The Voyeur

by Kimberley Shead

  Their faces were so close she inhaled the potent smell of anti-aging cream her mother slathered on her face each morning. She felt her jaw clench and with venom, and she hissed through gritted teeth. “Sorry, Mum. I’m so sorry I interfered with your life plans. God forbid I spoilt your day.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. This isn’t about me. People have been murdered, Jo, and you are being so self-centred. You couldn’t even contact us.”

  Josie felt her blood hot under her skin. The banging in her head increased in a gradual crescendo. She took a step back, straightened to her full height, and masked her face with a neutral expression.

  “Yes, I’m aware of the murders, Mum. I had to identify them this morning, as you know. And that woman who is dead is Emily, my best friend, but you can’t even bring yourself to say her name. Can you? You pretend to care now, but where were you when she needed help? You’re such a hypocrite.”

  Curtains began to twitch in a few flats opposite, and some neighbours stood on their doorsteps, blatantly staring. For once in her life, Josie didn’t care.

  “Josie, come inside. We’ll talk about this, but inside,” Irene said, cupping her daughter’s elbow with her hand and guiding her towards the front door.

  Josie shrugged her arm from her mother’s grasp.

  “You want to go inside so you can manipulate me. What are you going to tell me? That I’m a crap mother? I’ve heard it from you so many times. Perhaps you’ll rub in how worthless I am. Well ‘newsflash’, you’re not so great yourself. Did you ever stop to think that I am what you made me? No, you’d probably argue that I’m a freak of nature.”

  The slap vibrated through Irene’s arm as her hand made contact before she’d even registered the words. Josie stumbled back into the wall, her hand covered her jaw, her wide eyes glistened.

  “How dare you throw your accusations around? You selfish girl.” The ghost of a handprint heated Josie’s face as Irene continued. “I’m not taking abuse from you. When you can control yourself enough to apologise, you can see your son again, but until then keep your distance.” She turned on her toes before glancing over her shoulder and adding, “Unless you want social services involved, you’d better sort your head out.”

  Josie watched a workman back into the balcony to let her mother pass the boarded up maisonettes while he stared in her direction. “Enjoy the show, did you? Nosy bastard.” She shouted at him as he busied himself searching in his toolbox. Sobbing, she slid down the wall, hugged her knees, and lowered her head.

  Josie wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she felt the hand on her shoulder.

  “Miss, are you okay? Can I help?”

  She lifted her head and wiped her face with the back of her hand, then focused on the man kneeling at her side, his face etched with concern. She managed to stand on unsteady legs, using the wall for support, and brushed away the man’s offer of assistance.

  “I’m fine, thank you. Just fine.” She shrugged away from his outstretched hand and scoured the balcony for the stragglers still watching her like a contestant on a reality TV show. Disgusted, she shook her head and made for the door, flipping her finger at the workman who watched her earlier.

  “Excuse me. But are you Josie Jeffries?” The man who’d tried to help was following her to the door.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I’ve come to unblock your bathroom sink.” He handed over his ID card and the paperwork.

  “Well you’d better come in then.” She led the way into the hall, marvelling at the timing of the council. “The bathroom’s upstairs on the left.” She stalled in the living room doorway and watched him jog up the stairs. Sprawled on the couch, she buried her face into a cushion and relived the argument with her mother until anger brought the sobs that wracked her body.

  A light tap on the door went unnoticed, but it was the soft call of her name that made Josie spring to her feet.

  The man in blue overalls stood in the doorway, a nonchalant grin on his face. He held out the paperwork and a pen in her direction.

  Josie walked past him and into the hall. His stance in the doorway felt like a claustrophobic intrusion. “Did you need something?”

  His fair curly hair bounced around his neck as he spoke. “I thought that perhaps I could help you.” With a buoyant smile he continued. “I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t ignore your distress…”

  “No. It’s not your business, and I don’t know you. So do your job or get out of my house.”

  He took a step back and raised his hands. “I don’t want to upset you again. I just thought I could offer to make you a cuppa.”

