by Vivien Brown
Chapter 31
PRUE
Prue sat in the quiet carriage of the train and closed her eyes. Flo was safely ensconced at Orchard House and had already made herself at home on her parents’ bed, the spectre that was Joe Barton had been faced and conquered, and there was a list of London colleges in her pocket, each of which she fully intended to go and take a look at, from the outside at least, before the weekend was up. Life was looking good.
She thought of ringing Aaron to let him know she was on her way back, but mobiles were frowned upon in the quiet carriage, and besides, you never knew with Aaron when he might be trying to sleep. His shifts at the supermarket didn’t follow a regular pattern and she would hate to wake him unnecessarily. Anyway, it would be good to surprise him. With a bit of luck, over the last few days, he might have seen Simon and made some headway with the garden. In any case, she was going to call on Emily to see where things were with the cake, and she had promised to arrange a photoshoot too if Simon’s mate was up for it. It would all help them to acquire the materials they needed, and perhaps a few hours of labour, if Simon had a couple of free days. She might not be around to see it completed but she liked to think it would build its own momentum once everyone saw how easy it was to do and that it wasn’t going to cost them any real hard cash. It would be a lovely way to thank Madi for her stay too. She knew full well that, if she was Madi, going back to that tatty patch of land would not be so easy once she’d tasted the spacious green delights of Norfolk.
She was still smiling as she stepped from the train. The rain had not followed her from Norfolk. The air was quite warm, and the streets so well lit she could almost forget it was evening. How amazing it was that in just a short train ride it was possible to move between two such different worlds. Could she really leave the quiet little village she had lived in all her life and make London her home? Study here? Live here? Forge a new life for herself? It was certainly worth serious consideration. Flo would be quite content at Orchard House, and her cottage would still be there waiting for her when she returned. She could even think about renting it out to bring in some money and help pay her fees.
She stopped for a moment and looked at the list of colleges she had scribbled down. Most of them held open days and taster days, nearer to the start of the academic year, where she could see inside, ask questions and meet existing students, but she was feeling impatient. The nearest was only a couple of tube stops away, and she only had a small, light bag with her, most of her stuff having been left behind at Madi’s flat when she’d departed in such a hurry a week ago. It was not as if she had any other plans. Why not go there now? She could take a look at the campus, the general area, get a feel for the place. Her camera swung on its strap and bounced on her chest as if it too was eager to take a peek at the future. ‘You’re right, Camilla,’ she muttered, ‘no time like the present,’ as she swung her bag up onto her shoulder and headed back towards the underground.
With Easter only a week or so away, the term must have already ended, because there were very few people milling about. No obvious students anyway. Prue gazed up at the tall, modern buildings, so unlike the small, old-fashioned schools she had attended, and took photos of anything and everything that caught her eye. There was a noticeable lack of parking, which was to be expected in central London, so if she came here – or anywhere similar – she would have to leave her little Mini at home. Having managed without it for almost four weeks, that suddenly didn’t seem like much of a hardship, and actually getting rid of it could save her quite a bit in insurance, road tax, petrol and repairs. She could get a bike! Just as the thought popped into her head, one rode by, the young girl on top of it speeding along faster than any of the passing cars.
‘Oh, sorry.’ A man had bumped into her. He stopped and held out a hand to steady her. ‘My fault, for not looking where I was going.’
Prue was about to argue, knowing full well that she had been the one to stop dead in her tracks as the bike caught her attention, when she realised who he was.
‘Simon?’
He looked at her for a moment, apparently confused, before the light dawned. ‘You’re the girl from Belle Vue. Prue! Whatever are you doing here?’
‘Just wandering really. You?’
‘I was meant to be meeting someone, but she bailed …’
‘A date, you mean?’
‘Oh, nothing heavy. Just someone from one of those dating apps. I’ve never actually met her. She must have looked at my profile picture again and changed her mind. And who can blame her?’ He laughed. ‘But that does mean I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go. I don’t suppose you …? No, daft of me.’
‘No.’ Prue hesitated. ‘I mean, no, not daft. Not no, I won’t … Oh, you know what I mean. Do you fancy a drink somewhere?’
‘You’re only saying that so I’ll build you a patio!’
‘Of course I’m not, but I would like the chance to talk about the garden, if you’ve got the time.’
‘All the time in the world. There’s a little wine bar not far from here, and they do food too. Have you eaten?’
‘I’m just back from Norfolk. I had a sandwich on the train.’
‘That’s a no then. Come on, I need proper food, and once you’ve seen the burgers in this place you won’t be able to resist!’
They walked along side by side, not saying very much. Prue took a sideways peek at him as they waited to cross a road and decided she liked what she saw. He was taller than she remembered, and it looked as if he’d had a haircut since she’d last seen him, although it was still a bit too long at the front, but he was certainly good-looking and easy to get along with, in that Jack-the-Lad sort of way.
‘You never called,’ he said, as they settled into seats at a corner table. ‘I bet you washed it off, didn’t you? My number, that I wrote on your arm that day.’
‘Of course I washed it off! But not before I transferred it to my phone. You can check if you like.’
‘So, why …?’
