Intention: a compelling psychological thriller

by C. S. Barnes

  ‘She doesn’t want to be alive?’

  He winced again. I thought he might cry but the urge to weep seemed to pass as quickly as it had arrived. While Daniel battled with this new wave of emotion I looked down into my teacup, my hands still tightly clasped around it. It was the only thing I could think of to give him some privacy. I became so absorbed with this that I barely noticed Daniel moving towards me until I felt the inside of his hand rest around the outside of mine. I kept perfectly still, half-scared of making any sudden movements that would either disturb or develop this contact. I was unsure of which I wanted. Daniel gently kneaded his fingertips against my hand before pushing out a deep sigh.

  ‘Okay, I’m done on this for now, GT. Your move.’

  He leaned back in his chair, pulling his hand away, and I instantly missed the contact.

  ‘My move?’

  ‘It seems like something is up.’

  I didn’t realise Daniel was so perceptive.

  ‘It’s just my mum,’ I started, knowing that I needed to give him something. I had hoped that alone would be enough but when I looked up and found Daniel, wide-eyed and expectant, I saw that he needed more. ‘She keeps asking about you, that’s all.’

  Daniel gave a half-laugh. ‘And that’s what this trouble is over? She’s your ma, she’s meant to ask questions.’

  ‘She’s nervous, I think.’

  ‘That’s understandable too.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re her baby?’

  Daniel and I were coming at this from very different angles, I had to remind myself.

  ‘No, I mean, I think she’s nervous that I’m going to hurt you.’

  And just like that, the truth was out.

  ‘Pfft, you must be a real heart-breaker, GT.’

  ‘I don’t think I understand.’

  Another laugh emerged as Daniel rubbed at the back of his neck. ‘Usually parents worry about their own kids getting hurt, especially when it’s a girl. No offence, obviously. I mean, usually a parent isn’t worried about the other kid getting hurt, so for your mum to be worried about me and not you, that must make you a love ’em and leave ’em kinda girl, do you see?’

  Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. 2011. Jonathan Safran Foer. ‘Why couldn’t I be the kind of person who stays?’

  ‘I understand, but I don’t think that’s it, really.’

  ‘No? A girl like you hasn’t left a trail of emotional devastation behind her?’

  I flinched. A girl like me.

  ‘You’re quite lovely to look at, Gillian,’ he added, as though he’d noticed my reaction.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Which is a good thing,’ he offered.

  Of all the possible connotations and meanings I could have attached to what Daniel meant by ‘a girl like me’, my physical make-up wouldn’t have even made the top ten. I knew it was a good thing. But it was also a new thing, a slightly uncomfortable thing.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He moved his hand back around mine. ‘So you’re not planning on breaking my heart, then?’

  ‘It’s not in my summer timetable, no.’

  We shared a smile which evolved into a laugh. But after a minute Daniel came back down to earth. His smile drained away and was replaced by something inexplicably pensive.

  ‘Did I say–’

  ‘Sorry, no, you didn’t say anything, GT.’ He stalled here but the explanation was clearly incomplete. He pulled in a long breath before he continued. ‘It feels a bit wrong, sometimes, starting something with you.’ I didn’t know what expression my own face fell into then but whatever it was, it prompted a quick chorus of apologies from Daniel. ‘Christ, I didn’t mean that how it came out, at all. I just meant with Emily, and what’s happening with Emily. You and I will outlive her, you know? There’s something – I don’t know, there’s something sort of weird about that.’

  I’d never thought about it in those terms, but yes, I supposed there was something peculiar about it. But there was also something a little bit exciting.

  ‘Tea?’ I thought that we might have had enough tea but Daniel nodded anyway.

  I moved from his eyeline to make the beverage that I didn’t even want to drink, all for the sake of giving him the space he needed to talk. And this, I thought, was the sort of sacrifice you had to make when you liked someone, feeling pleased with this sudden understanding. While I hovered about the kitchen Daniel talked his way through a spectrum of emotions. He tried so hard to find the right words while overlooking the one that would summarise everything he had just said: Daniel felt guilty. It wasn’t a feeling that I had first-hand experience of, but I knew enough of it to recognise the symptoms.

