Closer Than You Think

by Darren O’Sullivan

  ‘Claire, everything all right?’ he asked softly as he stood.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you want me to leave so you can get dressed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, confused. He didn’t move, but held my gaze, and the intensity between us grew.

  ‘Do you still want to know what happened?’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes. I do.’ He paused. ‘But only when you’re ready.’

  ‘You know about the bolt cutters and what he did with them?’ I said, to which he nodded and looked at my foot. ‘They printed in the papers that I was unconscious when it happened. I wasn’t. I lied because I didn’t want pity.’

  ‘You were awake?’

  ‘I was groggy, but yes, I remember every second of that moment.’

  ‘Oh, Claire.’

  ‘He took my toes and dropped them into the bath, on Owen, and then poured petrol on him. I wish I’d had the foresight to lean over and look at him one last time. All I have of him that night is the image of his limp arm. But even that’s as if I’m seeing it through fog. He put down the bolt cutters afterwards, and that was when I grabbed them. These…’ I turned so my right side faced him and nudged down my towel, to expose the scars on my ribs, ‘are from the struggle with him. I don’t remember all the details, but I think I hit him with the bolt cutters, and then as I tried to flee, he hit me back. He broke three of my ribs. I also had cuts and bruises on my face.’

  ‘You fought him?’

  ‘I guess so. That’s what they say. They say that after I hit him, he panicked and fled, setting the fire first, of course. Apparently, I had some of the petrol on me, and when he lit the bathtub, my foot caught alight. And this—’ I said, holding out my forearm ‘—is where I fell from the bathroom window as I escaped.’

  I could see Paul was horrified by what I was telling him; I wouldn’t have expected anything less. But it felt good for me to say it. I was expecting him to talk, to want more details, but instead he gently touched my back, my scars. My reaction was to pull away. I stopped myself, reminded myself that I wanted this. I wanted to finally bare all. Taking the tucked-in edge of the towel in my hand I pulled on the fold. As the towel dropped to the floor, he stepped back. Our eyes locked. I reached for his hand and placed it on my stomach, running it along the scar tissue. Paul looked at what he was touching, seeing the angry smile carved into me for the first time.

  ‘When I woke up after being drugged, this had already happened. I didn’t know then, but this would be the injury that would stop me being able to have any children of my own.’

  He looked back at me, trying to remain neutral, but I saw sadness in his eyes.

  Paul then did something I wasn’t ready for. He lowered his head and kissed along the scar that ran up my forearm. His touch was gentle, tender and one that sent electricity flooding though my body. It was the first time I had let anyone touch there that wasn’t my mum or a doctor. It felt weird, like I was doing something illicit, and part of me wanted to stop him, to turn off the lights, to hide. But that part of me had already notched a victory against the rest of me this evening in the power cut when it rendered me useless. I couldn’t let it win again. I had to show I was in charge.

  I closed my eyes and allowed Paul to continue. He kissed the pink tear in my skin and up my arm before sitting on the bed, his head now level with the scars on my ribs. As he ran his thumb over them, I felt goose bumps rise across my entire body. What we were doing felt dangerous, wild. He placed a kiss on my ribs and kissed down my stomach to the pink, fractured mass of tissue that made me feel ugly, and I felt my body tense. I was naked, in a bright room. I was with the man I was fond of – no, in love with – and I was being as brave as I had ever been. But still, the part of me that wanted to cower in the corner, a knife clenched between my shaking hands, wanted to push forward. He must have sensed it because he stopped looking at my stomach and instead looked up at me, his gaze intense and passionate. My body didn’t horrify him; I could see in his eyes he wanted to stay. He wanted me, and I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to want it all, the scars I carried, the past I held onto, the secrets I had.