‘I had to go back to Norfolk. Long story, but it ended well, and I only got back today. You were actually quite high on my list of people to contact.’
‘Not at the top then?’
‘Almost. I was going to call you tomorrow, to see if you still wanted that anniversary cake, so I could pass on some details to the lady who offered to make it. And to ask you about the possibility of the photo shoot.’
‘You know, it’s a really strange coincidence, isn’t it? Us meeting like this. As if fate was trying to tell us something.’
‘What? That it’s a small world and London’s not such a big place after all?’
‘You want the truth?’ He lowered his gaze. ‘I was meant to be meeting my so-called date in this pub she suggested, you know, a public place so she was sure I wasn’t some evil kidnapper or a weirdo or something. It’s just over the road there. Nothing great really, and too crowded for my liking. I’d been waiting almost an hour. Anyway, I’d just got the text to say she wasn’t coming when I saw you through the window, so I watched you for a while, wandering about, and when it looked like you might be about to walk away, I nipped out and sort of accidentally on purpose bumped into you. Thus proving that I probably am some sort of weirdo stalker after all!’
‘So why pretend?’
‘Maybe I liked the fate-bringing-us-together idea better. Which it did, in a way. I mean, what are the chances …’
‘Well, whatever brought you here, I think the drinks are definitely on you.’
‘Of course. What would you like? Red or white?’
‘Red please. And I’m sorry about your date. Or non-date, I should say.’
‘I’m not. I told you. It’s fate. There I was, alone, dumped, abandoned, and along you came, as if by magic. I needed you to make my evening complete.’
‘And I needed you to help me make a garden.’
‘I guess I’d better do it then. And it’s a yes, to the anniversary cake. And my carpenter mate does want s
ome photos done. His gran’s got her ninetieth coming up, and they want a big family portrait. All the generations together. Are you up for that?’
‘Yes! Whatever they want. If it gets us the benches we need, they can have it done in the nude if they like!’
‘Prue, she’s ninety. Think of all those wrinkles.’
‘Oh, maybe not then.’
‘Chips with your burger?’
‘Of course. And ketchup. Can’t have chips without ketchup.’
‘Now there’s a girl after my own heart. Back in a sec.’
She watched him walk to the bar, his smart jeans tight across his bottom, his clean white shirt gleaming as if it was brand new and straight out of the packet, which it probably was. He really was quite sexy. Now she had the idea of nudity in her head, it didn’t seem to be a ninety-year-old’s body that sprang instantly into her mind. She must have flicked through a few too many naughty bits in that book on the train. It was giving her ideas.
And, if she wasn’t mistaken, that was a definite tingle that shot through her as he turned and smiled, his floppy blonde fringe falling seductively over one eye. They say these things often happen when you’re not expecting them. Not even looking, in fact. Maybe it was true after all. Fate really was trying to tell her something. That there might now be even more reason for her to consider moving to London.
‘Let me see you home.’
‘It’s okay. No need. London doesn’t scare me any more.’
‘I didn’t know it ever did.’
‘It did at first. I wasn’t used to it. The noise, the bustle, the fact that it never ever stops.’
He helped her into her coat and they went out into the street. ‘Well, whatever you might think, it can still be a dangerous place. Especially for a girl on her own at night. I’m coming to your front door at least. It’s not far out of my way. Any further than the door would be presumptuous!’
‘Asking you in for coffee, you mean?’
‘If that’s what you want to call it.’
‘On our first date? I don’t think so.’
‘So, this was a date then?’
‘I don’t know, Simon. You tell me.’
‘It was, yes.’ He took her hand in his. ‘You’re cold.’
There it was again. The tingle, the shiver, as soon as his skin touched hers.
‘It is a bit chilly. It’s getting late.’
‘Come on then. Let’s get you safely home.’ They walked towards the tube, still holding hands. ‘So, all we’ve talked about is the garden. I haven’t found out very much about you. What were you doing here tonight, for a start? Walking about by yourself with your camera? You never did say.’
‘Deciding.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’m thinking of going to uni, doing a degree.’
‘That’s brilliant. Here in London?’
‘Could be. It’s one of a few options. But there’s a lot to consider, about fees and where to live and everything. I’ve got plenty of time to work things out. Term doesn’t start until September.’
‘Clever girl. You won’t want to go out with me again then – a lowly builder of very little brain – not if you’re getting letters after your name.’
‘Who says?’
‘Will you then? See me again?’ He stopped and turned her towards him. ‘Not just to sort out the garden, which I will do. Obviously, I will. But see me, like go out with me? Because I would like it a lot if you did.’
She could see his face moving closer, his eyes going very slightly out of focus as she gazed into them, and then they were kissing. She wasn’t sure who had kissed who first, but it didn’t seem to matter. The tingle had escalated into a full-on shudder as he pulled her towards him, his arms wrapping around her so tightly, his lips so wonderfully locked onto hers, that she thought she would never breathe again. If fireworks had started exploding above their heads she would not have been at all surprised.
‘Wow!’ That was all he said when they eventually pulled apart, but she couldn’t have said it better herself. This was nothing like kissing Joe Barton. This was something totally different. This really was just … wow.
