Dying To See You: a dark and deadly psychological thriller

by Kerena Swan

‘Mummy, do the funny voices. You did that bit wrong!’ Mia demands.

  I’m struggling to read the story at all let alone concentrate enough to give each character personality. Snuggled in Mia’s warm, cosy bed it’s all I can do to keep my eyes open. It would be so easy to give in to sleep but that’d be asking for trouble. I’d wake up in an hour or two feeling stiff, disorientated and hungry, and I’d still have chores to complete. With a huge effort I finish the story and slip out of bed, dropping a quick kiss on top of Mia’s blonde shiny hair. Mmmm. She smells of baby shampoo and that special scent unique to her.

  ‘Night, night, sugar plum,’ I murmur as Mia wriggles and gets comfortable. I tuck her favourite Snoopy toy in her arms and tiptoe quietly towards the door.

  ‘Mummy,’ she whispers.

  ‘Yes, my little Mimi?’

  ‘If I pick a bogey, does it die?’

  I feel my stomach quiver with a rising giggle. I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her though, so I say quietly, ‘No, Mia, a bogey doesn’t die because it isn’t alive in the first place.’

  She smiles and burrows down under her pink fairy duvet, so I switch on her nightlight and slip out of the room.

  I open the kitchen door to the acrid smell of burning bacon. A grey layer of smoke clings to the ceiling. I rush to the grill pan and yank it out to reveal three rashers shrivelled to black, distorted lumps. Within seconds the smoke alarm in the hall screams in protest. I grab a cloth and run towards the alarm, wafting it back and forth to disperse the smoke. The high decibels hurt my ears. Mia appears at the top of the stairs at the same time as Tilly flies into the kitchen, eyes wide in panic. Welly streaks past her legs in terror and shoots up the stairs to seek sanctuary under the bed. The wailing of the alarm subsides to a series of bleeps and then stops.

  ‘It’s all right, Mia. Don’t be frightened,’ I tell her. ‘It’s just your silly sister not keeping an eye on her cooking. You’re a good girl for coming out of your room and checking though.’

  I throw an angry glare at Tilly then run up the stairs to settle Mia into bed again. Back in the kitchen I turn on Tilly.

  ‘What were you doing that was more important than watching the grill? On your stupid phone, I suppose. And why are you even cooking bacon when I’m about to cook us dinner?’ I’ve defrosted some chicken breasts to griddle and serve with salad and pitta bread – just something quick and easy after a full day at work.

  ‘I told you, Mum. I’m babysitting at eight o’clock.’

  I look quickly at the large clock over the fridge and realise I’ve been upstairs with Mia far too long. I’ve got fifteen minutes to make sure Tilly eats something before she leaves.

  She looks at me. ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ she says in a toneless voice.

  ‘What, that you’re trying to set the kitchen on fire?’ I know I’m over-reacting, but I can’t stop myself. I just don’t have the energy for this now and I’m disappointed I’ll be eating alone. ‘Look, throw that in the bin and I’ll make you some scrambled eggs on toast,’ I suggest. ‘You can’t go out on an empty stomach.’

  Tilly isn’t listening. She’s looking at her phone again and I feel my irritation spill over. ‘For goodness sake, Tilly! Speak to me.’

  She looks up and I see an expression of hurt flit across her face. I sit down heavily on a kitchen chair and reach my hand out towards her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tills. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just so tired and worried about you eating.’

  ‘You’re always tired, Mum. You’re always bloody working.’

  ‘Please don’t swear, Tilly.’

  ‘Bloody isn’t a swear word. Fuck is, but bloody isn’t.’

  ‘It most certainly is, and I don’t want to hear it. You know I have to work to pay the bills and keep a roof over our heads.’

  She’s looking at her screen again and her thumbs are a blur on the keypad. What can be so important that she can’t hold a conversation with me? Before I get a chance to ask her she slings the phone down onto the table and pulls open a cupboard. She grabs a bowl and bangs it down hard then turns and pulls a box of cereal from another cupboard. Pouring it out quickly and clumsily so that hoops of wheat scatter across the table and onto the floor, she steps onto it crunching it underfoot to reach the fridge for the milk.

