Dying To See You: a dark and deadly psychological thriller
Page 19
His heart sings with happiness. A meal too! He’s never felt so contented but then reality hits him. He needs to ask what happened when the police questioned her. He doesn’t want to spoil the atmosphere, but he knows it will seem odd if he doesn’t ask and he’s desperate to find out what was said. If only the kids would stay out of the kitchen for five minutes. He waits anxiously, attempting small talk then as soon as Tilly offers to get in Mia’s boat with her he asks, ‘What did the police want to know?’
‘I only spoke to them on the phone. They asked about Lydia’s work and I sent a copy of her rota. They may come and see me, but they said they were going to speak to Ivy as she was the last known visit. Has she called you?’
Max’s stomach plunges to his feet. Oh God. He shouldn’t have ignored her calls. What will she have told them? Won’t they be suspicious that two people with links to Ivy have gone missing?
‘Lydia didn’t show up for that evening visit,’ he says, trying to keep his voice even. ‘She mentioned going to Cornwall with her boyfriend earlier that day. We didn’t report it because we didn’t want to get her into trouble.’
‘Really? Well, you should have done. We always need to know if a carer doesn’t turn up.’
Max has no appetite now and wishes he could make his excuses and visit his Nan. Maybe he can call her.
He taps his pocket. ‘Sorry, phone’s vibrating. Do you mind if I go outside and take this call?’
He steps out into the back garden and walks down the path to stand by the gate. He turns his back to the house and quickly dials Ivy’s number.
‘Have the police been round again?’
‘Oh, hello stranger! Nice of you to call.’
‘Cut the crap, Nan. Just answer the bloody question.’
‘They did come,’ she sniffs. ‘I told them what you said. That she didn’t turn up in the evening and told us that day she’d been invited to Cornwall but her boss wouldn’t let her go.’
Max sinks down onto a rickety wooden seat.
‘Right,’ he says quietly. ‘I’ll come and see you soon.’ He cuts the call then sits for a minute before going back into Sophie’s warm, bright kitchen.
Now that he can relax, Max thoroughly enjoys his evening. This is the family scene he spent his childhood longing for. The food is basic but tasty and he has the opportunity to gaze at Sophie. He longs to wrap his arms around her and kiss her neck and he still wants to run his tongue gently up her cheek. He mustn’t think about that now, though. He’ll embarrass himself. He needs to break down barriers with the ice-princess.
‘So, how’s school, Tilly?’ He berates himself as soon as the words have left his mouth. Damn. He needs to be more original than that. ‘What options did you choose for your GCSEs?’
Tilly looks at him unblinkingly and doesn’t reply. Yes, definitely the wrong thing to say. She’s probably thinking, Can’t you do better than that, you boring, old fart?
‘Tilly’s doing drama, and health and social care, aren’t you, Tilly.’ Sophie chimes in quickly. ‘I’m going to help her run a reminiscence group at Five Oaks old people’s home if they’ll have us. Failing that we’ll go to the Riverside day centre.’
Max feels a twinge of alarm. He doesn’t want Sophie bumping into his nan at the day centre. Good job he hasn’t arranged it yet. He’ll see if he can find a different place to send her.
‘How interesting,’ Max says. ‘You’re clearly a chip off the old block, eh?’
Again, Tilly doesn’t answer him and he looks away from her. God, she’s hard work. He sees Sophie watching him and gives her a half smile. She raises her eyebrows slightly and gives a small shrug.
‘I don’t suppose you want this, do you?’ he says to Tilly, waving an iPhone at her that is clearly a recent model. ‘I’m due an upgrade on my contract and don’t know what to do with this old one.’
Tilly’s expression changes instantly. Bingo! That’s brought a smile to her face.
‘Are you sure, Max?’ Sophie asks. ‘You could sell it on eBay.’
Tilly gives her a scathing look.
‘I can’t be bothered with all the fuss,’ Max says. ‘If Tilly wants it, she can have it.’
‘Yes, please.’ Tilly is grinning widely now.
It’s worth having to go out and buy a new phone for that melting smile.
