The Tall Man

by Phoebe Locke

  Stop that, she tells herself. Amber was never in any danger. Not the way Sadie thought, anyway.

  But she can’t stop herself from shivering, imagining Sadie on that threshold. The door held open by Miles, welcoming her and everything she brought with her into his home.

  ‘I was happy,’ Miles says, more to himself than to Federica. He closes his eyes. ‘It was like something out of a dream.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Federica says, her voice gentle now. ‘It must have taken some adjusting to, though?’

  ‘We got on with things. We were a family again.’

  Greta sees Federica’s mouth purse. She is not getting what she wants from him. She really is going to try and break him, even when it’s clear that that ship has long since sailed.

  ‘Did she tell you much about where she’d been?’

  Miles twitches. ‘I asked, of course I did. Sometimes . . . Sometimes if she was drunk, she might mention a place or a job. Mostly she asked me not to talk about it.’

  ‘And so you didn’t? Weren’t you curious? She’d been gone for nearly sixteen years.’

  Slowly, Miles lifts his gaze from the floor. ‘Sometimes,’ he says, red-rimmed eyes on Federica, ‘you learn to be thankful for what you have. You learn not to go digging around in the past.’

  Greta shivers again, and to her surprise, it’s Federica who looks away first. It must surprise her, too, because her next question is sharper, her cheeks beginning to flush.

  ‘Surely,’ she says, ‘you had some questions about the fact she’d told you your baby daughter was cursed?’

  Miles licks his lips again. ‘I asked her. Yes. She told me that she’d been wrong.’

  ‘She no longer believed in the Tall Man, then?’

  He clears his throat, once and then twice. ‘I want to believe that, yes. It’s difficult, now . . . Looking back . . .’

  Federica waits. The silence draws on. Greta, crouched beside the laptop, can feel her feet turning numb beneath her, but she doesn’t move. If she moves, she’ll draw his attention away; she’ll remind him that they are there, that the camera is there, that he doesn’t have to keep talking – and Federica will be furious. Tom is still too – Greta tilts her head, as slowly as she can, and looks up at him. His face, watching Miles’s in the monitor, is rigid, his mouth twitching at its corner. He looks at Miles as if it’s taking all he has not to walk over and punch him, and it makes her afraid.

  The silence and its promise has curdled. The air in the flat is thin and there is a draught from one of the windows. Outside an alarm sounds.

  ‘Tell me about the trial,’ Federica says, relenting. ‘Tell me how you feel about the verdict. You testified for Amber in court.’

  Miles stares at her. ‘Of course I did. She’s my child.’

  ‘She did do it,’ Federica reminds him. ‘Surely you more than anyone understand the price of that.’

  Miles looks at his hands again. ‘None of us were innocent,’ he says. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve realised over these last months, it’s that.’

  Greta can see the boredom on Federica’s face, the frustration in the room turning the air taut. She knows what’s coming next, knows Federica won’t be able to resist. She shifts her weight, keeps her focus on the monitor.

  ‘You blame yourself then?’ Federica asks. ‘For everything you’ve lost?’

  ‘Federica—’ It slips out before Greta realises she’s spoken but her voice is hoarse from air-conditioning and a restless night’s sleep; neither Federica nor Miles even glance in her direction.

  ‘Because you lost your wife, Miles,’ Federica continues, and she doesn’t even try and stop the smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘But you also lost Amber, really, didn’t you?’

  And Greta was wrong after all. Miles begins to cry.

  23

  2016

  The sun had slipped into the window behind Miles, its heat fierce on the back of his head, his neck. His shirt was growing damp against the leather of his chair. It was his last seminar of the day – his third-year Criminology students – and he had had enough. Their long limbs, their blunt and inelegant arguments, their unending beliefs – it all seemed suddenly too big for the room, a tangled, noisy mess of youth that pressed at him like a headache.

