by Dean Cole
He disregarded my petulance, kicking off his boots and rolling up his shirt sleeves. He had prepared for our interval by prearranging drinks and snacks. Chocolate digestives, a thermos flask and china cups stolen from the dining hall were set out on a tray on the dresser. Very romantic. He whistled to himself as he unscrewed the flask and poured tea into the cups.
I glanced around the room dejectedly. I could see Will’s reflection in the paned window. ‘Shouldn’t we be staying vigilant, not getting comfortable?’
‘In your vision Stan didn’t appear until past midnight, remember?’
I sighed glumly. ‘Oh yeah. Forgot.’
I had forgotten about a lot of things on the way up here. That happens when your mind is swamped with things to worry about. Seeing a naked man in a cellar that looks just like you. Seeing another that was impervious to walls vanish out of sight. Hearing the voices of spirit children telling you there’s a man with a hole in his face standing behind you. Knowing a gay-hating loon who can’t stand the sight of you is probably in his cottage at this very moment, polishing his shotgun, ready to enter the room and blow your brains out.
Will interrupted my daymare by appearing at the side of the bed with two steaming cups, a biscuit pinched between his teeth. I pulled my knees to my chest to allow him room to sit down. He positioned himself against the bed frame and tucked his feet beneath him, mirroring my position against the headboard. He dunked the biscuit and chucked the whole thing into his mouth in one.
I took a sip from my own cup, welcoming the warmth after being out in the cold, the tea’s calming effect instantly easing my nerves. There’s something comforting about thermos tea. Sipping it carried my mind to memories of camping trips with Elliot. Nights when we’d lie under the stars, the back of our heads cushioned by our coats, our crowns touching one another’s shoulder, so if anyone was to look down at us from above we’d look like one very long person with a pair of feet at both ends. Not many people bother to look up at the night sky, too busy with their heads in their phones. But when you do it’s surprising just how much is actually going on up there.
Will rolled his head back, massaging his neck. He looked gorgeous in the soft light. It was pleasing to see him sober on our final evening at the manor. Though I wouldn’t have said no to having his arms wrapped around me tonight. Anything to distract me from the ghastly thoughts of what lay ahead, from mentally pencilling my last will and testament.
‘About the elephant in the room,’ he said. ‘It deserves some explanation.’
The elephant in the room. So he was finally going to broach it. Was that what the tea making, the undressing me was all about? Softening me up before he gave me the typical excuses and feigned apologies?
I shook my head. ‘Don’t bother. I’m not in the mood.’
‘Let me explain.’
‘You don’t have to. I know you’re probably not even gay and you regret the entire thing. I’m not mad at you. I just don’t want excuses, or pity. Not now.’ I sipped my tea, very aware of how sullen I looked and sounded. But, quite frankly, I felt justified considering the circumstances.
‘You’re right. I’m not gay. I’m not anything. I’m just me. I like what I like. Sometimes that’s a girl. Sometimes it’s a guy. It’s the person I see, not the gender.’
I was going to ask him why he’d ran a mile after seeing me enter the dining hall at breakfast if that was the case, but knowing the answer was probably that he felt so ashamed about last night he had to run to the bathroom and throw up, I didn’t bother. ‘Don’t waste what time I’ve got left with excuses, Will. I know I’m as fanciable as roadkill. And I don’t need James Dean’s younger brother kicking me while I’m down by patronising me.’ I set down the cup next to my physics book on the beside table and moved my legs to get off the bed.
Will reached out and gripped my wrist, struggling to hold back a grin. ‘Stop talking like you’re about to die, you muppet. I told you, nothing is going to happen to you. And it isn’t an excuse. Would you just let me explain?’
My eyes moved distrustfully from the hand on my wrist to the earnest blue eyes looking at me. Downcast, I sat back against the pillow and folded my arms across my chest.
