Night Watcher

by Chris Longmuir

  Nicole shook her head in an effort to clear it. Had he told her? She could not remember, but she did not think so. ‘I don’t recall you saying anything.’ She enunciated her words slowly.

  ‘The condition you were in yesterday I’m not surprised.’ Scott laughed, but it was without humour. ‘Anyway I’ve got to go. I just popped in to say goodbye.’

  ‘When will you be back?’ If he is coming back, she thought.

  ‘Not sure. I might have to go to Brussels and Cologne as well, but I won’t be away more than a week.’ He moved past her and picked up the suitcase. He hesitated a moment, ‘You’ll be all right?’

  ‘I suppose,’ she murmured. It would please him if she begged him to stay, but she was damned if she would.

  ‘Better get some clothes on,’ he murmured as he brushed his lips against her forehead.

  ‘Oh!’ she looked down, she had forgotten she was naked. ‘Yes, I suppose I’d better before Marika gets here.’

  Scott was halfway along the corridor, but he turned to look at her, ‘I forgot to say I gave Marika the day off, something to do with her sister being ill.’

  ‘What the hell did you do that for? I need her here. Anyway I didn’t know she had a sister.’

  ‘Well, too late now, and sister or not, she’s not coming in today.’ He gave her a grin and with a wave of his hand he opened the door and left.

  Nicole glared after him. ‘I hope your bloody boat sinks,’ she muttered as she turned and grabbed a robe. Wrapping it round herself she staggered to the kitchen and the coffee pot.

  The first sip of coffee burned its way inside her and she started to waken up. That was when she saw the passport sitting on the kitchen table. ‘Let’s see you get to Paris without that,’ she muttered and, leaning over to pick up the briefcase from where she had thrown it last night, she stuffed Scott’s passport inside.

  ***

  The Nethergate was deserted when Harry got off the bus. Patrick Drake’s store loomed at the other side of the road. The plate glass windows at street level, with their attractive displays, beckoned with promises of further delights inside. However, the rest of the building had a menacing air. He could not help looking upwards at the dark stone of the building, blackened through years of just being there in the city centre. The walls soared upwards like some mediaeval fortress until they reached the rounded attic windows, marching along the roof like ever watchful sentinels, overshadowed by the turret room in the corner facing the High Street. Harry imagined it would be possible to see in three directions from the turret room, however, it was boarded up because the floor was unsound and he did not know anyone who had ever been inside.

  He crossed the road and walked down Whitehall Street until he came to the alley leading to the back door. It looked even more claustrophobic than usual, although he supposed he should be accustomed to it by this time. His footsteps echoed and he had the impression he was the only living being there. He looked around for the tramp, but he was not in his usual place. Harry shivered momentarily, fearing the worst, but shook off his premonition. Tramps moved around, it was their nature. He had probably got fed up with always being moved on. Still, there was a prickle of unease at the nape of his neck.

  Harry never got used to the black silence of the store in the early hours of the morning and he always had the oddest feeling he was being watched. It was as if the store were a living entity, which had not woken up. But once it did, the odd little noises, the creaks and groans of the building settling, and the hissing of steam or water through the pipes, joined together in a chorus that was unnerving.

  Harry flicked the light switch. At least he could get rid of the shadows. The spurt of electricity travelled both ways, up to the swinging, fizzing light and outwards along his finger with the slightest of shocks. He snatched his finger from the switch, ‘Bloody electrics, time they were sorted before I get a real electric shock.’ He sighed at the thought of having to report it again. Mrs Ralston would not be pleased and, as usual, she would make him feel it was his fault. ‘Serve her bloody right if the store went up in flames.’ He grinned at the thought and, after closing the outside door, hurried along the passage to the guardroom.

  He shrugged his coat off and threw it over the back of the wobbly chair; the one he had not sat on since it unceremoniously threw him to the floor one morning. He had felt a right pillock then, but luckily it was Julie who had come along and helped him back to his feet. She had not laughed at him and he had always appreciated that, because he knew plenty who would.

  The concertina steel radiator felt barely warm when he put his hand on it so he gave it a kick. Just as he had expected, it rumbled and shuddered into life with the usual creaks and groans as the water squeezed through the pipes. He felt it again, absorbing the vibrations shuddering up his arm. The heat followed with a spluttering fizzing noise until the radiator became so hot he had to remove his hand.

  Satisfied, he left the guardroom, it would be nice and cosy when he returned from waking Julie. He hoped she was all right and had not been sick, for that would take some explaining.

  The sound of scampering paws broke the silence as he walked through the food hall. He would have to speak to Neil again. It was his job to keep the store free of vermin, but he had not been making too good a job of it lately. Harry sighed. No doubt madam would blame that on him as well. She blamed him for everything else, whether or not it was his fault, so why would she act any differently. His knees weakened and his corn throbbed, he could not afford to lose this job, but lose it he would. It was growing more likely as each day passed.

  He did not have to wait for the lift. It was sitting ready for him, as if he was expected, giving the impression the lift knew he was too weary to climb the stairs. The doors swooshed closed behind him and, with the smallest of jolts, it rose smoothly to the second floor.

