Dying To See You: a dark and deadly psychological thriller

by Kerena Swan

  The cat comes back into the room then sits down in front of Ivy’s face, cocks one leg above its head and proceeds to wash its bum. Ivy mumbles in protest but another crescendo of pain is carrying her away. She can’t see the cat now. Instead she’s at the edge of a beautiful meadow, birds singing in the warm sunshine, bees humming from flower to flower. In the long grass ahead, a hazy figure shimmers and gets closer.

  ‘Mummy? Help me, Mummy.’

  ‘It’s all right, Ivy. I’m coming for you. I’ve been waiting for you.’

  Ivy’s eyes are shut tight, but she can feel a light tickle on her cheek. The cat must have finished its grooming and begun sniffing her. A rough nail-file tongue moves over Ivy’s skin, but she can’t move away. It’s licking her eyelids and the salty tears on her cheeks, but she is beyond caring.

  Ivy lies in the sunshine, basking in the warm kisses her mother is bestowing, delicate as butterfly wings, onto her cheeks. She has never felt such contentment and peace before. She opens her eyes to the bright light then stands with ease and takes her mother’s warm hand, letting her lead her across the meadow towards the brilliant sunshine. She turns back to look at the figure of the old lady on the floor, lying at an awkward angle with her arm outstretched. A gust of wind blows through the open window slamming the front door shut and she sees the cat bolting into the kitchen then jumping up and out of the window. Ivy smiles, looks up at her mother and gives a little dance of pure happiness.

  62

  I try to concentrate on the care plan I’m writing but the bright screen hurts my eyes. Why did I bother? I’ve had no thanks for turning up today and I feel like crap. Gwen was sympathetic when she saw the purple lump on the side of my head, but Karen barely looked up when I walked in. She’s still annoyed with me. Tilly said I should have a nice restful day at home, but I can’t afford to upset Karen further. I need this job, at least until I find another.

  One positive today was spotting the huge box the new printer arrived in. When I asked Karen if I could have it, she smiled for the first time.

  ‘Help yourself. I’ll be glad to get rid of it.’

  I’ve folded it flat and I’ll put it in the car at lunchtime. It’s perfect. I’m going to the hobby shop after that. The thought of my new project cheers me up and helps me get through the morning.

  When I return after lunch I’m surprised to see a policewoman sitting at Sarah’s desk.

  ‘Here’s Sophie,’ Karen announces with forced jollity, then tells me, ‘The police want to see the rotas for the week Lydia disappeared.’

  ‘PC Morris.’ The young policewoman stands and offers me her hand. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions if I may.’

  I feel flustered and guilty. I’ve still been assuming Lydia’s gone off on a jolly somewhere and I haven’t given her much thought. But what if she really has disappeared? How awful for her poor mother. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like. I’d be a complete wreck if anything happened to my girls.

  ‘Is there somewhere quiet we can sit?’ she asks.

  I lead the way to the small interview room and perch on the edge of the chair.

  ‘It’s OK, relax. I just need to ask a few basic questions.’ PC Morris gives me a warm smile and I feel some of the tension leave me.

  ‘I’ve looked at the rotas and seen all the sessions that were planned for Lydia on the day of her disappearance. Do you know if she visited them all? ‘

  ‘I thought she’d been out to everyone until Max said she hadn’t turned up for Ivy.’

  ‘Max?’

  I feel heat rising in my cheeks and hope it doesn’t show. I can’t afford to let Karen find out about our relationship. She’d love the opportunity to discipline me for gross misconduct and breaching professional boundaries.

  ‘Ivy’s grandson. I met him when he came to a meeting and again at his nan’s place. Apparently, they didn’t complain at the time because they didn’t want to get Lydia into trouble.’

  ‘Have you confirmed that she turned up for the previous call?’

  ‘Yes, she went to see a lady from seven fifteen to eight fifteen and was due at Ivy’s at eight thirty.’

  ‘When did you first realise she was missing?’

