by Nikki Dudley
“Can I help you with anything?”
“No”, Thom says, clasping his hands together. “I think the only one who might be able to help is Daniel”. He grimaces, reminding himself of the impossible.
“What’s so confusing about it all?” I ask, wondering what it is that Thom knows. Does he know Daniel was pushed? Is he looking for me without realizing it?
“I’m not sure I should be talking to you about this”, Thom begins tapping the step with his clenched fist. “I should’ve talked to Emma, if anyone. She cares about me but… she’s just been so far away”. He is toiling with himself in front of my eyes. I know I must act in order to get him to trust me, so I reach across and place my hand on his knee. He looks up sharply.
“I’m here for you Thom”, I vow. He doesn’t know how much I mean it but even a fraction of it is enough for him. His ignorance over my physical attention is beginning to lose its simplicity. He must acknowledge me soon, either positively or negatively.
“You’re right, you have been. And that’s what I told Emma…” he reassures me, hoping he won’t have to get any closer to me for now. I can’t tell if he would like to or not, now or ever...
I wish I could ask you what you think, Mum.
“I do want to talk to someone… but when she asked me last night, I knew it wasn’t her I wanted to tell”. Thom is thrashing with his conscience, guilt, and the desire inside.
“Who do you want to tell?” I ask; praying please say me, please say me.
“I can’t be sure of anything anymore”. Thom ruffles his own hair as though he is trying to perk himself up. Then unexpectedly, he leans his head onto my shoulder. Like a parent who hasn’t been in their child’s life for years and suddenly is faced with comforting them, or a person who hates animals and finds themselves having to care for one's wounds, I don’t know how to respond initially. I just let his head rest there. Somehow a shoulder is always a perfect pillow.
My heart is thudding heavily – heavier than the moment before I pushed Daniel onto those tracks? I can’t decide. I can only think clearly about the present: Thom’s beard poking through my jumper, the dull smell of chocolate on his breath, his increasingly wavy hair squashed against my neck.
“I think Daniel knew he was going to die”, Thom mutters, just when I have started to believe my heart can’t race any quicker. Or rather instead, stop completely.
The world is swaying slightly, yet the cars continue to chug by, the trees continue to stand motionless in the icy air, and Thom continues to hold his breath.
“What?” I say because it’s the easiest thing to say. In a million films and books and useless conversations, people have said ‘what’ in response to questions for lack of something better. I am disappointed I have joined the masses on this one.
“I’ve been finding things he left behind…” Thom whispers, keeping it a secret from those cars and those trees. “It all points to him knowing”.
A shudder makes my back spasm and I am sure Thom feels it but perhaps he attributes it to the peculiar notion he has just suggested. It is probably how he first reacted when the facts finally crystallized into sense.
“How could he know?” I splutter. Thom reaches his hand across my stomach and grabs onto my rib. I wonder if this is the moment when he will reveal he knows, when he will squeeze me so hard that my heart will suffocate and die. Yet he doesn’t move after the initial movement, just grasps onto the place where he has seized initially.
“He left a letter, a note, notebooks and clues and rubbish. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it all”. Thom isn’t crying but his fingers are beginning to clutch so fiercely that they are settling into the structure of my rib bones. It’s as though he wants to dig a way in and hide himself.
“What did he write?” I almost plead. Thom doesn’t notice that I am asking the wrong question. He accepts it because he doesn’t know what to ask either.
“He wrote terrible things or maybe I did, I still don’t know”. Thom sinks into my shoulder further, a rock sinking in quicksand. “He knew when he was going to die”, Thom adds so quietly I almost don’t hear it, or maybe I just wish I hadn’t.
I’m glad that Thom is on my shoulder because although he thinks it’s for his benefit, to hide his face, I am relieved he can’t see mine. If he could, he would see my curls shivering and my eye-lashes flicking in unison. He would see guilt screaming out of my pores and features like a spontaneous eruption.