‘I was in a three year relationship that ended eight months ago,’ Will said. ‘Olivia. I met her when she was temping as a secretary for the accountancy firm that manages my finances. She was stunning: auburn hair, porcelain skin, gorgeous body. And well aware of how she could use it to get me to notice her. The way she looked at me, it made me feel like a teenager again, excited. I knew life with her would be an adventure. And it was. I had the time of my life, socially and sexually. Especially sexually. That was where we connected like ink and paper. It was out of this world. Not just sex, we were reaching a higher place, transcending. She was like a drug.’ Will’s eyes were intent as he spoke. He swallowed the dryness out of his throat, plucked at the fabric of his socks. ‘That was just the love bombing stage. The crucial part of her game. She knew what I wanted, what I needed, the love I never got growing up. And she gave it to me in spades: validation, making me feel seen and heard for the first time. I was an ‘impeccable writer.’ The most ‘handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on.’ A man worthy of giving her, the auburn haired goddess men would throw punches over, the perfect family she longed for.’
I watched him from the other side of the bed. Saw anguish crease his forehead as he remembered the things he was telling me. Ordinarily he was laid back, if a little hard to decipher. He seemed sardonically amused by life and all its tumultuations. Which I secretly suspected was a way of coping with his neglectful past. But he didn’t look like that now. A sombreness had possessed his blue eyes as he recalled this auburn-haired vixen named Olivia. What had she done to make him look so grave?
‘We were engaged, living with each other and venturing into business together within months,’ he said. ‘All her idea. I can’t believe how stupid I was in hindsight, allowing someone I barely knew into every part of my life. But I was blinded by the whirlwind. And I guess I was good supply. A decent writer with some significant interest in my work. Good looking. Nature gave me the tools to please — if you know what I mean.’ At this I blushed and tried not to let my eyes drift southward to his groin. ‘I’m a bloody good mate if I think you’re alright, too. And don’t think I’m bragging, by the way. It’s no compliment to be hunted and chosen for your most appealing qualities when you’re dealing with someone like Olivia.’
‘What, it wasn’t genuine?’ I asked.
‘The mind games began about a year into the relationship, once I was ensnarled in the commitments, the joint accounts, the contracts. She managed to hide her true personality that long. It was the odd comment at first, criticising my looks or the amount of time I spent at the gym. Jealousy over other women, my friends even. When I got the publishing deal, I expected her to be thrilled — after all, she’d always said I’d write something worth putting on the shelves. But she questioned every part of it until I began to doubt it myself. When I got suspicious or annoyed, the old Olivia would come out and I’d feel things were fine again. She’d remind me of everything she’d done for me. She knew how to press my emotional buttons, the ones she’d worked so hard at figuring out, the puppet master she is. It’s disorienting, getting the mixed messages, never knowing which character you’ll get that day.’
Will sipped from the cup in his hand. But it seemed an action more out of nerves than thirst. I remained absorbed by his story, watching him silently from across the bed covers.
‘She feared losing me more than anything,’ he said softly. ‘And yet, at the same time I was just a play thing to her, an accessory to make her look good. She tried to make me feel worthless, be worthless. She didn’t need me to love her, because I think Olivia doesn’t believe that real love exists. She needed me to need her. But the more I did, the more she saw me as pathetic. And I think she wanted to believe that I was pathetic, so that it validated how much better than ever
yone else she thinks she is. That’s why she couldn’t believe it when I finished it.’
‘You ended it?’
‘I finally grew some balls, yeah.’
‘And it was as easy as that?’
He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Ending it was the worst part. It was the ultimate insult to her, to her inflated sense of self. How dare I think I was worthy enough to leave the goddess Olivia, that I’d find anyone even close to matching her. She was the one who left again and again, throwing herself into the arms of other men, her exes included. I was expected to remain there, no matter how many times she left and returned, just taking the abuse hurled at me for whatever transgression I was supposed to have committed.’ Will’s lip curled in a semblance of a smile. ‘Well, that last time I didn’t. Her response? The way she always responds to pain: to try and hurt someone as deeply as possible. She’d been screwing my best mate behind my back, keeping him there as some sort of weapon she would pull out when the time was right, when she knew the game was up. Some best mate he was. Within a fortnight they’d moved in together and were engaged, announced all over social media to make sure I heard every last carefully orchestrated detail.’
