Dying To See You: a dark and deadly psychological thriller

by Kerena Swan

  I find Max’s work number and call it. A polite secretary answers.

  ‘Could I speak to Max Saunders please?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s out on viewings this morning. Can I take a message?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ll try again later.’

  The phone rings as soon as I’ve hung up. Gwen answers then directs the call to me.

  ‘It’s Social Services Commissioning.’

  My spirits plummet further. Max has called his Social Worker and asked her to find another agency. She sounds annoyed because now she has more work to do.

  ‘I’ll need a full report from you as to why you were unable to provide care today in case this goes to a formal complaint,’ she says. ‘Mr Saunders has requested that you do not contact his mother again.’

  This time the news is like a fist in the solar plexus and I feel sick. He really doesn’t want us back. Karen is going to be fuming, especially if the contract goes to Premier Care. I make my way to the cloakroom.

  Maybe I’ll go off sick for the rest of the day. I don’t feel well, and I can’t risk another funny turn in the office. What was that strange word I saw on the chicken wrapper that I had to look up? Eviscerated. That was it. I feel eviscerated.

  35

  As Max approaches Ivy’s bungalow, he checks the local area for signs of the police. They must have moved on further because he can’t see them. He’d been frantic when she’d called the office telling him to come right away. He’d panicked that Sophie might have gone there again. He’d been faint with relief when she’d said no one had turned up and it had given him the perfect excuse to cancel the care. He’d told Erika it was the second time a carer hadn’t showed this week in an attempt to reinforce the story that Lydia didn’t arrive for her shift the night she went missing.

  Max had felt jab of guilt when the social worker expressed surprise at the agency letting them down. It was building such a good reputation. He’s sorry he’s tarnishing all they’ve worked hard for.

  He’s worried that Sophie will get into trouble for care being cancelled. Still, it’s nothing to the risk she would be exposed to near his nan. He really needs to cut any links to her and let her get on with her own life. Nothing good can come of their relationship. He has far too much baggage.

  When Ivy said that the police had called round, Max’s stomach had lurched in fear. He’d left the office immediately, promising Joyce some of her favourite fondant fancies by way of apology.

  Christ, he’s really not used to all this emotion. It’s exhausting. Life was so much easier when he could remain detached, just focusing on the practical aspects of the task and not considering other people’s feelings.

  ‘Tell me about the police visit,’ he says, as soon his nan opens the door. He heads for the kitchen and fills the kettle. He needs a strong coffee.

  Ivy trails after him. ‘They were looking for the Jehovah’s Witness, so I told them I’d watched her go into old Brentwood’s place. I said I didn’t see her after that as I was in the loo for ages ’cos I’d had too many prunes for breakfast.’ She grins at the memory and looks proud of herself. ‘I think they believed me.’

  Max is supposed to feel love for this woman but all he feels is disgust.

  ‘What did you do to Mr Brentwood? You said you’d taken care of him. Is he all right?’ Please God let there not be another crisis to deal with.

  ‘He’s fine. I made him some special cakes, that’s all.’

  ‘Special?’

  ‘I put some of those travel sickness tablets in them that make you drowsy. You know the ones. You bought them for me when I went on that coach trip and I slept all day and missed most of it.’

  Max feels a surge of relief. The tablets shouldn’t have done any harm. He goes to the lounge and slumps in an armchair.

  ‘We need to get this place cleaned up in case they come back,’ she continues, ‘I’ve watched Silent Witness and CSI and those blokes in white suits can find all sorts these days. You need to get the hoover out and bleach the cupboard floor. Bleach kills all the evidence apparently.’

  ‘Nan, I don’t think hoovering will remove all the incriminating fibres and besides, if they come back and the place stinks of bleach don’t you think it will be more suspicious?’ Max leans forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘I’ll clean up if it makes you happy, but I think they’d be able to find evidence that the woman has been here.’

  At least with Lydia she’d been visiting as a carer and her DNA will plausibly be all over the place. Max’s head spins with the implications of it all. Everything has happened so fast these past few days and he misses his calm, orderly life. Something has upset his nan and he’s not sure what. He gets up wearily.

