Dying To See You: a dark and deadly psychological thriller

by Kerena Swan

  ‘Five more minutes. I’ll get ready extra fast.’ Tilly turns onto her side, pulling the duvet up to her chin and tugs her pillow into a more comfortable position.

  ‘I know it isn’t easy getting up,’ Sophie says. ‘I remember being just the same when I was fifteen. You have to move yourself now, though.’

  Tilly feels her mum’s soft hand gently stroking her hair. Mmmm. That’s nice. She could lie here all day while her mum played with her hair.

  ‘Right. Cold flannel time,’ Sophie announces. ‘Enough of being kind.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  Sophie leans closer. ‘You dare me?’

  She leaves the bedroom and reappears with a damp flannel then stands over Tilly.

  ‘This is your last chance. I want your feet on the floor before I count to three.’

  ‘Oh, Mum!’ Tilly slides her hand under her pillow and there’s a crackle of paper.

  She sits up suddenly. Shit, what if she’s spotted her letter? Tilly wants to read it a few more times on her own before she shares it with anyone. She hasn’t even told Izzie. She looks up at her mum who is looking at her strangely.

  ‘What?’ Tilly asks.

  ‘Nothing.’

  She looks disappointed. Does she know about the letter? No, she can’t have seen it. Tilly has kept it in her pocket all day and under her pillow all night. Suddenly she changes her mind. She’s rubbish at secrets and this is too big and exciting to keep to herself.

  ‘Look, Mum.’ She hands the letter over.

  ‘What is it?’ Sophie unfolds it carefully then takes it out of the envelope.

  ‘It’s from Dad. It came yesterday.’

  ‘Can I read it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tilly swings her feet round making room for Sophie to sit down then sits close to her so that she can see it over her shoulder. She’s read it through several times and can remember parts of it word for word.

  Dearest Tilly,

  I’m not very good at expressing myself so please bear with me. I’ve thought a lot about you since last Saturday and I know I’ve badly let you down. When I saw you in the café I couldn’t quite believe you were my daughter – are my daughter. You’re so lovely. It was as if Sophie had walked back into my life and all the memories came flooding in.

  I’ve never forgiven myself for the way I abandoned you both. I’m a coward and a weak man. But I want to change all that. I’ve finally drummed up the courage to tell my wife about you. She was shocked of course, and I think she’s lost some of her trust in me, so I’ll have to earn it back.

  I accept you and your mum can’t have any respect for me and I totally deserve that. But I want to make amends if I can. I’d like to play a part in your life if you’ll let me.

  I’ve spoken to Megan about you and she’s beside herself with excitement at the thought of having a sister. She’s always hated being an only child. She’s desperate to meet you and badgers me every day to call you. I’m not great on the phone when it comes to personal stuff (as you’ve probably already guessed) so I told her I would write to you.

  She asked me to include this:

  Dear Tilly, I can’t believe you’re my sister! I’m so happy about it. Can we see each other soon? Please?

  Love Megan.

  I see now that you wanted to meet me because I’m part of who you are. I hate myself for trying to give you the money in such a heartless way. I want you to keep it though. Buy yourself something nice. I’d like to send you some money each month to help pay for clothes and shoes and all the other things a girl your age needs. It won’t be a lot as youth work doesn’t pay well but I’ll make it as much as I can. I’m ashamed I haven’t helped before.

  Will you come and see us? Sophie and your little sister can come with you if you don’t want to come alone. I’m glad this is all out in the open. Perhaps I can get to know you and maybe one day you’ll grow to like me.

  Love Dad

  ‘Can I go and see them, Mum? Will you come with me?’ Tilly peers into her mum’s face to gauge her reaction. Why isn’t she saying anything?!

  Sophie lets the letter lie in her lap and stares at the wall. Is she upset or shocked? Tilly isn’t sure.

  ‘Of course, I’ll come with you,’ she says eventually then turns to look at Tilly, her expression unreadable. She leans forward and wraps Tilly in a warm hug. ‘I’m here for you whenever you need me.’

  Tilly squeezes her tightly and feels a strange urge to cry. She should be happy. She is happy.