  I smiled at him and ran my fingers through his hair, gently pushing his face against my body. He kissed my stomach, first around the scar, then on it. His warm lips soothed me. Without speaking he stood and kissed me on the lips fervently, and while doing so I undid his belt and wrestled with the buttons of his jeans, laughing when I couldn’t undo them. He laughed too before unfastening them and taking them off. Then, I lifted his T-shirt over his head and looked at him in the same way he had looked at me. I realised then that I hadn’t seen his body in the light either – he hadn’t stepped from the shower with a towel around his waist; he hadn’t changed in front of me.

  As I kissed him once more, he slid down his underwear and I couldn’t help but look. This was the first time either of us had seen the other undressed and I had to have him. I pushed him on the bed and climbed on top of him, my legs either side of his naked torso. I watched as his eyes moved from mine to my body all the way down past my stomach and between my thighs. I waited to see his expression change to one that was repulsed.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ I dared to ask, expecting him to say he was thinking my scars were hideous or that he wanted to turn the lights off again. But he didn’t.

  ‘That you are beautiful.’

  Leaning in, I kissed him again, and I could feel him pressing into the inside of my thigh, close to where he would slip inside. As we kissed, he touched my body, my breasts, my scars, and it was terrifying and sexy as hell in equal measure.

  I was naked; I was in the light, for the first time in a long time. I felt attractive. Not because of him telling me he found me beautiful, but because I volunteered to be seen. I instigated it. I let myself show all, and I felt empowered. From this moment, I knew I could never go back.

  Leaning close to his ear, I told him I needed him and reaching down I took him in my hand, slipping him inside.

  Chapter 35

  27th September 2018

  Wrexham, Wales

  As he pushed his pound coin into the lock of the trolley, ready to buy food he didn’t need, he thought about how he knew she – the new potential ninth – would be in the same supermarket shopping. He concluded, based on his observations of humanity, that as people got older, they became more predictable. It was as if their subconscious tried to fight the fact they knew they were ageing, their lives getting shorter day by day, and they hung onto the security of menial tasks to slow the process down. The more bored, the more routine they became, the more time they thought they had. It was sad, really – but he could use it to his advantage.

  The potential did her weekly shop at the same Waitrose, at the same time every Thursday morning, after her Pilates class. It hadn’t taken long, only two weeks, to see the trend. This was the third Thursday since their eyes locked in that restaurant, and he was ninety-nine per cent sure she would not let him down. Monday’s she saw her mother, Saturdays she shopped in nearby Wrexham, meeting with friends at the same time for coffee. He mused she was slightly older and slightly wealthier than his usual target, but of all of them thus far, she had been the easiest to follow. That night at the restaurant, he faked a message, telling the persistent talker he was dining with, Jennifer, that the daughter he’d made up was poorly and he had to leave. He apologised to her profusely, and she told him not to say sorry, that they could catch up another time? Perhaps another dinner? He agreed, knowing full well he would toss the pay-as-you-go mobile with the number she had. She would no doubt feel aggrieved when she discovered he wouldn’t ever call. What Jennifer wouldn’t know is that him not calling would in fact save her life.

  As he’d stepped out into the September rain, already forgetting about his date, he’d watched as a black Range Rover sped past him, and the woman who stirred something primal inside him met his eye from her car window – her pale face wore a nervous expression. As they c
areered away he caught the registration plate, MR B1G. Naturally. After the taillights of the car had gone, he ran to his car, jumped in and drove quickly to catch up.

  He drove for several minutes but couldn’t see the Range Rover. It didn’t worry him, his instincts were guiding him, telling him to join the southbound A483, and within half a mile along the main dual carriageway, the number plate came back into view. Keeping his distance, he followed for around ten minutes before coming off for a small place called Ruabon. He followed until they turned into a close, Paddock Row, the road sign stating it was a dead end. He didn’t follow; he didn’t even look as he passed. They lived somewhere on that road, and would be easy enough to find, he was sure of it.

