Two weeks, one day.
After getting the keys to his shed he moved towards the back door and stepped outside. He knew it was risky in the daylight, but he didn’t care. He unlocked the old rotting door to his shed and stepped inside. Pulling out his tool box he opened it. Everything was still in its place. He skimmed her diary. It calmed his mind.
‘Nothing’s changed, Chris; stick to your plan,’ he repeated to himself over and over until he almost believed it.
He left the shed and locked it behind him, then went back into his house. The train girl coming into his world made things unpredictable. She might never come back, but she might also speak to the police about his intentions that night. And he needed to prepare for the worst eventuality. Which meant he needed to be in public, being that man whose wife was on the other side of the world, in case there were questions.
Getting himself another drink Chris knew that despite not wanting to he had to be where people might know him, just to ensure things looked normal from the outside.
Chapter 16
14 days left
1.32 a.m. – London Road, Peterborough
Stepping into his house and locking the door behind him Chris exhaled loudly and let his head sink. The night had been far more exhausting and difficult than he thought it would. But it had worked. The risks had paid off. Absolutely no part of Chris wanted to be out of the house at night, especially after the train girl had found his house. He wanted to lock his doors and stay in the shadows. Keeping his secrets contained.
But her arrival changed things and he knew that it was about appearances. If she did something stupid and talked to the police he needed to look like a man who was not suicidal. If they thought otherwise they would ask questions and the man who killed his wife would assume Chris had talked. He needed to go out, just to keep the people he loved safe. It was a game, one he intended on finishing on his terms.
So, after she left, he prepared himself to be seen by people who might know him. An alibi for his intentions. He went into the city centre just before ten, already drunk, and went to The Corner Lounge. It was quiet for a Thursday night, but as he stepped in he could see some of the usual faces that drank there. That was good; it wouldn’t take long for someone he knew to come and talk to him.
After ordering a lager he found a small table, one where he could put his back to the wall. He sat and waited for someone who knew him to approach and talk. As he quietly drank he noticed how people glanced his way when they walked past. It made him glad he was back against a wall; that way if the man came for him, he could see him coming. It didn’t take long before a lanky, long-haired acquaintance called Matt approached. His long limbs awkwardly swinging as he walked towards him. Getting up, Chris gave him a hug.
‘Chris, buddy. I’ve not seen you in here in ages. How’s things, man? Shit, what have you done to your hand?’
‘DIY accident.’
‘Mate.’
‘It looks worse than what it is – a couple of stitches is all. Let me buy you a drink.’
‘Sure, man.’
Matt sat as Chris went to the bar to get him a beer. As he ordered he thought about that night where he was stood in a similar place to where he was now. His back to the room as Steve talked to Julia. Moments before he had walked across the dance floor and introduced himself softly.
He shook it off.
He sat down and handed Matt his drink. Matt thanked him for his beer and for a while they both chatted about work and football before the beer began to take over and the conversation moved on to more serious themes. They discussed Syria and the fact they were both getting older. Chris could feel himself becoming impatient. But after three more beers he asked the question Chris was waiting for.
‘So, how’s Julia?’
It was show time. He took a deep breath, getting himself into character. And he played it well. The sad shrug of the shoulders. The moments when he didn’t keep eye contact. The deep, introspective, longing sighs.
‘She’s visiting her dad in Australia.’
‘That’s nice, man. Not tempted to go with her?’
‘She said she needed to go alone. Her mum died last year and she needed to get away.’
‘She went alone?’
‘Yeah, I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her. I just came home one day and she was gone. She just upped and left. Took a suitcase and left a note. She said she couldn’t cope with a goodbye and just needed to go.’
‘Chris, that’s rough. How long has she been down there?’
‘A long time.’
‘Mate, that must be really hard.’
‘I miss her a lot.’
‘When is she coming back?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Shit.’
‘Has she been in touch at all?’
‘Not really, she just tells me she needs time to heal.’
‘When was the last time you spoke?’
‘A little while ago now.’
‘Days? Weeks?’
‘About five months.’
Chris could see his lanky mate was drunk. This was good. Drunk people argued and challenged. If there was an obvious flaw in either his story or how he appeared, Matt would raise it. The beauty in it was Matt would do this without knowing exactly what he was challenging.
‘And you’ve heard nothing else from her? I mean, she hasn’t said when she will be back or said sorry or anything?’
‘Nothing.’
‘She will come back, won’t she?’
‘I thought so for a while, but no; Julia is gone.’
‘What a bitch. Fuck her, Chris; you deserve better than that.’
‘Matt!’
‘How can she do that to you? It’s fucking cruel, man. I hope she bloody hates it over there!’
‘Stop it. She’s still my wife.’
‘Divorce the bitch.’
‘Matt. Enough. She is still my wife. And I hope one day she comes back to be my wife again. I won’t give up on her. She’s grieving.’
‘Sorry, Chris, sorry. I know you still love her. But waiting for her isn’t healthy, man. How long ago did she leave?’
‘Eleven months.’
