Read PICTURES OF YOU: a gripping psychological suspense thriller Online
Authors: Diane M Dickson
“You don’t have much stuff. Is this all of it?”
“Yes, that’s the lot. To be honest I worried you might think there was too much clutter. You know, with my camera gear and so on.”
“No, no it’s fine. Do you want me to help you take it upstairs?”
“God no, don’t you dare.” He threw his arm around her shoulders, “Thanks for this Mary, I know it was a bit of a cheek and you took a risk but thanks for – well, being open to it, you know.”
“Hey, you scraped me up from the pavement. You dived in front of a bus for me, why wouldn’t I be ‘open to it’?” He squeezed her to him, side by side, she felt the boniness of his hip and the strength of his arms. She didn’t know what to do with her own hands, felt embarrassed by the spontaneous closeness. Her arms hung stiffly at her side, awkwardly caught between their bodies.
Letting go he bent to pick up some of the boxes and bags of stuff he had brought round from his flat. There were pieces of kitchen equipment poking from the top. Mary could see bedding and other reminders that this was to be short lived, a hiatus, and then he would move on. She tried to block the thought,
just enjoy the next couple of weeks,
she told herself.
You’ll probably be glad to have your place back by the time he goes,
but already the thought of the house empty and only for her was a chill wind from the future.
A meal was waiting in the kitchen, lasagne and salad, wine and dessert; it was a bit special, a welcome. Her instinct had been for candles but in the end she had set the meal on the round kitchen table and was glad, it looked friendly and relaxed.
They ate and chatted, one or two awkward silences tensed the air, but Mary felt that it went well, all things considered. “Do you want to go into the lounge? I’ll bring some coffee through. Unless you have something to do?”
“No, that would be lovely, this has all been a bit special. Thanks.”
She smiled at him and pushed her chair away from the table. Yes, it had been special. She had watched the play of light in his eyes, the way his hair flopped when he moved his head and the flick and stretch of his long fingers as he made a point or reached for the bread. She had loved it.
They chatted for an hour and then he went to tidy away some of his things. Mary curled in the corner of the sofa with a small brandy, a perfect finish for the nearest thing to a dinner party since Bill had become ill. All those years ago now, all those months when she could have done this but hadn’t felt the urge and eventually had lost the knack or the taste for it.
She heard him thumping about upstairs, the slide of the cupboard doors and the flush of the toilet in the tiny en suite bathroom. It was strange and exciting and she found her nerves were zinging with it all.
“I think I’ll turn in now Mary.” He called down the stairs and she walked through into the hall and peered up at him.
“Okay, in the morning, just do your own thing, you know, help yourself. There’s cereal, bread, jam and so on in the fridge. Just root around until you find what you need. I leave quite early so I’ll probably be gone before you. Well, I mean that day on the bus I was later than normal.”
“Okay, I’ll probably see you tomorrow then.”
“Oh wait.” She reached out to the hall stand and held up a little ring.
“A key, for the front door. I had this cut for you. I’ll leave it here on the bowl.”
“Great. Brilliant – thanks Mary. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight Jacob.”
She should have told Jane, should really have told her family but now didn’t have the right words. The moment to confide had been in the restaurant but fear of disapproval had stayed her tongue and now there would be offence. In truth the idea had been a tiny seed at that point and really could have come to nothing, well couldn’t it? Now his being there felt like a secret and a little tarnished because of that. It would appear odd to mention it, as if there had been subterfuge and truthfully she couldn’t say that there hadn’t been.
She fretted about it a bit, ran it through her mind trying to see it the way others would. Surely they would understand it was innocent. He was a boy, a person who needed a bed. She had a spare room, it was simple. The bare and honest truth on the other hand though was the roiling mess of emotions, the thrill at the thought of him coming home, the buzz when she heard him knocking about in the kitchen. The new warmth in the house as she lay in her bed with him just yards away on the other side of the wall, in the dark, muttering occasionally in his sleep. The mush of feeling confused and troubled her and yet these dark pangs were diminished by the pleasure of having him there.
She would walk into the lounge to find one of his books lying on the table or pushed aside on the floor and would run her fingers across the paper smiling at the distant contact.
