Dying To See You: a dark and deadly psychological thriller

by Kerena Swan

  Matthews? Isn’t that Sophie’s surname? Perhaps this Tilly is her daughter. Won’t that be a gift? Maybe there is a God after all.

  Ivy looks at her watch. Hmmm, another two hours to kill before the reminiscence group starts. She laughs inwardly. Time to kill. She’s always loved that saying.

  Looking around, she spots the old lady who stole her seat on the bus. Plenty of time to have a bit of fun first.

  52

  I don’t have to wait long outside the school. Tilly emerges laden with bags and rushes towards me.

  ‘Have you got the sweets?’ she asks, as she drops into the seat and arranges bags by her feet.

  ‘On the back seat with the toys and puzzles.’

  Tilly and I spent most of Sunday planning for this. My parents took Mia back to theirs to give us time alone and Max said he had chores to do. We had terrific fun, going over stuff on the Internet and looking up historical facts in case any prompts were needed. Tilly wrote up her notes with a bit of help and asked me loads of questions about the day centre and the people that attend. I said Mr Brentwood might be there and she’s keen to meet him. I wonder if I should warn Tilly in advance that he sometimes makes up stories about Max. No, I’ll wait to see how he is and explain that he’s confused if he says anything untoward.

  I help Tilly carry everything into the building and we’re directed to a corner where there’s a table and a half circle of chairs. We lay out the toys and put sweets onto saucers that one of the staff kindly fetches for us. Tilly scans the room.

  ‘Which one’s Mr Brentwood?’ she asks.

  I look around and can’t see him initially then I spot him on a sofa in the corner with Lily. They’re sharing headphones, one earbud each, like a pair of teenagers. I point him out to Tilly.

  ‘Aww bless! They look so cute,’ she says.

  I usually cringe when Tilly comes out with stuff like this but she’s right. They do look sweet. Mr Brentwood is crooning softly to Lily and I wonder what they’re listening to. Hopefully Lily will distract him from rambling about Max. I turn back to the table and am surprised to see one of the chairs already occupied.

  ‘Ivy!’ I’m so pleased to see her I go across to take her hand.

  She beams up at me and I sit down next to her.

  ‘Thought I’d get in early before all the places have gone,’ she laughs, and I laugh with her. I want to ask her if I’ve upset her in any way, but I don’t want to spoil the atmosphere. She doesn’t seem to be cross or upset with me.

  ‘How have you been coping? Have you got new carers now?’

  Ivy’s smile falters.

  ‘No. I can manage on my own. I don’t need carers anymore.’

  ‘That’s amazing. Well done!’

  ‘Is it your daughter doing this?’

  ‘Yes.’ I turn and call Tilly who has wandered off to ask for some water.

  ‘Gosh, she’s a mirror image of you, isn’t she? You must be very proud of her.’ Ivy scrutinises Tilly as she comes towards us.

  ‘Yes, I am. Tilly, meet Ivy.’

  Tilly’s eyes widen in surprise. She’s heard me speak a lot about Ivy and she knows she’s Max’s nan. We didn’t expect her to be here today.

  ‘Hi, Ivy,’ Tilly says shyly. ‘Are you coming to my group?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Ivy says and Tilly beams.

  Before long, another seven people take up the chairs and look expectantly at Tilly and me. I look across to Mr Brentwood to see if he’s coming to join us, but his carer has arrived and is taking him towards the exit. He must have an appointment or something which is a great pity as he was the inspiration for the group exercise.

  I see Tilly’s hands trembling with nerves as she stands in front to announce her project. As she speaks she runs out of breath and her voice wobbles. Don’t forget to breathe, I whisper silently in my head. Tilly introduces today’s theme then offers people the sweets.

  ‘Ooh, rhubarb and custard, my favourite. I can’t remember the last time I had one of these.’ A tiny old lady in a flowery dress and green cardigan sucks happily on the boiled sweet, her watery eyes closing with pleasure.

  ‘Barley twist! My mum used to send me to the sweetshop once a week for a quarter of these.’