  ‘Stop,’ I shout. ‘Look at the mess you’re making.’

  She turns back to the table, scoops a few loose biscuits into her hand and tips them back into her bowl.

  ‘Happy now?’ she snaps.

  I can’t deal with this. I put my arm across the table and lay my head on it. As I lie there, enjoying the velvety blackness over my eyelids, I hear Tilly crunching on her emergency supper, her phone tapping out what sounds like Morse code. I lift my head as she gets up to leave, startled at the brightness of the room. She looks quite upset. I must have been too harsh with her. In fact, she looks close to tears.

  ‘Are you OK, sweetie?’ I ask, feeling guilty I haven’t had more time for her.

  She walks away, leaving her empty bowl on the table, and I resist the temptation to tell her off again. I don’t want to be constantly battling with her.

  She pauses as she reaches the kitchen door and asks, ‘Mum, what if I fall in love with the wrong person? Are there clues when you meet them?’

  This must be about Tom, the boy from school. I hope he isn’t being mean to her. I’ve only met him once at a school parent evening. As Tilly flicked her hair and tried to engage him in conversation he merely gave monosyllabic replies then abruptly walked away when he saw his mate. I think she could make a wiser choice but hey, I’m the last person she should ask for advice given my track record.

  Tilly’s father, Harry, didn’t stick around long enough for me to have any meaningful relationship with him, and Mia’s father, Ryan, spent so much time working away on the oil rigs that he stopped seeing us as his family and home anymore. When a job offer came up in Australia in the mines he jumped at the chance with a promise to send regular payments to us. I haven’t heard from Ryan for nearly two years now and the maintenance has dried up completely along with the calls and texts. I’ve tried to find out where he is from his brother, but he ignores my messages. His uncle merely said he’s moving around a lot and if Ryan rings him, he’ll tell him I called. His family has closed ranks on me and I can’t penetrate their defences.

  I suppose Tilly has no one else to ask, poor love. I get up and walk over to wrap my arms around her. She feels so slight and fragile I want to cocoon her in softness and keep her away from all the predatory teenage boys outside the door. Tilly winds her arms around me and gives me a quick squeeze then pulls away.

  ‘I have to go or I’ll be late,’ she says. ‘Perhaps you can tell me the answer tomorrow.’ She blows me a kiss, then is gone.

  Fat chance of that, I think. If it was that easy to spot the wrong ones there wouldn’t be so much heartache in the world and I wouldn’t be in this mess. Can’t she see I’m a spectacular failure when it comes to romance?

  I open the front door again and call after her, ‘Text me when you arrive!’

  I watch her until she is a long way past the bus stop and turns the corner. I don’t like her being out alone in the dark.

  I get the brush and dustpan from under the sink and sweep the cereal dust from the floor then put the bowl in the sink with the rest of the washing up. I can’t be bothered to cook for myself now, so I get a clean bowl and pour a generous measure of sugary shapes into it. I’m surprised how good they taste with fresh cold milk – sweet and crunchy. Maybe teenagers have a better attitude to life than we give them credit for.

  I’d really like to go to bed early, but I know I won’t sleep until I hear Tilly’s key in the door. I still can’t shake my unease about that bus stop.

  12

  Tilly stomps along the street to her babysitting job with her head down and her hands in her pockets. What a total dick Tom is. She’d only taken this stupid babysitting job so they could
sit and watch TV and pretend it was their own place.

  She pulls her phone from her jacket pocket, but Tom still hasn’t replied to her last text. Why do boys have their brains in their trousers? He’d obviously thought he was in with a chance of getting her kit off because it was only when she’d made it clear that was not happening that he’d said his mate urgently needed a hand fixing his motorbike. He’s such a twat.

  If only her stomach didn’t flip every time she thought about him. It seems the less he gives her, the more she wants. She really doesn’t like being clingy and whingey, but he seems to bring out the worst in her.

  Tilly reaches the house and knocks on the door. At least she’ll earn twenty quid tonight to put towards a warmer coat. The cheap one her mum bought is rubbish and makes her look like shit. Another couple of babysits and she’ll go into town on the bus with her mates to buy a new one. Nothing beats the excitement of standing at the till, clutching something new.

