornate white marble mantelpiece and black arched grate. There was a glass topped dining table with scroll-backed chairs in front of a white granite breakfast bar with black and chrome stools. Everything sparkled and oozed quality.
‘Wow! This is amazing!’ I walked slowly into the room, gazing up. ‘Look at that ceiling! Oh my god!’ It was truly out of this world: great hanging swirls of plasterwork fruit and flowers garlanded the cornice and the centre rose was exactly that, a wreath of white flowers. ‘It’s original,’ he looked up with me. ‘I suspect there are very few people around who have the skill to do that kind of thing now.’
‘And the fireplace! My god! I’ve never seen anything like that!’ I went over and ran my finger down the stone columns of tiered acanthus leaves and scrolls.
‘It’s French, so I was told.’ He nodded. ‘Like the clock. It was here when I moved in. The couple who were selling the flat didn’t want it, so it got to stay. I think the two go together, don’t you?’
‘Absolutely.’
Its impressive gold face mirrored my reflection as I peered to look closer. Its mercury pendulum, minutely etched and decorated, swung regally to and fro. Two white porcelain vases sat on either side of it containing rather sad-looking peacock feathers, and behind one of the vases was a whole slew of what looked like bills and tickets and bits of paper.
‘Not mine either, before you say anything.’
‘The bills?’
‘No, smartarse, the vases. I needed somewhere to stick them and they never got moved.’
Incongruously, tucked at the back, was a kitsch glass ornament filled with stripes of coloured sand with ‘Welcome to Colwyn Bay’ across the bottom. I laughed and went to pick it up.
‘Don’t!’
I jumped a mile.
‘Sorry…’ He came forward and went to take my bag from my shoulder. ‘It was something my brother gave me years ago, it’s just a bit sentimental, that’s all – Here, let’s dump this in the bedroom, shall we? I’ll find you somewhere to hang your work clothes in a minute.’
He manoeuvred his way through a half-open door. The room was huge too: floor-to-ceiling wardrobes filled one wall, with bedside tables, one on either side of the crisp white linen bed. He dropped the bag at its foot.
‘Gosh! This room is lovely too!’ I crouched to pull at the side zip pocket of the bag where it had come undone.
‘What’s so special in there?’ he winked. ‘
Anything I’d like?’
‘Doubt it,’ I smiled. ‘A laptop, a few papers. You know, the usual boring work stuff,’ I patted, checking the phone I was going to give to Viv was safely tucked away.
‘Work is totally banned, by the way.’ He held out his hand. ‘So. Come on, the guided tour isn’t quite over yet. Let me show you the one overriding and singular reason why I bought this place.’ He helped me up and led me back into the sitting area and over to the window where a long unusual-looking sash went from floor to ceiling.
‘A win-door,’ he explained, undoing the catch.
A gust of chilly air hit me as he smoothly slid the whole thing up and clambered through. ‘It’s quite safe. Here, see for yourself.’ He extended his palm through the gap. ‘Come on, come and have a look.’
I faltered. ‘I’m not very keen on heights.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t let go of you.’ His face was grey in the evening light.
I couldn’t see his eyes.
‘Come on.’
My chest tightened. ‘It’s really not my thing.’
‘You’re missing out on so much.’ He let go of my hand and turned, gazing out into the skyline. His feet scuffed on the gritty roofing felt. ‘You’re not afraid of heights, you’re afraid of not being in control.’
‘Whatever, Mr-Bloody-Analyst. Would you come in now, please?’ I tried to laugh it off, but he only looked back at me. He wasn’t smiling.
‘All I’m asking you to do is take my hand.’
‘Paul.’
‘Trust me. It’s that easy.’ He offered his hand again. My whole body trembled as I looked down at it.
‘No. I don’t think so, thanks.’
‘Please. Just take it. That’s all. I’ll do the rest.’
Bizarrely, my fingers twitched and left the rigid comfort of my side. They hovered above his for a second and then our skin met. His grip was firm and solid.
‘Right. See? Just one step up. Don’t think, just do it.’
My foot lifted and suddenly I was out there, holding onto him. The pressure of his body was firm and constant. I breathed, my terror and his warmth mingling in the darkness.