Rain had started up outside, tapping against the window. Car headlights strobed through the curtains. I heard the sound of tires crunching over gravel on the front drive. Will’s story had left an unsettling feeling in the room. And inside my heart. According to him and Kat, relationships were ordeals to survive not the perfect companionships depicted in a million romance books. Had I really missed out over my celibate years?
‘So you see, squire, it’s not just men that I’m not interested in. After Olivia, I’m not interested in people. I call her my beautiful nightmare. She made me aware of my weak spots. She showed me who my true friends really were. She taught me beauty means nothing if it doesn’t come from the heart. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid eyes on, and yet today I see her as the ugliest. But some nightmares are hard to shake off. Eight months and I’m still healing, still learning to trust again.’
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to go through something as nightmarish as what Will had just described. I couldn’t imagine that a person could be so vindictive. But watching him as he gazed into the corner of the room, that distant look in his eyes as he reflected on his story, I could relate to what it felt like to be haunted by the ghosts of your past.
‘Let’s hope we can both leave the past behind us soon, eh?’ I said.
Will’s eyes drifted away from the corner and landed on me. He watched me for a moment before bending over the side of the bed and setting down his cup. He clambered over the covers until he was sitting next to me, his back pressed against the headboard on Kat’s side of the bed. His hand came up to my face. He ran the back of his knuckles lightly down my cheek.
I felt the familiar nerves return. The shyness from being unused to another person’s touch. The lack of confidence from being so close to someone as good looking as Will. The fear that hit me when I thought this was something I could get used to, because then it could be taken away from me again.
Will blinked softly as he looked into my eyes. ‘You really are handsome, Strange. Glasses or not. And I’m not drunk tonight.’
My heart was beating so hard I was afraid he might hear it. A maelstrom of emotion felt like it was going to burst right out of my chest. Maybe there was some excitement in there, as well as the nerves. And it suddenly grew stronger when I sensed Will was about to kiss me a second time.
He leaned in, bringing his lips close to mine. I closed my eyes, anticipating their touch. But when I didn’t feel anything I opened them again. Will had pulled away, his eyes no longer looking into mine but staring at the door.
‘Wh—’ I started.
‘Shh. Do you hear that?’
I listened, but heard nothing. ‘What is it?’
‘Someone’s coming.’
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN -
The Trap
WE’RE ALL USED to waiting for our death to occur, from the moment we wake up to the moment we go to sleep. Waiting for your own murder, though — now that is a place I didn’t think I would ever be.
Lying under the covers, my cheek pressed against the pillow, I thought my heart might pack in all together it pounded so hard against my breastbone. And it didn’t help that the lights were out, just a strip of gold light under the door to break the uncertain blackness. Helpless as I lay there, all I could do was stare at it, waiting.
The footsteps coming down the corridor grew louder with the sound of my heartbeat as they approached. Two foot-shaped shadows appeared in the strip of light. They stayed there for a moment, unmoving. Was someone listening?
I stole a glance at the changing screen where Will was hiding. Was that a flicker of movement I saw through the latticework? I remembered his reassuring words, ‘Nothing bad will happen to you while I’m around.’ I just hoped he wouldn’t be regretting them in the next few minutes.
A soft knock on the door made me start. Then the handle turned and the door opened with a squeaky creak. I squeezed my eyes shut. At least I wasn’t worried about my heart giving up on me anymore. Time seems to stand still when you meet your killer, when you know your final moments have arrived. All other worries disappear and you’re focused on one thing and one thing only: this person who is about to end your life. Forget the fight or flight response. I couldn’t do either. I had to lie there, a sitting duck, hoping my Superman behind the changing screen would save me. This was the moment I would find out if Will was true to his word. If I had made the right decision trusting him with the thing I treasured the most: my life.