  She hears the sound of running feet along the tiled hall then the door opens to reveal a child with wild curly hair, innocent blue eyes and a wide gap-toothed smile.

  ‘Tilly!’ Amelia shouts excitedly.

  ‘Tilly!’ her small brother echoes, running up to hug Tilly’s knees and nearly toppling her over.

  ‘Let her get in the door, Mikey!’ A stocky, sandy-haired man approaches Tilly and gently closes the door behind her. ‘Good to see you – punctual as always.’ Mr Cooper smiles appreciatively and gestures for her to go through to the kitchen. Amelia follows, pushing Mikey aside. He doesn’t seem to care. He puts his arms out straight behind him and runs around the kitchen table.

  ‘I’m a rocket, Tilly.’

  ‘You are indeed, Mikey – a very fast rocket.’

  Mikey turns and circles the other way shouting, ‘I’m an aeroplane now. I’m a volcano.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Amelia retorts. ‘Volcanos don’t move about.’

  ‘Yes, they do. They run down hills! We made them at school.’

  ‘Can you help me write a letter, Tilly?’ Amelia asks.

  Tilly is beginning to feel knackered already and she’s only just arrived.

  ‘I’m off now,’ their dad says. ‘Claire will be back by eleven o’clock. Bedtime for Mikey in five minutes and Amelia must be in bed by eight thirty.’

  The children both cling to her, seeking attention, so she picks Mikey up and plonks him on the bottom stair. ‘Race you!’ They charge up the stairs and into the bedroom where Tilly settles him into bed and reads him a story.

  ‘Who’s this letter to?’ she asks when she returns to the kitchen.

  ‘God.’

  ‘God?’

  ‘I want you to write and ask for my rabbit back,’ Amelia explains. ‘God’s had him long enough.’

  Tilly hides a smile then pulls a piece of paper across the table.

  ‘OK. You draw a nice rabbit picture to go with it and tell me exactly what to say.’

  Twenty minutes later Tilly sits in front of the TV and checks her phone. Still no text. She’ll look at Tom’s Snapchat story tomorrow to see if he’s telling the truth. Oh well, sod him. She opens her Safari app and types in Miss Selfridge then settles down for some virtual retail therapy.

  For once, looking at clothes isn’t doing it for her. Her mind is as busy as a Facebook newsfeed. It isn’t just Tom. It’s Mum as well. It isn’t like her to talk about bills and roofs over their heads. She must be really worried to tell Tilly stuff like that. Tilly knows her dad buggered off before she was born, so she supposes he’s never paid Mum a penny, but she’d thought her stepdad did. Come to think of it though, she hasn’t heard Ryan’s name mentioned in ages.

  Tilly hadn’t missed him when he’d gone. He was away so much anyway. He’d been fun to have around – he used to take her ice skating and bowling – but he was more like a visitor than part of the family.

  She’d love to know more about her own dad, though. She feels as if she has a chunk of herself missing. She needs to know him before she can know her herself and her own body. Just the other day she’d had a massive ulcer in her mouth. Izzie said they could be hereditary as her mum and Grandma got them. What rubbish! But it had set her thinking. What if he has a proper disease that’s passed down to his children? How will she know? She could die from the lack of early intervention.

  And anyway, why should he just walk away from his responsibilities and why shouldn’t he at least buy her a few clothes? Clicking off the New Look website, she types Harry Bryant into the search engine. Oh My God! There are tons of them. How will she ever find him?

  After an hour of searching, Tilly gives up. She’ll have to ask Mum a bit more about him. She won’t tell her why she wants to know though. Mum probably won’t be pleased with the idea of Tilly trying to find him. Last time Tilly had hinted at it, Mum had told her he really wasn’t worth the effort and she’d only upset herself.

  ‘Hiya, was everything OK?’

  Tilly jolts in surprise as Claire appears at the lounge door. She hadn’t heard the front door open.

  ‘Sorry, did I make you jump? I crept in as I didn’t want to wake the kids.’