  ‘I love you, Mum. You’re the best. I can’t wait to meet Megan! I wonder if she looks like me? Do you think she’ll like me? What do you think about his letter?’ A thousand questions bubble up in her head. Now the letter is out in the open she wants to analyse every sentence with her mum.

  ‘We can talk about this more this evening. You need to hurry now, or you’ll miss your bus.’ Sophie gets up and places a quick kiss on Tilly’s forehead then rushes off towards Mia’s room.

  Tilly sits for a minute, stroking the paper to smooth out the creases. She lays it flat under her pillow then goes to the bathroom. She doesn’t care if she misses her bus. This is far more important. Mum’s attitude has taken some of the gleam off it all though. Does she think he’ll let her down again? Will he? Tilly isn’t sure about it all now. What if Megan didn’t really say that and her dad just made it up? Maybe Megan will resent sharing her dad with a complete stranger. What if her mum’s lack of enthusiasm is because she doesn’t want Harry back on the scene, getting in the way of her and Max?

  Oh God. It’s all so confusing and difficult. Why can’t her life be simple like Izzie’s with a mum and dad both still happily married? She doesn’t know what to do now. Should she call her dad today to arrange a meeting or should she wait to see what her mum says?

  67

  PC Hayward shuffles his feet and glances up and down the street as PC Morris knocks sharply at the door and waits. There’s nobody about this morning but it’s not surprising in this damp drizzle. Strange how it can make you feel wetter than proper rain. His police helmet might keep his head dry but then it drips unpleasantly down his neck and shoulders.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s odd that the carer would go to one evening visit then miss the next one, Rosie? If she was bunking off to Cornwall wouldn’t she skip all of them?’ Hayward asks Morris.

  ‘Who knows? Maybe the boyfriend insisted on leaving then.’

  While PC Morris knocks again he heads towards the lounge window. The curtains are open, so the old lady must be up. He looks at his watch – nine thirty. Maybe she’s gone out somewhere, a day centre perhaps? He leans his forearm against the window and peers into the gloom. She’s not in her chair. He remembers her sitting there the last time he called round.

  ‘Seems a bit strange that we’re back here, don’t you think?’ he asks. ‘Two women are missing, and they were both apparently in this area. There was that report of a disturbance too. I’m getting a funny feeling about that grandson of hers. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Talking to him is next on the list, though. Any sign of life in there?’

  A ginger cat leaps onto the inside windowsill.

  ‘Jesus!’ Hayward clutches his chest in a pose worthy of any school play.

  ‘You’re so dramatic, Ron. What’s so scary?’ Morris pushes him aside and sees the cat. ‘You’re scared of cats? Hello, puss puss.’

  She waggles her fingers against the glass. The cat follows her movements with its large tawny eyes then jumps down again. They watch its progress but then it stops on its way across the room to sniff at something.

  ‘My God. Ron, you need to get that front door open.’

  ‘What is it? I can’t see properly with you in the way.’

  ‘There’s someone lying on the floor by the fireplace.’

  Hayward rushes to the front door and pulls out his baton then lands a sharp blow to the pane of glass near the latch. Shards land on the floor with a crash. He taps jagged tria
ngles of glass away then reaches in and undoes the door. PC Morris rushes forward with Hayward on her heels. The cat shoots into the kitchen then springs up and through the small window.

  The constables kneel next to the body and check for a pulse even though it appears from the skin tone that she’s been there for some time. They look at each other.

  ‘Ivy Saunders,’ Morris says, then pulls her radio towards her mouth and requests an ambulance.

  While they wait they check the rest of the bungalow, trying not to touch anything. The smashed cake is a puzzle. Was there some sort of struggle? Or did the old lady knock it off the counter while having a dizzy turn? The rug is curled at the edge. Perhaps she staggered in here and tripped. But why is her arm stretched out like that? It looks deliberate, as though she was trying to reach something. Hayward kneels down and peers under the sofa.

  ‘Now that’s interesting. I think we need reinforcements here. Get the SOCO and the CID over.’