  ‘I had a text from her the next day to say she was going to look after her sick grandad, though we thought she was making it up because we’d refused her time off to go to Cornwall with her boyfriend. It was a last-minute request but she still wasn’t happy when we refused.’

  ‘Can I see the message?’

  I show the police woman Lydia’s text.

  ‘Thank you. We’ve checked her phone records, and this was the last time her phone was used. The text was sent locally.’

  She watches me closely, presumably to see my reaction. I’m so shocked I feel sick. Lydia never used her phone again? That sounds bad. Unless she bought another phone?

  PC Morris thanks me and gets up to leave.

  ‘That’s a nasty bruise on your temple,’ she says. ‘How did you do that?’

  I touch it gingerly. ‘Apparently I tripped over Ivy’s bag yesterday and hit my head on the coffee table.’

  ‘Apparently?’

  ‘I don’t remember exactly what happened. I blacked out for a couple of minutes.’

  ‘It’s not my place to say but you look peaky. Are you sure you should be at work?’

  ‘I’ll be fine. I’m going out to visit someone soon, so the fresh air will do me good.’

  PC Morris pauses on her way to the door. ‘I thought this agency wasn’t visiting Ivy Saunders anymore.’

  ‘We’re not,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I just gave her a lift from the day centre.’

  PC Morris nods and leaves. Her visit has left my nerves as tight as piano wires. Thankfully she didn’t stop for another word with Karen, who seems disappointed to be excluded from the drama. I wonder if the police will question Ivy again? And Max. I’m surprised they haven’t spoken to him already. I hope he doesn’t let it slip that we’re seeing each other.

  63

  Max stands transfixed with horror as the paving slab lifts and a putrid hand emerges. A grotesque head, with rotting flesh and strings of dirty blonde hair, fixes him with a hollow-eyed stare. The mouth opens wide to emit a terrifying scream.

  Max wakes suddenly, drenched in sweat. With the duvet tangled around his legs, he can barely move. He lies still, disorientated, his heart beating frantically. The howling continues as high winds cut around the corner of the house and a rhythmic banging tells him the side gate isn’t latched properly. He should go outside to close it before the hinges get damaged, but it’s pitch black out there.

  Why is he suddenly so terrified of the dark? He’s a grown man for Christ’s sake. Despite every light blazing in the house the garden will be in deep shadow. He can’t face it even though he can’t sleep through this noise. Huh. He can’t sleep without the noise either.

  He looks at his watch. 3.00 a.m. He read somewhere that more people die at 3.00 a.m. than any other time and he’s heard it called the Devil’s hour. He’s got to stop these thoughts. He’s spooking himself even more. He wishes Sophie was here with her warm skin and soft hair. She’d banish the ghosts for him. He moves across the bed to sniff the pillow. He can still smell a faint trace of her honey shampoo. He’s going to buy some and use it on his own hair so that the scent will stay in his bed and soothe him.

  He feels calmer now but knows he won’t sleep again tonight. He’ll have to skive off work to nap for a couple of hours tomorrow or he’ll make himself ill. He untangles his legs and pulls on his bathrobe then pads downstairs to make a cup of tea. He takes it through to the lounge and adjusts the curtains to cover the gap. He doesn’t want to see the trees thrashing about against a night sky.

  He feels like danger is lurking around every corner, not just for him but for Sophie, for everyone. Sophie, Tilly, and Mia are the only people in the whole world he doesn’t feel threatened by. He won’t go back to Ivy’s ever again. He can’t
think of her as his nan anymore.

  The police are a constant worry now. He knows they’ve been to see Sophie. Will they visit Ivy again? Will they want to see him? What might they ask him? He needs to think about possible responses. When the Jehovah went missing he was at the gym and the police can check his attendance on their computer. And, of course, the annoying girl in pink will be an alibi, if he can find her.

