A Face in the Crowd: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller

Home > Other > A Face in the Crowd: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller > Page 5
A Face in the Crowd: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Page 5

by Kerry Wilkinson


  I scan the lotion, the noodles and the porridge oats; then hold my hand over the barcode of the formula as I pass it directly into the shopping bag. There’s no beep.

  The total is a little under £15 and we both know it’s not right.

  Another customer slots in behind the girl, talking on his phone, and neither of us pay him any attention. She’s shaking as she counts the notes and coins out of her tatty purse into my hand. The amount is correct to the final penny – and I suspect much of her budgeting is done like this. Pennies count and pounds certainly do.

  I lean in, so the man on the phone can’t hear, even if he was listening. ‘Use the small door by the magazines,’ I say, ‘You can squeeze around the scanner no problem.’

  Her eyes widen a little, but she nods to say she’s heard. I don’t know about her, but my own heart is racing.

  She shuffles away, switching the nappies from the trolley to her bag and then heading in the direction of the smaller door without risking a backwards look. I watch her go before turning to the man who is still on his phone.

  Sometimes life isn’t black and white and, as I nudge the bag at my feet, I figure not everyone can be given envelopes full of money.

  Chapter Six

  It’s only as I’m getting off the bus close to home that I get a message from Harry asking if I’m still on for tonight. With spotting Melanie and spending a day at work, it had fallen from my mind. I can’t stop thinking about the girl at the checkout, wondering if she’ll eat today; or how the baby is getting on.

  I wait until I get home and have given Billy a quick walk before replying to Harry. I’d rather have an evening in with my dog – but that describes almost every other night of my recent existence. Instead, I send back ‘of course!’, spending almost ten minutes agonising over whether to include the exclamation point. I go for it in the end, figuring it can be part of the new me. Old me would go without; new me is way more fun.

  That done, I try to figure out how I’m going to make myself somewhat presentable given my lack of options. I don’t have many choices, especially considering one of my two pairs of shoes are taped together. I go with my ancient school shoes and my job interview clothes of a dark skirt and white blouse. Not that I’ve had an interview in years. In an attempt to lessen the office worker appearance, I dig a floaty blue scarf thing from the bottom of my drawer and tie it around my neck. It’s still a bit low-rent airline attendant but it will have to do. Beggars and choosers and all that. It’s almost a relief that I have so little. In the old teenagery days, I’d have spent hours figuring out what to wear and changing my mind dozens of times. Sometimes, it was like that when I was with Ben. Now, it’s as if that worry has been taken from me. If these clothes, if my appearance, isn’t good enough, there’s not a lot I can do about it. I should be nervous and yet this realisation gives me a strange calmness.

  I get to The Garden Café fifteen minutes before the time Harry and I agreed. After asking the waiter for some tap water – being very specific about the word ‘tap’ – I spend time looking through the menu again. There are a few differences to what was online and, because of the prices, I rule out almost eighty per cent of everything listed. It’s automatic now, not only with food, I check the prices first and the actual item afterwards.

  ‘Lucy?’

  I turn at the sound of my name and then stand to meet Harry. I’m not sure what I expected. We’ve swapped photos, but there’s still something of a shock that he looks like his pictures. He doesn’t have three additional chins that he’s been hiding with flattering lighting, or a bald spot that is far more than simply a patch. I don’t necessarily mind any of those things, it’s more the deception of using old pictures or selective lighting. It’s been years since I was on anything close to a date and the world has moved on. I’ve read stories of sexting, ghosting and all sorts of other ‘ings’ that weren’t around a decade ago.

  Harry and I shake hands and it feels fine and normal. We’re not into the hug territory yet; even the bums-out, lean-in kind of hug.

  He’s refreshingly ordinary. Shortish dark hair, jeans and a jacket – which is forgivable in this instance, especially given my own clothes. He’s average height, weight, and whatever else.

  There is something about the way he looks at me, though. It’s hard to place at first, but then I realise he reminds me of Billy when I wake him up unexpectedly. There’s a sideways tilt, a glimmer of recognition.

