Dying To See You: a dark and deadly psychological thriller

by Kerena Swan

  Oh, Christ. He moves forward to pick up the paper and scans the front page. A ten-year-old girl, last seen on her way to her aunt’s house and missing for five days, has reappeared unharmed. It has nothing to do with him. He can almost taste the sweet relief on his tongue.

  Once home, he flicks through the papers then half-heartedly cleans the house. Four hours before he can see Sophie, but he can’t stay here waiting. Nan will be expecting him to visit some time over the weekend so why not kill time now?

  ‘I’m making woolly hats for the child refugees,’ she tells him, then regales him with an old story about someone’s win at bingo. ‘Mr Brentwood told Sophie he saw you carrying a dead body to your car,’ Ivy adds, as they dunk digestives in their tea. ‘I told her he gets very confused.’

  Max stares at her. This isn’t funny. Getting to his feet he shrugs on his coat.

  ‘Sorry to rush off, Nan, but I’ve got a viewing to attend. I’ll see you soon.’ There’s no sign of Mr Brentwood outside. Should Max knock on his door and tell him he was only taking rubbish to the dump? Perhaps he’ll only upset the old boy and cause more trouble.

  Max gets in his car instead and rests his head on the steering wheel. His life seems to be unravelling like a charity shop jumper and he doesn’t know how to stop it. As he sits up, he sees Mr Brentwood’s curtain twitch. Is the silly old fool spying on him again? With luck, Sophie will believe Mr Brentwood’s accusations are no more than the fantasies of a man who has lost touch with reality. Even so, Max is appalled that Sophie has been alerted to his darker side. He drives away, his mind racing. It’s time. Something has to change and there’s no time like the present.

  24

  The stomach-rumbling smell of warm fruit cake gives way to the fresh aroma of cut grass as I step into the garden. Dad is emptying the last of the cuttings onto the compost heap, Nutmeg waiting behind with a ball in her mouth. I walk slowly over to him, careful not to spill his tea.

  ‘Cake will be ready to eat in five minutes,’ I tell him.

  He takes his tea in a thickly gloved hand and smiles warmly at me. I’m so grateful to Dad for helping me with the garden. I would really struggle to manage it on my own.

  ‘I think I’ll just do a spot of weeding before we go. This is probably the last tidy up of the year.’

  I glance guiltily at my watch and wonder what excuse I can give to make him and Mum leave soon. I’m not ready for my parents to meet Max yet and I’m sure he would feel awkward too.

  ‘Do you have to be somewhere?’ Dad asks.

  ‘I was just checking the time to see when Tilly will be back.’ I know she’ll be ages yet, though. She’s taken the bus into Bedford to meet her friends or maybe her boyfriend, Tom. That might explain the excessive make-up.

  ‘I’ll come in for cake then do the weeding.’ Dad heads back to the kitchen with Nutmeg at his heels, her nose sniffing the air appreciatively.

  I follow too. Max will be here in forty-five minutes. Maybe if I help Dad with the weeding, they’ll leave sooner. I want to get changed into something prettier. I don’t want Max to see me in my scruffy jeans and thick jumper, fingernails rimed with mud. I need to pack Mia’s bag too. She’s going to stay with her grandma and Grandad tonight and is very excited. They’ve arranged for the little girl next door to them to come around for tea and Mia is going to help her grandma build a den to eat it in. It’s amazing what my mum can create with a few old sheets and clothes pegs. I just hope Nutmeg doesn’t wreck it.

  As I sort out Mia’s clothes from the pile of ironing Mum’s just done, I feel like a tennis player trying to bat back the twenty questions she’s bombarding me with. Mum wants to know how the coffee date went.

  ‘Fine,’ I say with a shrug. ‘He seems lovely.’

  ‘Seeing him again?’

  ‘Yeah, soon.’

  ‘Where does he work?’

  ‘He’s a senior negotiator at Cuthbert and Partners Property Management. Mum, I’ve got a bit of a problem and wonder if you could help me out.’

  ‘You know I’d always help you if I can. Is it about this man?’

  ‘Of course not. I hate asking but is there any way you can lend me four hundred pounds? I’ll pay you back, half next payday and half the one after.’ I desperately wanted to avoid this but have given it some thought since Dad offered the other day and realise I don’t have a lot of choice. I can’t risk the house being repossessed.

