Dying To See You: a dark and deadly psychological thriller

by Kerena Swan

  She’d spent bloody ages making his favourite cake today. It had taken her an eternity to walk to the shop and back. She’d had to sit on people’s garden walls a couple of times to catch her breath. Pulling her shopping trolley had been quite an effort and made her hands ache. It was worth it though because the apple cake had turned out perfectly; crispy sugar-topped sponge laden with spices and chunks of juicy apple. She felt quite proud of it.

  Maddeningly, most of it is still on the kitchen counter as Max hasn’t called round. He’s switched his phone off as well, the selfish git. She’s tried calling him loads of times.

  Max is slipping away again and it’s that bloody Sophie woman who’s to blame. Ivy hates her, with her insipid looks and her namby-pamby little miss Aren’t I a Goody Two Shoes personality. But what’s really worrying is that the threat of prison isn’t pulling Max back like it always has in the past. It’s as if he’s reached a point of no return and nothing she does or says has any great hold over him anymore. Maybe she should strike again and put his loyalty to the test. Reel him in. Give him another body to dispose of and forget the promise she made about Lydia being the last. What does Ivy care anyway?

  She picks up her paperweight and strokes its smooth surface. Standing at the window she looks out into the orange-tinted street. Whatever happened to white street lights? This orange glow looks so unnatural. She peers up the road and listens for the sound of Max’s throaty engine. Nothing. No one around, barely a car going by and not even that mangy ginger cat to hurl abuse at. The view from the back of the bungalow is lifeless too. Just dark outlines of trees and the old shed.

  Right, that’s it. She’s going to scream out loud if she doesn’t do something. She shrugs on an old coat and tugs her fur lined boots onto her feet then lets herself out of the back door. She stops at the shed and picks up a club hammer. It feels heavier than she expected, and for a moment, she wonders if she has the strength to wield it but the thrill of what she’s planning to do is seeping into her muscles and giving her energy. She lifts the hammer and circles it in a half arc, her joints screaming in protest. She should manage one blow. She just needs to aim well.

  The fresh air feels wonderful in her lungs after her stuffy living room and the smell of the garden lifts her mood a little. Creeping up the path to old Brentwood’s back door, Ivy positions herself where she can’t easily be seen. ‘Meow, meeeooww.’ Ivy’s pleased with her cat impressions. She’s practiced it for years and knows she sounds realistic. She used to tease Patricia, letting her think the kitten had come back. She’ll wait a minute or two for the old boy to open the back door then if he doesn’t appear, she’ll try again.

  42

  Mr Brentwood is on his way to the bedroom to undress when he hears the cat meowing in the back garden. Where’s Jasper been at this time of night? It’s strange, because he doesn’t remember letting him out. He shambles his way to the door and is about to open it when the phone rings.

  How odd. No one rings him much these days. He’s had those nuisance call centres from time to time telling him he’s owed money for something or other and he should claim. The worst one was when they told him he’d been in an accident and he really couldn’t remember it. He’d been frightened then. What if someone else had been hurt as well? Thankfully, his carer was visiting that day and she’d seen his distress and taken over the call. She was quite rude to the man on the phone. Told him never to call again and to remove the number off their list then reassured Mr Brentwood that it was a hoax. ‘They’re very clever’, she’d said. It can’t be one of those sorts of calls at this time of night, though. Maybe there’s news about his wife.

  He turns away from the back door and goes to the lounge to pick up the phone. Jasper will have to wait.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, it’s Jerry. Can I speak to Sheila, please?’

  ‘Sheila? There’s no Sheila here.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I must have the wrong number.’

  The call ends abruptly and Mr Brentwood stands there. What was he doing before the phone rang? The cat howls again at the back door. Aah, yes. Let the cat in. He turns towards the kitchen but as he glances through his bedroom doorway he sees Jasper curled up on the bed. Well, that’s peculiar. It must be a stray out there looking for food. He’s tempted to go and see, but no, he mustn’t do that. Jasper doesn’t have enough food to share with a stray and he doesn’t want to encourage a territory war. His cat might start spraying to warn the other one away and he can’t stand that stink.