  ‘What’s under there, Ron?’

  ‘Don’t move it.’

  Morris pulls a face at him. ‘I wasn’t about to. Out of the way then.’

  He moves aside, and she looks under the sofa. ‘That’s a Watchtower pamphlet, isn’t it? Did the Jehovah’s Witness come here after all?’

  The ringing of the landline phone startles them both. Hayward pulls a handkerchief from his pocket then leans forward and grabs it through the fabric.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Oh. I think I might have dialled the wrong number.’ A young woman says.

  ‘Who do you want to speak to?’

  ‘Ivy Saunders.’

  ‘You’ve got the right number but I’m afraid she isn’t available. Give me your name and number and I’ll call you back.’ Hayward takes his notebook from his pocket and writes down what she says. ‘Can you hold on a second, please?’ He covers the mouthpiece with his hand and turns to Morris showing her the name on the notepad. ‘Isn’t this the woman you spoke to yesterday?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I think it’s the same woman who had the accident, too,’ Hayward says.

  ‘She did have a massive bruise on her temple. She said she fell over but couldn’t remember the details.’

  Hayward uncovers the mouthpiece. ‘Sorry to keep you, Ms Matthews. We’ll be in touch soon.’

  ‘Wait, who are you?’ she asks.

  Hayward ends the call without further explanation. ‘I’m not sure what’s going on here, but something isn’t right. We need to visit the grandson.’

  ‘We’ll have to wait for CID first. They’ll decide what we do next.’ Morris looks down at Ivy and sighs. ‘What a shame. She was such a sweet old lady. I’d have liked a nan like her.’

  68

  So, Harry’s finally grown some balls. I don’t know if I’m pleased that he wants to see Tilly or afraid that he’ll hurt her. Both, I suppose. I’ve always found it incredible that he could have a child and make no attempt to see her. He doesn’t deserve to meet with her after abandoning us for so long and I’d rather not have him in my life but that’s not fair on Tilly. I’ll have to go with her to see him. I can’t let her cope with such an emotional experience on her own, but I shrivel inside at the thought of sitting in a room with him.

  I don’t want to be here either. I look across at Karen and Sarah. Karen has asked Sarah to accompany her to a providers’ meeting with Social Services to discuss the level of referrals and any issues agencies are having. Karen’s old adversary will be there, so she’ll want to make a good impression. Clearly, Sarah is a better bet than me with her sycophantic ways. I watch her now, hanging onto every word from Karen, feeding Karen’s ego with her smiles and enthusiasm, saying how clever she is. Well, good luck to them. I’ve got a lunch date with Max to think about.

  I’m in two minds as to whether to say anything to Max about Ivy. Shall I tell him I called her this morning, or will that make him annoyed? I’m worried about the man who answered the phone but wouldn’t say who he was.

  There’s something going on with Ivy that Max isn’t telling me. She wasn’t her jolly self at the day centre but then she did have a headache. I’d like to know if her change of mood involves me, but I don’t want to jeopardise our relationship by pushing Max to talk about it. Maybe I’ll have to wait for the right opportunity before mentioning it.

  I look down at my hand-written supervision notes and sigh. They won’t type themselves. This job may have lost its glow of promise for me, but I still need to show commitment and earn my wages. Besides, I may need a reference at some point.

  In fact, I may need a reference soon as I’ve asked for an application pack for the Team Leader role for the company Anna told me about. Its website gives the impression of a company that’s fun to work for and really committed to the children they support. I’m still unsure about giving up working with the elderly, though. I love their hidden depths of character and lifetimes of experience.

  As I park outside Max’s house my stomach flips at the sight of him walking past the window towards the front door. Surely, he won’t have gone to the trouble of preparing a meal if he wants to break off with me? I’m afraid to think too much about the future. I’ve been hurt badly twice before so it’s hard to put my trust in someone and let them have any influence in my life. I think it’s best if we take things slowly. There’s no rush after all.

  Max wraps me in his arms as soon as I step through the door and it’s as if he never wants to let me go. He’s clinging to me like a man over a precipice. Whatever is wrong in Max’s world, it’s clearly nothing to do with waning interest in me. I stay in his arms for longer than is comfortable then untangle myself gently. I’m surprised to see that his eyes look moist. Is he crying?