  ‘What do you need it for?’ she asks me, her eyes narrowing.

  Mum always tries to manage my finances. She can’t let go of the fact that when I was younger I ran up credit card debts buying clothes, lunches, and treats. I try telling her I’ve learned from my mistakes and I’m very cautious now. It’s just a real struggle being a single parent.

  ‘For the mortgage. I had to fix the car a couple of weeks ago and I can’t stretch my wages far enough.’ I feel dreadful borrowing money but the letter from the mortgage company has really shaken me up. I’m beginning to wonder if my heart and breathing problems are linked to my financial worries. I’ve read how stress can physically manifest itself. Incredible but true.

  Forty minutes later I’m waving to Mia as their car pulls away. I run upstairs to change into a blouse, drag a brush through my hair and put on a little mascara. As I go downstairs the doorbell rings and my heart flutters like a trapped bird but when I open the door my smile slides into a frown.

  ‘Mum! What are you doing back?’

  ‘Mia has forgotten Snoopy. You know she won’t sleep without him.’

  I shut the door and follow her into the lounge. Hopefully, Mum will think I’ve changed because I was dirty. She picks Snoopy up off the sofa then gives me a quick hug.

  ‘Enjoy your quiet evening.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, and thanks again for the loan.’

  I open the door for her and my jaw drops in shock. Max is on the doorstep, his hand raised to lift the knocker.

  ‘Oh,’ is all I manage to say.

  Mum pushes past me and says hello so I’m forced to introduce them.

  ‘Mum, this is Max. We went for coffee recently and he’s come to fix some locks for me.’

  ‘How kind!’ Mum looks delighted.

  She’s always trying to fix me up with her friends’ sons and people she barely knows. She once asked the plumber if he was married when I was visiting their house. I was mortified. I can see she’s impressed with Max and I’m not surprised. He looks fantastic in a loose white shirt and jeans. Hardly DIY clothing but I suppose fitting locks isn’t a messy task.

  Max’s expression is bemused but has the good manners to shake hands and say it’s a pleasure to meet her. As Mum scurries away, I let Max in. I know I’m in line for another volley of questions next time I speak to her. Max and I circle each other awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say or do next.

  ‘I brought these,’ he says, showing me a B&Q bag. The locks look good quality and I worry about the expense.

  ‘How much do I owe you?’ I ask. Thankfully my mum has just transferred the £400 to me via the banking app on her phone. I was very impressed with her technical knowledge.

  ‘Please, let me pay for them. A cup of tea and some of that delicious cake I can smell would be payment enough.’ He grins at me and I can’t help grinning back.

  Max sets to work on the downstairs windows while I make the drinks. As I pass him his tea, my hand brushes his. He raises his eyebrows a fraction and I know he’s noticed. I feel a shimmer of elation and wonder if it will get awkward when he goes into my bedroom. I certainly don’t want to take things too far yet.

  The locks are fitted disappointingly quickly, and Max is soon at work on the last one. I sit on my bed watching him and chatting about my work. I tell him about Ivy’s neighbour looking for his wife and his hand stills. He looks across the room, his face serious. I feel a flutter of panic. Does Max think I’ve also heard what Mr Brentwood has been saying about him and is he worried I believe it? Has the atmosphere in the room changed
or is it my imagination?

  ‘He’s obviously confused,’ I say.

  ‘He certainly is, the poor man,’ Max says, his tone is light and the tension dissipates.

  He fixes the last screw and puts his tools away. ‘All done. How about another cup of tea? That cake was lovely. Did you make it?’

  I’m tempted to lie but if we see more of each other the truth will come out when he discovers I’m no great cook. ‘Mum made it,’ I admit.

  Back in the kitchen, my senses are on high alert. Every little movement seems to have hidden meaning and his eyes follow me with a sensuousness that makes my knees weak. All my nerve endings are tingling.

  I reach into a cupboard behind him, but he doesn’t move aside. Instead he slips his hands around my waist and gently lowers his mouth to mine. My lips part in response.

  I’m floating, feeling every stroke of his hands on my back. He smells wonderful. His tongue teases its way into my mouth and the strength to stand leaves my limbs. I lean into him and give myself totally to the moment, my hands sliding up his smooth cotton shirt.