  Josie studied his face and bent her head to hide a smile. It was just typical. Her world was falling apart, and the workman wanted to make tea.

  Opening the kitchen door, she filled the kettle and flicked the switch. “I’ll make it.”

  “No, you sit down. Milk and sugar?” She watched as he busied himself around the kitchen.

  Taking a sip of tea, Josie signed the paperwork for the finished job.

  “Better? You’re looking fresher already.” His eyes lingered on her a touch too long. Josie felt her face redden, struck by how his laughter lines softened his eyes.

  “Well thanks for the tea. I might even pass as human now.” Intrigued by his smile, she changed the subject. “I didn’t know workmen could make their own tea.”

  “You’ve no idea who I am, do you?” He kept eye contact.

  She thought for a moment and scanned his face for familiarities. “Should I?” Josie took a closer look at his features. Perhaps she knew him from somewhere. She just couldn’t quite place where.

  “I’m shocked and I must say a little hurt. I remembered you as soon as I spotted you curled in a ball on the balcony.” The glint in his eye remained as he watched her quizzical expression change to embarrassment.

  “No, sorry, you’ll have to put me out of my misery.” She shook her head, her stare fixed to a spot on the kitchen floor.

  “Remember the love of your life, Josie? Max Pearce, right?” Her face lit up in a saucy grin just at the mention of Max’s name. “Well I’m his little brother.”

  “Guy? No, you can’t be Guy.” She screamed and clapped her hands. “Guy was annoying. He wouldn’t leave us alone. He used to call me names.”

  Guy held his hands in the air. “Okay, guilty as charged. I admit I called you names and used to slap you and run off. Do you remember?”

  “Remember? I’ve still got your hand marks on my legs.”

  He leant in closer. “Now I’m older and I know why I used to hit you.”

  “Oh yeah. Why?” Josie’s grin widened with each comment.

  “Well it’s obvious, isn’t it? Look at you, you’re gorgeous.” He watched a hint of rose colour her cheeks. “I mean you were always hot. And when you’re a kid, you always hit people you fancy.”

  Josie laughed, and her playful punch landed on his arm. “You’re still a joker, Guy. Some things never change. Although, I remember you being a foot shorter with metal braces.”

  Guy felt his own cheeks colour, and he glanced at his watch. “Look at the time. I’ve got to rush. Three more jobs to do before I knock off.”

  “It’s great to see you again, Guy.” Josie rose from her seat and followed him to the front door. “Good to see the braces worked.”

  “Very funny. Josie?” He turned and gave her another smile. “I don’t suppose you’re free tonight. I mean we could catch up over a few drinks.”

  “It’s not a good time, Guy.” She grazed her fingers against his hand. “My life’s shitty at the moment. I don’t want to drag anyone else into the mess.”

  “All the more reason to get out of these four walls.” He raised his hands between them. “No ties. Just an honest old catch up between friends. What do you say?”

  For a moment, she wondered what Emily would do, but that was no good. She knew exactly how Emily would react.

  “Okay. Pick me up at eigh
t.”

  Guy nodded his head. “Oh and before I forget. I was supposed to change your light fittings, but they’re all brand new. No point changing them.”

  “Yeah, I think they were changed when my friend was staying.”

  “Right. See you at eight.” His smile was the last thing she saw when she shut the door.

  22

  The door of the maisonette was flung open. He stepped through into the hall and stood listening. When he knew he was alone, he slammed the front door and turned the lock, then put the chain across the door. Turning, he grabbed the handrail and took the stairs three at a time. He flung the bedroom door open, mimicking his actions when entering the maisonette. But this time when he shut it, he pressed his back into the cool wooden panel and listened to the deafening thud of his heart pumping blood to all of the organs in his body. Sensing his isolation, he exhaled, a long, concentrated breath, moved towards the bed, and perched on the edge. Grasping fistfuls of hair, he rocked back and forth then, rising, he paced the floor, overwhelmed by a desperate need to eradicate the images that riddled his mind. He stopped, determined to focus his thoughts, his attention momentarily drawn to the laptop on his desk. He sat, lifted the lid, and coaxed the pad with his finger, arousing the computer from sleep.