‘Eleven months? Dude, time to move on, get over the bitch. Have a summer fling. Loads of single young hotties about, mate, all desperate for an older chap. It would be good for you. Get out, live the single life again.’
‘I don’t want to live the single life again.’
‘Mate, it will be good for your ego to get on it. I would if I looked like you do.’
Chris thought about it for a second. About someone else in his bed. Someone else lying in the space between his shoulder and chest. Her space. It wouldn’t feel right. Before they knew it last orders were called and they left, having a hug before going their separate ways. Chris promising to be there the following week for another drink.
***
Walking home Chris tried to replay as much of the drunk conversation he’d had with Matt as his foggy brain would let him. He was amazed that Matt not only believed his story about Julia leaving, but hated her for it too. Chris felt confident his fake truths were airtight and when he did meet with Steve no questions would be asked, especially now he’d had practice.
Matt liked Chris, but Chris knew Steve loved him. And because of that he knew Steve would hate her even more. There was an exhilaration in knowing what others didn’t, and wouldn’t, until after he had finished what he started in May. As he walked down Bridge Street, he saw a homeless man watching him approach. As Chris got closer he didn’t avert his gaze.
‘What are you looking at?’
‘Have you got any spare change?’
Looking around Chris was waiting to see Julia’s killer emerge from the shadows of the town hall.
‘Tell him I’ve not told a soul.’
‘What?’
Lowering himself to be eye to eye with the homeless man, their noses inches apart, Chris spat as he spoke.
‘Tell him I’ve no
t told a fucking soul, just as he told me not to.’
‘I don’t know who you mean, please, leave me alone.’
‘Leave you alone? You’re a fucking joke. I know why you’re here.’
‘Please.’
‘You can watch me all you want; it won’t change a fucking thing.’
‘Please, just leave me alone. I only asked for some spare change.’
‘You don’t scare me. He doesn’t scare me.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, man. Just leave me alone.’
Chris stood and looked around, seeing only a group of young lads and an older couple arm in arm. No sign of him anywhere. He looked back at the homeless man.
‘Leave me alone; leave me alone? That’s fucking rich,’ Chris spat as he turned on his heel and hastily left the cowering man behind.
Despite that moment, the night had been a success.
Later as he got himself a drink from the fridge Chris looked towards the shed. He wanted to read some of her diary and as he pulled it out he could feel a wave of pain hit him. Being drunk and sad wasn’t a good idea. All of his emotions came to the surface with the help of liquor and they were emotions he didn’t always want to face. He would end up doing something stupid, more stupid than what he had done to himself only eighteen hours before. So instead he looked at his wall calendar and counted the days.
Fourteen left.
Everything was in place. Everything besides the train girl who had come to his door hours before. She was a potential threat. But he hoped she wouldn’t appear in his life again.
Staggering to his bedroom Chris took off his clothes, then fell into his bed. Talking to someone as if Julia was still alive made him feel more desperate than ever for his old life. He wanted his wife beside him, like she had been for thousands of sleeps.
Chris opened his bedside drawer and took out the book that waited for its reader. He turned to the first page and read the opening lines out loud. Like he had done with Julia resting in the space between his chest and shoulder that now bore an angry scar. He tried to focus on one of the many moments in which he’d read to his wife as she half-dozed, pressed against him, but there were too many. So he thought about the first time.
It started before they were married when her mum’s health took a turn for the worse. On those nights Julia cried herself to sleep and one night Chris picked up one of his books and instead of reading quietly from where he left off he started from the beginning and told her the story until she was in a deep and peaceful sleep. Julia’s mum lived for another three months and every night Chris read to help with the struggle, then with the passing, then with the healing, until the ritual was so embedded neither could sleep without him doing it.
Turning to the dog-eared page, the place where he’d last read to with his wife nearly a year before, Chris read out loud until he drifted into an alcohol-fuelled sleep.
Chapter 17
13 days left
12.54 p.m. – Lynch Wood business park, Peterborough
Parked in his black Audi, Steve watched the entrance to Chris’s work. He was in the area so figured he’d time his lunch for when Chris had his and grab him for a burger from the van that parked in the lay-by half a mile away.
He felt the urge to just make sure his friend was okay. Steve knew that Chris always took his lunch at twelve-thirty. He had for years. It had become a joke that he was so predictable. He did so because Julia also had her lunch at a similar time and they often rang one another, or with their workplaces only being a mile apart, they would have lunch together.
Part of Steve kept an eye out for her too. Although he didn’t know why. He knew she was thousands of miles away, probably sat on a beach enjoying the weather, forgetting her old life and her abandoned husband; but Steve looked anyway. Force of habit he supposed.
He had been sat there for twenty-five minutes and Chris still hadn’t emerged from work. He was just about to give up and drive away when he spotted a familiar face. It wasn’t Chris but one of his colleagues: Ben. They had met a few times on nights out. He was a nice chap and probably the closest person to Chris at work. Jumping out of his car Steve walked towards him. He had to quicken his pace to catch up.
‘Ben.’
Turning around Ben couldn’t hide the surprise, and confusion, from his face.
‘Ben, sorry, it’s Steve. We met a few times on nights out? I’m a friend of Chris’s.’