  Ignoring the pitiful cries, he crosses the room to his cat and sits down next to him. Jasper looks up and stretches then climbs onto his owner’s lap. Stroking the soft fur behind the cat’s ears is really soothing. He just wishes he wouldn’t dig his claws rhythmically into his leg. ‘Making pies’ his wife used to call it and he chuckles softly.

  43

  Ivy hears the phone ring and mutters with annoyance. Who the hell would phone that old fool at this time of night? She’s starting to get cold now and beginning to think this was a bad idea. She’ll wait a couple more minutes then go back to her warm bungalow. With renewed effort she howls like a cat in distress and waits. Nothing. Where is the stupid bugger? ‘I give up,’ she mutters, stomping back down the path. She puts the hammer back in the shed then finds her way to her armchair where she sits drumming her fingers on the arm.

  Sophie. She’s the one she should be after, not the old codger next door. Picking up her phone and the old care plan, Ivy carefully dials her number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Sophie dear. I’m so sorry to call you but I need your help. I feel really dizzy and I’m worried about using the bathroom on my own. Can you come and help me?’

  44

  Having thrown the last bag into the charity clothes bin at the edge of Tesco’s car park, Max pauses for a minute before getting in the car to admire the blue sky mottled with pink clouds. So magnificent and such a contrast to the darkness he carries inside him. He isn’t usually up this early so a dawn like this one is a rare spectacle. He stands still and breathes deeply hoping to dilute the horror of the night he’s had. If he goes to prison, he’ll rarely see the sky and sometimes looking up into the endless space is all that stops the fear crushing him to the ground. He silently thanks his mother for teaching him to appreciate small moments of wonder in the world during her more positive phases of behaviour.

  ‘Find the beauty in the world, Max. It will stop you feeling so lonely and lift your spirits.’

  He didn’t understand fully what she’d meant at the time, but now, every time he encounters a wonder of nature or life, he stops to look and absorb it into his memory in honour of his mother.

  The pink clouds disappear by the time he arrives at Ivy’s and grey clouds replace them. He hopes it won’t rain this afternoon. The weather report looked all right when he’d checked it. It won’t be much fun on a boat if it’s raining. He lets himself in and goes straight for the kettle. He needs caffeine. Lots of caffeine. Max spots the cake on the side and cuts himself a generous slice. Mmmm. Lovely. It tastes good and for a moment he forgets the terrible night he has had then feels a pang of guilt. He shouldn’t be enjoying cake.

  He’s about to make himself a second mugful of coffee and take a cup of tea into his nan when she appears in the doorway. A frilly pink nightdress buttoned to her neck and a fleecy dressing gown make her look sweet and cuddly. He can hardly believe she can be so evil as to kill innocent people. What damage was done to her in her childhood? He knows she was found and raised for a short while by a neighbour after her own mother died giving birth, but the details are sketchy after that. She won’t say much to him. Just shrugs when he asks her what her childhood was like, but he knows it was miserable. His mum had let slip about the rejection and hate his nan had suffered at the hands of her stepmother and indifferent father so he understands a little, but he’d love to be able to fathom her out better. She doesn’t seem to have any guilt or conscience for the things
she does to other people. It’s as if part of her is missing. She’s always been good to him, though, and he used to be glad to be kept out of the care system but now he knows it would have been the lesser of two evils.

  ‘Why are you here so bloomin’ early? Rattling about and depriving me of my beauty sleep. Don’t come around here disturbing me at this time again.’ Ivy scowls up at Max.

  Fucking hell! This is too much after the night he’s had. He can’t swallow his mouthful of cake quickly enough. ‘Don’t talk to me about early! I’ve been up most of the night sorting out your bloody mess. Not only am I exhausted, I’m totally, utterly pissed off with you. I’ve come to tell you it is never going to happen again. If you want to send me to prison then feel free, because I can’t do this anymore.’