Sophie looks delighted and her hand sneaks under the table to pat his leg. He covers her hand briefly with his and gives it a light squeeze. As soon as the girls leave the room, he offers to help with the washing up.
‘How about you come round to my place for lunch one day?’ He can’t wait to get her on her own. He’s desperate to stroke her silky skin and get her scent in his bed. She gives him a sideways look and grins, clearly aware of the hidden meaning.
‘I’d love nothing more,’ she says.
Max kisses her quickly on the cheek as he leaves, and calls goodbye to Mia and Tilly. As he walks back to his car he puts his hand in his pocket. There’s something warm and furry inside. He’s about to snatch his hand away when he realises it isn’t a mouse. It’s Woodstock. He pulls it out of his pocket and kisses it. Brilliant! Another excuse to visit Sophie’s house.
47
Tilly sits at her desk, chewing her pencil and ignoring the chatter around her. Well, the creep finally got his foot in the door and now he’ll be sniffing round her mum all the time. Although, he is quite good looking for his age. Tilly can see why her mum goes all smiley and stupid when he’s in the room. She’d even put a bit of perfume and make-up on before he arrived. Such a give-away. Tilly needs to teach her mum how to play hard to get.
Tom has been following her around school like a stray duckling all week. She can’t shake him off. He’s really grovelling now, saying he’s sorry he rushed her, and can he take her to Nando’s? A meal out! Jesus, that’s what old people do. She’s not interested because he stinks of fags and the magic feeling she had for him has disappeared, literally, in a puff of smoke.
Despite Max being a creep and asking the most stupid questions ever, Tilly has to admit she’s glad he called round and she’s looking forward to seeing him again. An almost new iPhone! Bloody hell! She can’t believe it. Her best friend has only got an older model iPhone and she’s always boasting about what it can do. Tilly’s ancient Nokia looks like a house brick in comparison. She can’t wait to tell Izzie, but she’ll bide her time until she actually has the phone then casually use it in front of her. Far more impact that way.
‘Tilly, are you with us or day dreaming about new clothes?’
The class titters and she scowls at her teacher then drags her eyes to the whiteboard to focus on what he’s written. He’s instructing them to plan their projects. They need to write a piece about why they have chosen to do it and who will benefit from it. Afterwards they have to write about what they did and whether they achieved the outcomes they expected.
Tilly copies the instructions into her notebook. She’ll ask her mum to help her with this. It sounds a bit tricky and she wishes she’d been listening. She’s looking forward to sitting down with the crumblies, though. She thinks they might be interesting although she’ll have to remember to call them something else. What does her mum call them? The elderly, that’s it, or older people. She doesn’t want to get her mum’s back up or she won’t help her.
When the bell rings, Tilly is first out of the door. She wants to get out of school before Tom spots her. He’s becoming a bit of a stalker. Oh my God! What if it was him in the bus stop? There’s been no sign of anyone there lately and Sophie hasn’t mentioned it for ages. They’ll have to keep an eye out again. If it is Tom she’ll tell him to ‘F’ off.
Tilly dumps her school bag as soon as she gets in the door then searches in the kitchen cupboards. Why can’t they get decent food like chocolate biscuits or doughnuts? She grabs a jar of jam and slots bread into the toaster then pours a large glass of milk. She takes the snack up to her bedroom, followed by a whining cat who wants his food.
Back in her room, she’s about to take a bite of toast when she realises she has a bit of cat food on her finger. Yuk! She rushes to the bathroom to wash her hands, glancing in the mirror as she does so. Studying her reflection, she looks for any similarities to her father but can’t find any. Clearly her mother has the strongest genes, thank God. Maybe she should text her dad. She hasn’t heard from him since the unsuccessful meeting and she’s due to see him in a couple of days. She doesn’t want another wasted journey, using up her precious money on bus fares.
Hi, Dad. Are you OK? Are we still on for the weekend? Tilly
Tilly fires off the text and waits for the reply. She supposes she ought to sort her bedroom out. All her clothes are on the floor; even the pile of clean washing her mum brought upstairs the other day. She doesn’t know where to start, though, and feels overwhelmed by the mess. She eats her toast then lies down on her bed and shuts her eyes. Maybe she’ll have a little rest first. She’s lying still, imagining her father’s happy face when he sees her for the first time when her phone beeps.