“Did he know how?” I ask, realising that Daniel did but trying to gauge what Thom knows.
“He wrote down the train station”, Thom answers and begins digging into his pocket. This causes him pain, as his palms are still raw underneath the bandages. Finally he drags a piece of paper out, as wrinkled and as ragged as his beard. He hands it to me and I can barely move my fingers to open it. Before me are words, words that would seem irrelevant to someone else, someone who didn’t know Daniel, someone who didn’t push him.
Highbury and Islington station. 15:30 Sunday.
I stare at the words until they seem as hard as brick, as though Daniel is head butting me. And I have only one thought: it says the wrong time; it should say 15:32.
29 Disclosure
Once Thom shows Sarah the note, and tells her about his beliefs, his investigation seems to spill out of him. One tiny incision and Sarah has unleashed a waterfall. Unknown to him, Sarah has struck at exactly the right time and will easily gain the knowledge she thought she would have to work much harder to attain.
From the front step, Thom takes Sarah upstairs and shows her the notebook (but doesn’t let her read it), he shows her the collection of items he took from the lock up, he tells her about the lock up and how Daniel left it specifically for him, he tells her he met someone who has proof Daniel knew about his own death in advance.
Despite Thom’s disclosures, Sarah doesn’t reveal her own clues; such as the combination she discovered last night. She makes the noises of someone who is surprised to learn about Daniel and the prior knowledge of his own death. Yet there are some surprises. After all, Sarah has no idea there were such a multitude of clues and taunting items that had been left behind.
Thom can’t help drawing parallels between Sarah and Emma, in particular the way he has responded to both asking the same questions. What does that mean for him and Emma? What does it mean for him and Sarah? Thom feels he might already know the answer but he shrugs his thoughts away.
Sarah seems fascinated by his discoveries. He imagines he is a detective again, revealing all the answers to a less superior counterpart, and he delights in showing her some of his findings and delights equally in holding parts back.
He lets Sarah touch the objects from the lock up but it physically pains him. With each fingerprint she leaves on them, he feels his muscles tensing. Eventually he has to collect them up and put them away again without explanation. She begins moving towards the notebook but Thom snatches it up.
“I’d rather you didn’t”, he says and shoves it into a drawer. Sarah tosses her hair, unconcerned and runs her hand over the note, which is still on the bed in front of her.
“So this was your first clue?” Sarah questions, not looking up.
“Yes. I found it in Daniel’s room just before his funeral”.
“I thought nobody was supposed to go in there?” Sarah half-mocks him but he doesn’t appreciate it.
“Well I have more of a right than you do”, Thom snaps and throws himself down on the end of the bed. Sarah instantly apologises. Silence fills the room like a flood and Thom closes his eyes, letting it conquer him.
“Have you told Val or Richard about this?” Sarah asks after a few minutes. Thom reluctantly reopens his eyes and turns towards her.
“Would you?”
“It would be pretty devastating for them”.
“Do you think I should tell them?”
“No”, Sarah answers harshly, and then coughs gently, “I mean… it probably wouldn’t help anyon
e if you did”. Thom nods gratefully but doesn’t realise Sarah is only protecting herself. Yet, Thom also knows he is running on a stopwatch, sooner or later Aunty Val or Richard will start asking questions about his behaviour and actions. If the positions were reversed, he would’ve asked ages ago.
“It feels good to share some of this”, Thom tells Sarah, who smiles whilst wrapping her hair around one of her fingers. It does feel good but, equally, Thom feels as though it’s been easier than it should’ve been. How can the words slip off the tongue like soft butter, yet have such a heavy impact like a bludgeoning? Thom feels betrayed by his secrets.
“I’m so happy you decided to tell me what you’ve been thinking”.
This troubles Thom. Has he really told her what he’s ‘thinking’? No, he has shown her some physical things that he’s been consumed with. Has he told her how he feels isolated? Has he told her how he feels guilty and sad about Daniel? Has he told her he can’t stop thinking about her red underwear and her black curls? No to all the above. She thinks she has submerged her head in his mind but she has only dipped a finger in.
