Closer Than You Think

by Darren O’Sullivan

  It only took five minutes to drive into town and park, and as we walked to the same café I always visited, I was expecting more eyes to be trained on me, asking more questions. But to my relief, no one cared. I hadn’t watched the news in a week; I didn’t dare. But I suspected that the picture from that night of me – bloodied, covered in grass cuttings and blinded by the helicopter lights – would have been revived. But I was hardly recognisable now and besides, people didn’t expect to see someone like me in and around their lives. It wasn’t a thing that happened to normal folk and I, from the outside at least, was normal. And I loved it.

  I paid for our hot drinks and cakes. Mum had the coffee and walnut, while I had a blueberry muffin, and we made our way to the outside terrace that overlooked the river. Sitting in the corner, my back to the bridge, I sipped my coffee and wanted to allow myself to close my eyes, to try and enjoy the sun which shone proudly. I wanted to let myself melt into it and enjoy one of the few things I loved. But I couldn’t quite do it, each car passing on the bridge snapped my attention back to my immediate surroundings, things that weren’t nature: chatter, the clatter of cups on saucers, music from the speakers inside. It was exhausting to stop myself slipping into a panic. But I was glad I was out, glad I had said my silent ‘fuck you’ to my fear. Glad I’d smiled sweetly to the cameraman.

  Glad as I was, however, I wanted to be back at home with the door locked and my curtains closed. I could feel the ever-present hand stroking my insides. I took several deep breaths and looked up, my sunglasses filtering the bright light, giving the sky a sepia hue, as the cloud hovered high above our heads. I tried to see a shape. But nothing. Mum didn’t say much; she tried, but I couldn’t focus on anything she said, so just agreed until she stopped talking. She closed her eyes, soaking up the sun, and for a while I just watched her, jealous of her ability to be so together.

  Taking my phone out, I messaged Penny, telling her I was out in the world again and would she be like to come over later for a catch up? I then texted Paul saying I missed him. I waited for him to reply – he usually did quickly. But nothing came and eventually, the screen went black. He was busy. Sighing, I knew I should do one more thing on my phone before I put it away – I had to thank the Facebook group for the thoughtful gift. There were so many other things on my mind, but I knew I had to.

  As soon as I opened the app, I wish I hadn’t. The feed was busy with messages back and forth from some of the 8,027 members about what happened a week before. The latest part of the thread was a question raised by Killian.

  Should we reopen the investigation?

  There were 418 comments on the post and when I opened the feed I was surprised, and relieved, that most people were saying no. Some members commented that, as it was a fresh investigation, the police wouldn’t want anyone getting in the way or interfering with their enquiries. Killian replied to a few comments, arguing his case about how if the copycat was as smart as Tommy Kay, then the police would be all but useless.

  We all know he will go after Claire. We need to do what we can to protect her.

  Nobody argued with him on that point. I looked at other comments in Killian’s post. People were wishing me well. Sending their prayers. Offering support if I needed it. They meant well. But each message made me more of a victim, and I couldn’t help but resent them. I needed to get out of the group as quickly as I could, so hastily posted my thank you for the box of bath treats and went to log out. Just before I did, a direct message popped up from Wendy Clarke. In the early days, before the group got out of control and behaved like a weird cult in my honour, I’d befriended a few of them. Wendy and Veronica, a retired police officer called Craig, and Killian. I should have deleted them from my friends list, but I didn’t want to risk offending them. And mostly, they left me well enough alone.

  Hi, Claire, I’m glad the box of goodies got to you all right. How are you? Can we do anything?

  I looked at the little green dot beside her name. She was there, no doubt seeing my little green dot, telling her I was also online. I wanted to ignore her. But knew I shouldn’t. She was just being kind.

  Hi, Wendy. Thank you to you and Veronica, it was really thoughtful. And yes, I’m fine. I don’t need anything else, thanks, not now I have my bathtime essentials.

  I added a smiley emoji to the message, to keep it light. Her response was quick.

  I’m really glad to hear it. If we can do anything, just let me know.

  I paused for a moment and as I glanced up from my phone, Mum was looking back.

  ‘You OK, love?’

  ‘I’m on the group page, they want to start up their investigation again.’

  ‘And how do you feel about it?’

  ‘I don’t want them to. It’s too stressful.’

  ‘Then tell them that.’

  I nodded and typed the message to Wendy.

  There is one thing. Could you ask the group, from me, not to start the investigation again? I find it quite upsetting.

  Again, her response was quick.

  Claire, I’m sorry to hear you find it upsetting. Yes, of course. I will speak to everyone, say we have talked and that you’ve requested we don’t. I certainly don’t think we should, anyway. We don’t want to get the way of the police doing their job.

  Thank you, Wendy.

  Claire, just so you know, Killian is no longer part of CMSP.

  Killian had founded the group ten years ago, and was the most active member on the page, rallying people, motivating them to do things for me (regardless of me wanting them to or not). I couldn’t understand why he would leave. When I asked her why, her response made my blood run cold.