  The decision was made. He would find solace in the one person who could hold his full attention. His eyes flitted over the images on the screen, searching for movement. Drawn towards small flickering objects, his eyes adjusted, and he noted candles adorning the rim of the bathtub. The body in the bath was unmoving, and he was reminded of a famous painting he’d once seen in an art gallery. Josie’s eyes were as unflinching as Ophelia’s deathly stare. A stare that met his through the camera lens installed in the light fitting above the bath.

  A fearful excitement gripped him, and he edged closer to the screen, aware of his shallow breathes, yet unable to calm his heightened senses. In one fluid movement, Josie rose, and water cascaded from her body. His intrusion was complete, and an adrenaline rush coursed through his veins, brightening the screen, heightening his hearing, and sensitising his skin to the touch.

  Overwhelmed by the form before him, all rational thought extinguished, his eyes lingered over the body he coveted. Each involuntary movement was hypnotic. The tip of his tongue slipped through his slightly parted lips, moistening them as he focused on the exploration of Josie’s hands as she massaged soap over her naked body, caressing and teasing as the suds slipped over her skin. The intimacy of her touch mesmerised him. Sweat beaded his forehead as she began to glide a razor along the slope of her underarms. Next, she angled one leg over the rim on the bath and lathered her wet skin before introducing the razor once again. Dabbing his forehead with the back of his clammy hand, he winced as blood mingled with water and slalomed from a small nick on her ankle. In a trance-like state, he gazed at the tantalising movement of her finger tips skimming the taut skin just above her pelvis. He felt himself harden. Voyeuristic abstinence no longer an option, he became captivated with each sashay of the blade exploring the fine line of hair below her abdomen. With little self-involvement, his orgasm engulfed him. Intense and intrusive. Leaving dregs of guilt and shame in its wake.

  23

  Elsie eased her body, with a smooth gradual movement, onto the solid wooden chair and balanced her bulk expertly over its surface. Her gaze rested on the empty cushioned chair opposite, and a searing ache emerged from the pit of her stomach as she grieved the company of her mother. She forced her attention to the window and scanned the limited but familiar view of the square below. Two levels of balcony edged homes were also within Elsie’s view, each a safe haven for the residents.

  Pouring steaming water into a stained striped teapot and resting it on the pot holder, she watched the liquid draw colour from the disturbed tea leaves before she secured the lid and shrouded the brew with a worn cosy. Her mother had taught her to make a perfect cup of tea. In fact, her mother had taught her everything. She’d been her life coach and best friend.

  Being a creature of habit, Elsie’s attention was soon drawn back to the balconies, searching for activity. Her lips contorted into an awkward grin as she recalled the hours spent with her mother ‘people watching’. That’s what they’d called the past time. Some people would probably call their game intrusive, weird even.

  Consequently, since her mother’s death, Elsie had attempted to put an end to the daily ritual. But in reality, she found watching people addictive. She’d recently given this some thought and come to the conclusion that what people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

  Using both hands, Elsie tipped the teapot and watched as the hot liquid cascaded into a flowery mug, evoking a milky whirlpool. Elsie pushed the palms of her hands onto the table top and began the painfully slow process of forcing her body to stand. Inch by inch, with the help of the flat surfaces, she was on her feet and had reached the food cupboards. Elsie knew that most of her day would be consumed by people watching, and although the doctor’s warning rang in her head, she also knew the contents of the fruit bowl wouldn’t even take the edge off her appetite. Immersed in guilt, she made a grab for the biscuit tin. It would be balanced out by the piece of lettuce she’d tucked inside a cheese sandwich as an afterthought.

  Perched in her original position, Elsie tuned in to the lives of others, excited that she could manipulate them within the stories she wove in her imagination.