  ‘What a simplistic way to put it,’ Declan was saying, arms folded, freckled face red. ‘Sorry, Deepti, no offence, but that’s ridiculous. There’s diminished responsibility and then there’s playing the system.’

  Deepti, who was generally Miles’s favourite, leaned forward, her breath drawn to retaliate, and Miles found himself pushing his chair back, the clap of his hands surprising even him.

  ‘You know what,’ he said, reaching for the cap of his pen (a gesture they all recognised; bags already picked up, papers gathered before he finished speaking), ‘I think we’ll leave it there for today. Go out and enjoy the sun.’

  They shuffled themselves together, stretching, yawning, fuming (Declan). They left in dribs and drabs, saying goodbye to him, wishing him a nice evening – a thing only his third years did, the gap between him and them closing, closing. He waved them out, he wondered when he could go home.

  Emily was the last to leave, packing her things into her bag slowly, pretending to read something on her phone. When the two of them were alone in the office, she lingered by his desk.

  ‘Thanks for a great session,’ she said. ‘This really is one of my favourite modules.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He crossed his arms in front of him in a flimsy attempt at protection.

  She half-turned but her feet remained in place, her fingers trailing across the desktop. ‘You know, I’m struggling with my coursework though. Is there any chance I could come in one afternoon and show you what I’ve got?’

  He tried (and succeeded, mostly) to keep his voice level. ‘Of course. My office hours are on the door.’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘Thanks, Miles. Have a lovely evening.’ The door closed softly behind her with a blessed breath of cool air from the corridor outside.

  It was not the first time this had happened with a student, though Emily was more persistent than most.

  It was also not the first time he’d been tempted. And it hadn’t always been as easy to resist as it was now. But he had always resisted and he always would. He loved Sadie and he believed in his vows, he’d believed in them for all the years she was gone. He’d known that she’d come back and that he needed to be waiting. He’d told himself that every day.

  But yes. There had been temptations.

  And now he had his family to focus on. He thought of the previous evening, Amber lying on her bed watching a film on her laptop, he and Sadie downstairs watching their own. How good it had felt, her socked feet curled up beside him, the last of the wine in their glasses – though she had been quiet, her attention drifting from the screen. He hadn’t been able to stop himself remembering that terrible morning, baby Amber crying on the bed and his new wife staring at something only she could see in the corner. And so he had sipped his wine and set down the glass, taken her feet into his lap and begun to rub them. Determined to keep her with him this time.

  ‘How was lunch?’ he’d asked her, and that had been enough. She’d looked at him and taken a sip of her own wine. ‘I’m worried about Amber,’ she’d said, and she’d explained about Leanna and Billie and this mysterious older man who had supposedly befriended his daughter. It couldn’t be true, Miles reasoned. He’d know. Amber would never keep something like that from him.

  He swivelled round to his computer and woke it from hibernation. Sweat beaded on his back again as he waited for it to chug into action. A Hoover whined from somewhere down the hall as the cleaner began making his way through the empty offices, but the rest of the building felt heavy in its silence. As if someone was in the room with him, their breath held.

  It was him who wasn’t breathing, he realised, his fist clenched around the mouse. He forced himself to exhale as the sc
reen loaded.

  As expected, another email awaited him in his inbox.

  The message was more threatening than the last.

  Come on. You know you want to. I know your secrets. Don’t make me tell x

  A chill passed over him, the sweat forgotten. He thought immediately of Sadie, as he always did – always had. She had come back. He had hoped and wished and whispered – and she had come back.

  At what price? A needling voice asked, and he stared at the email again. You know you want to.

  He made himself delete it without replying. He reassured himself, just as he had done the first time. This person – whoever they were – couldn’t know anything. It wasn’t possible (he couldn’t allow it to be possible).

  And so he wouldn’t go; he wouldn’t meet them. He’d say nothing, and they would have nothing to say. Because there was no evidence. He was sure of it.

  Wasn’t he?

