***
As soon as the stone had dropped through his letter box he knew he couldn’t ignore her any more. As he opened the door, she turned. The fruit knife pressed against his forearm, hidden from view. Her arms were crossed, protecting her, and he noticed the goose bumps on her skin.
‘Why did you keep this?’
He could see the disbelief in her eyes that he had stepped outside his door. He watched as she forced herself to appear calm, despite her voice giving her away. ‘I thought it was important.’
‘How could you possibly know that?’
‘I don’t know, instinct.’
She had said the same thing on the platform. The stone meant something to him; they both knew it.
‘Chris, I …’
He should have told her to go home again. He almost closed his front door, but not quite. Chris had tried to be unkind, tried to make her leave him alone. But perhaps this was the wrong tactic; perhaps he would try the opposite, then, hopefully she would see he was okay and that she could get on with her life. Besides, she had returned his stone. He owed her a small act of kindness.
‘How are you getting home?’
Her blood started rushing to her face, brightening her cheeks.
‘How are you getting home?’ he repeated.
‘I drove here.’
He told himself not to be too friendly.
‘You look cold.’
‘I am.’
‘Do you drink tea?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want a cup?’
‘No, it’s okay. I can buy my own.’
‘I wasn’t going to offer to buy you one.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ Chris looked at her pointedly, his head tilting to one side.
Looking left and right to make sure they were not being watched, he stepped back into his house and walked towards the kitchen, questioning himself as to what he was doing. He should be kind yes, but he had invited her in. He hated that he was so weak.
***
In complete disbelief I watched Chris walked away from me, going into the darkness of his house, leaving the door wide open. I didn’t know what to think as I watched him walk down his hallway and into what looked like a kitchen. I waited for him to come back, but he didn’t. Instead I could hear a kettle boiling.
I assumed he had invited me in, although in a very odd way. As I stepped into his world and closed the door behind me I put my bag on a small table. I could see him, both hands on the sink, his head lowered. It looked like he regretted inviting me in and I wondered if I should politely say I could leave. I dismissed the thought. I wanted to be with him. But I wasn’t mentally prepared for it. As always, I assumed the worst.
When I had dreamed of talking with him face to face – after he clearly wouldn’t open the door to me – I had imagined that it would one day happen somewhere neutral: a coffee shop, a park, or the train station again. Never had my dreams included being inside his house. So despite his obvious and unguarded sense of regret I had to stay.
As I walked into his kitchen neither of us spoke. All I could hear was the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall beside the cooker. Its glass casing cracked through the middle. He handed me a tea and I said thank you. I blew on it, giving me something to do in an attempt to alleviate the tension that I felt by being in his home. Once it was cooled enough I took a sip and tried to think of something to say as the ticking of his wall clock soldiered on.
After handing me the cup Chris kept his back to me. His hands firmly placed on the sink. White-knuckled. I started to think being in his house was a bad idea and as I put down my tea to make my excuses he turned and looked at me. It made me feel like something inside was pressing on my lungs, slowly forcing the air out. I told myself to take a deep breath as he looked away. His focus landed the side where he had put the stone I had given back to him. He then turned to face me, his head low, tears silently streaming down his face.
‘Chris?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Are you okay?’
‘No.’
He looked at me, his eyes sad and low. That one word was so truthful and soul-baring I wanted to cry for him. But I stopped myself. This wasn’t about me. This was about him.
***
In that moment Chris wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to talk about how on a wet and windy night nearly a year ago he was forced to watch the love of his life die, while he was helpless to do anything about it.
He wanted to tell her he needed to be able to mourn Julia like a normal husband should mourn a wife. He wanted to tell her that since that night he had been waiting for him to come back, to surface once more. Knowing he probably wouldn’t. Julia’s death on his hands was worse than death itself. But he couldn’t. So he said nothing and sipped his tea while the tears fell and the silence hung until Sarah quietly broke it.
‘Chris, I’m sorry for swearing at you last time I was here.’
‘It’s all right.’
‘It’s not. I was angry but it still didn’t give me the right. I just wanted to help.’
‘I know.’
‘To find out what is going on in your head.’
‘I know.’
‘But you’ll still not tell me?’
‘How’s your tea?’ Chris avoided answering her question.
‘Perfect, thank you.’
Sarah turned away from Chris and looked out of the kitchen window – despite it being dark – allowing Chris to watch her. As they sat quietly he couldn’t help but notice how nothing of the fragile, petite girl he’d met on the platform actually existed. Before him was a quiet, strong woman, one who was attractive. He felt a pang of something before realizing it was because he was lonely. She must have sensed him looking because she turned and looked at him, a small smile flashing across her lips.
Chris had to look away and distract himself. He shouldn’t find her beautiful; he shouldn’t let himself feel anything for her. Stepping towards the back door he picked up his cigarettes.
‘I thought you didn’t smoke?’
‘I thought so too. Want one?’
‘Sure.’
Unlocking the door he stepped outside. A warm breeze danced in the trees behind his garden, making it sound like they were by the ocean. Chris closed his eyes for a moment as he was transported to that beach with Julia. When he opened them Sarah was a few feet away, eye to eye.
