Come A Little Closer

by Rachel Abbott

  On the top level of the boat is a rarely used sun deck. It’s too hot to lie out for long, but one of the loungers is shaded from the burning rays by the roof of the adjoining open-air bar, so I sink down onto the comfortable mattress. The bar area is bordered by a half-height wall with an intricately designed wooden screen above it. No one will know I’m here.

  I close my eyes and try to drive all worries and concerns from my mind, and it is a while before I realise there are people sitting on the other side of the divider from me. There is a bit of shuffling, as if someone is trying to get comfortable, and then I hear a couple of tiny sniffs and a strangled sob.

  Just as I contemplate moving away from such a private moment I hear a deep, gravelly voice. ‘For God’s sake, Thea. People will see.’

  I have never heard Garrick speak harshly to Thea before, and now I feel as if I can’t show myself. I’m sure she would be embarrassed, so I lie perfectly still. What on earth can be wrong? I hear Thea blow her nose, and for once Garrick is the one to order the drinks.

  ‘A sweet sherry and a large brandy, please,’ he says.

  I imagine him glaring at Thea as the waiter retreats, ashamed of her display of emotion.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Thea says quietly and clears her throat. There’s a minute or so of silence, and when her voice comes again, it shakes with suppressed tears. ‘I know I’m making you uncomfortable. I miss her. That’s all.’

  Garrick grunts but doesn’t respond for a few moments. ‘I know you do,’ he says finally, his voice less abrupt. ‘We both do, but I don’t want that Donna woman rushing over to ask what’s the matter. She keeps glancing across, and I don’t like people knowing our business. I didn’t mean to be sharp.’

  Thea’s voice is little more than a whisper. ‘Could we have done things differently, do you think?’

  I hear a sigh, and I’m sure it’s Garrick.

  ‘No, Thea. You did everything you could. We both did.’

  What on earth can they be talking about? Thea has never given me any indication that life is anything short of perfect for them both, but something has obviously hurt her – someone important in her life has gone.

  They are quiet again, and I hear the sound of glasses being placed on the table and a muttered ‘Thank you’ from Garrick. They give the waiter time to move away.

  I would really like to roll off this sun lounger and crawl away from here on my hands and knees. I don’t want to listen to Thea’s unhappiness or Garrick’s rather uncomfortable response to whatever is causing her so much grief, but I am sure they would hear me if I were to move. All I can do is lie here and wish I was somewhere else.

  They are quiet for a few minutes. I know they are still there, though, because I hear the pages of a magazine being turned rather too quickly for them to have been read and glasses being placed, more gently now, on the table.

  ‘Another?’ Garrick asks after a while.

  ‘Yes please.’

  I imagine him signalling the waiter and hear him place another order.

  ‘I’m sorry about my little outburst, dear,’ Thea says. ‘I’m okay most of the time. I just had a tiny wobble.’

  Garrick grunts in his usual way. ‘The girl seems to be making things easier for you,’ he says.

  The girl? Could he mean me? I can’t see who else it could be, and if spending time with me has helped Thea forget some sadness in her life, I’m delighted. She has saved me from losing my sanity on this holiday, and quite honestly I don’t know what I would have done without her.

  ‘She is, and I’ll be sorry to say goodbye to her. Focusing on someone else’s problems always makes one’s own slightly less all-consuming.’ It’s definitely me she’s talking about. She waits a beat. ‘Don’t you think she looks like—’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Garrick answers quickly. His voice softens again. ‘And I’m glad it’s helping.’

  I hear some shuffling, a creak from the rattan chair, and I realise one of them is getting up.

  ‘I’m going to the room. I think I’ll have a lie-down. Are you coming, Thea?’

  There is no response, but I know they have gone. I don’t need to lift my head to check. I can feel their absence.

  Thank God they don’t know I heard them.

  13

  It was nearly two weeks since Sharon Carter’s terrifying night at Pennington Flash, and she had lived every day in fear of Jez finding out how stupid she had been. Just as she was beginning to feel safe, confident there was nothing to worry about, she had turned on the news two nights ago. Since then the same story had been on every bulletin, and each time she saw it her whole body shook.

  She stared at the television screen as a police detective made a plea for witnesses. A body had been found at the Flash, and Sharon knew she should call and tell them what she had seen. But by talking to the police she could land herself in a whole heap of trouble. They might come to the house, and then Jez would find out where she’d been. She would have to explain to him why she had gone there at that time of night. On the other hand, what if a killer was on the loose and she said nothing? What if he killed someone else? Oh God, it was such a mess.

  She was supposed to be getting married and the wedding was now only a couple of weeks away. If it all came out, Jez might call it off. What had she been thinking?

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea, babe?’ Jez shouted. He popped his head round the door to their tiny kitchen and grinned at her. ‘Wow, you look a picture of misery. What’s up?’ He glanced at the TV. ‘Oh, don’t go worrying about that. One of my mates says he knows a local cop, and they think she killed herself. They’re just looking for anyone who knows her.’