When he had moved on that was the time to tell Jane. She would mention it to her family, casually so as not to hide the facts from the people who cared for her. Later, when the bathroom didn’t hold the echo of him in fragrant steam and the water in the taps was only warm when she had made it so. She would tell them he was a friend for indeed it was what he had become.
They were easy with each other. He knew how she liked her tea and about the little obsession regarding the order of sharp knives in the block. She put toast in the machine in the mornings when she heard him thumping around upstairs so it was ready when he appeared, still bemused from sleep. She soon came to see he needed to be quiet for a while until after the first cup of coffee and so they would sit in the neat little kitchen with the radio soothing the silence. Many evenings they ate together and as he told her about the other students and his studies she felt her life unfolding though only now was it clear just how closed down it had all become. He brought a wider world into the house and peopled it with characters she would probably never meet and he made her laugh. He showed her his work and asked for an opinion as though it really mattered.
“There’s an exhibition at the college next week, do you want to come?”
“Oh, yes that would be great.”
“Tuesday, you don’t need a ticket or anything. If you come to the exhibition space and let them know at the door, I can come and meet you. I have to be there to set up my stuff.”
Later a chill of apprehension made her worry. She wanted to go but how would it be? How would he explain her, would he call her a family friend? Then again perhaps it wasn’t like that anymore. It had been so long since she had been with students, in that sort of an environment and she didn’t remember. Did they bother with all that or would she simply be another body? She was shy about meeting his college friends and in the end said she couldn’t come because she was meeting Jane. He seemed disappointed and she felt a loss, a chance to move into his life a little more had been forfeited.
The days were flying and there was less than a week before the date he had given for moving out. She counted them on the calendar. The house would be hers again, solely. Already the fact caused a quiver of grief. He mustn’t know, it wasn’t fair to burden him with any sort of responsibility or blame. It was essential though to find a way to make sure he didn’t go completely from her life. Surely that would be okay, to make sure they stayed in touch?
“We should do something special.” Mary didn’t raise her eyes. They were sitting at the breakfast table. The next day Jacob was moving out, already some of his boxes had been transferred to the new address. She waited for him to speak.
“Special?”
“Yes, before you go. We should do something, shall I make us a meal, a special meal I mean?”
“Well, would you rather go out?”
She had never considered it, they hadn’t been anywhere together and the idea pulled her up short.
“Oh, I don’t know – I hadn’t thought about going out. I just meant a meal, some wine here, but if you think that would be nice…”
“Yes we should, my treat. You’ve been so great – it could be my thank you.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that, you’ve given me rent after all.”
“Yes, but I know it hasn’t been enough, not really. I don’t think it will have covered the costs, water, the heating and I’ve used your grub.”
“But, you bought some.”
“Not much and you’ve cooked, loads of times. No, let me. I can’t afford really posh, but let me. What about the Italian place, by the church?”
“No, no, not there.” Why, why had she automatically discounted one of her favourite places, a place where many of her friends and colleagues ate? She knew, of course she did, but couldn’t examine the motive, knowing she might not like what she found.
“No, let’s do Chinese, you like Chinese?”
“Oh yeah, Chinese is good. The Blue Tower is supposed to be okay.”
“Yes, I went there once – it’s years ago now but it was great.”
“The thing is though, I wonder if we should leave it until Saturday. I’ve got to move the rest of my stuff tomorrow and settle into the other house. Would you mind, if we did it on Saturday? Hey, it can be a date.”
Her face blazed crimson, she felt it, he saw it. They were both thrown into a fluster by her reaction. Mary pushed away from the table, taking refuge by bending to load the dishwasher, she mumbled at him.
“Well, if you’d rather do that. I just thought with it being your last night and all. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.” She felt the weight of him behind her, before he touched her arm she knew he had come across from the table. She stood up but didn’t turn, he was too close, there wasn’t the space and she knew that if she was to spin round now there would be contact.
“I’m sorry Mary, that was a silly thing to say. I’ve embarrassed you, I’m sorry.”
“Look, why don’t I just cook us something to eat here, you buy a bottle of wine and we can have a relaxed, last evening?”