  Harry switched his torch on, it was too early for lights to be seen in the store, and headed for the middle of the floor so no light would reflect through the windows. He weaved between and around the furniture to the bedding area.

  Stretching out his arm, he prodded the duvet that was humped in the middle of the bed, but it collapsed with the faintest breath of air for there was no body beneath it.

  ‘Julie, where are you?’ Harry did not know why he was whispering because there was no one in the store yet. He raised his voice to a shout, ‘Julie? Are you there?’ The silence mocked him. He shone his torch around, trying to pierce the shadows, but nothing moved. She was not here. Maybe she had gone home, he thought, only she would not have been able to get out of the store without setting off the alarms and if that had happened, he would have been called out. She must be here somewhere. Absent-mindedly he picked up the duvet and replaced it on the bed he had taken it from the previous night. Satisfied that everything was as it had been before he had left Julie in the bed, he walked back to the lift.

  Harry left the lift at each floor and called Julie’s name, but there was no answer, and eventually he returned to the guardroom where he put the kettle on and brewed his tea. He slipped his shoes off under the table and leaned back sipping the strong brew while he planned what to do next. He came to the conclusion that Julie was probably hiding until the store opened, so he would look for her then.

  ***

  Ken did not want to wake up. He did not want to go to the store today and most of all he did not want to see Nicole.

  ‘You were restless last night,’ Claire grumbled as she reached for her dressing gown.

  ‘Was I?’ Ken was glad she was talking to him again. He leaned over and hugged her. ‘You do know I love you. Don’t you?’

  Claire wriggled free. ‘What brought that on?’

  She brushed her fair hair back off her face. Ken loved it when it was that way, all tousled and mussed. It made her look like a girl again. Like the girl he had first seen galloping her horse over the Yorkshire moors, her hair streaming behind her and her cheeks pink in the wind. He had not thought he would stand
a chance with her because he was only a working class boy at that time, although he had no intentions of remaining working class. Despite that he had pursued her relentlessly, as he did everything else, and when she agreed to marry him he thought he had won something priceless.

  He had been smitten then and he still was. If it had to be a choice between Claire and Nicole, then Claire would win any time. There was nothing else for it; Nicole was going to have to go.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Julie was holding her face up to the hot-air dryer in a not very successful attempt to dry it when she thought she heard her name called, although with the noise the dryer was making she could not be sure. Sighing in exasperation she grabbed a wad of toilet roll from the nearest stall and patted at the excess moisture. The dryer sputtered into silence. Julie inched the door open and peered out. However, there was nothing to be seen other than the empty tables of the restaurant and the dark shadows of the still slumbering store, with only the faint hum of a refrigerator breaking the silence.

  She closed the door and returned to the mirror where she applied her face powder and lipstick, which was all the makeup Julie ever wore. It was what Dave had always said he liked about her, that she did not need to paint her face. And yet, he had fallen for Nicole, who plastered herself with the stuff. Sometimes Julie wondered whether she would have held him if she had taken a greater pride in her appearance.

  Julie pressed her forehead against the mirror as thoughts of Dave flashed through her mind. What the hell was she doing in Dundee? Adrian was right she should never have come. She should have resisted the compulsion to get even with Nicole and should have buried the past when she buried Dave. Standing back from the mirror she stared at herself. One way or another, she vowed, it had to end. She combed her hair, straightened her skirt and blouse, and left the ladies rest room.

  Her office was dark and silent when she entered it, but that suited her because her head was still tight and she did not think she could bear too much light. The packet of paracetamol tempted her when she took it out of the first aid box, but after prodding one tablet out of the blister pack she resisted the urge to take more.

  She slumped into her chair, rested her arms on the desk and laid her head on them, letting her mind drift away to happier times. It had been the High School dance where she and Dave had first got together as a couple. The band had been so atrocious she had sat with Dave on the stairs outside the gym hall, giggling every time a wrong chord was played. They had always seemed to be laughing. They found life so much fun. Then, when they had applied for the flat not thinking they would get it, the sheer joy they had felt when they knew it was theirs. Dave had painted it himself to save money, although never having painted anything before, he did not make a very good job of it. But that did not matter, it was their flat. It was after that he had said, ‘Let’s get married. Let’s be respectable.’ She had replied, ‘It’s not necessary.’ But he had said, ‘Don’t argue,’ before picking her up and spinning her around. And so, they had married and for eleven years they had lived happily ever after. And then Nicole had come onto the scene, and everything changed.

  At first she had not been suspicious. He was a sales representative so he was away from home a lot. But then his periods away started to get longer and longer until she had confronted him. At first he had denied it, but then, after a time he had told her. He was leaving her for Nicole.

  The damnable thing, of course, was that Nicole did not want him. And so they both lost him, although Julie knew that she was the only one who suffered.

  Julie lifted her head off her arms. Her eyes were wet. There were so many unshed tears that it was a relief to cry. Maybe if she had cried before, she would have been able to let Dave rest, although she doubted it. But now, in the darkness of her office the tears flowed. She cried for Dave, she cried for herself and she cried for the life she had lost. Maybe it was not too late. Maybe she could start again, learn to live without Dave and without all these gnawing feelings of hate that were eating her up.