A floorboard creaked. I braced for a gunshot. But I didn’t hear one. I heard a high-pitched gasp. Confusion hit me. I stopped breathing to hear better. There was another creak on the boards. This time from the other side of the room, where Will was hiding. Was he bracing to jump into action?
Unable to bear the suspense any longer, I prised one eye open. It wasn’t Stan Crouch who had entered the room. There was a diminutive person silhouetted in the light of the doorway. A person I recognised.
‘Do forgive me, Mr Strange. Only, I saw the light on from downstairs …’ Mrs Brown’s voice trailed off and a hand went to her mouth in embarrassment.
I sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. Hilderley Manor’s housekeeper, donned in a rain spotted bucket hat and camel coat, blinked at me like a startled fawn. I blinked back, speechless and confused as my heart rate decelerated. What was the Scotswoman doing here? Especially since she left the manor at the same time each evening and should have been tucked in bed at home. I glanced at the changing screen. Will remained hidden, perhaps worried he might give her a heart attack if he were to suddenly step out from behind it. I finally found my voice. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘It’s so unprofessional of me to intrude like this, I know, but … well …’ Mrs Brown hesitated, still taken unawares from stumbling upon one of her houseguests mid-sleep.
‘Sit down,’ I said.
She shuffled over and sat in the spot where Will had been sitting just moments before. ‘I debated coming, what with it being so late,’ she said. ‘And my Fergus was howling up a storm for me not to leave him. He only got home at tea time after three days at the vets for his thyroid op. But I felt it was urgent and I knew you’d be busy getting ready to leave in the morning.’
I felt worried suddenly. ‘What is it?’
‘Do you remember telling me to come and see you if I suspected Stan was a danger to someone?’
‘What’s he done?’
‘Oh don’t worry, he hasn’t hurt anyone. Well, not yet he hasn’t. It’s just that I remembered something he said to me about a week ago. I thought it was strange at the time. But it was only after you told me about the shotgun that it got me worried.’
I sat up straighter. I felt awkward half-covered by the bedsheets, even if I was fully dressed underneath. Ra
in was hitting the window harder now. I thought I heard another creak behind the changing screen. Mrs Brown elaborated.
‘We we’re having another heated chat,’ she said. ‘Stan had been sequestered in his cottage for days and I was more than worried about him. I went to see him, suggested he might want to come to the market, look at some plants, if only just to get out of the cottage for a few hours, give him a change of scenery. But he got all irate, said he didn’t have time to be wandering about looking at plants with the things he had to worry about. He wouldn’t tell me what those things were. But he said he’d be “better off dead like mouse” if the “calibre of the only friend he had left in the world was a daft hag who wanted to faff about looking at sodding plants.”’ Mrs Brown became crimson, from either embarrassment or annoyance I couldn’t work out which. ‘Those were his exact words. Not ‘dead like a mouse.’ He said “dead like mouse.” As if Mouse was a name.’
‘Mouse …’ I whispered, recalling the word from somewhere.
‘Well, with his mind going he was obviously confused. My Roy was the same near the end, getting his grammar and his words all wrong. He once called me Edith and I swear I felt my heart break in two. But ‘dead like a mouse’ is the sort of thing Stan would say; he’s sent a fair few mice to their graves over the years with his traps.’ Mrs Brown shook her head in despair. ‘There was no need for such rudeness, not when you’re only trying to help someone! And if he won’t open up to me then what am I supposed to suggest? I’m not Mystic Margarita, or whatever it is that daft bat who does the horoscopes in the paper is called.’ She blew out her frustration with a weary sigh. ‘Regardless, Stan’s message was that he’d be better off dead. I don’t like him talking like that, Mr Strange. Not when he’s got a weapon in that cottage. The serious harm he could do if he got any funny ideas!’
Mrs Brown’s words percolated in my mind. The gravity of what she was telling me, that Stan Crouch could seriously harm himself, was sinking in. Yet despite requesting that she come to me with this very information, I felt completely clueless about what I was going to do about it. Not to mention something was making me very suspicious.