  Ivy’s expression has changed from a grumpy frown to incredulity then within seconds she is smiling at him and saying in a wheedling voice, ‘Don’t be like that, Max. You know I won’t do that. You’re all I’ve got in the world. I waited for you last night. I made you a cake specially – and I see you’ve already been tucking into it,’ she adds. She loops her arm through his and pulls gently at him. ‘Come on. Give me one of your smiles to brighten my day.’

  Max yanks his arm away and Ivy grabs the worktop to steady herself.

  ‘You really have no idea, do you,’ he says quietly. ‘I have had to move a rotting corpse in the middle of the night, risk my freedom, my job, and my relationship for you and you don’t give a shit. I thought I was going to be arrested last night when the police stopped me, and do you know what? I almost wanted them to.’

  Ivy’s eyes have narrowed and she’s looking at Max closely as though trying to make sense of what he’s just said.

  ‘Relationship? What relationship?’

  ‘None of your bloody business, Nan. My life is my own now. I’m finished with you.’ Why the hell did he ever let Sophie near her? He could kick himself for being so stupid. He walks towards the front door.

  ‘Max. Please don’t leave me. I can’t cope on my own. I’m so lonely.’

  ‘You should have thought of that when you finished off Lydia. You deserve to be lonely. No, you should be lonely because you’re a danger to people. It’s you who should be locked up and if I wasn’t implicated, I’d call the police now.’

  ‘You don’t mean that. I’ve loved and cared for you your whole life. You’d be nothing if it wasn’t for me. I’ve fed, clothed, nurtured, and protected you.’

  ‘Have you? Really? I don’t think so, Nan. I think it was all for you. I don’t think you’re capable of love and right now I don’t think I love you either.’

  He slams the door and storms down the path, the look on her shocked face imprinted clearly in his mind. She hadn’t even asked him why the police stopped him. All she was worried about was him meeting a woman that might take him away from her. Well, it had finally happened.

  45

  I haven’t slept well. I kept visualising Ivy lying on the floor of her bathroom and a couple of times I almost got up to drive over there to check she was all right. If it hadn’t meant leaving the girls on their own in the middle of the night I might have done it. When Ivy called me to say she felt dizzy, I offered to call the emergency duty team in Social Services for her, but she declined. I explained I wasn’t allowed to support her now as the contract had ended, and I wouldn’t be insured. She couldn’t understand that. I tried ringing Max to see if he could go around there but his phone kept going straight to voicemail. I think it must have been switched off. I even suggested calling an out-of-hours doctor, but Ivy was adamant she would be OK. I’m going to call her social worker today to see if they have more care workers to support Ivy. It sounds like no one has been in to help her which is terrible.

  ‘Mum. Muuum. Hey, are you listening?’

  ‘Sorry, Tilly, I was thinking about Ivy. What were you saying?’

  ‘Can you help me with my school project? I need to think of something that helps people in the community.’

  Tilly is studying for a GCSE in health and social care. I couldn’t decide if I was pleased or not when she chose that option. My line of work isn’t well paid but then it is rewarding, and I should feel flattered that she’s interested in what I do. I can hardly expect her to be gifted at serious subjects like maths and science when I wasn’t great at them myself.

  ‘When you told me about that old man who thought his wife was still alive, I wanted to know more so I looked stuff up on the Internet. I think he’s got dementia.’

  Tilly looks pleased with herself and I feel a rush of pride that she cares and has a natural curiosity about others.

  ‘Maybe you could run a reminiscence group at the old folks’ home or day centre,’ I suggest. ‘They’re really good for helping people with memory loss. Someone at work showed me a reminiscence quiz book so perhaps you could organise a quiz.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll look it up. Would you ask them for me and come with me?’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  I’m touched that she wants me to help her. It will be good to do something together and probably more fun than bowling. I don’t think she’ll bump into any of her embarrassment-inducing friends either.

  As she leaves for school, Tilly calls out, ‘Have a lovely afternoon on the river.’