  And they are off – jostling over each other to tell their own stories. Tilly hardly has to say anything now. The prompts and props are enough. I watch her with admiration. She’s a natural with these people and clearly has a great deal of respect for them. When there is a brief pause in the tsunami of memories, she looks at Ivy and asks her if she has anything to say about her childhood as she’s been very quiet.

  ‘I didn’t have many sweets as a child,’ Ivy says, ‘and we tended to make up our own games.’

  I feel a twinge of disappointment that Ivy isn’t contributing much. She’s usually much brighter and chattier than this. Maybe she isn’t as fully recovered as she thinks. Tilly doesn’t seem to notice, though, and listens avidly as an elderly gentleman confesses how they put pennies on the railway tracks for the trains to flatten them.

  ‘Wasn’t that dangerous?’ Tilly asks wide eyed.

  ‘Not really,’ the old man replies. ‘We used to jump out of the way in time. You kids today are wrapped in cotton wool. You don’t even go out to play anymore.’

  Heads nod in agreement.

  ‘A girl died in a fridge in the garden when I was a kid,’ Ivy says, and the whole group goes silent in shock.

  ‘How awful!’ I say. I want to ask more but can see the horror on Tilly’s face so change the subject.

  ‘What did you get in your Christmas stockings?’ I ask.

  Immediately everyone is speaking at once and I hear odd words like nuts, an orange, a hairbrush, and a bar of chocolate. Tilly has forgotten Ivy’s sad tale and is fascinated by how much pleasure these people had got out of such everyday things.

  ‘An orange? For a Christmas present?’ she looks at the old lady in disbelief.

  ‘Yes, and a handful of walnuts.’

  We move onto the subject of toys and pets, and the time flies by.

  ‘I think it’s time to wind it down now, Tilly,’ I say, touching her arm gently.

  She looks disappointed but then thanks everyone for coming and tells them she’ll be back next week. They all thank her and say how much they’ve enjoyed themselves, and she glows with pride. We pack everything away while the group drifts off to other activities. Ivy doesn’t move, though.

  ‘Sophie, dear, I’m sorry to be a nuisance but is there any way you can run me home? I’ve got such a headache and I don’t want to call Max at work.’

  The headache explains her quietness, but I don’t know what to say about a lift.

  ‘Don’t you have a place on the bus, Ivy?’

  ‘I came by taxi because there was no room for me.’

  She looks so downcast that I immediately agree to give her a lift. I can’t think of any good reason why not.

  ‘I’ll need to drop Tilly off at school first,’ I say.

  ‘I don’t have to go back to school, Mum. They said I can use the last session to write up my notes.’

  ‘OK. I’ll just tell Peter we’re leaving.’

  I walk over to Peter’s office wondering if I’m crossing boundaries again. No. I don’t think so. It will be nice to take Ivy home.

  53

  Driving back from a property valuation, Max decides it’s time to call in and see Ivy. He’s avoided her all weekend to show her she’s no longer in control but there’s something he has to do before he cuts her off completely.

  He’s starting to worry that he’s inherited some of his mother’s mental health problems. It’s hardly surprising that he’s stressed with all that’s been happening, but his mood swings are extreme and he feels quite unstable at times. One minute he’s brimming with joy and wants to laugh out loud at the turn of events with Sophie then the next he’s in the depths of despair. Night times are the worst. He’s had nightmares for years but ti
ring himself out by working long hours or wearing himself out physically at the gym is not helping him sleep anymore

  . He now dreads going to bed. As soon as he drifts off the ghosts come out to haunt him. Last night Lydia emerged from under the duvet on top of him, her long black hair trailing over his naked chest. She had looked up at him and smiled but instead of gleaming white teeth, maggots had wriggled and fallen from her lips onto his bare skin. He’d leaped in horror, jarring himself awake, and lay there filmed in sweat with his heart racing.

  He has to sleep with the light on now. He hasn’t done that since his mum died. It took him years to get over the horror of finding her in bed, cold and lifeless, empty tablet pots scattered on her bedside table. He’d stood shaking her for ages to wake her up. She couldn’t be dead. He’d had trouble waking her before when she’d taken too many sleeping pills. The worst part was when he pulled on her arm to rouse her and she’d slipped over the side of the bed, her head hanging to the floor. Mummy! Please, Mummy. Wake up! His screams still echo in his head. She’d looked so uncomfortable but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t put her back in bed.