“What are you going to do now?” Sarah persists.
What a question. Thom thinks and thinks more. He imagines he is in an interview and tries to think of an answer rapidly but it’s not possible. After several minutes of bending his fingers backwards and forwards he says, “I’m going to keep trying. I don’t know how but I’ll keep trying”.
As Thom speaks, he studies Sarah. At his words, he notices an odd flick of her head, a jut or a tick. Her chest is rising rapidly. Her forehead looks clammy. If he saw her in a lift now, he would guess she is having a panic attack. Yet she isn’t in a lift, she’s sitting on his bed having a quiet discussion. What is happening?
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine”, Sarah answers hastily. She gives Thom a wide-eyed look, pleading for him not to assault her and suddenly he thinks of her being attacked by the man in the street. He doesn’t want to make her feel afraid. Why is he always so suspicious? Perhaps she is just hot or feeling a little ill, what business is it of his?
“Sarah, tell me about your family”. Thom changes the subject, hoping this will relax her. Instead her face goes through several expressions in succession and Thom wants to kick himself. Her family were probably killed in some freak accident, he sighs inside.
“What do you want to know?” Sarah attempts a smile and Thom gets a sense she is stalling. More paranoia? Probably.
“Anything. I don’t mind”.
“Okay”. Sarah pretends to be selecting information or memories but really she is constructing lies. Thom waits patiently, allowing her more time than he should.
“I have a brother called Peter who’s three years older. He lives in Scotland now”, she pauses and hastily adds, “my Mum and Dad live in the country so I don’t see them much either”.
“When is the last time you saw them?”
“Probably one of their birthdays, I can’t remember exactly”.
“Do you all get on?” Thom is getting nothing from the questions. What he wants to ask is; did the stranger tell the truth about you? Why haven’t you mentioned your family before?
“Yes, mostly. All families have their problems sometimes”, Sarah dismisses him confidently; anyone would’ve believed her.
“When you were having problems with your rent, couldn’t you have asked them for help?”
“I was embarrassed really”. She shrugs. It’s moments like these she's had recently, when Sarah has begun to feel like a ‘normal’ person, who can have a conversation, who can answer unpredictable questions. Other times, she regresses and implicates herself without even trying.
“I understand. Sometimes it’s hard to ask for help, especially from those closest to you”.
“I’m glad I didn’t ask them because I wouldn’t have met you otherwise”, Sarah says quietly, bowing her head as though she has just told him the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to her. She is a frightened innocent in this moment and her hushed confession makes Thom’s obsession with Daniel thaw, for a few moments at least.
Thom gets up and moves next to her. She doesn’t look up as he scratches her cheek with his thumbnail. He wishes he didn’t have these bandages on anymore. He wants to press his palm against her warm cheek. Thom moves his thumb over her lips and she opens her mouth slightly, still keeping her eyes down. Thom wonders if she is only complying with his touch out of fear. Should he stop?
He can hear her swallowing, frozen except for her tongue brushing a layer of moistness over her lips. Thom touches the wetness with his thumb and imagines it is his tongue instead. Sarah hasn’t met his gaze yet and Thom worries briefly, she is staring at his erection. Yet with most thoughts in this area, the worry quickly disperses.
Thom is about to boil over with tension, her icy ignorance acting in reverse. Hoping she won’t scream, he kisses her. She finally meets his eyes, wide but not afraid, and grabs onto him. They kiss like they are grappling; it is hard, oddly diamagnetic. He finds, although she tries so hard to seem cold, her skin is as warm as other women’s.
Thom isn’t sure who pushes back first; he is still kissing her in his mind. His unfounded obsession with her has been partly indulged; he has felt those lips again and crushed her bouncy curls between his fingers. Strangely he also feels the desire to do it again turning his stomach like a violent urge to vomit.