Please don’t text me. I’ll call you in ten minutes.
Don’t text him? Why not? Tilly sits up, confusion sending her thoughts in every direction. She gets off the bed and starts hanging her clean clothes in the wardrobe to distract her from the interminable wait for the call. She manages to put all the clean clothes away and starts sorting what’s still wearable and what’s dirty from the heaps of garments covering the carpet. Is her phone on silent? She checks it. No. She tackles the mess with renewed energy. She’s got to keep busy or she’ll explode with frustration. Ring me, you tosser.
When the phone finally plays a ridiculous tune Tilly leaps up off the floor and grabs it.
‘Hello.’
‘Hi, Tills. Fancy coming round tonight?’
‘Sorry, Izzie. Can’t talk now. I’ll call you back.’ She ends the conversation abruptly and stares at the tiny screen.
At least when she has her new phone she’ll be able to see who’s calling more easily. It trills again almost immediately and Tilly answers on the first ring.
‘Blimey, that was quick. Are you sitting on the phone?’
‘I’ve just been talking to my friend actually.’ Next time she’ll let it ring a few times. She doesn’t want to appear desperate. ‘So why can’t I text you?’ she asks.
‘I’m sorry, love. It’s best if you don’t. I never know who’s going to pick up this phone if I’m away from my desk. Anyway, I hate texts. They’re so impersonal and easily misinterpreted. I’d rather talk to you.’
Tilly doesn’t quite know how to take this. First and foremost, she can’t decide if she likes him calling her ‘love’. Is it a term he uses for everyone or has he singled her out because she’s his daughter? She doesn’t buy his explanation either. Is he trying to hide her existence from people?
‘Are you still coming on Saturday? You know, this Saturday, in two days’ time?’ she asks. He’s bound to have an excuse to wriggle out of it, but he won’t be able to say he got the wrong week again.
‘Of course, love. I’m looking forward to it. Eleven isn’t it, at Costa’s on the High Street?’
‘Yes.’ Tilly feels a surge of relief. Perhaps he really will be there.
‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’m working. See you Saturday.’
Tilly sits hugging her knees, staring at the unusually bare carpet. Welly ambles in and nudges his head under her armpit. She lifts her arm and wraps it around his warm, furry body then pulls him onto her lap. He opens his paws wide then starts kneading her flesh.
‘Bloody hell, Welly! You’ve got nail varnish on. Let’s hope Mia doesn’t decide to play hairdressers next. I dread to think what she’ll do to you.’
Welly looks up at her with his big yellow eyes.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.’ Tilly laughs and squeezes him against her, happiness bubbling through her. She hears the front door slam open as usual and feet thundering in the hall.
‘Mum,’ Tilly calls out, ‘I’ve tidied my bedroom. Come and have a look.’
Tilly is really pleased with her room. It looks so much bigger now. She’s going to keep it tidy in future. Sophie appears in the doorway and pretends to faint.
‘Ha ha. Very funny,’ Tilly says. She follows her mum’s gaze as she’s now staring in dismay at the overflowing wash basket.
‘It looks great, Tilly. Well done. But are all those clothes dirty? I’m sure you haven’t worn that hoodie since I last washed it.’
Damn, maybe she did get some of the clean and dirty stuff mixed up.
‘Mum, I need your help with my project.’ This will distract her from the laundry. ‘Did you phone the old people’s home?’
‘I did but they already have a similar group running. I rang the Riverside day centre, though, and they said they’d love to see you. I’ve arranged for you to go every Tuesday for four weeks from eleven until one. They are the times the school said, aren’t they?’
‘Yes. Brilliant! Thanks, Mum. I’m not sure how to plan the reminiscence stuff, though.’
‘I thought it would be good if you looked at a different stage of life on each visit, starting with early childhood. You could get some old-fashioned sweets from the specialist shop in town; barley sugar, aniseed drops, Victory Vs and so on.’
‘What are they? I’ve never heard of them.’