The automatic light clicked on in the hallway, throwing a dim halo across the floor. She waved goodbye to Simon, standing below her on the bottom step, and blew him a final kiss, then closed the door quietly behind her. It was well after midnight and she didn’t want to wake anybody else in the block. The pink pushchair was in its usual place against the wall, and a scattering of junk leaflets scrunched underfoot as she stepped onto the mat. Nobody had bothered to gather them up and deal with them, so why should she? She peered into Madi’s post tray. There was a small pile of letters, which she picked up although it wouldn’t be worth forwarding them as Madi would be back next week.
The stairs creaked beneath her feet as she walked up to the top floor. She was glad to be back at last, fully intending to make these final days count before having to face returning to work and telling Fred she was thinking of leaving.
She turned the key in the lock and stepped inside the flat, putting her bag and camera down at her feet, flipping the light on in the small lobby area and slipping out of her coat. It might be late but she felt chilly and she fancied a hot drink before bed. Besides, her thoughts were swirling around like a whirlwind and she wasn’t sure she would be able to contemplate sleep for a while. Simon! The kiss. Their hands locked together all the way home. The desperate urge to pull him through the door and up the stairs with her. Where had those feelings come from? She hardly knew him and it would be wrong to rush into anything so soon after Joe, but that was her sensible head talking. Somewhere deep inside her there was something else, something instinctive, telling her to go for it, to grab a bit of lustful fun. She took a big breath and smiled to herself. Really, how on earth had she managed to resist them?
She padded her way through the semi-darkness to the kitchen, dropped Madi’s post on the table and leant back against the wall tiles as she waited for the kettle to boil. Its blue light mesmerised her as she watched the water start to bubble through the glass. She closed her eyes. She could still run after him. Or call him. She had his number in her phone. No, Prue. Take it slow. He’ll wait. You know he will. She felt another of those unexpected shivers ripple through her. A shiver of anticipation, a promise of what was to come. And then …
She heard it before she saw anything. A faint noise, like a drawer closing. Her eyes flew open and she turned towards the open kitchen doorway and the darkened room beyond. A rustle of clothing, slow footsteps, a floorboard creaking, someone breathing. Who? Where? In the bedroom? No, the living room. Coming closer. Someone she couldn’t yet see, but she knew they were there.
She felt her pulse quicken, her heart banging in her chest. There wasn’t time to look for a rolling pin or take a knife from the drawer, so she grabbed the first thing to hand. The kettle. Hot. Steaming. Heavy. She lifted it from its base, clutched at the handle, held it in front of her, ready to throw it, hit out with it, protect herself.
Creak.
Now! It had to be now. She let out a loud scream, part cry for help, part battle cry, as she lunged through the doorway and into the space between them. But she was too late. The blow came quickly, from the side, sending her reeling backwards into instant blackness. Her head thumped hard into the kitchen cabinet on her way down as the kettle flew from her hands, a cascade of boiling water tumbling out of the top and down her arm, and spreading out around her on the kitchen floor.
Chapter 32
Oh, no. What have I done? As she lies there, silent and still, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.
It wasn’t her voice, not her scream. It isn’t her. Not who I had expected it to be at all. This isn’t the actress. It should have been the actress. The other one, the young girl, had gone, and the place was empty again. Had been for days. Untidy, messy, but empty. She’d gone. I was sure she had. But I was wrong.
What was she doing, creeping in here so late a
t night? Like some kind of thief or intruder. What did she have to do that for? She shouldn’t have been here. She wasn’t coming back. I didn’t mean her any harm. She was an inconvenience, that was all. Gone back where she came from, not part of my story. Our story. She was irrelevant, a nobody. But a nobody who was standing between me and the door, in the way, stopping my escape.
I thought it was the actress. I really did. I heard her come in, I tried to get out, but she sensed me, knew I was there, because she stopped, waited … What could I do? I had to do something. It was me or her. Just as it always has been. The game was so nearly up. And I didn’t have time to think, to plan. Action. Reaction. Instinct. A way to finish it, once and for all. And with her own award too. Justice. That was all it was. And poetic justice, at that. But it wasn’t her.
And now her stupid, shiny statuette is in my hands, still clutched tightly despite the trembling, and she’s lying on the floor at my feet – her, the other one – and I don’t even know if she’s alive or dead.
I should do something. What should I do? Bend down. Touch her. Check her. Call for help. The police. Ambulance. Or run? Should I run? Just go, hide, leave her to her fate? I know I should. It’s my only hope. But I also know I shouldn’t.
I put it down, slowly, on the carpet. The award she won. The weapon. Should I wipe it with something? Remove my fingerprints? Ah, but they’ll be everywhere, won’t they? On all the things I’ve touched. Not just tonight. All those other nights.
My toe meets something hard as I move towards her. Hard and hot. The floor is so wet my foot slides and I almost fall. I bend down, shaking, scared. The kettle is lying beside her. I push it away, touch her, and she is wet too. Her face. Her hair. I put my wet fingers to my lips. Not water. Blood.
I can’t do it. Can’t think. Can’t move. Can’t decide.