  Standing in the doorway to the under stairs cupboard, Max can smell the musty cloths and dusters. The stench of stale urine fills his memory and his pulse quickens. Instinctively he hesitates and scrutinises the floor for rodents.

  ‘Scared, are we?’

  Max jumps visibly and swings round to Ivy, his face draining of colour.

  ‘Jesus! Don’t creep up on me like that.’

  She chuckles. ‘Hurry up and get on with it, you daft bugger.’

  ‘I don’t think I can do this anymore.’

  ‘You don’t have a choice, remember. If it wasn’t for me, you’d have been locked up years ago. I saved you.’

  Max breathes in deeply then exhales slowly. He knows she’s right and feels overwhelmed with helplessness and frustration. He leans his arm against the door frame and rests his forehead on it to gather his strength.

  Ivy stands watching him. ‘You should be grateful for all I’ve done for you,’ she continues.

  He hauls the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard, its stupid face smiling incongruously at him as though mocking him. It’s almost satisfying switching it on as it drowns out anything his nan says. He glances at her and can see she’d like to say something else but she wants the place cleaned up more, so she shuts up and puts the kettle on.

  Max moves her chair and the coffee table then vacuums the carpet even though he knows it’s pointless. It’s too much effort to drag the sofa out. What they should do is get their stories aligned about Lydia’s last visit. He doesn’t want people to know this was the last place she was seen. Ivy could say she allowed her to leave early to meet her boyfriend but now he’s told the social worker there have been two occasions when a worker didn’t show up so he needs her to say the same. Max wasn’t even here when Ivy killed her, but checking out the caravan is no alibi.

  At least old Brentwood won’t be able to provide evidence if there is an investigation and he’s sure there will be soon. Lydia must be missed by now. He remembers the text he sent Sophie and feels reassured that he got something right. But the thought of Sophie losing a carer sobers him and he can feel the wall of indifference he has carefully constructed over the years begin to weaken. He visualises Lydia’s face and how the mice are probably eating her clothes. The flies will be in there now. He shudders with revulsion and turns his mind back to the present.

  ‘Nan, you’ve got no more carers coming in. I’ve cancelled them.’ He allows himself a small feeling of triumph. She won’t be happy with this decision.

  ‘You did what?’ Ivy squares up to Max, her face flushed and her eyes glittering with anger. ‘How dare you?’

  Max almost laughs at this diminutive figure controlling his life and for the first time his fear of her subsides.

  I told the agency we don’t need them anymore. I’ll get your lunches ready for you.’

  ‘What about getting ready for bed?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Nan. I’ve seen you moving about easily when there’s only me around. You’re putting on an act when people visit. You don’t need help.’

  ‘But I get lonely here on my own all day. You try sitting here for hours and hours with nothing to look forward to. It’s enough to send me gaga.’

  ‘You’ve brought it on yourself. Don’t expect me to feel sorry for
you.’

  ‘You’re being harsh, Max. You’re not yourself lately. I don’t feel as though you care about me anymore.’

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic, Nan. You know I do everything you ask of me and I always have.’

  ‘I lied for you, Max. I could have gone to prison for that. Perverting the course of justice, they call it.’ Max stares at the skirting board, his mind spinning back twenty-one years to a driving lesson.

  ∞∞∞∞

  ‘Take your foot off the accelerator as you approach the bend,’ Ivy said. ‘You need to be in control of the vehicle. And concentrate!’

  Max’s knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel. He leaned forward and peered through the windscreen. The wipers couldn’t compete with the heavy rain and his view was obscured with streaks and rivulets of water. Concentrate. Huh! He daren’t look anywhere other than the road in front.

  Was that a flash of blue in the distance? The road twisted again, and he could see nothing but trees, grass, and shiny tarmac. Maybe he imagined it. This was terrifying. Why did Nan bring him along such a winding, narrow road? And in this weather?

  Ivy fidgeted in her seat. ‘You can go faster than this. We won’t be home before bedtime at this rate.’