  Directly opposite the flat it was quiet. Usually, a young mum watched her son play in the square below while reading and balancing a cup on the balcony. Elsie remembered her mother had been impressed by the woman. The site of a mother even taking an interest in her children on this estate was out of place. After all, most of the children who lived here were slung out of the front door by the age of two and left to fend for themselves during the daylight hours. Only one maisonette separated the young woman’s from two vacant boarded up homes. They had been like that for so long now that they no longer looked out of place. Although, they did remind her of two rotten teeth in a mouth full of decay.

  Elsie was happy to have witnessed recent visits to the properties from the caretaker and his team, and she hoped they were preparing them for new tenants. It was always exciting when fresh characters arrived—it made for more interesting people watching. Normally, a whole new discussion would develop between herself and her mother concerning new arrivals. Her mother took on the persona of an Agatha Christie type sleuth, and all sorts of dubious happenings would develop in her mother’s mind.

  Elsie sighed. Giving up for the day, she turned her chair. A sudden shout drew her interest back towards the window. To her right, an area which she’d been trying to ignore because it housed the lifts snuggled in the corner, she could just make out a kafuffle.

  In an attempt to slow her palpitating heart, she breathed deeply through her nose and counted to six before releasing the breath incrementally through her mouth. Panic began to build up inside Elsie. Her hands travelled involuntarily to her middle, but did little to calm the instant rush of emulating fear that cramped her core. Instinctively, her first thought was to run and hide as the shouting gained momentum and crept ever closer.

  Elsie shook her head. Run! she thought. That’s a joke. I can’t even walk properly. Edging the curtain along the rail to cover her immediate view of the surrounding maisonettes, she opened a gap to get a better look at the unfolding drama.

  “Chloe. Come back now. What’ve you been doing with my Charlie, you lying cow?”

  “Let go of my hair, ow…stop. I wouldn’t go near Charlie if you paid me!” Chloe spat at her sister with an evil glint in her eye. Chloe dug her bright red manicured nails into Layla’s hands, desperate to stop her from ripping her hair from her scalp. In response, her sister loosened her grip and held back a scream as blood trickled from gashes made by embedded false nails. She swung her fist forward accurately, and it hit Chloe in her lower gut. The force doubled her over, and she tried to steady herself as she made contact w
ith the wall.

  Elsie let the curtain fall. Her mind was working overtime.

  Should she call the police?

  She wrung her hands, and worry lines etched her forehead. The girl was familiar. A kind girl who always nodded hello to her mother and had recently defended her against her friends when they were attacking her with abuse. Elsie had been friends with her father, Andy, when they were at school. That was until she had become a victim of her own body. She vaguely remembered the young girl running errands for her, at her dad’s request, while she spent most of her time in a pill induced haze after her mother’s death.

  Now Chloe was a victim, like her.

  Elsie reached for the phone, deliberating. She’d had enough of the police recently—asking her questions, probing, and digging. She hadn’t been able to leave home since the neighbours had seen her talking to the police. Vivid images of their hostility played in her mind. Cruel words that were probably already sprayed over her front door echoed in her head. Elsie put down the receiver. Her mind made up, she returned to the curtain and peeped through the gap.

  Chloe winced as her sister forced the side of her head into the wall with her forearm. Struggling was useless. She was pinioned by her sister’s ample body. Layla pressed her face within inches of hers, and Chloe inhaled a vile combination of stale cigarette’s and body odour. She whimpered, held her breath, and squeezed her eyes together.

  “I hear my sister’s a slag,” Layla said, spraying a fine layer of spit over Chloe’s cheek. “Well’s it true? Is that what you are?” Chloe’s throat constricted. She gulped, desperate for air. “I heard you’d been with my Charlie.” She leaned in. “Someone saw you, Chlo, saw you taking money afterwards…like a whore.”

  Layla loosened her grip, whipping Chloe round with such force she hit the back of her head against the wall. In one deliberate movement, she forced her sister’s chin up with her fist. She looked Chloe in the eyes, before she dug her nails into the top of the sobbing girl’s cheeks and slashed. Chloe fell to the ground, covering the gashes on her face with cupped hands. Salty tears doused the bloodied cut on her cheeks, igniting a fiery pain. Chloe bit down on her bottom lip and held back an escaping scream.