  But Lydia – now that’s a different story. Would anyone have witnessed her going into Ivy’s that fateful night? He and Ivy have both said she didn’t turn up but what if they check CCTV and see her car on nearby roads? He knows there are no cameras on Ivy’s street. It’s too quiet to warrant them. The warehouse walls opposite are a godsend too – there’s no one to overlook her. What about the other neighbour, though? No, that bungalow is rented and there’s a constant stream of short-term tenants disinterested in their surroundings so hopefully not a risk. That just leaves Mr Brentwood and he’s no real threat. Max still feels uneasy, though. Too many disappearances lead back to Ivy. What if the backpacker’s last movements are traced back to his nan’s street? Acid is burning into his stomach lining and his mouth’s dry. He goes back to the kitchen and takes an indigestion tablet.

  He has to get his thoughts onto a more positive track. Sophie has the right idea. When they all sat round the table enjoying an Indian takeaway, Sophie had announced ‘OK, three good things today.’

  Tilly had groaned, and he’d asked Sophie what she meant.

  ‘We go around the table and each person has to say three good things that have happened to them today.’

  ‘It’s stupid.’ Tilly had rolled her eyes but smiled.

  What a great idea to put everyone in a positive frame of mind and teach people to appreciate the small things in life. His mum would have loved doing this when she was in her lively phases. And even though Tilly complained she’d joined in enthusiastically.

  ‘One – my project. It was great.’

  He wasn’t sure if she’d been praising her own work or if she’d enjoyed running the group, although Tilly doesn’t appear to have the over-inflated ego of other teenagers he’s encountered. Mention of the project had reminded him of Ivy and he’d sat there wondering if he should check on her one last time to make sure she’d recovered from her tumble. He hated her, but still felt conflicted about making that final check. And surely, it would ease his conscience by proving he wasn’t evil like her.

  ‘Two – my new iPhone’, Tilly had continued.

  Max had taken delivery of the new phone that morning. Tilly’s face had been a picture when he’d given her the old one and in her excitement, she’d thrown her arms round him then pulled away sharply as she’d realised what she was doing. It had been worth the extortionate cost. He’d just have to budget for a while.

  ‘Three – my stalker ex-boyfriend, Tom, has given up and moved on to someone else.’

  Stalker? Max had felt a dart of alarm as she’d mentioned a stalker but then realised Tom was being blamed for the presence in the bus stop. That had been a relief.

  Mia’s turn had been next. ‘One,’ she’d said, ‘I saw a frog in the school pond. Two, it was my turn to feed the fish and three, Charlotte wet her knickers.’

  She’d collapsed into a fit of giggles and Max had tried not to laugh with her as Sophie told her off, saying it was unkind to laugh at other people’s misfortunes and how would she feel if she’d wet her knickers?

  Mia had thought about it. ‘Soggy,’ she’d said, and Max had spluttered on his drink.

  They’d all laughed then and he’d felt a swell of love and affection for the three of them. He still couldn’t believe he was being included in their lives and my God, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have kids who hadn’t inherited the flaws inside his own family. He’d been desperate to hear next what Sophie’s three good things were. She hadn’t disappointed him either.

  ‘One – seeing Mr Brentwood so happy at the day centre. Two – doing the project with Tilly, and three – having a meal I haven’t had to cook with my three favourite people.’

  She’d given him a look of such naked affection that his heart had skipped a beat. If only he could stop these nightmares and move on he might be able to have a normal life with Sophie.

  His three things had been easy. He’d simply said, ‘Sophie, Tilly, and Mia.’

  They’d all smiled at him and he’d thought he would burst with happiness. The best Wednesday night of his life. When had his obsession with Sophie changed to love? And yes, he can admit to himself that he loves her. What was the tipping point? Was there a defining moment? He thinks back through the relationship, but it eludes him.

  His limbs feel heavy now, his mind calmed by thoughts of Sophie and the memories of a perfect evening. Maybe Sophie and her family can save him from himself. Maybe by caring and supporting her and her family he can atone for his sins. He just needs to get through the current crisis, keep Ivy out of his life and then he’ll be free. For this he needs a clear head. He lies down on the sofa and within minutes he feels sleep sending out tentacles to draw him in.