  He’d eventually gone to the neighbour and sobbed until his chest ached. It had taken ages to get his words out. She’d told him to stay put and placed a bowl of jelly and Dream Topping in front of him then gone to investigate. Everything happened quickly after that and he can’t remember the details. He never returned home again. He saw his mother though, every night for months, half hanging out of the bed with her eyes staring and her mouth wide open. He hasn’t eaten jelly since. Even looking at it makes him feel sick.

  Thinking of his mother and how she abandoned him, Max feels a slither of warmth towards his nan. It only lasts seconds this time though. When he thinks of her now he sees a cold and calculating bitch. She’s given the impression that she’s killed when she couldn’t control her anger but analysing her, he can see that she shows no remorse whatsoever. Even someone who kills in anger is likely to feel some measure of guilt afterwards. Not once has she had a trace of shame. It’s as though she’s incapable of normal human emotions and if this is the case, has she ever really loved him? And will she murder again? She’s promised she won’t, but these are empty words. Whatever happens he cannot allow Sophie anywhere near her. If only he could tell Sophie why.

  When the Riverside Day Centre was chosen for Tilly’s project, Max knew he had to find an alternative place for his nan quickly, without arousing her suspicions. He’s spoken to Social Services today and been given the details of luncheon clubs and tea dances run by Age UK. He’s hoping Ivy will be pleased. She used to enjoy dancing and even if she isn’t up to it herself she can watch the others.

  Max lets himself into the bungalow and listens. No television, radio, or kettle humming. Just total silence. Something feels different. It’s as though there’s no movement in the air. The hairs on the back of his neck rise. He walks through to the lounge and stands in shock. Jesus Christ, has she been burgled? As he stares at the mess he realises that this is her own work. He saw her fly into a rage once before when he suggested bringing his new girlfriend home and the outcome was similar. Ivy was adamant the girl was ‘a bad one’ and would hurt Max.

  He’s about to check the other rooms when he spots the Yellow Pages on the arm of her chair. He leans over and sees a red circle. Toni’s Taxis. Oh God, where’s she gone? He dials the number and asks if they’ve picked someone up from this address. They confirm they have.

  ‘Where did you take her?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m not sure I can tell you that. You know how it is, mate, data protection and all that.’

  Max’s frustration and anxiety spill over. ‘Just tell me, for Christ’s sake.’ He runs his hands through his hair. ‘She’s confused and could be in danger,’ he adds.

  ‘OK. Keep your hair on. We took her to Riverside Day Centre.’

  54

  Ivy watches Sophie pack up the old toys. Despite her lack of participation, Ivy has thoroughly enjoyed her time at the day centre. She particularly liked it when Gladys accused Mabel – the silly old cow who’d taken Ivy’s seat on the bus – of stealing her purse. It had been easy to switch it from one bag to another when everyone was distracted. She’d also enjoyed adding the occasional extra cross to Flossie’s bingo card when she wasn’t looking so that when she called house she was made to look stupid because she hadn’t won. Everyone had groaned and the disappointment on her face had been a treat to behold.

  The best part of the day, though, was seeing Sophie and her daughter. Just looking at Sophie and her replica makes Ivy seethe inside. Would Ivy have been a replica of her mother? Would they have had a warm, loving relationship as Sophie and Tilly clearly had? When Sophie took her hand, it was all Ivy could do not to snatch it away again. Seeing Sophie and Tilly running the group together, the affection in every glance and the pride in Sophie’s smile showed Ivy what she had missed out on.

  Ivy’s mind had wandered frequently from the reminiscence group as she plotted a way to get Sophie back to her house. The more she thinks about Sophie and Max together, the tighter her chest becomes until she can almost feel the anger sparking out of her eyes. She wonders if it shows, but looking at Sophie and Tilly, who are both still smiling at her, she guesses it doesn’t.

  It was a bit of a blow when Tilly said she didn’t need to return to school. Ivy hopes she’ll wait in the car when they get to her bungalow. How can she get Sophie inside? She watches them both pack items in bags and carefully plans her next move.

