by R. A. Casey
Moira’s CCTV camera.
If she has footage of the other day when Calvin came to drop off the parcel, maybe I can get some answers.
Maybe I can prove to Freddie that I’m not insane.
And maybe, just maybe, I can find out exactly who this man is and what he had to do with my son’s disappearance three years ago.
The door opens.
A little woman stands there. And when I say little, I mean fucking tiny. She leans on her Zimmer. Her back is hunched right over. She wears thick glasses and has long grey hair, right down her hunched back. Her face is covered in moles and whiskers. I want to say she’s weirdly familiar, but then all old people look pretty much the same at the end of the day, don’t they?
She squints at me. “Yes, dear? Can I help?”
I clear my throat and smile, wanting to make as good a first impression as possible. “Hello. It’s Moira, isn’t it?”
“It’s Ms Grimshaw to you,” she says, puffing cigarette smoke into my face.
“Ms Grimshaw. Sorry. I… My name’s Sarah. I’m your next-door neighbour. We haven’t met yet.”
She looks up at me through narrowed, twitching eyes. “So you’re the new ones. The ones who have the washing machine on all the time. Noisy thing that is. Hear it right through the walls.”
I gulp. Fuck. This isn’t going to be as easy as I hoped. She’s difficult, that’s for sure. “I don’t mean to bother you. I was wondering—”
“Do you want a cup of tea? Or are you going to just stand there looking awkward all the time?”
I want to refuse. I want to say no.
But I sense Moira Grimshaw isn’t going to be one to take nicely to rejection like that.
I sense I’m going to have to play her game for as long as she wants me to play it if I’m going to get any information from her.
“I’d love one. But only if it’s no trouble to you.”
She smirks. “It’s no trouble to me at all. Kettle’s in the kitchen. Teabags are right beside it. I take two sugars.”
She smiles at me.
What remain of her teeth are black and rotting.
Two sugars.
That much is very bloody obvious.
I sit in Moira Grimshaw’s kitchen/dining room with a cup of tea in hand and do everything I can to resist sipping it.
The house is a tip. The entire lounge area, which I walked through to get to this back room, is full of all sorts of junk. Cardboard stacked in front of a dusty old television. A mirror, smeared with grease and grime. Old clothes spilling out of a bin bag in the corner of the room. And a load of old electronics, too. Old CRT television sets. Radios. Microwaves. And all their boxes.
The kitchen/dining area isn’t much better. It looks like the cups and pots haven’t been washed in a lifetime. Flies buzz around, and one particularly stubborn bugger keeps landing on me. The cup I’m drinking from has a lipstick stain on the rim, but it’s the best I could find.
This place stinks, too. Body odour. Cigarette smoke. A slight hint of urine. There’s a stairlift leading upstairs. But despite being mildly disgusted, I can’t help feeling sorry for Moira. This place is too big for her. Far too big for her.
It’s warm in here, so I’ve hung my jacket over the chair. But I’m not sure how keen I am on my jacket coming into contact with anything in this filthy house.
“So what brought you to Cottam?” she asks, holding her own cracked brew cup. Clearly just delighted for the company now, as we sit at the dining table.
“A fresh start,” I say. “My boyfriend and I, we—”
“You’re not married?”
“I… I was.”
“Oh,” she says. And I realise it’s the worst combination of facts I could’ve told her. “Living with a man unmarried. A divorcee. Don’t tell me. The pair of you have a kid, too? Just to upset our dear Lord even more?”
“I did. But he… he went missing three years ago.”
Moira’s eyes widen. I’ve caught her off guard. “Went missing? I… I am sorry, dear. I didn’t mean… Can I get you a biscuit?”
I shake my head. There’s no way I’m going near anything edible in here. But I appreciate the sweetness of the gesture. She’s only trying to make it up to me for being a little rude. “It’s fine. Honestly.”
“A missing child. Three years ago, you say? I… I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. But I guess I moved here for a fresh start. A fresh start away from everything.”
“I can understand that. But it’s hard, isn’t it? Trying to start again when the very thing you want to move on from feels like it’s still out there. Like there’s still a chance.”
I nod. I see her staring into space. And despite getting off on the wrong footing, I realise I like this woman. I think her house is disgusting, sure. But I feel safe here. Comfortable, somehow.
“You speak like you know a thing or two about loss,” I say.
She glances up at me then. “My husband. We married when we were twenty. Had the best twelve years. And then, one day, he just took off and left. No goodbyes. Nothing like that. I was worried. Worried sick. Until I heard news he’d moved to Wales. Met another woman three years earlier. Already started a family with her. I could never have children, so that was always a bone of contention with him. But anyway. I’m better alone. Stronger alone. It’s the way I like it.”
She takes a sip of her brew. I can hear the defiance in her voice, and I know she desperately wants me to believe this strong exterior she’s putting across. But I can hear sadness in her tone.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask.
“Only two years. My nephew, Kent. He works in property, and he sorted this place for me. Got it fit with a stairlift. Got it all in gear for me.”
“It’s a… nice place.”