  ‘She knows about you and everything, and she’s really happy,’ he said as I placed the refilled cup down in front of him.

  I smiled, unsure of what I was meant to take from this. ‘How can she be happy?’

  Although it was likely rhetorical, I couldn’t help but put some real thought into this.

  ‘Something has happened, and I know that I shouldn’t be telling anyone this, but I really feel like I need to,’ Daniel said, changing the tone then.

  I felt what I thought must have been empathy. Unknowingly, Daniel had just described my entire life in one sentence. I nodded to indicate that I understood, more than he could know. His hand was tucked around mine when he began talking again, but as he spoke I shifted, quickly wrapping my fingers around his and allowing them to settle there, our extremities comfortably intertwined.

  ‘You can trust me,’ I said, and I think we both believed it.

  ‘It’s so hard to see someone you love in pain every day and not be able to help them,’ he started. ‘And up until recently I would have done anything, like, actually anything, to help her. But now, she’s asked me to help her to do something, like a dying wish – I don’t even know what you’d call it – but it’s something I’m not sure about. I mean, I’m not sure I can do it. Instead I just leave her there.’ His voice picked up in volume as he raised an outstretched arm and gestured somewhere beyond the kitchen. Towards the hospital, I assumed. ‘I leave her there and I tell her to have a good hard think about what she’s actually asked me to do, like I’m bloody reprimanding her.’

  There was a satisfying twinge in my stomach. Daniel had moved carefully around the issue, I’ll admit, but I could take a perverse and reasonably well-educated guess at what had happened. Or more specifically, I could guess at what a dying woman might ask of her carer. I squeezed his hand to pull his attention back to me and watched as his expression slowly softened.

  ‘Daniel, could I meet her?’ I asked, more curious than ever about the woman in question.

  He smiled and returned my squeeze.

  ‘I think she’d really like that, GT, yeah.’

  Chapter 15

  Emily remained hospital-bound for longer than anticipated after that. An infection had found its way into her system after her most recent stint of exploratory surgery – ‘An infection, in a hospital. Christ, what sort of place are they even running?’ Daniel had asked, understandably frustrated and irrational – which detained her for several days longer than originally expected. Even following her release she wasn’t firing on all cylinders, so Daniel said, but he wanted her to meet me anyway. Neither of us would say so, but I suspected a concern was lingering inside

  Daniel by then: if I didn’t meet Emily soon, I might not have a chance to meet her at all.

  ‘Only if you’re comfortable meeting her, GT. This is a big step, I know.’

  ‘A big step?’

  ‘You know, meeting the family and all.’

  ‘No, it’s a great idea for me to meet her,’ I said, brushing over the fact that it had been my idea to do so in the first instance.

  We entered Emily’s bedroom – the would-be dining room of the house – as a team, Daniel holding the door open and stepping in close behind me. The space was an end-of-li
fe sanctuary. Tucked into the corner there sat a bed with a bent mattress, the style that belonged in a hospital, complete with adjustable bars. The rest of the room boasted a mash-up of misplaced furniture. Two feet along from a bedside table there was another table, lower and three-legged, it leaned against the wall for partial support. On top of this there was box upon box, bottle after bottle of medication; beneath it, there was a stack of magazines where the missing leg had once been. I wondered what the magazines were, whether Emily – after breaking the table one afternoon – had bolted to the nearest newsagent and pulled down a pick and mix of publications, long before cancer had confined her to this room. Against the opposite wall there stood a dressing table, complete with a large mirror. The reflection was disturbed by the photographs wedged into the wooden frame around the glass, and I had to swallow the urge to look at them in detail.