  The computer bleeped with another email. He crossed his inbox away without looking at it.

  It was time to go home.

  From the diary of Leanna Evans [Extract C]

  I spent the days when I did not see you doing those things which I had told you I would. I finished clearing the previous tenant’s belongings from the loft – dusty boxes of junk, nothing of any worth. I imagined you doing the same as I worked. I wondered if you cowered from dark places still, or whether you had taken your first steps towards the shadows again. I have never let myself be afraid of them. I sang as I cleared one wall and then the other, and when I was done, I looked at the open space and was pleased.

  It was lonely work, as mine often is. I searched out other things to keep me busy – resealing the shower, attacking the kitchen extractor’s vents with a toothbrush. Fiddly, time-filling jobs which only made me feel lethargic and dull. Usually such tasks fill me with purpose and I knew then that this was not the place for me. I did not look for a job. I knew by then that there would be no need.

  I spent one long day driving around aimlessly instead. Out, away from the town and through the fields, letting the road spool out behind me. Just to see how it would feel. By the time I could persuade myself to return, it was almost time for the final bell to ring so I drove to the school and waited in the car park, happy at least to have the opportunity to give Billie a lift. Perhaps it’s silly of me to worry about her walking the fifteen-minute journey home, but I do. I’m sure you understand. I often find myself making little excuses to collect her, reasons to conveniently be in the area.

  And I was in luck, because she brought Amber with her too. I watched the two of them strolling across the playground, heads bowed together over something on Amber’s phone. When they were closer, I beeped my horn and I saw both of them look up and smile.

  ‘Can Amber have a lift?’ Billie asked and I nodded, all of my fear dispelling.

  Well. Not all of it. It never completely goes, does it?

  I listened to them burbling away to each other as I drove, marvelling at how much they had to say to one another, even after a whole day at school. Billie has always been a chatterbox but Amber wasn’t like other girls have been with her in the past, boring easily and talking over her, dismissing her. Amber listened carefully, responded thoughtfully. I thought again how unexpected she was.

  Perhaps that’s why I agreed when Billie asked me if she could go to a party that Saturday. Their happiness was infectious, both of them beaming at me from the back seat. I felt light, my previous bleak mood forgotten.

  I said yes. I knew the party would likely have alcohol, boys. I said yes anyway, because I felt suddenly sure that Billie would be safe with Amber. Because I knew it was time for me to let go of her, just a little. To start concentrating on me again, and the things which I had come to this place to find.

  And I hoped I would see you again, Sadie. I thought that perhaps I might finally be able to help you.

  24

  2016

  Amber skipped school on Friday afternoon to visit Leo. She had begun to think she wouldn’t see him again. A text she sent went unanswered, and then another (how she hated herself for sending the second), and she kept on remembering that day when he asked her to leave so abruptly, the way his eyes had travelled over her body and how he had turned away.

  But it was all right, because he’d called. He called, and he was being attentive, an arm around her as they watched the end of the film she had put on, his finger stroking the bare skin near her shoulder. He’d pulled her to him and whispered in her ear that she was beautiful, that he’d missed her. Normally, it would make her squirm – to have someone close, to have someone want her so nakedly – but with him it was different. Special. She leaned closer and breathed in the smell of him, earth and smoke, the patch of damp on the wall growing larger behind them.

  The film finished, the credits rolling for only a second before he hit the remote, leaving them frozen on their journey up the screen.

  ‘I should get ready,’ he said, and then he leaned in and kissed her chastely on the temple. ‘I have to go out soon.’

  She was disappointed but it was also a good thing – now she could be home in time for dinner without having to choose an excuse from her roster to send to Miles. He probably wouldn’t care, anyway. He was so busy watching Sadie now that she wondered if he’d even notice. She listened to Leo pad out to the bathroom, the shower thundering against the bath. And then the door closed and the sound quietened as the water slid off his skin.

