PICTURES OF YOU
Diane M Dickson
Published by
THE BOOK FOLKS
London, 2015
© Diane Dickson
Diane Dickson is the author of several books in the crime thriller genre. Look out for these on kindle or visit thebookfolks.com for more information.
Bestselling fiction by Diane Dickson
She made a carefully planned getaway that she thought left no trace...
“Women’s crime fiction at its best.”
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00SVY34YG/
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00SVY34YG/
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 1
Mary glanced down at her watch. She was going to have to rush or miss the bus. She really didn’t want to take the car into town. It was a pain navigating the one way system and searching for parking – all of that; this was a day off, a day of leisure, well it should have been.
If she hurried it would be okay. She could still make it if not, with only one bus an hour from the local stop the whole day was in danger of falling apart.
This was all because of the time spent preening in the hall mirror, dabbing with concealer, trying to disguise the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and combing her light brown fringe forward to cover the hint of a line on her forehead. Laughter lines people called them and it was true that when she smiled the wrinkles deepened. They certainly hadn’t begun in laughter. Bill’s illness had aged her, dragged her down, highlighted her hair with spun silver, and then at the end spit her out changed from the young woman that she could barely recall into a middle aged widow.
Bill always told her she looked as young as the day they were married; she missed his silly flattery. Bill, who would now be forever young in the pictures on the mantelpiece. For a long time after he died she had been mired in sadness, still though she didn’t begrudge a moment of the grief. She loved him, lost him and mourned him. Now it was okay really, she coped well on her own and thought if he was watching from – wherever, he would be proud and would wish her well.
She scurried around the corner and glanced backwards. There it was, the bus breasting the brow of the hill. Of course, today it had to be early. The stop was still a few hundred yards away, down the road. She quickened her pace. Typically, there wasn’t much traffic, just when you needed a bit of a jam, a delivery truck blocking the inside lane or even a red light at the crossing, there was nothing and no one.
She broke into a run. Her heels weren’t high but neither were they trainers. What they were, was totally unsuitable for jogging. She could take them off and make a proper dash for it. It would be undignified but still… The thought raced through her brain faster than her legs could pump. She was going to miss it. No, no she bloody wasn’t. She turned and glanced over her shoulder again and that was when everything went pear shaped. The pavement slipped from beneath her feet and there she was on hands and knees in the middle of the street.
She groaned.
“Hey, are you okay?” She twisted her head, her eyes following the twin pillars of denim. There above a grey expanse of polyester was a young face, blue eyes peering from behind a shiny, dark fringe.
“The bus!”
“Right!” He leapt away from her as she pushed to her feet and peered down at the dust on the knees of her navy trousers.
“Hey, no stop!” He had reached the road edge, stepped over the kerb stones and was standing in the road waving at the grey vehicle. Of course it stopped, well how could it not? He had quite literally thrown himself in front of it. The brakes hissed peevishly and the motor juddered and complained at the rapid shift of gears. The bus slewed into the stop.
Twin doors whacked open, “You bloody nutter, what the hell do you think you’re playing at? I could have knocked you into the middle of next week. Shit!” The driver was visibly rattled.
The boy turned back to Mary and, with an old fashioned delicacy, took hold of her elbow and ushered her into the disapproving glare of the passengers and the driver of the number thirteen.
“Lady needed to catch the bus man. She fell. Chill yeah.” Flicking a plastic wallet open to show his travel pass the youth then turned from the furious driver and leaned into the seat Mary had fallen onto. His breath was sweet in her face, his skin clear. He smelled faintly of some sort of deodorant or lotion. “Do you have a pass or a ticket?” She held out her own wallet and he waved it in the direction of the front of the bus.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, I think so. You shouldn’t have done that, you know. You really shouldn’t. If you had been hurt, well…” His face split in a great grin and she couldn’t help but smile back at him.
“Thank you erm…?”
“Jake.”
“Thank you Jake, it was silly and you shouldn’t have done it but thank you.”
“You’re welcome, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I feel very silly but I’m fine.” With a nod of his head and a second beaming smile he turned from her and made his way to a seat further back. She felt shaken up, embarrassed and something else; she felt a little thrill. It was a nub, a tiny glowing bead somewhere deep inside and she couldn’t have said what it meant but it was a feeling from the past, from the days of youth and excitement. She held it for a while for it warmed her soul.