  He wakes a couple of hours later with cramp in his calf muscle and the only cure is to leap off the sofa and walk about the room. There’s no point in trying to go back to sleep. He has to get up for work in an hour or so. He makes himself coffee and toast and sits mulling over the terrible night he’s had yet again. Ivy is still preying on his mind. Part of him wants to go and check if she’s all right but the other part of him is screaming that she should be avoided at all costs.

  It’s no good. He can’t relax until he knows if she’s OK. Maybe if he parks down the road and sneaks in round the back he’ll be able to peek at her asleep in bed. Once his conscience is clear he can forget about her and go to work. He dresses and shaves quickly, noticing, with dismay, that he looks as rough as he feels. He’ll need to drink a ton of coffee today to be able to function. He can’t let Joyce and Michael see he’s falling apart.

  Max turns the key carefully in Ivy’s back door so as not to make a sound. As he enters the kitchen he’s surprised to see the small window open and paw prints on the worktop. She won’t be happy about that. The cake is still smashed all over the floor. His heart begins to thump louder, and he has the urge to run away. Surely, she would have cleared it up if she could? He steps cautiously over the debris and gently pushes open the door to the hall. Nothing here. The bedroom door is shut but he’s surprised at the daylight streaming in the lounge window. He peers around the door then freezes with horror.

  Ivy is lying on her side, one arm pinned underneath her, the other outstretched as though trying to reach something or someone. Her eyes are closed, and her face is grey but she looks strangely peaceful. Out of nowhere a huge swell of remorse crashes over him, bringing him to his knees. Oh God, oh God! He can’t believe he’s left her lying in agony. How long has it been? No, she can’t be dead. He can’t think straight. He crawls nearer and peers into her face.

  ‘Nan?’ He waits for a reaction.

  Who the hell is he kidding? Of course, she doesn’t respond. His eyes are telling his brain she’s gone but somehow his heart can’t accept it. He still hates her, but it seems love isn’t easily erased. He slowly reaches out one hand and softly strokes her white hair, then backs away, his mind in turmoil.

  He needs to think. He has to clear his head. What will this mean? He creeps back out of the house and quietly locks the door. Once in his car he starts the engine and drives without noticing where he’s going. As he leaves the outskirts of town, he joins the dual carriageway and puts his foot down. He needs distance. The road is quiet, and the speed is liberating. He passes several junctions then sees the sign for Woburn Safari Park. His mum took him there once in a taxi. When they arrived, the park was closed for the winter, so they’d taken a long walk around a lake then waited ages for another taxi in Woburn. His crushing disappointment had been appeased a little by his mother’s happy mood. He can vaguely remember walking over the cattle gri
d to find the path and enjoying the serene beauty of the trees and water.

  He drives there now and parks his car haphazardly on the grass verge opposite the church. This is the place. Funny that he can remember it after all these years, but it is still exactly as it was back then. As he walks, barely noticing the white bobbing tails of rabbits leaving the path, he tries to work out what to do next. Should he call an ambulance? What’s the rush though? It’s not as if they can save her and they’ll think it strange that he’s turned up very early in the morning for no apparent reason. Will they think she’s just had a fall or will they be able to pinpoint her time of death to when he was last with her? Did anyone witness him going back there after he took Sophie home? The taxi company can say they dropped him off and his car was outside for a while.

  Sudden dread sends goosebumps over his entire body, as though he’s stepped into a cold shower. Oh God! Weren’t the police at his nan’s when he was at Sophie’s? They rang her to check she was all right because old Brentwood had reported a disturbance. Would they have seen his car there? Sophie told them he’d taken her home, so they could work out that he’d used her car and needed to collect his own. But did they even know what car he drove?

  He stops by a fallen tree and sits staring at the water. A duck paddles across the lake leaving an arrow in the water behind it. He needs to calm down. This isn’t logical. Surely with her history they’ll just think she’s had another fall? It must be a regular occurrence with old people. There’s nothing to suggest she was knocked over so would they even investigate it?