Will to Live

by Rachel Amphlett

  His eyes travelled over the calculations he’d written down in his notebook and then he smiled, leaned forward and picked up the pencil once more, the nib hovering over the map laid out before him.

  He had another project to deliver on schedule.

  Fourteen

  Kay’s heart sank a little as she turned into her street and noticed the two extra cars parked outside at the kerb.

  She knew she’d have to expect a visit from her family soon, and she suspected the fact her mother had suggested that they drop by on their way home from a holiday in France with her sister and young family meant she was only doing so out of a misplaced sense of duty.

  They’d never been close, and as Kay had continued to rise through the ranks in the police, they had drifted even further apart.

  Aside from the occasional phone call from either of them, she preferred to keep her distance; her mother was too overbearing, and her sister drove her to distraction.

  Having them turn up at short notice set her teeth on edge – before she’d even turned off the ignition.

  She glanced down as her phone began to vibrate, and recognised Adam’s mobile number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘You can’t sit out there forever, you know.’ His teasing tone took the edge off her nerves a little.

  ‘I could drive off and leave you there all alone with them.’

  ‘Ohh, nasty.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s not all that bad. Your dad’s here, too.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m on my way in.’

  Kay ended the call and slipped her phone into her bag before climbing from the car and locking it, then took a deep breath and slouched towards the house.

  She’d never told her parents or her sister about the miscarriage she’d suffered the previous year.

  She didn’t want their sympathy, and it would have provided her mother with another excuse to berate her for putting her career first, instead of marrying Adam and starting a family.

  Her mother possessed little tact, and had no consideration for what her older daughter might want from her life, let alone what Adam thought. Instead, she spent every moment of their irregular phone conversations telling Kay what she should be doing with her life.

  Nothing had changed since Kay had been a teenager, and from the moment she’d been able to leave home to go to university, she’d continued to put as much distance between her and her family as possible.

  She took a deep breath and inserted her key into the front door lock and tried to push it open as quietly as possible.

  The moment she stepped over the threshold, the grating tone of her sister’s voice reached her, and she exhaled.

  She checked her watch and made a quick calculation. From the aromas, Adam already had dinner ready to go, so with any luck they’d be gone within a couple of hours as her dad didn’t like to drive late at night, and they still had a long journey to get home.

  Voices carried from the living area, her mother’s compensating for the lack of interaction from anyone else, already scolding the oldest child for failing to complete a colouring book properly.

  Kay rolled her eyes and dashed upstairs, shedding her work clothes and pulling on jeans and a fresh shirt before checking her make-up in the mirror and pulling a brush through her hair.

  There was no point in giving her mother an easy target.

  She sighed and headed downstairs, pushing through the door to the living room and cutting off her mother’s harsh tones mid-sentence.

  ‘There she is.’

  The words hit Kay in the solar plexus, all her childhood memories flooding back. She clenched her fists at her sides, her fingernails digging into her palms, and forced a smile.

  ‘Hi, everyone.’

  ‘Hello, love,’ her father said, standing up from his place in Adam’s favourite armchair and pulling her into a hug.

  She returned the embrace, and noticed that despite his advancing years, he still had a full head of thick silver hair and the enthusiasm of a teenager.

  ‘How was France?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks. You’re looking well.’

  ‘She looks thin,’ her mother snapped. She rose regally from the sofa and handed the baby to Kay’s sister in one fluid motion, and then stalked across the room and presented her cheek.

  In contrast to her husband, her face appeared pinched, her make-up too heavy and her hair colour three shades too dark for her complexion.

  Kay gave her a quick kiss, and resisted the urge to wipe her mouth afterwards.

  She turned at movement behind her as Adam appeared, a rueful smile on his face. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hi. Dinner’s nearly ready, if you all want to come through?’

  After a quick greeting to her sister and a playful tug of her elder niece’s ponytail, Kay traipsed into the kitchen after her family and waited while her mother fussed around getting everyone seated around the central worktop.

  ‘Why you two can’t buy a dining table like everyone else, I don’t know,’ she said, tutting loud enough to make Holly raise her head from her bed. ‘It’s impossible to sit comfortably on these bar stool things.’

  Kay bit back the retort that formed on her lips and instead busied herself with taking plates from cupboards, handing out cutlery and topping up her mother and sister’s wine glasses.

  Her father joined her, helping himself to a soft drink from the fridge, and winked at her.

  ‘Didn’t Silas join you in France?’ she asked her sister.

  ‘Too busy.’ Abby shrugged. ‘There’s a big merger going on at work at the moment. He was hoping to fly down to join us, but they wanted him to go to Aberdeen at the last minute.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  Her sister forced a smile. ‘It’s okay. We’ll have a proper family holiday in the summer.’ She leaned across and took the toddler from her mother’s grasp and placed her on her knee to feed her. ‘At least it gave Mum and Dad a chance to catch up with these two.’

  ‘They’re growing so fast.’