  Later she would phone Adrian, tell him she was coming home to Edinburgh and then finish it with Nicole. With a bit of luck she would be back home before Christmas.

  ***

  The piercing ring of the doorbell startled Harry out of a restless doze. He had stretched his arm out to silence the alarm clock before he realized where he was. His mind was fuzzy with sleep and for a moment he wondered how he had got here, but then the memory of his early morning start and his concern about Julie crept back into his consciousness with an iritating niggle that something was seriously wrong.

  The bell pealed again and he gave himself a shake, stretched out his legs, pushed his feet into his shoes and levered himself out of his chair. ‘All right, all right,’ he grumbled as he limped towards the back door. ‘I’m coming.’

  ‘You took your time, didn’t you?’ Betty looked him over. ‘God man, you look like death warmed up. Sleeping, were you? Lucky I wasn’t madam, eh?’ She poked him in the ribs. ‘Don’t look so worried, man. I won’t be telling her.’

  Harry watched her hurry up the corridor. She was surprisingly light on her feet for someone so large. ‘Got to get the coffee on,’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘Julie will want to take a cup to our friend in the alley.’

  Harry opened the door again and peered out. ‘Well I’ll be damned,’ he said, as he looked at the tramp sitting in his usual place.

  The tea Harry had made earlier was cold. He looked at his watch. No wonder, he must have slept for an hour, although he had no recollection of dozing off. He felt parched and bone tired. His back ached from his uncomfortable position in the hard chair, his legs were stiff and his corn was throbbing. If it had not been for his pride he thought he might have sat down and cried, but men did not cry, or so his mother had brought him up to believe. The sink in the corner of the room was cluttered and none too clean, but he stuck the kettle under the tap and waited while the water rattled into it. He was careful as he plugged the flex in and flicked the switch; he did not trust the electric wiring down here. You just had to listen to all the odd fizzles and sparking noises coming from the lights to know things were not right. Some day the damned store would burn down, he just hoped that not too many of his friends were inside when it did.

  He felt better once he had downed two cups of the strong tea he made for himself. Tar, Babs called it, while Harry responded that he would not drink the cat’s piss she called tea.

  As he tended the door, opening it for one member of staff after the other, the thought of Julie was never far from his mind. He half expected her to come trotting along the passage with her handout for the tramp, but she never appeared and he could not leave his post until it was almost nine o’clock and time to open the store.

  He detoured the food hall on his way to open up, but there was no sign of Julie. His worries grew.

  Forcing himself to smile at the customers, he unlocked the front doors and tipped his hat to those who were waiting.

  ‘You’re late this morning?’ The military looking man with the well-groomed moustache, but rather shabby suit, snapped at him as he passed through the swing doors. He was always the first customer each morning.

  Harry had not quite sussed him out so he usually watched him closely, suspecting he might be a shoplifter. However, this morning, his mind was occupied elsewhere.

  On his way back to the food hall he stopped at the restaurant and beckoned to Betty. ‘Seen Julie this morning?’ He held his breath as he waited for her answer.

  Betty glanced up. ‘Got a thing for Julie, have you?’ She picked up a cloth and rubbed a tabletop. ‘Wife’ll have something to say about that, I expect.’

  Heat crept upwards from Harry’s collar into his face. ‘Not at all,’ he replied, his voice brittle, ‘I just needed to let her know something.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Betty continued to rub at a non-existent dirty spot. ‘She’s in her office, but I wouldn’t go disturbing her if I was you. She’s got a pig of a
headache.’

  ‘Oh,’ Harry’s voice faltered, weak with relief. ‘I’ll catch her later then.’

  He knew Betty was watching him as he walked away, he could almost feel her eyes boring into his back.

  ***

  Ken was late so he did not need to go to the rear entrance; instead he scuttled into the store behind the major, which was his pet name for the old gent who was always first through the doors. He expected the security guard, damned if he could remember his name, to acknowledge him as he passed, but the man seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Ken decided he would speak to him later, because it reflected badly on the store if the staff were falling down on the job.

  He glanced about him, ready to change course if he spotted Nicole, but he could not see her anywhere. Maybe she was lying in wait for him upstairs. God forbid. It might be best if he avoided her office, particularly after her phone call last night about leaving Scott. He would have to shake her off because there was no way he was going to leave Claire for her. Claire was class compared with Nicole. He was already thinking of her as a tramp.

  The lift was empty when he reached it. He got in and pressed the button to close the doors, but they seemed to take forever. He had not realized he had been holding his breath until he exhaled in a massive sigh. He was not out of the woods yet, and would not be until he got to his office without Nicole seeing him.

  The doors creaked open at the executive floor and he looked swiftly up and down the corridor. The coast was clear so he scuttled along to his office, not relaxing until he was inside with the door shut.

  ‘What a bloody mess,’ he moaned as he slumped into his chair. How on earth was he going to get rid of Nicole? What would he do if she refused to take no for an answer? He could not bear the thought of a scene. But what if she had already told Scott she was leaving him? He was no match for Scott and then there was Claire. How was he going to explain it to Claire?