  ‘Do I know you?’ I ask. ‘You seem like you know me…?’ I tail off, not quite sure how to phrase it. We’ve only met seconds ago and, already, I’m blowing things.

  There’s a pause. I first think it’s because he’s considering it, but then it seems clear that he has no idea how to reply. Of all the things I could have said to him, this would have been somewhere at the bottom of the list. Level with, ‘So, Genghis Khan. He was a bit of a rascal, wasn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Harry replies, hesitantly. ‘Perhaps I have one of those faces?’ He cracks a smile and strikes a comedy catalogue pose, pointing and gazing off into the distance. From nowhere, I’m giggling and everything is fine.

  Harry motions to pull my chair out to allow me back in, but I tell him not to be so daft and then we’re sitting opposite one another. He has one hand on the menu but doesn’t open it and there’s a moment in which we simply look at one another. Size each other up, I suppose.

  It’s broken by the waiter arriving with the timing of a red light when someone’s in a hurry. He rattles on about the specials and then recommends half-a-dozen wines. Harry eyes my water and then orders a pint of some lager whose name he rolls his tongue around.

  When the waiter has gone, he leans in. ‘You’re not one of these wine people, are you?’

  ‘What counts as a wine person?’

  He pokes out his bottom lip. ‘Someone who talks about different types of grapes and can spend an hour banging on about weather patterns in certain Mediterranean regions.’

  Harry has an infectious smile which spreads as I reply: ‘I am definitely not a wine person.’

  He nods approvingly. ‘That makes two of us.’ He nods at the menu that’s open on the table in front of me. ‘What sounds good?’

  There’s a moment of panic that’s hard to push away. I don’t particularly think of things as being ‘good’, more ‘cheap’. I can’t stop eyeing the tomato and basil soup, because it comes with bread and a salad – and costs less than a fiver.

  ‘I’ve not really looked yet,’ I lie.

  He nods acceptingly but doesn’t open his menu, instead nodding at my drink. ‘Are you sure you’re okay with water? I was only joking about the wine. If that’s what you’re into, we could share a bottle…?’

  It’s a question I’ve been asked before when ordering water, as if not getting trolleyed on a dozen pints of Danish lager is the weird option.

  ‘I’ve got uni work to do tomorrow,’ I reply – which is true, but not the reason for my choice.

  He taps the side of his head. ‘Of course. I forgot you’re a student. It’s Childhood and Youth Studies, isn’t it?’

  There’s no way he’s remembered that off the top of his head and I wonder if I should have done some revision on him based upon the information we’ve swapped and his profile. Is this another one of those ‘ings’ that have appeared in dating since I was with Ben? ‘Revising’, or something like that.

  ‘That’s right,’ I say.

  He nods along. ‘I guess this means you like kids…?’

  Harry says it with a smile, but I have another moment of panic. How are we on to talking about kids within minutes of meeting for the first time?

  ‘Um…’

  He laughs and waves it away. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. The reason I first contacted you is because you said you were a dog person – so what I really want to ask about is your dog…’

  Finally, we’re onto something I can talk about confidently and warmly.

  ‘Billy,’ I sa
y. ‘He’s a Staffie. I got him from a shelter about four years ago. He’s almost ten now.’

  Before I know it, my phone’s out and I’m proudly showing off photos as if I’ve got a newborn. Perhaps he’s humouring me, but Harry seems interested. He laughs at the silly pictures and goes ‘aww’ when I would.

  ‘Have you got a dog?’ I ask.

  ‘I wish I did. My building doesn’t allow tenants to have pets. Someone could probably get away with a fish or a guinea pig, but that’d be about it. No cats or dogs.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think someone went on holiday and left his dog at home for a week. One of his friends was supposed to be going around to feed him and let him out – that sort of thing – but there was some mix-up. I don’t know all the details. It was before I moved in. Either way, the building council banned pets after that.’

  I try to think of the last time I had a holiday away but can’t come up with anything more recently than the time six years ago when Ben and I went to Cornwall for a week.