Chapter 2
Mary closed the front door with a thud and then leaned against it for a moment before she took off her coat and draped it on the chair in the hall. She slipped out of her shoes, wiggled her toes and sighed. In the end it hadn’t been a good day. The early sunshine faded and dull grey clouds leaked down onto the pavements and buildi
ngs. Lunch had been a disappointment but not in a way that could be identified, just – not quite right. There was nothing on her shopping list available in the colour, size, shape that she fancied. Jane had been irritable because her contact lenses were making her eyes sore and now it was just good to be home and she wished she hadn’t bothered with the trip at all.
She threw the packets of salmon and vegetables onto the kitchen counter and poured a glass of white wine. Carrying her drink through to the living room she sank onto the sofa.
The little diamond in her engagement ring twinkled in the fading light. She lifted her hand and studied the jewellery. She missed him, even though she had made a life without him, she missed Bill. This evening when everything seemed a bit empty and rather pointless she missed his smile and the easy chatter that would have cheered the end of a frustrating day.
Roll on tomorrow, she thought. There would be company and work at the surgery to occupy her. Tonight though she felt unsettled, on edge. In the quiet, the little grain of memory that had been nibbling at the edges of her consciousness forced itself forward. She was haunted by his smile, his sparkling eyes. If they had ever had a son then she would have liked him to have had sparkling eyes… She gave herself over to the contemplation and a smile hovered at the corners of her own mouth.
She couldn’t recall ever having seen him around before and yet, he had a pass for the bus, hadn’t bought a ticket and so must be a regular traveller. She grinned to herself, and chuckled quietly under her breath. Look at me, mooning over a boy. It’s the shock I expect, the result of that fall. It’s years since I fell over and when you get to my age you can’t shrug those things off.
She raised a finger to the tickle on her face, what on earth? Her cheeks were damp with tears. She had been totally unaware of shedding them and didn’t know why she was crying. Tears for herself? But there was nothing to cry for. Tears of frustration for the wasted empty day? No that wasn’t it? Tears because she fell? Well maybe – but she wasn’t hurt. Tears for the past?
Maybe these were tears for the loss of passion and excitement and thrill. Tears of boredom, that’s what they were, not just everyday nothing-to-do boredom, something more. They were in recognition of emotional boredom, an acknowledgement that she wasn’t ready yet to be quiet, to let passion go, to be done with all of that. The fleeting touch on her arm, the smile, the smell of him, the closeness of a young male animal had stirred a desire that she believed had been lost, her skin flushed with the thought.
Perhaps she should consider looking for some male company, not online dating, nothing like that, but maybe she shouldn’t be so sharp to dismiss the introductions of well-meaning friends. Dating, that was a scary thought, could she really do that? She shook her head. Let it go, just let it all go and calm down.
That was enough for one day, with no appetite for the salmon she tidied the food away and dragged herself upstairs. Sleep, that was the answer to all this introspection and soul searching.
Chapter 3
Rain fell for most of the night and the morning was dull. Water dripped and gurgled in the gutters. Mary stretched under the covers and was surprised to find her back stiff and sore. She swung her legs out of the bed and saw that her knees were bruised. She popped a couple of aspirins and creaked downstairs to eat a bowl of cereal. The garden was sodden, shrubs and trees flicked and twitched shrugging off the water. The poor weather did nothing to lift her mood, the melancholy of the previous evening lingered. She sighed and hitched her shoulders. It was time to push this aside and get on with things, it was a long time since such sadness had visited and it mustn’t be allowed to take a hold…
She backed the little blue Fiesta onto the road and turned towards the High Street. Why? Why do that? This wasn’t the usual way, it was true that either way led to work, but turning left avoided the bulk of the traffic and made the drive easier and here she was turning the other way.
Silly, silly, the time was different, the day was different and the whole thing was ridiculous. Going this way on the off chance of seeing the boy again, hunting for Jacob. How stupid.
Of course he wasn’t there, she turned her eyes towards the bus stop, flicked a glance up and down the road but the traffic and driving demanded her attention. Now she felt disappointed and ridiculous and tutted in irritation at herself. He was nothing to do with her, he was a ship that had passed in the night. What a foolish woman she was becoming…
The day improved and coming home from the surgery was pleasant, contentment had smoothed the edges of the day. Watery evening sunshine glinted on windows and the lowering sun painted pink streaks across the evening blue. Work had gone well and she felt brighter, more cheerful. Mary enjoyed her job, it was busy and at times prickly patients took out their anxiety and fear on the receptionists but she believed herself to be good at what she did. It was a good place to work and mostly, as now, she returned home satisfied.