“It’s a shithole,” Moira says, her tone suddenly shifting into language I didn’t expect her to be capable of. “But I’m old, and I’m disabled. And what else can an old disabled person on her own in a big house do, really? I can’t clean. I can barely cook. Kent drops by every now and then, but usually just to dump whatever old gadgets he’s got in the lounge. Always says he’ll clean it out every time. Always. Lazy git. That’s what he is. Lazy.”
I clear my throat and sense an opportunity. “Kent. I’m guessing he’s the one who set the CCTV up?”
“The TV? Barely works. Nothing on anyway. Can’t be doing with it.”
“No, the CCTV.”
“The CC what now?”
“CCTV. Security camera. The one outside, above your door.”
Moria narrows her eyes, strains to think for a few seconds. Then she laughs. “Oh. That. Yes, another one of Kent’s genius additions to my house.”
Excitement kicks in. I sense myself getting closer. “I was wondering if I could ask you something about that, actually. My boyfriend and I. We… we had some trouble the other day. And I think your CCTV might come in handy at finding who was responsible.”
“Trouble, you say? Like boisterous kids?”
“Not quite kids.”
“Burglars?”
“More… an unwelcome visitor.”
Moira puffs her lips out. “Hmph. Whatever the case, it’s pointless anyway. The camera thingy is a dummy.”
“A dummy?”
“Yes. A dummy. It doesn’t work. Kent put it in to scare people off. Stop people wanting to burgle me. Same reason he got the cat. Told me she was a ‘guard cat’. Only thing she guards is her bloody litter tray when I’m trying to clear it out. Dirty bugger.”
I see this black cat slinking around the kitchen work surfaces, and I feel a sneeze coming on. I smell sourness in the air, and I’m in no doubt that tons of unemptied cat shit sit in that litter tray in the corner of the kitchen.
“So the CCTV,” I say. “It doesn’t… it doesn’t work?”
“About as useful as a camera without a lens.”
My stomach sinks. Fuck. I was so convince
d I was onto something here. If I could just find some evidence that a bloke dropped a parcel off two days ago, I could begin figuring out what all of this weird shit meant.
I could start figuring out what he had to do with Charlie three years ago.
“Well,” I say, putting my untouched brew cup down on the side. “I’m going to shoot. But I really appreciate the brew.”
“You’ll be round again, won’t you?”
I smile at her. Nod. I don’t know if I will. But I pity her. And strangely, I like her.
“Of course, Ms Grimshaw.”
“Oh, please,” she says. “You can call me Moira.”
She smiles at me. And I smile back at her. It’s Moira’s game, and she’s winning.
But I sense I’ve got myself in the good books with her, which counts for something.
I turn to the front door and go to step outside.
“I do remember someone hanging about out front, actually.”
I stop. My body freezes. I feel cold.
I turn around and look right at her. “You—you do?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I didn’t think anything of it. But now you mention it; they were definitely hovering. Thought it was a mailman at first. Now, I’m not so sure.”
My heart rate picks up. This is him. She’s seen him. She’s seen Calvin, and she can provide an alibi.
“What did he look like?”
“I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“But this—this was two days ago, right? Two days ago, about midday?”
She opens her mouth to speak, and then she stops.
Stares at me.
“No,” she says.
I frown. “What?”
“It… It can’t’ve been two days ago. That’s when Kent came round for lunch. No, this was… this was yesterday, my love. Someone was outside your house yesterday. And they were standing right out front. Staring right up at your house. For ages.”
I feel the shiver creep up my spine.
I feel nauseous.
I feel sick.
“Did they… Did you see them do anything?”
Moira shook her head. “My eyes aren’t the best. But… actually, yes. Yes, I did.”
“What? What did you see?”
She looks me right in the eye. She looks concerned. But I wonder if that’s just because of the way I’m looking at her.
“Moira?” I say. “What did you see?”
“I only remember one thing.”
“What was it?”
“He had a boy with him. A little boy. And they were both staring right at your house.”
Chapter Eighteen
I’m sitting at the dinner table staring at my food again.
Freddie is opposite me. He’s not even making any efforts to be subtle anymore. I can see he’s worried. Concerned. And maybe slightly pissed off, too.
Because I’m not being straight with him.
I’m not being totally honest.
And he knows it.
I’m shaking. I can feel my whole body vibrating. I don’t know whether it’s lack of sleep or adrenaline or fear or a mixture of all of it.
I just know what Moira told me.
Yesterday. A man and a child standing outside my home. Staring up at it.
I feel sweat pour down my face. I know I’m probably thinking too much into it. After all, there are loads of kids around this area. It’s the summer holidays. Loads of parents walking them around here.
But with all that is happening, I can’t help wondering.
“You don’t look well.”
I look up. See Freddie staring across the table at me. He isn’t touching his food, either. It’s takeaway. Chinese. My usual favourite, king prawns and green peppers in black bean sauce.
But the sauce looks like tar. The king prawns are rubbery and unappetising.
Neither of us is even pretending to eat.
“I’m sorry,” I say, closing my burning eyes and shaking my head. I just want to go to bed. Curl up in bed and go to sleep.