‘The people in the group will remember them. I thought you could take some old toys in as well such as a puzzle, a doll, dominoes etc. If we call the antique emporium or the museum, they may let us borrow some things. The other weeks could be about meeting their first loves, setting up a home, having children, and so on. You could take old household items in to trigger their memories and get the stories flowing.’
‘That sounds really good.’ Tilly jumps to her feet and gives Sophie a big hug, pulling her round in a circle.
‘Whoa, steady on. You’ll have us both over,’ Sophie laughs.
Mia appears at the door to see what she’s missing.
‘Hey, you, what’s with painting Welly’s nails?’ Tilly asks.
‘Oh, Mia, you didn’t. The poor cat,’ Mum says.
Mia laughs and skips over to Welly who is now sitting on the bed having a wash. He stands up, tail to attention and nuzzles her, purring loudly.
‘Looks like he still loves her, Mum. Will you come with me to the day centre? I don’t want to go on my own.’
‘Of course, I will. I can tell Karen the first session is sorting out support but I may need to make up the time for future groups. It’ll be fun doing this together and you’ll find out why I enjoy working with the elderly so much. They’re such good company.’
48
Sitting at my desk sifting through e-mails I can see Karen out of the corner of my eye thumping at her keyboard and sighing loudly. Karen still hasn’t forgiven me for losing Ivy’s session; in fact, she’s got the raging hump because her old adversary, Shelley, rang from Premier Care to gloat that they’re overwhelmed with new referrals. Karen has told me we’re going to have a supervision session later and I know she intends to give me a rollicking. I suppose I should be worried.
My mum says that in life we meet people who either inflate our balloon of happiness or suck the air out of it. Max has expanded mine so much that Karen can’t deflate me today. Even if she uses a ruddy great pin, aka a verbal warning, I don’t think she’ll pop it. I can’t believe she used to have me trembling in my boots. Now when I look at her I realise she isn’t very good at her job. If I were a senior manager I’d nurture my team and look for the positives rather than focussing on negatives all the time. She runs the office with a blame culture, which isn’t healthy.
I decide that as soon as I get five minutes on my own I’ll look up the website for the care agency Anna mentioned. I’d quite like to work with children again. I’d like to complet
e my nursing qualification at some point too so maybe this will be a step in the right direction.
‘Sophie!’ Karen’s voice is like an ice cube down my back. ‘You’re day dreaming. I asked if you’re going to visit the day centre before our meeting to find out exactly what they want.’
‘Sorry, I thought you were talking to Gwen. Yes, I’ve arranged to be there at twelve so I can see what the lunchtime tasks are.’
‘Don’t mess this one up. We need the work.’
I don’t think we do. We’re already scrabbling around to find enough carers and can barely cover the work we’ve got.
I reach the day centre early to get away from Karen’s oppressive mood. As soon as I walk into the 1960s flat-roofed building, I forget the office and become immersed in the jolly atmosphere of elderly people enjoying themselves. There are tables set around the room for different activities. One group are having iPad lessons, another making 3D birthday cards and, most surprising of all, some people are sitting at easels painting portraits of a semi-naked young male model. Goodness. I’ve heard there’s a radical new manager here and he’s clearly making an impact. It would be amazing to work somewhere so uplifting. Just a shame the pay is rubbish.
The manager rushes over to greet me.
‘You must be Sophie. I’m Peter Robbins, the manager. Welcome to Riverside.’ His arm sweeps the room and he glows with pride.
‘Wow! Everyone looks like they’re having such a good time. I can’t believe you’re short-staffed. I’d expect people to be queueing up to work here.’
‘Some of the old staff didn’t like the changes and left. People get stuck in their ways. We have several new applicants awaiting clearances, but they could take a few weeks, which is why we called you guys.’
Peter takes me around the large airy room and explains the ethos of the centre. He believes in pushing the boundaries of the activities older people do and he consults with them for ideas. They have a group going abseiling next week; some being lowered over the cliff side in their wheelchairs. I can scarcely believe it. As we pass a group placing bets on a roulette wheel, I spot Mr Brentwood. He looks different today. Maybe the Premier Care Agency has been visiting him. His clothes are clean, his shoes match and he’s smiling widely at the lady sitting next to him.