She deliberately drove the quiet route, avoiding the busy main road on some fool’s errand searching for the boy who had helped her. During the day she had tried to convince herself that all she had wanted was to thank him this morning and that was the reason for the choice of route. It wasn’t true, and in her heart she knew that really what she wanted was to see him again, his bright eyes, that smile – it wouldn’t do, it just wouldn’t and that must be an end to it.
She cooked the food bought the day before, settled in the cosy lounge with her Kindle and pushed all thoughts of the fall and the brush with the boy away. She would, however, think about her situation and look into joining an evening class or book club where she might meet someone who could fill this newly awakened desire for male company.
She had a brother and a nephew. She had a couple of male friends, old socks who made up the masculine part of couples. There were no single males though, the few that they had known before Bill had gone or were no longer in touch and she could barely recall their names now, they had been his friends.
This young man, Jake, he had done her a favour. He had made her look at the situation and realise she needed another layer to her life. There would surely be no harm in looking for some men friends. If the situation had been reversed she wouldn’t have wanted Bill to be alone.
Feeling happier she spent the evening with her novel and climbing the stairs to bed she believed she had wrapped the silly little encounter in common sense and tucked it away where it belonged, in her past.
Chapter 4
Two weeks went by with spring sunshine greeting many of the days. Mary studied some of the literature for the local college and pretty much decided to take a class in photography. She had Bill’s good camera and a “point and shoot” one of her own. When he died, friends suggested she take this route but at the time it had seemed to be simply a way to fill the huge hole left in her life and she hadn’t wanted to fill it.
Though it was obvious life had to go on Mary had welcomed the pain. It was something to focus on, a sharp and powerful feeling of loss and anger which kept her from falling into the deep pit of depression and emptiness that had beckoned.
Even now, in moments of total honesty, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to do this. However, the strange melancholy of the day she’d fallen disturbed her. Anyway, wasn’t it good to learn something new, to hone and improve a skill and - well it was the sort of thing men liked wasn’t it? There would be men there and it would be safe to meet them in a public place. She would do this thing. In the meantime life had swung back to its usual routine, work, home and the odd trip into town or to visit friends…
“Can you go on the front desk Mary?” The reception supervisor stood in front of her, a clip board in the crook of her arm.
“Yeah, sure. Is Chrissie not well?”
“Dental appointment.” With a nod of thanks the woman spun around and swept down the corridor. Mary gathered her bag and jacket and relocated to the main reception area. A dental appointment. In the days to come she would think back to this moment and wonder how such
a mundane event could have released the storm that it did…
“Hello.”
Mary raised her head; a smile automatically smeared across her face. “Oh!”
“Hello, hey aren’t you the bus lady?”
Jacob stood before her, his face a little flushed. He was holding a white card in his hand and leaning down to speak into the grill in the window. He was taller than she remembered, probably touching six feet, and today dressed in a black jacket with his brown hair hidden under a knitted hat. His eyes were a mixture of green and grey, a tiny scar above the right eyebrow recalled the wonderful words she had read a long time ago in a Thomas Hardy book. She couldn’t now remember the whole thing but it was something about flaws and the effect of them on perfection. She dragged herself back into the moment.
“The bus lady.” She gave a little huff of a laugh. “I suppose I am, yes.”
Her heart jinked. She could feel the skin of her neck warming and took a calming breath, “What can I do for you?” Should she let him know she had remembered his name? No, no need to do that.
“It’s Jacob isn’t it?” Oh, it was out.
“Hey yeah, cool – you remembered.” She smiled again.
“Well, you’re my hero.” Now she felt silly, why had she said that? “Anyway, Jacob. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, I need to be registered. The college insist. I’ve just moved in, near here and I have to y’know get a doctor. I’m not ill though, but they need a doctor for the forms n’ stuff.”
“Yes, yes of course. Have you filled the card in?” She pointed to the paper in his hand.
“Yeah, do I – just – leave it with you?”
“Yes, but I have to make an appointment for you. You have to pop in and see the doctor, just to have a chat.”
“Really? I don’t know about that. Well, not that I mind, it just seems, well a waste of time, a bit of a fuss. I only need y’know an address.”
“I understand but it’s just the way we do things. It won’t take long?”
PICTURES OF YOU: a gripping psychological suspense thriller Page 1