But I know I won’t sleep a wink.
Not after today.
Not after what happened at Moira’s.
“I’ve heard enough of your apologies, to be honest, Sarah.”
I open my eyes. Frown at him. Wasn’t expecting that. “What?”
Freddie stares at the plate of food. I see he looks tired, too. Pale. “I said… I said I’ve had enough of it. I thought you were turning a corner, going for your blood taken. Going to the doctors’. But you’re worse now than you were then.”
“I’m tired, and I’m not quite feeling myself, okay?”
“Not quite feeling yourself? You’re telling me that.”
“Well, if I’m too much to handle, why don’t you just fuck off for the night?”
I regret it the second I say it. And I see it hurts Freddie. I see it from the look in his wide eyes. We argue sometimes, sure. But this is serious. He’s impatient because he’s trying to help me. Trying to be there for me.
And I’m doing nothing to reassure him that I’m merely tired.
“I… I’m sorry, Freddie.”
He shrugs. Looks away. “Whatever.”
I’m cornered. I’m trapped. I want to speak to him. I want to tell him everything.
I am at bursting point.
But what will he think of me if he knows everything?
What will he think if he knows the truth?
“What happened,” I say. “With Calvin.”
“Calvin?”
“The man. The man who—”
“Oh,” he says, nodding. “The man who dropped the mail off. The mystery man who lives on the mystery road who doesn’t exist.”
I feel my cheeks burning. Tears building in my eyes. “Take that back.”
Freddie pushes his food across the table. Drags his chair against the floor. “You need help, Sarah. Seriously.”
He gets up from the table and grabs my plate full of food and his. And then he turns around, walks over to the bin. Pours it all in there.
And I know I am being difficult lately. I know how hard it must be for him, wanting me to be honest with him but seeing I’m hiding something.
But anger gets the better of me.
“I’m the one who needs help?”
He looks around at me. Frowns. “What the hell are you implying?”
I know I should stop because it will open a can of worms. But I can’t. “I’m the one who needs help? I think maybe it’s you who needs help. Because the way I see it, you must’ve—you must’ve taken that parcel. Because it’s real. It’s fucking real, Freddie. And I know it’s real because it’s…”
I stop.
Wait.
Where is it?
“What the hell are you talking about, Sarah? Seriously. You’re scaring me.”
And then it hits me.
My jacket.
I went around to Moira’s in my jacket earlier.
Stuffed Freddie’s parcel, and the contents of my parcel, into my pocket.
And I must’ve left that jacket round there. On the back of her dining room chair.
Shit.
“Sarah,” he says. “Speak to me.”
I turn around and walk through the kitchen. Walk into the lounge.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“I need to get my jacket. And then you’ll see. Then you’ll see exactly why I’m freaking the fuck out so much lately.” I know it’s reckless. I know it’s haphazard. But I’m at my wits’ end. I’ve given up.
Freddie grabs my arm. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Get off me.”
He tightens his grip around my arm.
“I asked you—”
“Get off me!”
I shout. Right in his face. I see specks of my own spit dribbling down his cheeks.
And I see the horror in his eyes as he loosens his grip.
He shakes his head. Stares right at me, like he doesn’t
recognise me.
“I’m worried about you. That’s all. I’m worried about you.”
I want to apologise to him. I want to say so many things to him.
But all I can do right now is take deep breaths to try and calm myself the fuck down.
“I left my jacket at Moira’s. The neighbour’s. I… I went around there today. It’s a long story. But I’ll just grab it, and I’ll be back here. Okay? I’ll—I’ll explain everything.”
He looks at me with wide eyes. Like he fears me.
And maybe he should.
If he knew everything there was to know about me, maybe he would fear me.
But then he nods.
“Go. Get it. Then get back here. We really need to talk.”
I nod. Turn around. Step out into the cool summer evening air. I see kids playing football up the street. Cheering as one of them kicks the ball between a pair of T-shirts used for goalposts. The air full of the sound of children enjoying themselves. Having fun.
I walk over to Moira’s. Knock a garden gnome onto its side, crack its big cheery face. I push the doorbell with my shaking hand. Wait. Wait for her to hear. Wait for her to come to the door.
’Cause I need that jacket.
I need to show Freddie what I found.
What that bloke, Calvin, brought me.
I need him to see. Whether he likes it or not.
I push the doorbell again when the door opens.
Moira stands there.
She’s already holding my jacket.
An instant wave of relief crashes over me.
She looks up at me. Smiles. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
I try to keep my composure, fully aware of how flushed I must look. “Thank you. Really.”
“It’s my pleasure, dear. Although you could’ve just waited until your next brew trip. I’m not one for people, usually. But I enjoyed today.”
I smile at her as I take my jacket. “Me too. Thank you.”
“Well, I’ll be seeing you.”
“Yeah. See you around, Moira.”
She closes the door. I regret being so short with her. But right now, I am focused. Solely focused on my jacket. On what’s in that pocket.
And showing it to Freddie, once and for all.
I walk back to the front door.