  He didn’t leave. We banned him from the group.

  Chapter 28

  6th September 2018

  St Ives, Cambridgeshire

  After discovering Killian had been kicked out of the group he created, I pushed Wendy for more details. She became evasive, but confided that he hadn’t followed the group’s rules. Maybe they found out he had followed me in Ireland, and that he had taken photographs of me in Kanturk, when I was visiting Owen. If it definitely had been him in Ireland, of course. Maybe that wasn’t allowed. I had never wanted to know what their rules were as they were obviously a code of conduct outlining what they could and could not say to me. After finding out Killian had broken them, I felt I needed to know. I didn’t tell Mum about Killian, as I knew she had enough to worry about at the moment. After we finished our drinks and cakes we left for home, the walk back to the car feeling much more oppressive than before. The world was once again staring at me with eyes that lived in the roofs, the trees and lampposts.

  When we got home the photographers had gone. Satisfied with what they’d got, or perhaps bored by the lack of anything scandalous. I didn’t care either way – I was just pleased that they had left. The police remained, for now, though I imagined they’d leave soon too. Mum offered to stay for the day, but as we made our way home Penny messaged back, saying she would love to come over for a takeaway and a glass of wine. The takeaway sounded good, but I knew I’d not be able to drink. It dulled my senses and although I knew I was perfectly safe as long as the police stayed close by, I couldn’t take the risk. Not again. So, Mum came in, checked the house was as it should be and left, telling me to call if I needed her. I promised I would, before closing the door and watching her through the living room window as she got into her car and drove the short distance home.

  Once she was out of sight, I felt very aware of being on my own again. To distract myself I made a list of things I needed to do, just in case someone came for me. I removed my necklace, feeling naked as soon as I did, and unlocked, then relocked all of the windows in the house. I did the same with the front and back door before placing my necklace back on. Flicking the keys in my fingers I counted them off, happy all four were in their rightful place. Still, I wasn’t feeling entirely settled, perhaps because I had frozen like a rabbit earlier in the day. Something I couldn’t aff
ord to do if it came down to it. To combat it, I put an old tennis racquet near the front door, and a snooker cue that belonged to Geoff near the back. Just in case someone got in. I even placed a small pair of scissors in my bedside drawer. I almost put a knife there, but there was something too intimidating, too frightening about becoming a person who needed a blade beside her bed. After the checks, I paced around the house, cleaning and preparing, as Penny messaged telling me she would be at mine for 6 p.m. The iPad was never far away, the camera playing for me to see.

  True to her word, at three minutes to, I heard two people talking outside. I glanced at the camera and could see the top of Penny’s head and the helmet of a police officer. I watched as Penny explained rather animatedly to the police officer who she was and why she was there. I could just make out the words ‘why else would I have a bottle of wine?’ filter through the front door.

  Knowing my friend needed rescuing, I made my way to the door and unlocked the deadbolt before placing my hand on the Yale lock to open it. She was just outside, talking with a police officer, and yet I paused before opening the gateway between my safe little world, and the big wide one. As the door squeaked ajar, both sets of eyes turned from each other.

  ‘It’s OK, she’s my friend.’

  ‘I see, Mrs Moore. Sorry, we’ve only got your family on the list.’

  ‘I am family!’ Penny chimed in.

  ‘It’s OK, officer, thank you.’

  He smiled, nodded and headed back to his car. Opposite my house and one door down.

  ‘Have a nice evening,’ Penny called, as he left. ‘Jesus, what’s that all about?’

  ‘They wanted me to go somewhere else, you know, with what’s happened. I said no.’

  ‘You said no?’

  ‘Yep,’ I replied, unable to hide the pride in my voice.

  ‘Good for you,’ she said, punching me in the arm. ‘You gonna let me in?’

  ‘Yeah. Come on in.’

  Penny stepped past me and made a beeline for the kitchen to open the rosé she clutched in her arms. I stepped in after her, looking down the street in both directions just before closing and locking the door. With both glasses full to the brim, she gingerly made her way into the lounge, placed the drinks on the Ikea coffee table Geoff had bought me despite my protests, and plonked herself on the sofa, kicking her shoes off like it was any other day.

  ‘I’m bloody starving, please tell me you’re ready to order a Chinese?’

  ‘Yes, let’s do it.’

  ‘Marvellous, the usual?’

  ‘Please, I’ll get cash.’

  ‘Nah, it’s my turn to pay. You got it last time.’

  Technically, it was her turn to pay. However, she must have paid eighty per cent of the time so really, I should have got the takeaways for the next six months. But I didn’t argue, because she was like Mum in that respect – once she had made up her mind, that was that. Perhaps that’s why she was my only friend. She and Mum were so similar in so many ways: strong, independent, unfettered. Everything I wished I was. As she ordered the food I couldn’t help but smile. Penny really was a great friend because instead of fussing over me, asking if I was coping, tiptoeing around the fact I was a complete mess, she acted like it was just another takeaway on a normal Thursday evening.