  ‘It’s because you never see them,’ said her mother. ‘Look at what time you got home tonight.’

  ‘We’re in the middle of a murder investigation—’

  ‘Not in front of the kids,’ her sister hissed, and glared at her.

  ‘Why don’t you find something nice to do?’ her mother continued. ‘You’ve got a good degree. You could have your pick of any job out there. One that’ll mean you have a life outside of work, too.’

  Kay put down her fork and took a large sip of wine, counting to ten as she did so.

  An hour and a half later, and her ordeal was almost over. Her sister sat in the living room, the two kids beginning to grow sleepy, and her mother informed them they would be leaving shortly to begin the final leg of their journey home.

  Kay managed to stop herself from sighing out loud with relief, and then nearly choked on the last of her wine as Adam fist-pumped the air behind her mother’s back.

  Her father had his hands in the kitchen sink, busy with the washing up, and Kay grabbed a tea towel and began to dry the pots and pans while Adam took a tray laden with coffee mugs through to the others.

  ‘What’s wrong, love?’ her father said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He glanced sideways at her. ‘You always were rotten at keeping secrets.’

  She sighed. ‘It’s nothing, Dad, really.’

  ‘I know your mother’s always going on about you having a career instead of kids,’ he said, ‘but it’s your life. You and Adam do what’s best for you. Take no notice of her.’

  He stopped, leaned across, and picked up the other tea towel before drying his hands, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘I know something’s troubling you, and I don’t mean your mother nagging you all the time. If you ever need to talk, you phone me, okay?’ A small smile quirked at his lips. ‘Best make it a Tuesday, though. That’s when your mother goes to bingo.’

  Kay blinked back tears, and closed the gap between them.

&nb
sp; ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  Fifteen

  Peter Bailey tugged the collar of his jacket up and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  His shift had ended twenty minutes ago, and he normally endured a fifty-minute walk between the supermarket and the flat he rented. The crisp evening air nipped at his skin, and he picked up his pace to try and keep warm.

  Things were looking up at work. He’d only been there for six weeks, but the manager of the store had pulled him to one side earlier that day and asked if he would be interested in a couple more hours every day.

  He agreed without hesitation. The extra money would mean he could start saving and, by the end of the year, he might even have enough to treat himself to a cheap holiday.

  The thought put a bounce in his step.

  On his doctor’s orders, he had started to reduce the dosage of his prescription tablets. The doctor had been wary at first, and had cautioned him about the side effects. He shook his head a little. They had had a similar conversation when he had first been prescribed the antidepressants. Except now, he could begin to lose weight with any luck. He had always taken care of his health before, but after the accident one thing had led to the other and it had become easier to rely on takeaway food and soft drinks. He only had himself to blame, and he realised that at the time he had sought comfort in the food. With the extra money he’d be earning the following week, he’d be able to join the local gym.

  He withdrew his right hand from his pocket and slapped the button for the pedestrian crossing. As he watched the cars and buses race past, his mind wandered and he found himself planning how his daily routine would change once his new shifts began the next week.

  A lorry braked in front of him and the driver beeped the horn.

  He blinked, and realised the green man icon was shining from the opposite side of the road. He held up a hand to the truck driver, and hurried across the black and white stripes of the crossing, reaching the other side as the lights began to flash.

  A cool breeze whipped at his hair as he made his way across the bridge over the river. It had seemed ages since he had a night out, and a couple of swift halves at a pub that was once a favourite haunt had made a refreshing change on the way home from work. He’d certainly been gasping for a beer since being on the antidepressants, and the moment his doctor had cagily agreed he could have the occasional drink, he’d made plans to rectify that thirst as soon as possible.

  There hadn’t been much happening in the pub when he got there, for which he was grateful. He still struggled to interact socially, something his counsellor had said was perfectly normal and also that he shouldn’t rush himself into social situations but rather take it slowly. Instead, he had sipped at his beer, kept his eye on the football score on the television in the far corner, and let the voices around him wash over his weary body.

  He peered over the edge of the parapet into the dark waters of the Medway River below, his eyes tracing the silhouetted outline of the barges and other vessels moored to one side. He envied the freedom he envisaged their owners had; being able to unhitch a rope and drift along with the water’s currents until another location took their fancy. He sniffed the damp air before picking up his pace and following the direction of the Tonbridge Road.

  He checked over his shoulder. The road behind him was empty, and no one else was in sight. At the end of the road, traffic from the town centre sped past the junction, but no vehicles slowed to enter the estate.

  Turning right into the road that would eventually lead to where he lived, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he paused.

  The shunt and clang of a passing train reached his ears, and his skin prickled with goose bumps. He forced himself to whistle, to take his mind off the distant sounds. His whistling was tuneless, but his heart rate began to decrease as the noise of the train faded.

  He turned left before the Barracks railway station and picked up his pace.