‘The wind in the branches is one of my favourite sounds.’
‘Mine too.’
As he gave Sarah a cigarette their hands touched, and stepping closer he cupped the lighter to protect the flame from the wind. She placed her hands on his to help. Chris couldn’t help but feel something pulling on him. It forced him to take a step back. He lit his and they smoked in silence, listening to the wind. He watched her close her eyes, and lift her head up, a smile on her lips.
‘You know, this is the first time in a long time I’ve stopped and just enjoyed the sound of a breeze. It feels nice to just slow down for a second.’
Chris couldn’t help what he did next. The yearning to be close was too powerful to ignore, so he stood beside her, facing the rear of his garden and the tall swaying trees. She rested her head on his shoulder. For a moment the wind stopped and Sarah turned to him. He wrapped her in his arms and they stood silently holding each other and looking at the moonlit trees. Connected by a moment, a coincidence that neither of them could ignore.
Chris knew he wasn’t supposed to hug her, and yet, the feel of her warmth close to him and the smell that a woman had were intoxicating. Despite the voice in his head telling him to let go he couldn’t. He thought that maybe if he kept his eyes closed he could pretend, just for a moment, that it was Julia he was holding; although he knew it wasn’t. Worryingly it still felt good, but feeling good wasn’t part of his plan.
He wanted to pull away from her but she turned in to him and began to quietly cry against his chest. Instinctively he held her ti
ghter and began to stroke her hair whilst gently saying he was sorry. Telling her everything was going to be fine. He didn’t know if he was speaking to her or Julia or both.
His lips were so close to her ear he touched it occasionally, causing a surge of heat to flow through his body. Pulling her even closer he ended up holding the back of her head, pressing her face in to his neck where she began to calm herself and breathe at a slower, more controlled rate.
Her tears of relief and anger were slowly being replaced with the anticipation of something else. He shouldn’t feel this way, not when he was so close to being reunited with Julia, not when he still loved his wife. But as Sarah’s warm breath cooled on his neck it caused a wave of arousal. She angled her neck, inviting him to kiss it. An invitation he accepted, and as he placed his lips on her neck she moaned gently.
He closed his eyes, feeling no memory, no dreams, no past or future. Just his lips on her neck and a stillness as his senses took hold. A stillness he had not experienced for so long. Chris knew he needed to take a step back and stop his impulses. Although his head and heart were telling him to step away and tell her it was all a mistake, his body was saying something entirely different. It was reacting to something that was happening between them, a heat like atoms colliding. No matter how he tried to subdue his primeval impulses he ached to touch her body, feel her heat, to be inside her.
She moved her hand onto his chest, and felt his heart beating wildly, his breathing jagged and shallow. It felt so good to have a woman touch him, so easy to give in even though he was desperate to resist. Kissing up her neck and towards her ear he wanted to turn his head and press his lips to hers; but knew he shouldn’t. She bit his ear gently and pushed her hips into him, his hardness apparent.
He wanted to grab her arse and pull her harder into him, their intimate areas pressed to one another, but he resisted the growing urge and instead moved his hands onto her hips. It kept her body close, but not touching. As he squeezed them he couldn’t help but imagine what her hips looked like. He pictured them jutting out of her petite frame, the bones angled, guiding him between her legs. As he could feel himself getting hotter he wanted to know what it would feel like between her legs. Putting her other hand behind his head she pulled on his hair and whispered in his ear.
***
I said I wanted him. I said it to harden him further and release that pent-up sexual frustration I could see he had – that we both had. I expected him to pick me up, my legs wrapping round his waist as he walked towards the house and his stairs, where he would climb as we kissed, his hands holding my thighs until he was in front of his bed.
He would throw me down and take off his top, revealing the well-defined body I knew he was hiding under his T-shirt. I then expected I would look up at him and take my jeans off, lifting my hips up to slip them down my thighs, never breaking eye contact until his instincts caused him to look at what was now before him, waiting for him to explore. I expected him to kiss the insides of my thighs, eager to take off my underwear. I expected it because this is what had happened before, with John, with other men.
But that didn’t happen. Instead he pushed me away, my sexual image cracking like heated ice.
‘You need to leave.’
‘What? Why?’
‘This is a mistake. I need you to leave.’
‘But, Chris …’
‘Please, get out.’
He turned his back to me and stepped into the house, stopping in the doorway between outside and in. It seemed the conversation was over and I was shocked by the sudden change in his behaviour. I wanted to know his secrets and I knew with a certain clarity that if I left now, after what had just happened, I would never see him again. Everything had changed when I stepped over the barrier of his front door, when he pressed his lips on my skin.
‘No, Chris, I’m not going.’
He hadn’t anticipated me to say that and before he could compose himself I noticed his shock in the way he straightened his back where he stood. The sinewy muscle in his closest forearm flexed and relaxed, only briefly, but noticeably.
‘I said get out.’
He tried to sound forceful, and he did, but in a way it was a strained forcefulness, one that was filled with his uncertainty.