  The food came at just after seven and as I opened the foil lids, releasing the aroma of my chow mein, I suddenly felt famished and Penny and I ate in silence, apart from the odd grunt of satisfaction.

  She talked about her husband, how he was doing and said he sent his love. She updated me on her job being typically impossible to do well. She had been a social worker for eight years, and I had no idea how she coped with the stress and volatility she was exposed to daily. Eventually, she asked about me and how I was holding up. I told her I was OK, but that I didn’t want to go into any details because I needed a break from my head – of course she understood and changed the subject. Future holidays. A potential career change within social services. All things normal. In fact, it was the first time in a long time I’d felt normal around another person, and although I didn’t talk much, it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward. It was nice to hear about all things in Penny’s life; it reassured me the world went on spinning, regardless.

  Penny left about eleven and I watched through the living room curtain as she zigzagged down my drive, waving to the police officer before disappearing from sight. I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be that carefree, and that drunk. I’d poured most of my wine back into the bottle when she went to the loo, topping my glass up with lemonade to make a very weak spritzer. She’d happily consumed the rest, and I could almost hear the phone call tomorrow telling me she was never drinking again, until the next time.

  I went into the kitchen to have a cup of tea before bed and felt jubilant that this was the first night sleeping on my own since the news came through about Wales. Even though I felt OK, I didn’t have the strength to open the windows, letting the hot, still air of the house escape. But I didn’t feel like I would have a fretful night either, thanks to some time with Penny. I made my tea and switched off all the downstairs lights, bar the hallway, and made my way upstairs. The house felt silent, pensive, but not oppressive. As I climbed into bed, I had a message ping through from Penny telling me she was home OK, and that she – rather predictably – was never drinking again. I also messaged Paul. Again, he didn’t message back. But that was OK. He wasn’t mine to dictate to, and I knew I’d wake up to a message from him in the morning.

  I wanted to sleep, but the compulsive part of me needed to check the windows again, wondered whether I’d left my hair straighteners on despite not using them for months, or if I’d left the fridge open. I knew I wouldn’t settle until I’d checked, so I rolled out of bed and padded to the window. Pulling back the curtain slightly, I looked and sure enough they were both closed. As I already knew. I saw that in the last half an hour a mist had descended on the road. Weird for the end of summer, but not that weird. This was England, after all, and on the edge of the fens the weather was different to any other part of the country. The tiny water droplets hanging on the air made the street lamp light outside my house look otherworldly, the light refracting around the moisture, illuminating the air. It reminded me of winter, and I missed the days when wrapping up in layers and stepping out for my morning coffee at my usual time meant I could watch the sunrise. I looked from the lamppost to the car on the other side of the road; the police officer inside looked like he was asleep. Then, just before stepping away, I scanned right. A man dressed entirely in black was standing further down the road, looking back through the lens of a camera. The photographers hadn’t gone. Bastards. I was in my nightwear, about to go to sleep. Had they no compassion?

  I wanted to flip him a middle finger but thought better of it, and as soon as the photographer saw I had seen him, he walked away, probably concerned I would notify the sleeping policeman and tell him I was being harassed. He was right to worry because that was exactly what I would do.

  I didn’t get a good look at his face to help with that, so opening my iPad I went through the security-camera footage to see if I could get a glimpse, enough to point him out to the police officer, anyway. First, I went back too far and when I slowed the footage down, I watched Penny walking away, wave to the police officer in the car and then stumble home. I hit fast forward again, and the night moved on at three times the normal speed. I saw the photographer and slowed the footage down. I watched as he made his way towards the police car first, peering inside to make sure the officer was asleep before walking away more confidently. Frustratingly, his back was to the camera. Then he stopped in the place I had seen him, and I saw him take his camera out and turn, showing me his face.

  Even with the image grainy, and the man shrouded in the mist, I thought I knew who it was. I couldn’t be completely sure but the man in the image looked a lot like Killian.

  Chapter 29

  6th September 2018

 
Wrexham, Wales

  Sipping his wine, he smiled when he thought he should and made agreeable noises now and then to feign listening to the woman sat opposite him. He held her gaze when she looked his way. When she wasn’t, which was often as her eyes wandered when she rambled about her work, he surveyed the dimly lit restaurant that was still taking food orders, despite it being so late into the night.

  As he looked, he saw an attractive woman sat opposite a considerably older and fatter man who sat upright like a lord at his table. He assumed she was probably with him for the money. He couldn’t see the face of the man as his back was to him, but the woman looked bored and didn’t try to hide it. She looked as bored as he felt listening to his date drone on.

  There was an older couple to his left, neither talking, sitting in companionable silence. They knew how each other worked, how the other one thought, and so speech became unnecessary. It was a nice thought, although truthfully, they were probably bored as well. In fact, looking around the rest of the restaurant, he felt the room was suffused with boredom. The only person who seemed content was a man sitting by himself, a man in his late twenties perhaps, completely at peace with the fact he was alone in a restaurant which was set up for romance. The man was reading a novel entitled Play Dead. He smiled at the title.