Dying To See You: a dark and deadly psychological thriller

by Kerena Swan

  The lane ends at a five-bar gate, a grassy field just visible beyond as a rip in the clouds allows a weak shaft of moonlight through. He parks his BMW as close to the hedge as he can without scratching the paintwork, then gets his shovel and gloves from the boot and pulls on his wellingtons. It’s still raining, and drips are running inside his collar, trickling coldly down his neck. He could really do with one of those waxed jackets. He’s not equipped for this and the countryside is bleak. Menacing in fact. He constantly scans the area for any lights and signs of life. What possible excuse could he give for being out here tonight if the amorous teenagers make an appearance?

  Climbing carefully over the slimy, wooden gate, Max checks the compass on his phone and heads north, hoping his study of Google Maps will pay off and he’ll have chosen a good place for digging the grave. He steps carefully, using his torch to pick out any hazards in the tractor-rutted ground. The last thing he needs is to fall over in this godforsaken place. The smell of mud and dank undergrowth is thick in his nostrils and the silence is deafening. He fights the urge to stand and yell at the dark night sky. He’s sure it would release some of his tension and frustration. Better not though. People have a habit of turning up in the most unpredictable of places. He puts his head down and trudges on.

  Finding a suitable spot, Max cuts the turf with the edge of his spade and lifts up squares, setting them aside to replace later. ‘This is it, Nan,’ he says out loud. ‘No more, I’m finished.’

  All he’s ever wanted is a normal life with a wife he can cook delicious meals for and kids jumping on their bed on a Sunday morning, clamouring for him to build snowmen or take them swimming. He hears people complaining about minor irritations with their spouses or kids and wants to scream at them to be grateful for what they’ve got. He’s been so close at times to giving himself up and accepting prison but then his fears take over and he doesn’t have the strength to do it. The thought of the cell door clanging shut and the walls closing in on him makes him tingle in horror. But maybe the next time Nan threatens him with it he’ll tell her to call the police. This really can’t happen again.

  Lydia, Lydia, why has she upset him so much? Much more than the others. Maybe it was her connection to Sophie. He keeps thinking about her lying in the caravan with the mice while Sophie thinks she’s enjoying herself in Cornwall. He wishes the girl had gone AWOL then she wouldn’t be dead. He’s managed to close his heart to the victims up until now and focused on keeping Nan and himself safe but it’s as if something inside him has fractured and he can’t keep the demons locked away any more.

  The spade cuts through the mud then jars as it hits a layer of clay, reverberating up his arms and into his aching shoulders. Bugger. He’s picked a bad location but it’s too late to try somewhere else. The ground is probably like this in the whole area anyway. Max’s entire body is damp with perspiration and his shirt is sticking to him. He shrugs off his jacket and lays it on the pile of turf, feeling the relief of cold air on his clammy skin. As he digs, his mind wanders. With a sudden sense of horror, he remembers that his nan is due an evening visit to help her into bed. Christ! He needs to hurry. He checks the time and sees it’s another hour before Patience is due. He must get back before she arrives in case she stumbles upon the body or, even worse, Nan attacks her.

  With renewed energy and sense of purpose Max shifts more soil out of the hole. There’s no way he can make it deep enough for two bodies tonight. The hole must be at least four feet deep to prevent foxes digging the corpse up. Six feet would be best, but he doesn’t have the time or the stamina tonight. He’ll have to sort out somewhere else for Lydia. Trudging back across the field with the spade over his shoulder, his socks slip uncomfortably under his heels inside his boots. Maybe he should just go home. He’s got an alibi at the gym for when the woman in the cupboard was killed: that desperate woman at the gym who tried to hit on him. That’s if the pathologist can prove the exact time of death. He wonders what would happen if forensics check out the bungalow. What clues are in Nan’s carpets and furnishings and what will they find in his car? He reaches his vehicle, removes his boots, waterproof trousers, and jacket then rolls them into a ball and shoves them into a carrier bag in the boot. He gets into the car and sighs before starting the engine and making his way slowly back down the rutted lane.