  That’s not what they said on the news report, though. They said the police were treating the death as suspicious, and maybe Jez’s mate had it wrong. No, forget that. Jez’s mate did have it wrong.

  Sharon knew.

  Because Sharon had been there.

  She remembered slipping off her shoes, her heart thumping so loud that she was sure the man walking slowly towards her, shining the torch into the bushes, would hear it. She’d been terrified of making a sound, but she had to get away from the path. Moving as silently as she could, her feet like blocks of ice on the slowly freezing ground, she had crept to a denser patch of shrubs.

  She could barely make out the man on the footpath. Why was he trying to find her? Why did it matter that she was there – somewhere – having apparently abandoned her car? She knew it wasn’t the man from the club, so what did he want with her?

  The torch flashed around, searching the area where just moments before she had been hiding, and she ducked her head.

  The light had moved on, and when she risked peeping – still petrified that the torch would pick out the whites of her eyes – she saw the beam retreating back along the path towards the car.

  Thank God. He’s leaving.

  But Sharon was wrong. The man got back into the car, but instead of driving towards the exit he pulled onto one of the footpaths that led to the smaller lakes and ponds. All she wanted to do was leave as quickly as she could, but getting to her own car could be dangerous. He might see her and come after her.

  Sharon pushed herself up from where she was crouching, feeling nauseous as the tequila shots she had knocked back sloshed around in her gut, not helped by the hard knot of fear gripping her throat. Despite the freezing air, her clothes were clinging damply to her back. She made her way on bare feet to where the car had disappeared and peered around a tree trunk. It was parked no more than ten metres away. The door on the driver’s side was open, and the man was walking towards the boot. He pulled out a long thin bag, which looked heavy. What was he doing?

  Then the rear door behind the front passenger seat opened and another figure got out. Against the black sky it was hard to see much, but this person was a lot shorter, and Sharon felt sure it was either a woman or a child. Neither person spoke, and the shorter of the two waited patiently at the side of the car. Then the boot
lid was slammed shut, and they started to walk down the lane together, turning off down a narrow path without a word spoken.

  For a moment Sharon thought this was her chance to escape. But what if they were just going down there to dump the bag? They could be back before she was halfway across the car park. Whatever they were up to, it didn’t look good. Why else would the man have checked her car so thoroughly and come looking for her? Why else drive without lights?

  There was nothing for it. She had to hide, and wait.

  It was hard to find the perfect spot. A lot of the shrubs had lost their leaves, and yet she wanted to keep the car in sight – to know when it left. The bloke from the club was obviously not coming, and although she was relieved, part of her would have been pleased to see him – or anyone else. Safety in numbers. For now though, she needed to find a place where the cover was good enough. Huddled into her black coat, she reasoned that if she kept her head down she wouldn’t be seen.

  The wait seemed endless. She didn’t think she had ever been so cold, and her bare feet had lost all feeling, but she wasn’t going back for her shoes. After about twenty minutes the driver returned, still carrying the bag. But he was alone – the person with him, whether woman, girl or child, wasn’t there. Where was she?

  He opened the car door, but in the brief flash of the interior light Sharon couldn’t make out any features. He had his back to her. She heard the purr of an expensive engine, but no headlights came on. Suddenly the area where she was hiding felt exposed, illuminated by the car’s reversing lights as he backed along the lane. Sharon stayed perfectly still. Sudden movement would be easy to detect, so she slowly dropped her head again, hoping her dark hair would blend in with her black coat. Her heart was pounding as the car reversed past her.

  That would have been her chance to look at the driver’s face, possibly glowing green from the instrument panel. But it would have been his chance to see her too, so she kept her head down, hoping and praying he wouldn’t stop.

  For a moment she thought he had as the car drew to a halt. But she breathed again when she realised he was putting it in gear to go forward. She lifted her head as the sound of the car moved away.

  He had gone.

  Sharon heard herself whimper as the fear that had been clutching her started to fade.

  But where was the other person? Was there still a danger?

  Sharon felt the first thick flakes of snow on her face and realised she needed to go. But where was the girl?

  She couldn’t wait to find out. If she stayed much longer and the promised heavy snowfall came she would be trapped, and there would be no explaining that away to Jez.

  She ran as if the devil was chasing her and leaped into her car. This time her key went straight into the ignition, and she was out of the car park and on her way home within minutes. Her breath was coming in gasps, and her teeth clattered together as shivers racked her body.

  Then the questions started, flitting round and round in her head.

  What had he been doing? But more to the point, why did he want her car registration number? Was he going to hunt her down, to check what she’d seen?

  She was so stupid. She didn’t deserve Jez, and he must never know about this.

  She should go to the police. But how could she keep it from Jez? How could she stop him from discovering what she so very nearly had done?

  14

  As my plane begins its descent into Manchester, I look out of the window at the snow-covered landscape and whisper an apology to Pops for the ruined holiday. I haven’t been able to force the uncertainty of all that is waiting for me at home from my head, and after the word spread around the boat that my mother had died, the other passengers had treated me with sympathy. It made me uncomfortable and drove me back into the shell from which I had slowly been emerging since the start of the trip.