  The road straightened and Max accelerated, tension making his movements jerky as he changed into fifth gear. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. They passed a high wall set with iron gates and then another. It probably cost a fortune to live around here, he mused, as he tried to look along the driveway to catch a glimpse of the house. A bit too quiet and remote for his liking, though. The next bend was sharper than he realised, and he pulled on the steering wheel. The car gravitated to the left, resisting his attempt to take control. Then he saw the cyclist.

  ‘Watch out!’ Ivy cried.

  He tugged at the steering wheel again but it was too late. The front bumper clipped the back wheel of the bicycle with an audible clunk and scratch of metal on paintwork. The cyclist toppled sideways and disappeared from view. Max slowed the car and pulled on the handbrake, his heart thumping wildly. Oh God, what had he done? Was the cyclist hurt? Max would be banned from driving before he even took his test. He’d be charged with dangerous driving. Thoughts cascaded through his mind quicker than he could process them. He hardly dared look in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘You bloody fool!’ Ivy swivelled in her seat to look behind them then she was out of the car and running up the road. He climbed out slowly, his limbs heavy with dread. Rain pounded onto the top of his head and rivulets of cold water ran down his neck. He shivered. The bike lay on its side in the road and Max could see a heap of blue and black clothing on the grass verge. It moved. Thank God! The cyclist was alive. His nan kneeled down and touched him. Max heard a groan. Then Ivy looked up and shouted, ‘Don’t just stand there. Go to the nearest house and tell them to call an ambulance.’

  He hesitated, looking up and down the lane. He couldn’t look at the cyclist, so he headed in the other direction towards the next set of ornate gates. A curved driveway led to a mock Tudor house with mullioned windows. He ran along the gravel, almost falling sideways as his shoe sunk into a pile of stones. He hammered on the door and tried to control his ragged breathing. Oh God, oh God, what had he done?

  The house was silent. What now? What should he do? He ran around the building noticing for the first time that there were no cars or any sign of life. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he put his hands on his knees and bowed his head forward. Pull yourself together, you idiot. Try another house. He straightened up and ran back down the drive.

  ‘There’s no one in,’ he called as he ran towards her. ‘I’ll try in this direction.’ He was about to pass her when she stood up and grabbed at his arm.

  ‘It’s too late. He’s gone.’

  ‘What?’ He looked at her in disbelief. ‘But he only fell onto the grass.’

  ‘He hit his head on a rock.’

  He tried to look past her, but she stepped in front of him. He could see decorative chunks of limestone dotted on the verge. A tide of nausea doubled him over and he vomited onto the road. Ivy pulled his arm.

  ‘Get back in the car. There’s nothing we can do here.’

  ‘We can’t just leave him!’

  ‘Get in the bloody car! There’s no point in ruining our lives as well. There was nothing you could do.’

  Max couldn’t think straight. He was numb with shock and it was far easier to let her lead him back to the car than face the body on the verge. She pushed him into the passenger seat then got behind the wheel.

  ‘Let’s get away from here before someone sees us.’

  He clutched the sides of the seat and stared straight ahead, his breath shallow.

  ‘And calm down. I’m in the driving seat now.’

  They drove away but Ivy berated him for his dangerous driving.

  ‘You could go to prison for that,’ she said, and his heart convulsed with fear.

  ‘Don’t worry. If we get caught I’ll say the cyclist swerved around a pothole and you couldn’t avoid him. I’ll say you panicked and left the scene.’

  A few days later his nan told him she’d sold the car at a reduced price for a quick sale as they didn’t want police finding evidence on it. He’d felt a huge swell of gratitude to her and guilt at the financial sacrifice she’d made.

  ∞∞∞∞

  ‘Max, pull yourself together,’ Ivy snaps. ‘You need to bleach the floor then you can have a cup of tea.’

  ‘Coffee. I want a strong black coffee.’

  Max grabs the bucket and clatters it into the sink. He slops water and bleach onto the broom cupboard floor and wipes it haphazardly, all the while keeping a look out for mice.