  ‘Are you all right, Max? Your eyes look red.’

  ‘I’ve been chopping onions.’

  He leads me through to the dining room and my mouth waters at the sight of tomatoes, mozzarella, and fresh basil. No onions, though. Maybe he changed his mind about serving onions because he wanted to kiss me. The thought warms me inside.

  We eat quickly, barely talking, both of us clearly desperate to go upstairs. Before we’re through the bedroom door he rains kisses on me and tugs at my clothes. I lie on the bed, lost in rapture and tingling all over as he caresses my bare skin. I pull him towards me, impatient for more when I’m jarred out of my pleasurable state by a loud rapping on the front door.

  ‘Expecting anyone?’ I ask.

  He looks as disconcerted as I feel. He pulls his clothes on. ‘Stay here. I’ll get rid of them.’

  ‘Probably just the postman,’ I say.

  I lie still, the duvet pulled up to my chin, but as the minutes tick by curiosity gets the better of me and grabbing my blouse to cover my front I tiptoe to the landing.

  I hear a deep male voice down by the front door. Odd words drift up the stairs and I try to piece them together. He’s saying something about Ivy. Is this the man I spoke to on the phone? The man’s coming in and now there’s a woman’s voice too. Oh God. What do I do? I return to the bed and sit down but I can’t stay much longer. I need to get back to work.

  Maybe I can sneak downstairs and let myself out. I put on my clothes, run my fingers through my hair then check my face in the mirror for smudges of makeup. I creep downstairs in my socks. The lounge door isn’t fully closed but hopefully no one will notice if I glide past quietly. Stupidly, I drop a shoe just as I reach it. I stand frozen in shock and look through the gap. Sitting on a sofa opposite Max are two police constables who are both now looking at me. One is the woman who came to see me at work the other day. I’m too flustered to remember her name but I can see that the recognition is mutual.

  Max walks into the hall and quickly shuts the door behind him. ‘Are you leaving?’ he asks in a low voice.

  ‘I think it’s best. Are they here to ask about Lydia?’

  ‘No. My nan.’

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘She’s had a fall. I’ll talk to you la
ter and see you at the party tomorrow.’

  He kisses my cheek and gives me a quick hug then turns back to the door. I hurry away feeling very uncomfortable about the police seeing me here. PC Morris – that’s her name – will think I’m a liar because I didn’t tell her about my relationship with Max. I feel as if I’m guilty of something, but I don’t know what.

  69

  The time on the retro digital clock on his bedside table flicks over – 14:20, 14:21, 14:22. Joyce will be wondering why he’s not back in the office, but Max can’t move. All he can do is sit on his bed and stare at the clock, trying to work out what to do next. Sophie has texted several times this afternoon. She must be wondering why he hasn’t called. He can’t bring himself to tell her that Ivy’s dead. Sophie’s bound to be upset which sickens him, knowing what he knows. He can’t possibly listen to her sympathy.

  The police came to report Ivy’s death, as he was on her medical records as next of kin, and he could tell they were watching him closely to gauge his reactions. He did his best to look shocked and upset but it was difficult, and he could tell they weren’t deceived.

  The drains at Jubilee Villas are another problem. A massive problem. He hasn’t a clue what to do about this. If he gets a plumber or drain company round, will they discover the well and the back packer? Is it worth him telling the police the truth now that his nan has gone, and would they believe him anyway? No, he can’t do that. He’d still be an accessory to murder and he couldn’t bear the disappointment in Sophie’s eyes. She’d never want to see him again.

  The net is closing in on him and Max tries desperately to think of a way to fend it off, but his mind is blank. Utterly blank. His dream of a life with Sophie is crumbling to dust and there’s nothing he can do to save it.

  With a howl of grief, Max drops his face into his hands and sobs for the sins of his past and the future of joy that he craves but can never have. The sobs rack his body painfully and feel like they’ll never stop but eventually the glimmer of an idea forms.