  There was a large window, shielded by Venetian blinds. They were rolled down but angled open, so that a viewer positioned at the right height would be able to see through. And, sitting in a high-backed armchair by this window, was Emily. Her frame was so petite and the armchair so oversized that I worried the furniture might swallow her. As she shifted higher, no, lower, no, a little higher again to gather a better view of the neighbours, it was impossible not to notice how the invading streaks of sunlight hit her head, which was mostly void of hair bar a few candyfloss wisps.

  ‘Keith Watson’s got his granddaughter here again, Danny.’

  There was a strength in her voice that I hadn’t expected; her tone gave a nod to a northern accent.

  ‘Emily, I’ve brought Gillian to meet you.’

  Daniel shifted into her line of vision and I followed; she tilted her head towards us both. With that first glance from her, I met scrutiny. She eyed me in a way that suggested a surveyor’s report of sorts may follow. As she considered me, I noticed a small indent in her right cheek, reminiscent of Daniel’s own, as she struggled to pull her mouth into a smile. We held eye contact for a beat too long and I was thankful when Emily pulled her glance away, averting her eyes and shifting her hand towards her mouth to catch a cough that both looked and sounded particularly painful. She leaned forward then and held her uncontaminated hand out towards me. It was skeletal, and I was suddenly quite concerned that my usual handshake might break her fingers.

  ‘Gillian.’ She said the name like she was tasting it, and then added: ‘Mind if I call you Gillie?’

  Under different circumstances, I would have said ‘absolutely not’. No one had ever abbreviated my name and it seemed an unnecessary habit to encourage now. But I recalled how Daniel had become Danny, and I wondered whether this abbreviation was Emily’s mark of approval.

  ‘Of course, please do.’

  The tight smile she wore relaxed a little.

  ‘Marvellous, Gillie. Call me Emily, by the way, given that this oaf hasn’t actually introduced us. Danny, you’ll have to make us girls some drinks if you expect us to get to know each other.’

  Daniel laughed from somewhere behind me. ‘Oh, of course, we can’t have a guest without having a brew; that just wouldn’t do at all. Gillian, do you want to help me in the kitchen?

  ‘You make ten cups of tea a day. What could you possibly need help with?’ Emily said, and before Daniel could answer she continued: ‘She doesn’t want to help, Danny, now scoot.’

  Daniel seemed amused rather than offended. He must be accustomed to this, I thought. He flashed raised eyebrows and a half-smile at me as he pulled the door closed, leaving ‘us girls’ to get to know each other.

  ‘Please, Gillie, take a seat.’

  The same frail hand now gestured to a brightly-coloured armchair that sat opposite. It

  looked just as overinflated as the one in which she was wedged so I lowered myself down with care, for fear that I was also at risk of being swallowed by enthusiastic cushions. I needn’t have bothered. When my buttocks came into contact with the seat it became clear that I had been encouraged to sit on something that, in terms of comfort, resembled a concrete slab.

  ‘I don’t usually like my guests to stay too long,’ she said, noticing my expression.

  A mischievous and throaty laugh followed. I was instantly fond of Emily. Her honesty, alongside these undertones of a calculating nature, was refreshing. In the minutes that followed, she peered through the gaps in the blinds, presumably at neighbours that I couldn’t crane my neck far enough to see.

  ‘Anything interesting happening your side?’

  ‘Not that I’ve noticed, I’m afraid,’ I said, not realising that I was meant to be looking.

  ‘Oh, you’ll notice all sorts when you’re my age. All sorts.’

  It occurred to me then that I knew nothing more of Emily beyond her diagnosis of terminal cancer, which had, admittedly, been enough to pique my interest. I needed to ask the woman something. I eyed her left hand and noted the absence of a wedding band, the absence of any evidence to suggest one had ever existed there, and said: ‘Are you married, Emily?’

  An amused ‘Pfft!’ fell out of her mouth.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Don’t be too tender, Gillie, it’s not a sore subject. I haven’t had the best of luck with men, that’s all.’ She paused to wipe a small gathering of spittle from the corner of her mouth. ‘In my experience, they’re a little like dogs. If you don’t train them properly in the beginning, they will be running riot by the end. And my men do tend to run a little riot.’