  She got up and wandered around, hungry already for more of him. There was something about him, something unreachable, which frightened her – because it made her want him. She felt unlike herself, felt a hole of need open up in her chest, and so to close it she looked. She surprised herself by thinking of Sadie. She had come into Amber’s room late one night, breath hot with wine, after Miles had gone to bed. Sat down at the end of the mattress, lips stained black, and asked Amber to be careful. Because obviously Billie had blabbed to Leanna about Leo – that wasn’t especially surprising. What had come as a surprise was Sadie’s attempt to have a birds-and-the-bees chat about it, if that had been what that was. Amber wasn’t sure. She’d been too embarrassed, too blindsided, to do much more than end the conversation as quickly as possible. But now it came back to her. You need to be careful with him.

  Amber couldn’t help thinking that Sadie was right about that. And so she looked.

  There wasn’t much to find in the sparse flat, with its jaundiced false wood surfaces and its crackling carpet. A single, empty cup standing sentry on the bedside table, no telltale lipsticked rim to betray it. In the drawer beneath it, a paperback Carrie, its cover scratched and peeling, its pages deep yellow.

  She ran a hand over the sheets of the bed, moved over to the desk. The varnished top layer was peeling at one corner, its scabby chipboard exposed. His laptop sat in the middle, but she already knew that it was password-protected, and even though it was one of her skills, she hadn’t quite been able to map it out as he typed it; he always seemed to manage to angle the keyboard out of sight. Beside it were another couple of paperbacks; The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, and a battered old guide to the local area (Amber couldn’t imagine what the author had drummed up to fill that many pages).

  She opened the first drawer – a lonely pad of paper and a couple of bitten biros rattling around inside. She opened the next two in quick succession: both empty, with a smell of pencil and dust.

  Or were they? She crouched and opened the bottom drawer again, sliding it shut fast and then slow. Yep: definitely a rattle. The sound of something sliding back and forth inside, even though there was nothing there to see.

  She straightened up and listened. The water was still hissing, there was the faint sound of Leo soaping his hair. She opened the drawer fully again and ran her fingers around the inside of it, until she could get a grip on the loose base. She pulled it up, the metal runners like tendons exposed. And nestled in between them, a slim digital recorder like the one Miles used to reco
rd his own lectures sometimes, or his thoughts while he was researching a paper or grading essays. An affectation, really – she knew full well his phone could do the exact same thing.

  She picked it up, gooseflesh breaking out across her arms. Underneath it was a manila folder, the same drab shade of beige as the drawer. She looked at it, her fingers resting on its surface. She was afraid suddenly, to open it.

  Instead she found the play button on the recorder, tapping the volume right down with her thumb.

  His voice played back sounded less appealing than it did when he spoke to her. A slightly higher pitch, less of his carefully applied drawl.

  ‘Wednesday fifteenth,’ he said, sounding flustered. There was the sound of traffic in the background. ‘Miles stopped outside library by unknown female. After a short conversation, he led her back towards his office.’

  She had to reach out to grip the edge of the desk. Miles. Dad. Why was Leo talking about her dad – watching her dad? The recording rolled on, a car horn blaring, but her breath caught suddenly in her throat, her heart seizing with panic.

  The shower was no longer running.

  When had it stopped? She needed to turn around but she was frozen in place, a draught cold on the back of her neck, sure that he would be standing there in the doorway if she turned—

  She heard the toilet flush and let her breath out in a rush. She clicked off the recorder and slid it back into the drawer, her fingers fumbling the false bottom back into place. As the bathroom door’s lock clicked open, she slipped silently back into the lounge, where the TV was still showing the frozen credits.

  She flicked on a game show and willed her heart to slow down. Miles stopped outside library by unknown female.

  By the time he came back into the room, his hair wet and the collar of his black polo-shirt turned up, she’d folded the blanket and placed it across the back of the sofa. She sat in her usual spot, relaxed, a foot tucked under her while a hand played idly with her hair.