  Now, three weeks later, he was ready to speak to the woman he was so sure would be the ninth. He would find a way to intentionally ‘bump’ into her as they shopped. And when he did, one of three things would happen:

  She would place him instantly from the restaurant.

  She would think she knew his face, but not immediately recognise him.

  She wouldn’t recognise him at all.

  It didn’t matter really, he would manipulate her regardless because he knew she would judge as all people did. She would make assumptions based on what she saw before her, and then she would trust those assumptions.

  Browsing the aisle, he loaded items into his trolley that told a disarming story. He picked up Petits Filous yoghurts, nappies, wet wipes and baby food pouches, as well as other sundries you’d gather during the weekly shop. He intentionally placed the things for a child on the top, so that when he bumped into her and she glanced at his shopping, it would tell the story he wanted it to. He was no threat. He was someone to trust.

  It didn’t take long to test his theory. For as he browsed, she walked past in the opposite direction. After carefully tracking her movement around the supermarket, he staged their meeting. As he turned the corner in the cereal aisle she was coming the other way, her eyes on the shelves. He made it look like his were too, and midway down, their trolleys collided. The impact pushed her trolley into her side and she dropped the box of granola she was holding.

  Perfect.

  ‘Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,’ he said, his voice shocked and concerned, as he stepped around the trolley to pick up the box.

  ‘No, no it’s fine, it’s my fault, I wasn’t watching where I was going.’

  ‘No, really, I should have been more careful,’ he replied, dropping to one knee and picking up the cereal.

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled as she looked at him, her eyes telling him she knew his face, but she couldn’t place where from.

  ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’ he said, his concern believable.

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’ She smiled again, one that widened when she snapped a glance into his trolley.

  ‘Are you sure? I feel terrible,’ he said.

  ‘No, honestly, I’m fine.’

  ‘That’s a relief. Once again, I’m very sorry.’

  ‘No need to apologise.’

  ‘OK, well, I hope you have a lovely day,’ he said as he manoeuvred his trolley around her and away, knowing she was watching until he was gone.

  The seed had been planted, and it would germinate quickly.

  Half a trolley load later, he waited at the end of the freezer section for her to head towards the tills, her light grey leggings and bright red gym shoe combination making her easy to pick out in the mainly elderly mid-morning crowd. She stepped out four lanes from him and approached a till to pay. Keeping his head down he made his way towards one opposite her and queued.

  For a moment he thought he would miss her as the old lady in front was taking too much time by querying the price of something on her receipt, insisting it should have been in a deal. Her raised voice drew subtle glances from those nearest, judgemental looks they were too polite to have anyone else see. The potential ninth also looked, then she saw him behind her and smiled. He made a face to suggest the old lady was crazy, and she had to look away. He wasn’t being that funny, but she laughed, which meant the seed had taken hold. Eventually the old lady declared she would never shop there again before leaving, and he smiled politely as he bought the things he would later throw away.

  As he walked towards the entrance she was standing outside. The heavens had opened, and she had stopped, no doubt hoping the rain would pass. He had established their connection, and now it was time to cement it. He knew she had to be the next. Everything was telling him so.

  ‘Hello again,’ he said as he parked his trolley close to hers.

  ‘Rubbish weather.’

  ‘The joys of living on a small island in the Atlantic.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Looking up at the clouds, he spoke, enjoying how easy it was becoming to talk to potential victims. When he knew he needed to return to his calling after a decade of abstinence, he thought he would struggle to talk with the opposite sex – he hadn’t much engaged with them in his time off. But in fact, it was easier than when he had had to get to know the men he targeted in Ireland. ‘It looks like it will blow over quickly.’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping for. So, that woman in front of you, what was that about?’

  ‘I think she was bent out of shape because of two quid on her bill.’

  ‘Wow, some people. Life’s too short.’

  Perhaps shorter than you think.

  ‘Sorry, this sounds weird,’ she continued, ‘but do I know you from somewhere?’

  ‘I’ve had exactly the same thought.’ He smiled.