  Letting himself into his nan’s kitchen, he tidies his hair with his fingers and checks his clothes for any signs of mud then suddenly stops and sniffs the air. It smells different and brings back warm memories of when he was a child, evoking a feeling of safety and contentment. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders as he remembers the comfort of Nan’s cooking after what seemed a lifetime of being hungry. He’d been severely underweight when his mum had died.

  He walks through to the hall and stops in surprise when he sees Sophie there. Isn’t Patience due in later? A warm flush creeps up her neck to her cheeks when she sees him. Max stares at her, transfixed by her delicate beauty but horrified that she’s been here alone with Nan. Images of her golden hair smeared with blood and her beautiful smile extinguished forever make him want to weep.

  ‘Oh good. You’re just in time, Max,’ Nan says. ‘I was only this minute telling Sophie it’s time she went home to her children, only she wants to hoover up the talc she’s spilt.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Max says quickly. Jesus Christ. Can this night get any worse? ‘There are some loose tins of paint in the cupboard and I don’t want you to get hurt.’

  Sophie puts on her coat, smiling at Max. He knows Tilly will be waiting for her. Max sees Nan watching them say goodbye. She’s not stupid. Max knows she can see what’s building between them and she clearly doesn’t like it.

  As Sophie closes the door behind her, Max rounds on Nan, his words a low hiss of anger.

  ‘That was so fucking close, Nan. What would you have done if she’d opened the cupboard? Attacked her, too? I really can’t deal with this anymore.’ He sinks down onto the sofa and leans forward, burying his fingers into his hair. He starts rocking and she goes to him and rubs him on the shoulders.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Max. I promise this is the last time.’ She strokes his hair like she did when he was a troubled child. ‘I won’t put you through this again. You know I love you and we’ve always looked after each other. Don’t fall apart now. Let’s get the woman out of here, get the place straight and have a fresh start.’

  Max looks up at her with bleary eyes, so exhausted he can’t think straight. He desperately wants to believe her, but he’s been here before. He can’t let Sophie come here again. He’s prepared to sacrifice everything if it will keep Sophie safe.

  ‘Remember how you felt in the cupboard, Max,’ Nan reminds him gently, ‘You can’t even get in a lift. You’ll have a breakdown if you go to prison. I’ve heard terrible tales about what other prisoners do to men who have killed young women. They’d have to lock you away in solitary confinement for your own protection. Imagine – no window, no sky, no trees. Just four walls and a locked door.’

  Max shudders and hunches his shoulders. He can’t bear to think about it.

  ‘Come on, Max. Let’s just get this sorted and move on. I’ll get you something to eat before you go. You need to keep your strength up.’

  He can barely find the energy to speak. He just wants to curl into a ball and hide in his bed. ‘What about old Brentwood?’ he finally says. ‘Have you seen him this evening? How will I get the body out without him spotting me?’

  ‘Don’t worry about him.’

  ‘Why? What have you done to him? Please tell me you haven’t killed him.’

  ‘He’s fine. No one believes a word he says anyway. Come on, I’ll get you some cheese on toast while you get the sack barrow out of the shed.’

  Max allows Nan to lead him into the kitchen and take charge as he has done all his life. He doesn’t have the strength to stand up to her. He never has had. She’s the reason he’s never had a proper relationship with another woman and why
his life is a hollow shell, but he still loves her. He had to love someone and as he grew up, Nan was all he had. He wasn’t even allowed a dog to love because Nan had said pets were for fools. He could love Sophie. He could love her girls too. But he’s tainted.

  32

  By the time Mum returns, Tilly is waiting in the hall with her coat on and all the buttons fastened. The last thing she wants is a row with her about the length of her skirt. Even she was a bit shocked when she put it on. It seemed longer on the hanger.

  Mum looks taken aback to see Tilly pacing the hallway.

  ‘Is Mia settled?’ she asks.

  ‘Fast asleep. I’m off to Izzie’s now. I’ll be back at ten thirty. Bye, Mum!’

  ‘Call me if you need to. My phone won’t leave my hand.’