  Tilly tells her everything is fine then gratefully accepts the twenty pounds handed to her. She pulls on her coat and swiftly gathers up her stuff. She knows Mum will be waiting up for her. With a little wave Claire shuts the door quietly behind her and Tilly sets off down the street at a gentle jog. Despite her reassurances to Mum that she will be all right walking back on her own, she always feels anxious in the dark. What was Mum’s advice when out on her own at night? ‘Always be vigilant and don’t put yourself in risky situations.’

  As she nears her house she can see the comforting glow of the living room light. She picks up speed and runs, all her senses focusing on the bus stop opposite. She doesn’t know why but she has a weird, creepy feeling about that bus stop. She knows it’s just her overactive imagination, but she always thinks there’s someone behind the wooden partition spying out of the window at her. She wishes the council would replace it with one of those clear Perspex jobbies like they have in the town.

  Tilly reaches the gate and hurries up the path, glancing back across the road as she does so. Shit! There is someone in there. She’s just seen a shadow move. Her stomach does a weird lurch and she fumbles for her keys. No buses run at this time of night and there are no tramps in their village that she knows of. Maybe it’s some knob-head from school pratting about and smoking weed, but she still feels scared. The key keeps missing the lock as panic takes hold, the strength is running out of her legs, but she finally manages to fit it in. She almost falls through the door in her haste and rushes inside towards the reassuring company of her mum. Now she feels safe. Perhaps she’ll make Mum a cocoa and see if she can worm any information about her dad out of her.

  13

  The gym is fairly quiet for a change which puts Max in a good mood. He hates hovering about waiting for someone to finish on the piece of equipment he needs. As he lies on his back, hauling the weights, he reflects on his meeting with Sophie that afternoon. He’s really pleased her agency will be supporting Nan as he’ll now have an excuse to see her without having to hang around her house or office. He’ll see her in meetings and reviews and can contact her about Nan’s care.

  She looked beautiful today; pink cheeked and flustered but somehow fresh, clean, and pure with little make-up and no tacky nail extensions. Most women spoil their looks with make-up, tattoos, fake tans, nails, and tits. Sophie is naturally beautiful.

  A girl in skin tight black and pink Lycra, hair scraped up in a blonde ponytail, slips onto the bench next to him and smiles. He focuses his gaze on the iron bar above his head. He’s not interested in striking up a conversation with anyone and she looks such a poser. She’s not even making any effort, having the lightest setting for the weights. He bets she’s got a tattoo somewhere.

  ‘Hi.’ She has swivelled round and is looking straight at him. ‘I don’t suppose you can tell me ho
w to adjust the weights, can you?’

  Max lowers his bar with a grunt. Doesn’t the stupid cow know the golden rule that you don’t interrupt someone in the middle of a set? He doesn’t want to get a reputation for being rude though, so he slips out from under the bar then goes across to show her how to slide the pin into another heavy block.

  ‘If you need instruction on the equipment may I suggest an initial tour and workout with Nico? He’s very good and the first session is complimentary.’

  Max picks up his towel, wipes his neck and forehead then, with a polite nod, moves across to another machine where he sits and starts squeezing his knees together slowly. The girl in pink follows him with her eyes then gives a small shrug and returns to her equipment.

  She lifts the weight. ‘Bloody hell!’ she mutters then leans forward and deftly changes it.

  Max smiles inwardly as he builds his thigh muscles and turns his thoughts back to Sophie. He must have been watching her for at least three months from the café across from her office. He’d started going there because the food was good, and he always preferred a window seat to watch the world go by. He closes his eyes and replays the moment he’d first seen Sophie.

  It was a grim morning with heavy rain creating bubbles on the puddles and bouncing off the pavement. Sophie was rushing along with her umbrella, lifting it carefully over people’s heads and weaving in and out. She was eye-catching with her blonde hair and neatly-fitted rain mac. An old lady emerged from a shop and dropped her bag of vegetables. Sophie had stopped, handed her umbrella to the old lady then scrambled to pick up onions and oranges rolling around people’s feet. Within a minute her hair was plastered to her face, but she just laughed and handed the lady her shopping then walked along beside her, holding the umbrella over both of them.

  Max was fascinated by her selflessness and kindness towards the elderly lady. She exudes such goodness. It glows inside her and casts warmth on those around her. He needs some of it to shine on him. He is so dark and cold inside.