  ‘Oh, thank God. Makes you sound like a weirdo doesn’t it?’

  He laughed, enjoying her comment. ‘No, not at all. I’ve been wracking my brain to think where we might have met? Do you have kids?’ he asked, knowing the answer already.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, I thought I might have seen you at a soft play or something.’

  ‘I see you do,’ she said, looking into the trolley full of nappies and baby food.

  He lied. ‘Yes, one.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Nearly two. She’s a handful, but a lot of fun.’

  ‘I bet.’

  ‘I was so sure I recognised you from somewhere to do with kids?’

  ‘Nope, sadly. What gym do you go to?’ she asked.

  ‘Do I look like someone who goes to the gym?’ He laughed, even though since his metamorphosis he visited the gym regularly, and she laughed too. He couldn’t believe how easy this was. All because of a few nappies in a trolley and a disarming nature.

  ‘Then I have no idea.’

  ‘Me neither. I’m Jason.’

  ‘Lauren.’

  ‘Nice name.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He could see her blushing, her smile coy, enjoying the attention. He suspected this was the first positive attention she’d had in a while. Although all the signs pointed to her being the next one, he needed it confirmed, and that would take time. So, for now, he would let the seed that was sprouting grow stronger.

  ‘Right, well, I’d better dash. Gotta pick up Charlotte, my daughter, from the childminder. Maybe I’ll bump into you next week shopping. I’m such a creature of habit.’ He smiled, realizing the name he had just given to his made-up daughter was also the name of his first female victim.

  ‘Me too.’ She smiled back, for entirely different reasons.

  ‘Ahhh,’ he said, triumphantly pointing his finger into the air. ‘I bet that’s why we recognise each other. I bet we’ve seen one another shopping.’

  ‘Yes, I bet that’s it.’

  ‘Well, if I see you next week, I promise not to run you over.’

  She laughed again. ‘OK. Nice meeting you, Jason.’

  ‘You too, Lauren.’

  He walked towards his car, the rain soaking his neck, and as he loaded his bags he glanced back to see Lauren looking towards him. He offered a friendly wave before climbing behind the steering wheel and driving away.

  H
e would confirm one way or the other in seven days’ time. And then, once he knew for sure she was who he needed her to be, he would move in for the kill.

  As he merged with the A483 he smiled to himself, enjoying the fact it was so easy.

  Chapter 36

  27th September 2018

  Ely, Cambridgeshire

  A few nights at Paul’s had turned into a few weeks, and as much as I had loved being there, I was missing my own bed, my own things, my own space. After a decade of having only those things for comfort, to suddenly be without them was harder than I thought. The power cut and my subsequent meltdown was now something I was just about able to laugh about, and that told me it was time to go home. I needed some time to myself, not because I didn’t want to be around Paul. I did, I wanted him around always. His company was both liberating and made me feel secure all at once. I needed a night by myself for a much more fundamental reason. I needed to know I could be alone without having a panic attack and regressing to the woman I once was. I knew that if I didn’t do this, I would end up back at Mum’s, unable to do anything or go anywhere like the first few years after Ireland. One night, just me, without having the protection I felt with Paul beside me in bed. I hoped I could explain it to Paul the same way I justified it in my head. I knew I needed to be just me for a night – not Claire the survivor, or Claire the victim, not even Claire Moore, but just Claire.

  I told Paul, moments before he had to leave for his long drive up north for work. He made it clear he wasn’t happy and wanted to come back with me, told me he wouldn’t be able to sleep unless I was there. Hearing him say it, I almost conceded and agreed he could. But I knew I had to be strong and so I said no and watched as he seemed hurt by my decisiveness. I tried as best I could to explain my reasons, and his demeanour changed. He tried to understand, but he still didn’t think it was a good idea for me, he said that the idea made him nervous, and as I firmly told him I needed to do it he paced the lounge, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  ‘Paul, I will be fine.’