‘Yes, of course. I remember. How are you?’
‘Good thanks. Sorry to stop you, Ben. Is he in today?’
‘Chris?’
‘Yes, is he in the office today?’
‘No.’
‘Bugger. When is he next in?’
‘Steve. Chris hasn’t been at work for a long time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s been on long-term sick leave. I thought you’d know this?’
‘What? No. How long has he been off?’
‘I’m not sure the exact date. Ten months, eleven maybe.’
‘Do you know when he’s back?’
‘He’s not; he resigned.’
‘When?’
‘A few weeks ago. Is he okay?’
Steve stood in shock. Chris had not been at work since last summer. All this time without mentioning it.
‘Steve? Is he okay?’
‘Yes, sorry, yeah he’s fine. Thanks, Ben.’
Getting back into his car, Steve watched Ben walk away, his head low until he disappeared around the corner. Chris hadn’t been in work for eleven months and had just resigned. He counted backwards. Last summer. Around the same time Julia left. He knew it wasn’t a coincidence. He also knew that he was right to be worried about his best friend. Chris had taken Julia leaving a lot harder than he thought. He hadn’t been at work and, worse, he had lied to Steve about it.
Chris was many things, but he had never been untruthful with Steve. It was part of why they had been so close for so long.
As he started up his car to drive away a thought popped into his head. Chris was in trouble and clearly wasn’t coping as well as he led people to believe. Julia’s leaving him had broken Chris. They’d spent so much time together and suddenly they lived on two different sides of the world. Steve tried to imagine how he would feel if it was him. He knew he wouldn’t be doing very well either.
Steve knew he had to do something to help. But if he outwardly confronted him on it Chris would disappear completely. He knew this because when they were young, in the wake of his last break-up, Steve tried to force his way into his life and Chris had vanished for a while. When he eventually came back, he told Steve he had been having dark thoughts. As long as Chris was in control he would feel safe. He wouldn’t leave; Steve was sure of it.
As Steve merged on the A1 to head south towards London, he knew that he would have to keep a closer eye on his friend. Swing past on his way home from work sometimes, find an excuse to be in the area. Insisting on that beer sooner rather than later, but making it look like it was on Chris’s terms.
He couldn’t help shift the idea that Chris was going to do something stupid.
Chapter 18
Julia’s diary – October 2012
Mum has been forgetting a lot of things recently. For a while now I’ve kidded myself, telling myself it’s because she’s lonely, that I can fix that by being around more. To help with things like shopping and cleaning. So, I’ve decided to go part-time at work. I’ve spoken with my boss, James, who wasn’t overly keen as a boss but as a friend he told me that being there for a loved one was one of the most important things anyone can do, and I should definitely reduce the amount I’m at the office.
So, that’s that. As of next Monday I’m part-time for the first time in my adult life – to help Mum more. I know she’s old, but she’s not that old. She shouldn’t be frail yet. For weeks I’ve seen her forget things and I’ve rationalized it by thinking ‘so what if she occasionally forgets what day of the week it is, or
who is Prime Minister? She’s retired. Why would she need to know?’
She’s been forgetting silly little things like that and the occasional word for months. Losing keys, forgetting to put the oven on when making dinner so it just sits there for an hour or two defrosting. It wasn’t until two weeks ago when I popped round for a cup of tea that she found a picture on her mantelpiece of me, her, and Dad. Back when I was young. She asked who he was. Dad was her world until he left for Australia. Her one true love she could never get over. Even after all these years, there hasn’t been another man in her life.
In the picture we were all smiling. I was in his arms, only two, maybe three. Mum loved that picture. She said it captured a time when everything made sense. Her forgetting who he was turned my worries from something I could dismiss as a lonely mind forgetting and loosing things to something that was taking things from her.
So, I’ve been researching Alzheimer’s and I’ve concluded it was a silly thing to do. Most of what the internet tells me is about how terrible it is and life expectancy after diagnosis. It’s only made me worry more. I know I need to talk to her about it, and for us to go to her doctor for tests. But I’m scared. What if it is what I think? What if my mum is on a slippery slope to somewhere terrible? Part of me would rather not know.
That said, I know I’ll broach the subject tomorrow when I see her. Although I’m not sure how. Do I come out and just say it? Or do I lead her and allow her to voice the concern herself? Surely she knows in herself something isn’t right? But, when you know something for sure there is no undoing it.
I’ve spoken with him a lot about it, about how scared I am. He’s offered to be there when I talk to her, to give support where he can, even if it’s just making us a cup of tea. I really want to say yes, but I think this should be between Mum and I. Having him there would be more about me and that’s not fair. Still, it was lovely of him to offer.
Chris also hinted last weekend, when I was drifting off in his arms, that I needn’t worry about going part-time with regard to finances. I told him I didn’t want his money and he replied that was a good thing, because he wasn’t going to offer, making me laugh in an awkward kind of way. He did say, however, that it seemed daft that they were both paying rent. Before kissing me on the head and telling me he loved me.
Our Little Secret: The most gripping debut psychological thriller you’ll read this year Page 11