  As Tilly walks through the front gate she stares at the bus stop trying to detect any movement. She doesn’t feel brave enough to cross the road and look. Seeing nothing untoward, she heads for her friend’s house, the street lights reflecting off the wet pavements enabling her to avoid the puddles. The smell of damp gardens hangs heavy in the air and droplets of moisture cling to Tilly’s coat and sparkle in the yellow glow. Izzie has agreed to cover for her while she sees Tom. He said he’d meet her at the corner in ten minutes. She wonders if he’ll take her back to his house or if they’ll just go for a long stroll.

  As she walks, Tilly swings round often to check she isn’t being followed. She feels she’s being paranoid, but her mum must also be worried otherwise she wouldn’t have had that bloke fitting window locks. Tilly’s phone vibrates in her pocket and she checks the screen. The message is from Mum.

  Text me when you arrive xxx

  Tilly is pleased she’s taken her advice and not put a full stop on her text. It’s so rude, in her opinion. She glances back up at her mother’s bedroom window. She’s probably watching to make sure she’s safe and the knowledge makes Tilly feel warm inside. Sometimes it’s good to know you’ve got someone looking out for you.

  As she turns the corner, Tilly’s heart thumps with excitement at the sight of Tom sitting on a garden wall, the tip of his cigarette glowing like a firefly as he takes a long drag of smoke. He offers her the cigarette, but she shakes her head. She hates the smell and there’s no way she’d ever smoke but she doesn’t tell him this. He gives her a clumsy kiss on the cheek and she takes his arm happily as they saunter down the street.

  ‘What’s been happening? Anything exciting?’ Tom asks.

  ‘I’ve got loads to tell you. Are we going back to your house or staying out?’

  ‘We’ll go to mine. Mum and Dad are out and Charlotte’s at her friend’s house.’

  ‘That’s good.’ At least it will be warm. Tilly’s legs are freezing.

  ‘What time will your parents be back?’

  ‘Not until at least eleven. They’ve gone to the pub with friends, so we’ve got plenty of time.’ He puts an arm around her waist and pulls her into his side, almost unbalancing her.

  Plenty of time for what, exactly?

  ‘I have to be home by half-past ten,’ she says.

  ‘Really? I’m sure it won’t matter if you’re a bit late.’

  Tilly is about to protest but she doesn’t want him to think she’s boring. She’ll remind him again nearer the time.

  ‘Have you got any decent films to watch?’ Tilly asks. She can’t decide if she feels excited or nervous. They haven’t really had an opportunity to be on their own before.

  ‘Yeah, but I thought we could go to my room and listen to music and stuff.’ They reach Tom’s house and he unlocks the front door.

  ‘Do you want a drink? I’ve got some cider or lager. Or if you’re feeling adventurous we could nick some of Mum’s vodka. She won’t notice if we top it up with water.’

  ‘Just a cider please. I might puke if I drink vodka.’

  ‘You’re a class act,’ Tom laughs, pouring himself a large beer.

  He grabs some crisps from a cupboard and leads the way upstairs. He puts his iPhone in a docking speaker and opens up his Spotify app.

  ‘Any requests?’ he asks. ‘Who’s your favourite band?’

  ‘Can you play Ed Sheeran?’

  Tom selects the music then throws himself onto his bed. Tilly stands awkwardly in the centre of the room, unsure what to do next.

  ‘Come on, at least take this off!’ Tom laughs and tugs at the hem of her coat, pulling Tilly towards the bed. She undoes the buttons and shrugs it off. Tom gives a low wolf whistle.

  ‘Bloody hell! That’s some outfit.’

  Tilly plucks at the hem of the short skirt and blushes. She’s pleased he likes it. She sits down gingerly next to him and smiles shyly. Tom puts his arms around her and leans in for a clumsy kiss. His mouth is too wet and tastes of cigarettes, but Tilly resists the urge to back away. She’s been waiting for this. She gives in to his exploratory tongue and tries to relax and enjoy the sensation. She can’t understand what all the fuss is about, though, and as soon as she thinks it’s reasonable she puts her hands on his chest and pushes him gently away, surreptitiously drying her wet mouth on the back of her hand.

  ‘I’ve found my dad,’ she blurts out suddenly, to distract him from attempting another sloppy kiss. Tom knows she was going to seek him out and she hopes he’ll be interested.

  ‘Oh, right,’ he says. ‘Where is he, then?’