  I couldn’t fit together the withered physicality of the woman in front of me and the confidence she was voicing. Daniel had told me, warned me, that Emily was quieter than her usual self, and so this had been the last thing I was expecting from a woman in Emily’s position.

  From the smirk on her face I thought she had perhaps expected me to feel this way.

  ‘I’m dying, Gillie, not dead. There’s life in the old girl yet.’

  She punctuated the sentence with a wink and in that I could see a much younger woman. A healthier woman. Perhaps even a woman who used to be a bit of a handful.

  Daniel kicked his way through the door then with an accompanying rattle from the tea tray. Emily scanned the room, looking first at Daniel, then at me, and then back towards the window. She smirked and I wondered whether she too had the feeling that Daniel had been listening to our chatter.

  ‘Did you go to China, Danny?’

  ‘Only the best for you, Emily, so I went one better than China.’

  ‘Hmm, and where’s that, dear?’

  ‘Co-op.’

  Daniel winked at me as he set the tray down on the table beneath the mirror. A chorus of clinks arose as he grouped together cups, saucers, and teaspoons.

  ‘No sugar for me today, Danny. Gillie here is sweet enough.’

  Daniel looked at me; he appeared impressed. I forced out an awkward laugh to show that I had at least acknowledged the compliment. While Emily persisted in her neighbourhood watch, Daniel carried a half-full cup of tea over to her, and as the saucer beneath the cup changed hands it became clear why it was only half-full. Emily’s hands shook with the ferocity of an addict absent of a fix. Daniel made sure to keep his own hands beneath the cup until Emily’s had properly adjusted to the weight. They shared a knowing smile and I thought that this must be common practice in their household.

  Emily took a sip, released a satisfied sigh, and turned to me. ‘Danny makes a good cuppa, don’t you think?’

  ‘I was taught by the best.’

  ‘Rubbish. He’s got a natural talent when it comes to looking out for me, Gillie, you mark my words.’ She paused for another sip of tea. ‘Don’t you have to be somewhere?’ The question was directed at Daniel, who then looked at his watch and conjured something that resembled a clucking sound in his throat.

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘It seems as good a time as any, Danny.’

  ‘Ah, okay, so I have to be somewhere. Errands, food shop, all terribly exciting stuff.’

  Emily pulled her e
yebrows together and shook her head lightly. ‘Danny, you’re about to start flapping. Go, do something. Gillie is alright where she is, aren’t you?’ she asked, turning to address me. I was stunned and pleased in equal measure and so offered a restrained nod in response. ‘Perfect. Now, Danny.’ She turned to face him again. ‘You can leave.’

  ‘Emily, you can’t just–’

  ‘Leave.’

  Daniel huffed and turned to me. ‘Will you be okay here for a bit? I won’t be long.’

  ‘Daniel, I’m not going to eat the girl.’

  When Daniel finally excused himself, I opened my mouth to speak, but Emily held her hand palm up towards me, halting my sentence. When the front door banged shut, she lowered her hand.

  ‘Now we can really have a talk,’ she said, in a way that made her intentions sound more threatening than perhaps intended. ‘You can tell me all about you two lovebirds.’

  Her use of the term lovebirds left me uncomfortable, although from her overemphasis on the word I thought perhaps she knew it would have that effect.

  ‘We bumped into each other at a restaurant and–’

  ‘Good God, that was you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought Danny had made the whole thing up.’ She tagged a small laugh onto the end of her sentence.

  ‘Where did you think he’d been for the evening?’

  There came an almost dismissive wave of the hand before she answered. ‘Boys will be boys and all that. He could have been anywhere for all I knew. But I certainly didn’t believe dinner with a strange girl as his cover story.’ She laughed again. ‘The excuses my first husband came up with when he was out late – I bumped into so and so; I was out with whoever, from work, yada yada,’ she said, waving her hand again. ‘I didn’t want to guess what Danny might have been doing.’