  He frowned. He had reduced the dose of his tablets a week ago, and apart from a slight dizziness if he stood too quickly, he hadn’t noticed the side effects the doctor had warned him about. He wondered if paranoia was one the doctor had overlooked.

  He spun on his heel, and as he passed under the next street light, he flicked the sleeve of his jacket back and checked his watch. It was nine-fifteen, and most of the houses he passed were in darkness, the inhabitants hidden behind closed blinds and curtains.

  The street was deserted.

  Or was it?

  He glanced over his shoulder once more, and then stumbled. Resolving to watch where he stepped, he reached a T-junction and jogged across the road.

  The sensation of being watched wouldn’t leave him, though. He clenched his fists by his sides, his senses alert. He couldn’t hear footsteps over the sound of distant traffic; yet he couldn’t shake the sensation that he was under surveillance. Instead, he picked up his pace and ran the last few metres to the main doors to the block of flats.

  The wide and cracked pavement gave way to a steep narrow grass verge that led down towards the ground floor of the flats. A concrete bridge with railings each side spanned the distance between the pavement and the building, and finished at a wide front door that was used by all the residents.

  The flats on the lower floor were accessed by a flight of descending stairs from the entrance hall. Peter ignored these, and jogged up the stairs to his third-floor flat.

  He took the stairs two at a time and, not caring what the neighbours thought if they happened to open their front door, he ran the length of the passageway to his front door.

  By the time he reached it, sweat poured down his face. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead and extracted his keys from the pocket of his jeans. His hand shook as he inserted the key and he swore under his breath while he tried to twist and turn it. Eventually, the door opened and he slipped inside, slamming it behind him and making sure the locking mechanism slid back into place.

  He leaned against the door, panting, then spun around and jammed the security chain across for good measure.

  After a few moments, he shrugged himself out of his jacket and hung it up on the hook next to the door, and then padded along the hallway to the living area. He ignored the light switches. Enough ambient light from the glass panel above his front door shone through to the living room so he could navigate the furniture without tripping over or stubbing a toe. He lowered himself to his hands and knees and crawled towards the front window and then raised himself up until he was able to peer over the sill. The street outside was deserted except for a lone cat that darted between two parked cars.

  He sat for a moment before he pushed himself to his feet, and pulled the curtains. He reached out and switched on the small lamp on the table next to him, and then made his way through to the kitchen.

  Flicking the kettle on, he reached across the worktop for the plastic bottle next to the kitchen knives, uncapped it, and tipped out his daily dose.

  His eyes rested on the collection of pills in his palm.

  Peter’s thoughts returned to the paranoia that had seized him walking home from the town, and he tipped two of the tablets back into the bottle.

  ‘The sooner I’m off these, the better.’

  Sixteen

  He strode beside the worn access road, the surface churned up by the number of work vehicles that had been travelling up and down it for the past two weeks.

  He’d parked a quarter of a mile away. He could have got closer if he wanted to in the car, but it was easier this way. He didn’t want his vehicle to be seen so near to the railway tracks.

  The air held a bite to it, a freshness only a few degrees away from a morning frost. He inhaled the earthy scent of the mud track beside him, careful to keep to the grass verge so he didn’t leave a trail of footprints.

  His progress was camouflaged by a high bramble hedgerow that separated the track from a fallow field intersected by a public footpath. At the weekend, the route would be busy with various walkin
g groups all making their way to the pub in the nearby village.

  He’d been watching the work crew for the past week. He knew they arrived before eight o’clock, so that they would be in time for the daily safety briefing. He knew that there were six of them, a mix of ages, all men.

  He had even caught the train from Maidstone to Kemsing so that he could travel along the section of track the maintenance work was being carried out on.

  He had seen then how he could reach his chosen location.

  It was perfect.

  He soon reached the temporary gates and fencing that had been placed across the access road. He drew closer and reached out to touch the thick chain looped around the gates to hold them secure, a large padlock holding it together.

  A faint smile crossed his lips.

  He withdrew a strange-looking key from his pocket, and inserted it into the padlock.

  It turned smoothly.

  The site was deserted – he had at least another hour before anybody else would turn up. The wind lifted his hair as he ran his eyes over the three temporary project offices that had been set up for the crew’s use. Over towards the back of the small site two temporary toilets had been set up, the bright blue telephone box-like structures a little out of place in the otherwise bland landscape.

  Abandoned plant machinery had been parked to one side a little way inside the fence – far enough away that kids wouldn’t be tempted to enter the enclosure to reach them. A huge pyramid of grey ballast had been dumped to his right side, and steel rails were piled up next to it.

  A small rise towards the back of the site led up to the railway track.

  He hung back, his ears detecting the tell-tale sound of a train approaching.

  He moved so he was hidden behind one of the temporary project offices, moments before the train flew past, its horn sounding in its wake.

  He waited for a few moments, to make sure no other trains were about to pass.

  Although he knew the train timetables by rote, there was always the risk a locomotive might be shunting between stations in amongst the passenger trains.