  ‘The poor dog…’ I say.

  Before we can get much further, the waiter is back with Harry’s lager. I wonder if workers in places like this can spot the couples on first date. Perhaps they have some sort of radar for it and sit in the back trying to guess which pairs will reach a second date. If things were reversed, I would definitely do that.

  The waiter asks if we’re ready to order food and I’m on the brink of saying ‘soup’ when, for a reason of which I’m not entirely certain, the word ‘ravioli’ pops out. I almost correct myself, but he’s already moved onto Harry. I glance down to the menu and feel a rising panic at the ‘£14’ that’s listed. Harry orders a risotto (£13.50) and then everything is cleared away. I’m left wondering how I can possibly justify spending so much on a single meal. It’s more than I might usually spend on food in a few days.

  I bat away a yawn that’s crept up on me from nowhere and Harry makes the obligatory ‘Am I that boring?’ remark.

  ‘I’ve been at work all day,’ I reply. ‘And I went running this morning.’

  ‘I’m afraid I spent the afternoon at the football. My team lost.’ He pauses to sip his drink and then adds: ‘You’re in a supermarket, aren’t you? Do you work every weekend?’

  I had forgotten letting that scrap of information out. ‘Not always,’ I say. ‘I’m sort of assistant manager, so sometimes I have to cover.’

  It’s a lie but the words are out before I can call them back. The assistant manager’s job was up for grabs eighteen months ago – but the applicants all needed degrees. I figured that, if I was going to spend time and money getting those sorts of qualifications, I’d rather find something I thought I’d enjoy. I’m in the circle of not being qualified for better jobs and not having experience to go for jobs within industries that interest me. I’m hoping my part-time course can change that.

  ‘I work in internet security,’ Harry says. ‘It’s all a bit boring, I suppose.’ He holds up his phone. ‘I’m on call in case one of our clients have a major problem. I alternate with a few others from the team, but one of us always has to be ready to drop everything.’

  I fumble something close to a question about what that means, while simultaneously trying to appear as if I know what I’m talking about. It feels like he’s trying to downplay what he does while I’m trying to make what I do sound more important than it is.

  He tells me that he looks for security holes in company’s websites and then effortlessly turns the conversation back around on me: ‘If you’re doing an Open University course now, does that mean you’ve been working since you were a teenager…?’

  It’s a reasonable question, I suppose – especially if this is us getting to know one another. I’m thirty, so why wouldn’t he ask about what I’ve spent the rest of my life doing? I could go on about the past four and a bit years where I’ve been going nowhere in a supermarket, but it doesn’t feel like an achievement. Then there are the years before that…

  ‘I nearly went to university when I was eighteen,’ I say, starting to stumble. ‘I had a boyfriend at the time and we chose to move in together instead.’

  Harry nods along. It’s all normal – except, before I know it, the rest is coming out.

  ‘His name was Ben,’ I say quickly. ‘He died five years ago on Tuesday.’

  It’s not enough to splurge about what happened to Ben on a first date, I have to be precise with the timing.

  ‘Twenty-four others died, too – including Ben’s brother, Alex. There was a train crash.’

  Harry gulps and I have little doubt he’s regretting being here.

  ‘Ben was off to a work thing,’ I add, apparently unable to shut up. ‘I didn’t know he was going with his brother. You can google it – the crash was a big thing. You might remember it. We were going to get married, buy a house, all that…’

  I tail off, suddenly breathless.

  It’s a flood of information Harry doesn’t need to know. Not yet, anyway. It’s hard to know why, but I couldn’t stop myself. The voice in my head was screaming for hush but out it came. I reach for my glass, but the water is gone. Harry slides across his lager and I don’t hesitate, swigging a couple of mouthfuls and then passing back the glass with a whimpered apology. I don’t even drink beer. I’ve not had alcohol of any sort in months. Years. It costs too much.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he says, with a closed-lip, though kindly, smile. ‘If something like that happened to me, I’d want to talk about it, too. It must be one of the biggest things that has ever happened to you…?’