  Sophie leads the way to the car with her arms full, Tilly close behind her. Every few seconds she looks back to check Ivy is OK.

  ‘Why don’t you wait here, Ivy, and I’ll bring the car over?’

  ‘I’m fine. I’m right behind you.’ She draws out the words in a deep voice as though she’s in a pantomime and Tilly giggles.

  Ivy waits by the passenger door as Sophie and Tilly put the bags in the boot.

  ‘You’ll have to get in the back, Tilly,’ Sophie says, pulling the front seat forward.

  Tilly almost rolls her eyes but stops and looks ahead again. Clearly, she’s used to sitting in the front. As she climbs into the back of the car Ivy wobbles and grabs at Sophie for support.

  ‘Ivy, are you all right?’

  ‘Just a bit dizzy, that’s all.’

  ‘Perhaps we should take you back into the centre? They’ll look after you.’

  ‘I just want to go home, please.’

  Sophie hesitates then helps Ivy into her seat. Sophie chatters about nothing in particular as she drives, glancing frequently at Ivy to check she’s OK. Ivy feels excitement building. This is going to be the sweetest of moments. She can’t wait to see those innocent blue eyes flash with confusion and pain before Sophie loses consciousness. This woman has taken her Max, but she can’t keep him. Ivy won’t let her. And now he won’t be able to keep Sophie either. It will make the day perfect if Max comes along just after the deed is done so he has no alibi. If he’s in the frame then he won’t call the police. They won’t suspect Ivy. How can she get him there at the right time, though? Maybe she can ask Sophie to call him because she isn’t feeling well.

  The journey takes forever and Ivy fidgets restlessly in her seat. She breathes a sigh of relief as Sophie pulls up outside the bungalow. All this waiting is getting on her nerves.

  ‘Can you help me indoors, dear? I’m feeling wobbly.’

  ‘Of course!’ Sophie jumps out of the car and opens Ivy’s door. ‘You wait here Tills, I won’t be long.’

  Tilly looks immersed in her phone and barely looks up. Instead, she undoes her seatbelt and lies along the back seat, her head resting on the window. Good. This is exactly how Ivy wants it. Sophie waits while Ivy fumbles with the front door lock then, as Ivy moves into the hall, puts the door on the latch, presumably in case Tilly needs her. Ivy doesn’t mention it because she wants to Sophie to be relaxed here and Tilly looks settled where she is. Sophie follows Ivy’s slow pro
gress down the hall as though ready to catch her if she has a dizzy spell.

  ‘Perhaps you could call Max for me. I’m not feeling so good,’ Ivy says, pausing.

  She’s worked out the timings. It’ll take Max ten minutes to get here from his office and she wants him to arrive soon after she’s finished Sophie off. She can’t wait to see his face.

  ‘Good idea,’ Sophie replies, fumbling for her phone in her bag.

  She dials his number, but it must have gone to voicemail. Ivy listens as she leaves a brief message then carries on walking. Sophie trails behind her then almost bumps into her as Ivy comes to an abrupt halt in the lounge doorway.

  ‘Oh, my word,’ Ivy says, her surprise genuine. She’d forgotten about this.

  Sophie looks over her shoulder and gasps at the mess. ‘Shall I call the police?’ she asks. ‘We need to see if the burglar took anything.’

  ‘It isn’t that bad. Just help me to my chair, please. I can’t be dealing with all the questions and fuss. There’s nothing worth stealing except the telly and that’s still there. It was probably just kids.’

  Sophie helps Ivy towards her seat and she sinks into it with a loud sigh. Sophie looks around the room. ‘Let me check the rest of the bungalow and straighten up a bit before I go.’

  ‘Would you?’ At least this will delay her departure. ‘You’re so kind.’ And so bloody perfect. Ivy fakes a wobble to her voice and Sophie looks at her with concern.

  ‘Would you like me to stay with you until Max gets here?’

  Oh yes, she will definitely still be here. ‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Ivy replies.

  Sophie glances into the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. ‘Everywhere else is OK. How do you think they got in?’

  ‘I usually leave the back door unlocked. I won’t do that again.’

  ‘You really should call the police. They might know who it is. If it was kids, I’m surprised they didn’t steal some chocolate cake while they were here.’