  ‘He lives in Leicester. I was supposed to meet him yesterday, but we got our wires crossed and it’s going to be next week now.’

  ‘Oh right,’ he repeats, then he puts his hand on the back of her head and latches on to her mouth again.

  ‘Tom! Stop it. I’m trying to talk to you.’ Tilly shoves him away.

  ‘You’re such a bloody tease,’ he says, but sits a bit further away and looks at her. ‘Go on then. Tell me all about him.’

  Tilly doesn’t feel inclined to bother now as he clearly isn’t interested. She’d have been happier eating popcorn and watching a film with Mum. She takes a long sip of her cider and decides to tell him about Mum instead.

  ‘Mum had a bloke round today to fit window locks and a door chain.’

  ‘Is she worried about being burgled?’

  ‘Not exactly. She met this man and went for a coffee with him then he offered to fit locks. We think we’re being watched and I reckon it’s a stalker.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Your mum’s a right MILF. I’d stalk her!’ he laughs loudly but stops when he sees Tilly’s face.

  ‘Sorry. But you have to admit she’s peng. I can see where you get your good looks from,’ he adds, trying to mollify her. ‘Anyway, have you seen this stalker bloke?’

  ‘No. But there seems to be someone hiding in the bus stop, watching the house.’

  ‘Maybe he’s waiting for a bus. You can wait days in this village sometimes.’ He laughs uproariously this time.

  Tilly doesn’t find him funny. She wonders what she ever saw in him. Izzie had noticed him first and they’d become competitive, seeing who could attract his attention at school.

  ‘Well, I find it creepy. Can you walk me back home soon?’ The more Tilly thinks about it, the more she doesn’t want to walk home on her own.

  ‘Already? You’ve only been here twenty minutes. Can’t we have a bit of fun first?’ Tom puts a hand on her bare leg and she brushes it off and stands up.

  ‘I feel a bit sick. Can you walk me home, please?’

  Tom gets up reluctantly and adjusts his trousers. Tilly averts her gaze afraid of what she might see. Tom gulps down his beer and eats a handful of crisps then hands Tilly her coat, leaving crumbs on the sleeve. She feels a wave of relief then guilt that she has led him on, but she still wants to leave.

  ‘Sorry if I’ve ruined your evening,’ she says, making her way down the stairs. She just wants to get back to Mum now. She feels strangely protective towards her and doesn’t like the thought of her being at home with only Mia for company.

  They walk back in near silence. After a monosyll
abic conversation about his friend’s motorbike, Tilly struggles to find anything else to say. As they approach the bus stop, Tom puffs out his chest and walks across the road. He steps around the edge of the wooden partition then Tilly watches in horror as a hand grips his throat and pulls him in. He reappears almost instantly and she sees it’s his own hand.

  ‘Ha ha. Very funny.’ What a knobhead.

  He runs back across the road and dances round her.

  ‘I couldn’t find your bogey man,’ he says. ‘Maybe he caught the bus after all.’

  Tilly puts her key in the door and turns to Tom. ‘Thanks for walking me home. I’ll see you at school.’ She lets herself in and shuts the door on his stupidly grinning face then slides the chain across.

  ‘You’re home early,’ Sophie says.

  ‘Is it too late to watch that film, Mum? I decided I didn’t want to stay out.’

  ‘Is everything all right with Izzie?’ Sophie asks, trying to look concerned about Tilly’s friend but clearly pleased to see Tilly.

  Obviously, she didn’t want to spend the evening on her own. She sets the film ready to play then goes into the kitchen.

  ‘I thought we’d have these as a treat. I’ll get some more tomorrow,’ she says, returning with a bag of marshmallows. She puts them on the table between them and they snuggle under the furry throw together.

  ‘Mum, I think it is possible to know when you pick the wrong bloke.’

  Mum looks at her in surprise. ‘I suppose it is sometimes. It’s just that some men are better at hiding their faults than others and it can take a while for the cracks to show.’

  ‘Do you think Max has faults?’

  ‘Everyone has good bits and bad bits in them, Tilly. No one is perfect. I just hope he has mostly good bits. He seems lovely so far.’

  ‘What were my dad’s good bits?’

  ‘He made me laugh. He was fun to be with, you know?’