They stare at each other for a few seconds, perhaps unsure that what they have done is ‘right’, perhaps still shocked that it has occurred, perhaps wanting more. Sarah stands up, smoothing her top as she does. As she passes Thom, she grazes the side of his neck with her fingers. Thom closes his eyes and a second later hears the door being closed with the same tenderness.
30 The Red Lock
I don’t leave the house until the next day; bathing in the moment Thom removed the gap between us, holding our desire and curiosity in a violent whirlpool. He has calmed the waters with his soothing kiss and transferred the whirlpool into my stomach and my bouncing heartbeat.
I spent the evening sitting across from him whilst the family watched TV together, remembering the tough bristle of his stubble making my chin grow a rash and go slightly pink. Later, I stared at the rash and only felt happy. In the living room as I sat across from him, he looked over only once, neither smiling nor frowning, perhaps winking at me without moving at all.
I have forgiven him for telling Emma I know nothing, as he has now confided in me. He has let me get closer to him. She is irrelevant now. He can’t want her if he kissed me, can he? He must think about me too. He must want me to help him like I always thought I needed to.
Yet I am still following up the address I found. Daniel must have left it there for me. I have an obligation to go to the address and see what is there waiting. Perhaps it is just something to tease me, perhaps there will be nothing there at all, or perhaps there will be something important there like I fear.
I can easily give this up, I tell myself. I can easily go back to the house and take Thom to bed with me, make him forget about Daniel too. I’m sure if I try I can dominate his attention and make Daniel release his talons on Thom’s mind.
More than half of me wants to take this option. More than half of me wants to jump on a new train and leave Daniel’s one behind where it belongs. Yet like the blood will always remain in traces on that tunnel wall, on the platform, underneath its chugging feet – similarly, he will chew on the corner of my mind until I do as he wants. He has left this message for me, as he’d left the note for Thom and we are pathetic to his remains. We are both like animals picking at his carcass.
This is why I am standing outside a post office with an address written in my mind. This is why I am reeling it off and checking it against the street sign on the corner. This is why.
But, Mum, I’m so afraid of what I might find. Will you stay with me?
The post office is a discreet looking building. There is nothing spect
acular about it. As the clock had spoken to me on the day I pushed Daniel, the post office is tipping his hat to me. He is opening the door repeatedly, asking me inside. He is poking his tongue out.
I finally grab hold of his tongue and enter the post office. It’s much more spacious inside than I expect, it is as wide as a concert hall. There are people queuing with their parcels, letters, and bill payments. I am searching for where the address intends to lead me, panic swelling up my throat. Finally, the sign floats into vision that reads ‘Lockers’. An arrow points towards the back of the building.
This way, Mum…
I skip towards it; past the lines of people sending things to those they love or know, to the place where I think someone might have cared enough to leave something for me. Although what could Daniel possibly have left here? And do I really want to see it? The point is, he knew I’d find the clue. Thom missed it because he couldn’t see things properly; it may as well have been invisible. This clue is definitely mine.
I greet the lockers with an ecstatic cry, as though I am meeting old friends. I reach out and touch their metal bodies, checking they aren’t apparitions. They are definitely real. They are cold and smooth and beautiful. Dancing around the locker room, I count up the numbers until I finally reach my beloved – locker 11.
I chuckle to myself at the sight of the red lock securing it. He really has thought of everything and then with that thought, I frown. He has planned so much. He knew more about me than I seem to. How did he know I love the colour red? He has used it several times to speak to me. How did this stranger know all about me? And be certain that I would push him to his death?
I shake the thoughts away and instantly begin to turn the dials to the four numbers from the drawer, not shocked by it; I line them up like perfect soldiers to combination 1530. Again, I want to correct it. Perhaps I should reset it to the correct time and afterwards go home and change the time on Thom’s note with a red pen. That would be irony for Daniel, wouldn’t it? Correcting his note like a schoolteacher, with the only colour appropriate for such tasks.