  The tension gripping me increased with each passing day, and I found myself distrustful of everyone. More than once I returned to my cabin, convinced that someone had been in there, and when Paul spoke to me to say how sorry he was for my loss, I had the uncomfortable feeling that those beady eyes of his were looking straight through me. How could he know it wasn’t true?

  The ten-minute warning sounds, and we are told to fasten our seat belts for landing.

  As we taxi to the gate I feel more lonely than I have ever felt in my life. I had hoped that Thea and Garrick would be travelling back on the same flight as they live so close to Manchester, but my flight was via Dubai and theirs via Singapore. Thea became my protector in the last few days of the holiday, and when Paul suggested one evening that maybe I would like to join him for dinner for a change, she was up in arms.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘This young lady is having a very hard time coming to terms with the loss of her mother. Right now she needs the support of those closest to her.’

  Paul looked at me, raising his eyebrows as if in challenge, and once again I had the feeling that not only did he see right through me, but that there was something he wanted to say. I didn’t like the questions he kept asking me about my life in Manchester, the holidays I had taken, the people I had met. He made me nervous.

  After that he didn’t speak to me again until we were leaving the boat. He leaned in close, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me goodbye. I could smell the soap he must have used to wash his face and feel his breath on my cheek. I pulled back sharply, alarmed at the thought of his skin touching mine.

  I was wrong. He didn’t want to kiss me.

  ‘I’m watching you,’ he said softly.

  I disembark and make the trek through the endless corridors of the airport to pick up my luggage. I don’t mind if it’s the usual long wait. I’m in no rush to get home, but it’s the end of January and the airport isn’t very busy, so the bags are with us within fifteen minutes. I heave my suitcase off the conveyor belt and head for the taxi rank.

  I’m halfway to the door when I hear my name being called, and I stop dead. This can’t be right, surely? I turn slowly, and there he is.

  Ian.

  Clutching a bunch of supermarket flowers and holding them out towards me, he smiles as if nothing has happened, but I can see his eyes are narrow, calculating.

  ‘You didn’t think I would leave you to get a taxi home, did you?’ he asks. ‘Here, let me take your case. You have these. Sorry they’re not more exciting but it’s the most I could afford.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ I stutter. But I know why. It’s another of his games to put me on the back foot.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ He reaches out his spare arm to touch my shoulder, and I flinch. Is he insane? ‘Oh, I get it. You think I’m still mad at you,’ he says.

  He laughs then, the harsh note piercing the racket of the airport. I want to shout at him, to tell him how he ruined my holiday, to ask him why he hasn’t moved out of my house. But he is behaving as if none of it ever happened.

  ‘Look, you’re right: I was pissed off with you,’ he says. ‘But everybody has rows. We were fine until you insisted on going on that stupid holiday. You were just being obstinate, but I’m over it. Come on, let’s get you home.’

  I know exactly how his mind is working. He thinks I’m too weak to put up a fight, and if he acts as if everything is normal I will probably accept it. I don’t know how to react. I don’t want to get in the car with him, but I need to go home – to my home. Taking the bus or a taxi isn’t going to make any difference. He will get back before me – in my car – and will be sitting in my chair, waiting for me.

  ‘We’ll talk in the car,’ is all I can bring myself to say.

  I hear him sigh. ‘Oh, don’t look like that,’ he says, a hint of irritation in his voice. ‘It’s over now. I’ve forgiven you, so let’s move on.’

  At that moment the only thing I want to do is slap him. I’m not given to violence, but somehow everything has become my fault. I’m the one who is apparently behaving badly, and I know with certainty that this is how
it’s always been, but I was too blind to notice.

  He takes my arm as we cross the road to the car park, and I can feel his fingers pinching my flesh. It seems that my refusal to cancel the holiday and my insistence that our relationship is over has unleashed something beyond the bitter words that spilled from his mouth before I left. I expected savage arguments, but not this. He is playing a game and I don’t know the rules.

  15

  Sharon had been glued to the news every night for the past week. The police were still asking questions about the woman’s body at Pennington Flash; even after all this time they didn’t know who she was. Every time Sharon closed her eyes she saw the man shining his torch at her car, taking down her number. What if she was the only witness – the only person who could point the finger? What if the man was looking for her right now?

  Sharon had tried to convince herself that any statement from her wasn’t worth having, that she knew nothing. Two people had got out of a car and only one had got back in. There could be a hundred reasons for what she had seen, and it might have nothing to do with this woman’s death.

  The trouble was, Sharon couldn’t think of a single reason other than the obvious one. It was making her irritable and edgy, and Jez kept asking what was wrong. She blamed it on pre-wedding nerves, and he liked that, saying she had seemed blasé about their big day up until now, so he was glad she was feeling a buzz of excitement. The stress was stopping her from thinking clearly about the wedding, though. Her mum had called her at work to ask if she was away with the fairies for some reason, because she’d forgotten to order the cake.

  She pulled her feet up onto the sofa and cuddled up to Jez. He felt lovely and warm, just as he always did. She was the one who was cold, with chills of fear running through her day and night.