  We’re entwined tightly when there’s a sudden buzzing as my phone vibrates across the worktop. We both jump and laugh but I can see he’s as disappointed as I am that the moment has been shattered. I check the screen. Tilly is calling.

  ‘Sorry, I need to take this. Hi, Tilly, what’s up?’ I listen with growing annoyance. I don’t believe this. Tilly has lost her return bus ticket and has no money to get another one. I have to go and fetch her from Bedford.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Max. I have to collect Tilly.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ he replies amiably. ‘I need to visit Nan anyway.’

  He gives me a light kiss on the cheek and promises to call very soon. Wow! I feel like I’ve won the lottery. See, I tell myself, he’s a wonderful man.

  25

  Tilly arrives at the café with ten minutes to spare and orders herself a caramel latte. It smells delicious in here. She stares at a chocolate muffin, tempted to ask for one but it’s so bloody expensive. How can they justify charging that much? When her dad gets here she’ll ask him to buy her one and she’ll order another coffee. Caramel lattes are a rare treat and maybe she should have opted for something cheaper, but she couldn’t resist. She sips the sweet concoction and spoons froth into her mouth, her stomach cartwheeling with anticipation and nerves.

  Will she recognise him? Tilly has an idea of what he looks like but is hoping it was a poorly taken photograph. She knows it’s shallow to be concerned about looks but it will be nice if he’s someone she can show off to her friends. Won’t it be brilliant if her dad hosts a lavish sixteenth birthday party for her? Maybe she’ll ask him to book one of those photo booths. Kat at school had a mirror one for her party and everyone’s been talking about it for ages, showing each other their pictures.

  Her coffee finished, Tilly glances around the room. She should get another drink, but she doesn’t want to use all her hard-earned babysitting money on bloody coffees. Where’s her dad got to? She’s sure he said twelve o’clock. More people are piling into the café searching for tables and glowering at her. She checks her phone again for any messages and her spirits lift a little to see Tom has texted asking to meet later. Maybe they’ve finally got the bike fixed. Nothing from her dad, though.

  At half past twelve, Tilly grabs her coat from the back of the chair and hurries out of the door. A young couple with a toddler rush to the empty table. With her ear pressed to her phone and her hand across her other ear to block out the noise of traffic she calls her dad. She’s shocked when he picks up and sounds surprised.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Dad, it’s Tilly. I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour. Are you coming?’ It feels strange using the word Dad.

  ‘Today? No, we agreed next weekend.’

  ‘Who is it, Dad?’ Tilly hears a young demanding voice in the background. Her sister. She can’t decide whether she’s pleased to hear her voice or resentful. Tilly is convinced they’d said the next Saturday. He obviously doesn’t want to meet her.

  ‘Shush, Megan, I’m talking. I’m sorry, mate. I’ll definitely be there next weekend.’

  Mate! He’s called her mate. He’s pretending to be on the phone to one of his friends. The small flame of hope inside Tilly dwindles and peters out. She wants to tell him to get stuffed but a small part of her still yearns to see him, so she agrees and hangs up.

  She takes refuge in Primark and spends her last twelve pounds on a short skirt and top. She’ll wear them tonight for Tom and forget about her dad, the wanker. Standing at the till and fishing the last of her money from her purse, she feels a buzz of excitement at the thought of a new outfit.

  Feeling pleased with herself at getting on the bus ahead of a long queue, Tilly rummages in her purse for her ticket. It isn’t in there. Shit. She must have dropped it when she paid for the clothes and she has no money left to buy another one. Her cheeks flame with humiliation as she pushes past the line of people and gets off the bus again. She’ll have to phone Mum for a lift.

  Waiting, Tilly moves lightly from one foot to the other to stop her feet going numb. She’s so cold. Everyone else has thick, warm coats. Why can’t she have parents who can afford basic stuff like decent coats? She almost wishes she’d gone to a charity shop and bought one with the twelve pounds.

  Sophie’s silver Fiat appears around the corner. Tilly jumps in and puts the heater on full then folds her arms and slumps down into her seat.

  ‘Good shop?’ Sophie asks, eyeing the bags.