  It’s such a reasonable response to my dump of information that I have to blink away tears. I mask it – or try to – by flapping an arm to catch the waiter’s attention and pointing to my empty glass.

  ‘Do you miss him?’ Harry asks. ‘It’s fine if you do. I’d miss someone if they’d died like that.’

  This time I have to glance away. I focus on a poster that’s advertising Christmas meals and scan the details over and over until I’m certain I can talk without losing the plot. As first dates go, I’ve turned this into a disaster – but there’s no going back now.

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ I manage, surprising myself by not cracking. ‘There were debts…’

  He waits, saying nothing. Moments ago, there was a low chunter of other people chatting to each other, but now it feels as if everyone is silent, wanting to know what happened.

  ‘He took out loans online,’ I say. ‘I still don’t really know how he did it, but he used my name and ID. It was tens of thousands. After Ben died, I started getting letters about payments being overdue. He must have intercepted anything like that before. I’d call the banks and say I didn’t know anything about them – but they had my signature and things like that. They didn’t believe it wasn’t me who’d applied for the money.’

  I stop for a breath. It’s a long time since I’ve said any of this out loud. Karen was the last person I told – and that was three years back. I have no idea what’s come over me to go through it now.

  ‘We had savings,’ I add. ‘It was all in joint accounts for the wedding and a house – but that had gone, too. He must have spent it on business trips, but it’s not really clear where all the money went. It wasn’t in our account when he died. He spent his money and mine.’

  The waiter proves he really does have the worst timing by sauntering over and placing a newly filled glass in front of me. Perhaps it’s me, my state of mind, but I think he makes a point of saying ‘tap water’ when he does so, as if to point out how cheap I am. Either way, he disappears after that.

  Harry is silent for a moment. He’s drumming his fingers on his cheek and, though I know he’s staring at me, I can’t meet his eyes.

  ‘How did he get away with it?’ Harry asks.

  ‘I guess he didn’t. Not in the end. Karma and all that. He said he was a day trader, buying and selling shares usually from home. Other times he said he had conferences to go to, people and investors to me
et. That sort of thing.’

  Harry nods, but I’m not sure he understands. I’m not sure I understand. It sounds so pathetic out loud. How did I fall for it all? Maybe he was a trader and lost all our money in some stupid stock market gamble? Perhaps he blew it all on holidays and who knows what else?

  The truth that I can’t say is that I don’t know what to think of him. I feel nothing and everything. I despise him but I don’t. Despite everything I found out after he died, there’s a part of me that still doesn’t feel like it’s all real because I didn’t see any of it when we were together. Seeing is believing and all that. I loved him once, but there’s hate there, too – because this is the life he’s left me with. Spending the pittance I earn on paying off his debts and getting close to a panic attack because I ordered a meal that costs fourteen pounds.

  Harry takes a deep breath and glances towards the door. I wonder if outside, away from me, is where he’d rather be. I wouldn’t blame him.

  ‘Well…’ he says. ‘I didn’t expect that.’

  Chapter Seven

  I apologise but Harry waves it off.

  ‘It’s a big thing in your life,’ he says, which is quite the understatement. ‘It’d be ridiculous to expect you not to speak about it.’

  He’s right – but there’s a time and a place, and I fear this is neither.

  There’s an impasse between us, a moment to let the dust settle. I look to the waiter on the other side of the restaurant, hoping our food can arrive to stop me saying something else stupid, but there’s no such luck. The gentle clatter of the other diners has risen again – or perhaps it was always there and the quiet was only my imagination.

  ‘What about you?’ I ask, somewhat hoping there’s something in his past that will take the attention from me.

  He snorts slightly. ‘I’ve had a few girlfriends but nothing major.’ He stops and waits for me to catch his eye. ‘No train crashes,’ he adds. It could sound mean but it doesn’t. There’s a shyness to the slight upturn in his lips. He’s testing the boundaries of what I might find acceptable. I don’t need to force myself to smile back because it comes naturally. I didn’t think I’d ever laugh about everything my life has become, but here we are.

 

‹ Prev