Read PICTURES OF YOU: a gripping psychological suspense thriller Online
Authors: Diane M Dickson
PICTURES OF YOU: a gripping psychological suspense thriller
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
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.
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 buildings. 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.