  Tilly looks across at her in surprise. She was expecting a lecture on being careless, but Mum seems really bloody cheerful. What’s she got to be so happy about?

  Oh God. The creep has been round, hasn’t he? Tilly feels as though she’s being buried under a ton of cold porridge like they do on those stupid kids’ programmes. She doesn’t want Mum to meet someone else. Tilly’s fantasy is that one day, after several secret meetings with her dad, she’ll engineer a meeting between her parents and they’ll fall in love again. He’ll realise he can’t live without Mum and he’ll leave his wife for her. Then they could be a normal family. That won’t happen if Max is around.

  Tilly grunts a non-committal reply and looks out of the window. She has nothing to say.

  26

  The group huddles at the end of the street then divides off, people going their separate ways. Ivy stands by the window, waiting to see if anyone will approach her door. A middle-aged woman in neat, joyless clothing pulls a leaflet from her bag then walks along Mr Brentwood’s front path. After waiting a couple of minutes, she gives up and comes to Ivy’s door.

  ‘Hello, will you accept God’s greatest gift?’ she asks with a serene smile. She holds a copy of the Watchtower aloft and points at a picture depicting a family enjoying a picnic surrounded by butterflies and colourful birds against the backdrop of a river and green hills.

  Ivy stares at her. It’s amazing what rhino hide these evangelists seem to have. No matter how rude people are to them they carry on as though they have been blessed with a secret the rest of society is excluded from. Ivy steps out of the door leaning heavily on her stick and sees the other members of the groupheading towards the next street.

  ‘I tell you what,’ Ivy says. ‘You come in and make me a nice cup of tea and we’ll have a cosy chat. I’m struggling to make one on my own.’

  The woman’s face suffuses with pleasure.

  ‘Oh, that would be lovely,’ she replies, stepping into the small hallway. ‘Please, call me Susan.’

  Ivy points her in the direction of the kitchen and tells her where the cups and tea bags are. While the kettle is boiling Ivy gets a packet of Rich Tea from the bread bin and tips some onto a plate.

  ‘I struggle to lift the kettle and it’s so nice to have a bit of company. I have carers coming in, but they never have time to chat. Let’s go through to the lounge and you can tell me about God’s message. I’m all ears.’

&nbs
p; She settles herself in her winged armchair and Susan places a cup of tea carefully on the small side table for her. Ivy dips her biscuit then sucks it noisily, her false teeth clacking. ‘Oops, sorry,’ she laughs. ‘My teeth are a bit loose.’

  Susan isn’t fazed by Ivy’s lack of manners. She gets her magazine out and starts talking through the articles. ‘So, Ivy, will you accept God’s gift? God loved the world so much that he gave us his only-begotten son.’

  Ivy leans forward to peer at the picture. She’s not in the least interested but doesn’t want Susan to leave yet. Susan is warming to her theme now, though.

  ‘This is a gift that can bring everlasting life. The wage sin pays is death but the gift of God gives us everlasting life.’

  Ivy is bored now. Hasn’t Susan got anything more exciting to talk about? Bloody religion. The only time Ivy had gone to a priest for comfort he’d put his hand on her leg and stroked her inner thigh. She’d jumped up and left and has never been to church since.

  She pokes at her foot with her walking stick, scratching an itch and dislodging her slipper. ‘I’m so sorry, Susan. I don’t like to be cheeky, but do you think you could put my slipper back on? I don’t want to trip up again.’

  ‘Of course. Happy to help.’

  Susan kneels in front of Ivy and undoes the Velcro on the slipper before trying to put it back on her foot. As she pulls it apart with a loud tearing noise, Ivy reaches over to her side table and picks up her precious heavy, glass paperweight. Swinging it in a wide arc, she slams it into the side of Susan’s head. It hits her with the dull thud of a mallet on a fence post and Susan slumps sideways. She lands heavily on the floor and her eyes roll back in her head.

  ‘You silly cow!’ Ivy is on her feet now. ‘Think I’d want to hear about God? Where was he when I needed him, eh? All those years I suffered at the hands of that evil woman and no one helped me, especially not your useless God. And then you show me a picture of a happy family. You’re just taunting me, you bitch.’ As she speaks, flecks of spittle fly from her mouth and land on Susan’s neat navy jacket.