  ‘If I’ve got no more carers coming in then I want to go back to the day centre,’ she tells him. ‘I’ll go cuckoo if I sit here on my own all day. Can you call Social Services and see if the bus can pick me up? Tuesdays and Thursdays, remember?’

  ‘I’ll call them this afternoon.’

  Maybe it will do her good to get out a bit. Calm her down.

  Back in his car, Max switches his phone on and sees he has missed calls from the office and Sophie. His heart skips a beat and he longs to call her back and hear her sweet voice. But he can’t bring her within his nan’s orbit again. Nothing bad must happen to his precious, beautiful Sophie. But what if he sees her without his nan finding out? There’s a thought. He taps the screen for recent calls and touches her number gently with his fingertip.

  36

  Watching from the edge of the window, Ivy sees Max staring thoughtfully at his phone then lifting it to his ear. Probably phoning that bloody girl, Sophie. She’s seen the way he goes all soppy whenever Sophie is around, the great goon. How dare he stop the agency? Maybe Ivy can phone up and get the care reinstated. It’s so confusing, though. When she calls Social Services, she never seems to speak to the same person twice or even have the same bloody social worker for more than two weeks.

  No doubt it would take ages to sort out and by then Sophie will probably be booked up with other old folk. Getting rid of Lydia was supposed to have meant she saw more of Sophie. She needs to see first-hand what Max and Sophie are up to. She’s like a cat playing with the traumatised mouse before the final bite through the neck. Killing Susan was good for keeping Max in line too. She can’t risk him slipping away from her control.

  Ivy looks at her gnarled, brown-spotted hands. She despises growing old and being unable to do the things she could a few years ago; having to rely on Max so much. But he’s her only surviving relative. Strange really, she almost misses Max’s grandfather, Bert. She’d had such high hopes of finding happiness in marriage. Someone to love her at last.

  Having a baby was supposed to bring joy too, wasn’t it? Give her someone to nurture. All she’d got was a screaming little shit machine and a crushing sense of disappointment. She’d felt no attachment to the child whatsoever. Bert used to complain that she was cold towards him too and d
idn’t love him enough, the stupid git, and she’d been glad when he’d taken a shine to the woman down the road, though he was always round there fixing things for her when Ivy needed him to do stuff at home. When he said he was leaving to move in with the woman she really couldn’t be bothered to fight for him, so she let him go. Ivy chuckles to herself. She got her revenge later.

  She’s glad she didn’t try and finish him off because less than a year on he died of a heart attack. They’d still been married at the time and the silly sod didn’t have a will. So at least the mortgage was paid off and she got a lump sum from his life insurance. She was able to play the spurned, grieving widow, with everyone feeling sorry for her, while secretly jumping for joy at her new-found wealth. There’s little money left now but at least the bungalow is paid for and the bills are covered. There isn’t much to spend it on anyway. She feels too old to take a holiday and can’t be bothered to buy new clothes. What’s the point?

  As the sound of Max’s engine grows fainter, Ivy sits down in her chair. She hopes he remembers to organise the day centre for her. She’ll go nuts if she has to watch any more shitty, daytime TV. She’s not interested in whether little Johnnie is Darren’s son or if Sharon was put in the family way by the neighbour and she’s not interested in whether the painted creature parading up and down in heels and feather boa is a Drag or Hag? She can have much more fun in the day centre causing havoc with the silly old fools at bingo and craft sessions.

  Maybe she should make Max a cake to get into his good books again. He was always very fond of her apple cake and she has some apples left in the shed from the tree in the garden. She knows he’s at the end of his tether with her. He hasn’t been this argumentative before and she blames that girl, Sophie. She’s wormed her way in to his affection somehow. Ivy can’t recall any other girl disturbing Max like this. What’s so special about her? One thing she does know, though – Sophie is a dangerous threat to Max and to her. She could ruin everything. Ivy picks up the paperweight next to her chair and strokes it thoughtfully. There’s something sticky on it so she takes it to the kitchen and washes it under the tap before replacing it carefully on her side table.