  She never fails to surprise me. Her mood is as unpredictable as the English weather; bright and sunny one minute, dark and cloudy the next. I’m glad she’s not resentful about the trip, now. It would be hard for Mia if she came back full of excitement and Tilly wouldn’t let her talk about her day.

  There’s a clomping noise from the hall and Mia bursts into the kitchen. She’s wearing her school uniform which is a relief, but she has her frog wellies on her feet. They’re bright green with two bulgy eyes on each foot. When we first bought them, I found her wearing them in bed, having slept in them all night. Her little feet were wrinkly with sweat in the morning.

  ‘You can’t wear your wellies to school, Mia.’

  Her bright expression falters but then she smiles again.

  ‘OK, Mummy. I’ll put them in my bag. I need them for the river.’

  ‘I don’t think it will rain. It’s supposed to be sunny later. You won’t need wellies.’

  ‘But I may want to walk in the water.’

  ‘That’s definitely not happening. It’ll be too deep, and you’ll get stuck in the mud. You’ll need to wear your trainers as you’ll be climbing in and out of the boat, and it can be tricky.’

  Mia is too excited to let one of our usual clothing battles get to her. She pulls the boots off then sits and eats her breakfast, swinging her legs under the table.

  The school run takes ages and we’re late. It seems other people are late too because we have to park down the road and run to the gates. Mia thinks this is great fun, but it makes me realise how unfit I am. I really should do some exercise. I give her a hug and push her gently towards the teacher waiting in the playground.

  ‘I’m picking you up today, remember?’

  ‘I know, Mummy, we’re going on a boat.’ She runs to her teacher to tell her the exciting news and I head back to the car. I’m halfway there when I start to feel breathless again. Maybe it’s from the running. I slow my pace and try to breathe steadily but I can feel my chest tightening and my breaths getting shorter. I start to panic. Please, no. Not here in front of other parents. I stop and lean on a wall, clutching at my chest.

  ‘Are you all right?’ a young woman pushing an empty scooter stops next to me and peers into my face. ‘You look a bit pale.’

  ‘I can’t … breathe,’ I say.

  ‘Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to call anyone for you?’ I immediately think of Max. He’ll know what to do. Even hearing his voice on the phone might help.

  ‘Max,’ I say with difficulty, handing her my phone.

  She scrawls through the contact list, calls his number then listens. He seems to take ages to answer. I’m almost on my knees now. O
h God. This is awful. The young woman is speaking. What’s she saying? I can’t focus. She puts the phone back in my hand.

  ‘Sophie. You’re going to be fine.’

  I’m so relieved to hear his voice.

  ‘Now I want you to do as I say.’

  I follow his instructions – breathe in, two, three; hold, two, three; breathe out, two, three. I gradually increase the count until the pain recedes and my head clears. I stand upright again, and I smile wanly at the woman.

  ‘Have you got your paper bag with you?’ Max asks.

  I confess I haven’t.

  ‘Never mind. We’ll get you another one. How are you feeling now? Do you want me to come and get you?’

  No. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you soon.’ I thank him and hang up.

  The woman stays with me a little longer, then, once satisfied I’ll be OK, she walks away, trundling the empty scooter expertly with one hand. I can’t believe I’ve had another funny turn. I thought my health was OK now. I’ve got the morning off so I’m going to research these experiences on the Internet. If I’m still worried I’ll definitely make time for a doctor’s appointment. As I drive home my thoughts turn to Max. He’s so lovely. I’m almost glad I have these episodes. I wouldn’t have met him otherwise.

  As soon as I get home I realise I forgot to tell Max about his nan’s dizzy spell. I daren’t disturb him at work so I send him a quick text then call Social Services to see if they’re sorting out another agency. They tell me she doesn’t currently have a Social Worker, but they will now ensure she is allocated one at the next team meeting. I’m shocked that she no longer has one. It must be all the cuts. Perhaps I won’t look at studying to be a Social Worker. It must be soul destroying.