‘I’m not leaving.’
***
She had to go. For a second she had reminded him of Julia. She couldn’t be here in his home; it was too dangerous. It frightened him. Turning around he looked at her, unsure of what to do next. Should he be more forceful and try to scare her, or maybe physically remove her? He didn’t feel he could act on either option.
Last time he’d tried to scare someone it had ended badly. He didn’t want to get into an argument. It was his fault she was in his house in the first place. He still hadn’t fully established what she did or didn’t know, but it was becoming clearer by the second she didn’t know enough to interfere with his plans. Unable to throw her out he walked into the house, leaving the door open again. That was a mistake.
Sitting on his sofa Chris put his head into his hands to try and stop himself shaking. He took several deep breaths, losing himself in the rhythm, like he had learned to do when planning for the 5th of May.
Once calmer he began to focus on where he was again and listened to his quiet house, trying to pick up the sound of Sarah who was still outside.
He sat upright again and there she was, stood in front of him in his living room doorway. Her fixed gaze unnerved him. It reminded him of his wedding night. His nerves, her passion. He couldn’t help but stare back, like a rabbit in headlights whose frozen expression betrays that the animal understands its fate is about to change.
Without saying anything Sarah took her jumper off and dropped it. Stepping forward, kicking off her shoes, she pushed Chris back and climbed on top of him.
‘I …’ began Chris until Sarah placed her lips on his. Their lips barely touching, her top one between his, he felt a rush run through his face. Pulling away she focused on his mouth.
He was about to protest, but as he made eye contact with her, the dark brown in them clearer than he imagined, he was almost sure she understood everything about him, about Julia and about what had happened and what would come. And it was all right. The world stopped moving and it held its breath in anticipation, like it had once before.
He should have been thinking of Julia and he forced himself to, but as his mind began to drift from the reality of Sarah on top of him to the memory of Julia he was forced back by the feeling of Sarah kissing him again, harder, with more desire. Kneeling back so she was upright and straddled across Chris, she took her blouse off, one button at a time, revealing her slim torso. Running across the line of her exposed collarbone was a tattoo of three black waves. So small he almost didn’t see them. Leaning forward he kissed each wave before taking off his T-shirt.
***
His body was less defined and thinner than I had anticipated but still in good shape. As I looked at him I was drawn to a scar on his right shoulder near his chest. It almost looked like a bullet wound, although not quite. For a moment I wondered if he had been stabbed. I leant in to kiss it, but he gently pulled me away.
I looked back up at his face and noticed he was looking at me differently. He wasn’t more relaxed than before but more engaged, more present. Whatever the dark secret was that he held on to so tightly it wasn’t with him in that moment. We were just a man and a woman who wanted each other. I could see the lust in his eyes. It made me feel warmer between my legs.
Standing, I took him by the hand and led him towards the stairs. Once we reached the bottom he stepped in front and, taking my hand, led me up them without talking. At his bedroom door he stopped and looked at me. I watched his tension melt away. He kissed me again, this time harder, and stepping backwards he guided me into his room. And gently he laid me on his bed. Reaching over him towards the lamp I switched off the only source of light in his room, throwing us into darkness.
Chapte
r 23
10.45 p.m. – London Road, Peterborough
As he snapped awake, Chris for a moment didn’t know where he was and he didn’t know what time it was. All he knew was he had slept deeply and dreamt of Julia. This time it was one where she was gently stroking his hair as he saw animals floating in the clouds. They were on Brancaster beach near Hunstanton.
She turned to kiss him, her hair soft, her lips slightly open and inviting, but cold and blue. Like marble. Then the sand beneath them turned to thick wet mud, slowly swallowing her as he watched helplessly, his feet stuck to the ground with long thin roots wrapping around his ankles and calves. He tried to fight but the more he fought the quicker she vanished. Her open right eye was the last thing he saw. The image stayed with him for a moment after waking.
Rolling onto his side, Chris expected to see Julia’s golden hair close to him on the pillow but the hair he saw was dark brown. He wondered for a second if she had dyed it until his mind was awake enough to know that it wasn’t hers at all, but another woman’s.
Sitting up he looked over at the train girl who slept with her back to him, surprisingly unmoved despite his dream waking him quickly. She looked peaceful. In the low light Chris could still see the shape of her face. Her full lips closed and relaxed. Her neck, the artery throbbing on the surface as it pumped blood to her brain, fuelling her dreams.
Reaching over he stroked it, feeling it pulse with life under his touch. If he pressed down now he would cut the supply. She would struggle and he would push harder. She would pass out quickly. If he continued to press she would be starved of oxygen and within a few minutes she would be dead. He shouldn’t have thought it, but it was there in his mind as a clear image, and it frightened him.
She mumbled in her sleep, a content soft tone that reminded him again of Julia. Something he loved and hated in equal measure. He slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her from her content slumber. He couldn’t look at her any more. Walking as quietly as he could Chris went downstairs into his kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and sat on the floor, not quite believing what he had done.
Our Little Secret: The most gripping debut psychological thriller you’ll read this year Page 14