She tried to turn in the confined space pressing back against the dishwasher, the work top digging into her waist. Her head was lowered, his breath rustling her hair.
As if he only now became aware of the closeness, he stepped back sharply, swivelling away from her to collect the remaining breakfast debris. The air between them was buzzing, the atmosphere crackled with tension, it was hard to breathe. She gulped and tried to get things back on an even keel.
“So shall we do that then, it would be best probably. Then you can sleep here tomorrow night, if you like and move into your new place on Saturday morning. It’ll be more relaxing for you.”
“Great, yeah great. Shit, look at the time I’d better go.”…
The door slammed and she stood with her back against the cupboard unit, hands braced behind her. She felt dizzy, bewildered. He had hugged her on a couple of occasions and brushed past in the hallway, on the landing, but there was something else, today, something strange and electric and frightening.
She took a couple of steps to the table and lowered herself onto one of the wooden seats. It was because she was strung out wasn’t it? She didn’t want him to go. Didn’t want to be on her own again and it had been a massive effort to keep it from him, as she knew she must, and really it would be better when it was over. She needed it to be over for it was tearing her apart inside and there was nothing to be done about it all.
Friday passed slowly but too quickly. She wanted it to be tomorrow so that she could deal with it instead of living in a state of dread but couldn’t bear the thought of what it would mean. It was difficult to envisage how life would be afterward, on Sunday and Monday and all the days beyond. How long would it take to settle again, to regain her composure and her quiet acceptance of “alone,” she didn’t know.
Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of him leaving. Her colleagues were concerned and she had to pretend there was an eye infection which then required a reason not to speak to one of the doctors and so she dug deeper and deeper into a miserable hole that she knew she had hollowed for herself.
She felt like a wrung out rag climbing into the car in the late afternoon. Her heart was leaden and her spirit flat. It would have been easier to be going home to climb under the duvet in a darkened room and hide away. It wasn’t possible, there was a carrier bag in the boot with the makings of a celebration meal, fancy hors d’oeuvres, some fillet steak, an expensive dessert thing to make them smile and feel good, things that would taste like sawdust and oil.
She pushed her key into the lock and leaned against the door. It swung inwards into the hallway and she gasped in surprise. Tied to the rail at the bottom of the stairs was a great bunch of balloons, each a different colour, waving and drifting on the ends of silky ribbons, “Thank You”, over and over twisting in front of her eyes. The perfume reached her before she stepped inside but as she ducked under the coloured cords and reached the living room door her eyes were filled by the vase of roses and lilies and greenery standing on the coffee table. There was a card beside them, she reached down and blinked away the tears that had blurred her vision, it was a Thank You card of course. A rabbit with a bunch of daisies grinning at her from the front page and inside under the scrolling text he had written with a green felt tip.
You are one of the most special people I have met
You have enriched my life with your kindness
Thank you
Jacob.
She gulped back a sob and raised a hand to her face to wipe away the moisture, her lips quivered.
“Hey, you were supposed to like it.”
She spun around and there he was behind her carrying two flutes of sparkling wine.
“Oh Jacob, you shouldn’t have. You can’t afford to do this. You really shouldn’t have.”
“Hey I was going to take you out and then you…” he stopped.
“Well, I would have spent more on a meal and I really wanted to see you smile. You’ve been a little glum the last few days, I thought –” He shrugged.
“Oh Jacob it’s lovely, truly. Thank you.” She reached a shaking hand across the space between them and he gave her the glass of bubbly.
“Here’s to your new home Jacob.”
“No, here’s to you Mary. Thank you.” They clinked the glasses and drank and she summoned a tremulous smile as she wiped at the overflowed tears.
“I bought starters, they’ll be great with this wine, I’ll just put them on the plate.” He took the bag from her hand and they plodded through to the kitchen…
Later, she would blame the wine, sparkling and fizzing in her blood, toying with her senses, she would blame the strangeness of her mood, the release of long held tension. Later, much later she would replay the scene over and over and look for reasons, excuses but she would come to see that it had been inevitable, for so long what happened now had been written and was unavoidable.