by Wendy Hudson
The only photo that remained on the bedroom shelf was one of Anja and Darcy smiling from the bow of the small sailboat that Darcy was part owner of. She remembered when the photo had been taken. It had been a gloriously sunny day, and Darcy had ended up with a sunburnt nose that had glowed pink for days. She couldn’t wait to get out on it again and knew Anja would be right there with her.
She headed back towards the kitchen where Anja nursed what she suspected was cold coffee. She stared in to space, not even acknowledging Darcy’s presence.
“Right, that’s it.”
Anja’s head snapped up. “What?”
“We’re going out.”
“No, Darcy. I’m not up to it. Please.”
“I don’t care. Unless you want spaghetti again…”
Anja let out a small groan.
“Exactly.” Darcy stood hands on hips. “You need food, you need sunlight, but first of all, you need to shower.”
Anja looked down at the pyjama, hoodie, and woolly sock ensemble she had going on. “I’ve washed.” She was defensive.
“On Tuesday morning you washed. Now it’s Friday. Tea-time. That’s a whole lot of non-washing between then and now.” She softened her voice a little. “You’ll not be welcome to creep into my bed again tonight if you haven’t had a shower.”
Anja huffed out a breath and took a gulp of the coffee. Her nose turned up in disgust, and the swallow was audible as she forced the cold swill down. “Fine.”
“Okay, good.” Darcy watched her shuffle towards the stairs. “And I want real clothes on you,” she called after her. “We’re going to the supermarket whether you’re happy about it or not.”
Anja flicked two fingers Darcy’s way as she disappeared in to the hallway. Darcy smiled. They’d reached the tough-love stage, and despite the grumbling, she knew Anja appreciated it.
Darcy took stock of the cupboards and fridge and made a list before systematically drawing back curtains, opening windows, shaking out throws, and fluffing pillows. She loaded the dishwasher and set it going, then wiped down the countertops.
“Better,” she muttered to herself.
“It’s bloody freezing down here.” Anja appeared in the doorway, hair still damp and cheeks scrubbed raw. She wore jeans and a light blue sweater, and despite a bit of residual puffiness around her eyes, she looked like a new person.
Darcy moved to shut the windows again. “The place needed a quick blast of freshness.”
Her phone beeped from the coffee table, and she picked it up along with her list and keys. Eilidh’s name caught her eye, and her heart thumped a little faster in excitement. “Holy crap, Eilidh’s texted me.”
“Who?” Anja moved into the room and dropped onto the arm of the sofa.
“That girl, remember? I met her on the bridge when I dropped the coffees that morning.”
“Oh, right, her. I thought she cancelled on you, and you’d decided to finally set up a date with Amy?”
“She did, but it was more of a ‘I can’t do it now, maybe later’ kind of message. Seems women are like buses. I’m meant to get lunch with Amy Sunday afternoon.”
“They both sound flaky to me.” Anja moved back towards the hallway, where she plucked a coat from the hook and jammed a woolly hat over her head. “And I didn’t have you down as the type to string two along.”
Darcy wasn’t really listening; she was reading Eilidh’s message.
Hey, I know it’s been a while, but do you still fancy that drink? Tomorrow night? E x
Tomorrow. As in Saturday. As in the very next day. Darcy’s couldn’t help the ball of nervous anticipation that bounced in her stomach because she was going to say yes—of course she was. In the weeks since they’d last spoken, Darcy had caught herself thinking about those big brown eyes and wind-whipped freckled face more than a few times.
“Hello, Darcy. Are we going or what?”
The tone of annoyance in Anja’s voice cut through her daydreaming, and she couldn’t help the smile that beamed in her friend’s direction. “She wants to go for a drink tomorrow night.”
“Oh, right. That’s great.”
Anja’s happiness was clearly forced, and Darcy couldn’t help but call her on it.
“It doesn’t sound as if you think it’s great.”
“I do. Honestly. Go out with her. Go out with Amy. Have a great time. Have all the sex. One of us should be.” Anja pulled off the hat and dropped her coat on the stairs. “I think I’m going to go have a nap. Don’t worry about the shopping.”
“Hey.” Darcy crossed the room and grabbed her arm. “What’s going on? Why are you being this way?”
“Being what way? It’s fine, Darcy. If you don’t want to be here with me, then leave. Go drink wine with your runner girl instead.”
“What? It’s not about one or the other, Anja. I don’t understand why you’re getting so upset with me.”
“I’m not getting like anything. I’m tired, that’s all. Seriously, tell her yes and have a great time. You can regale me on Monday about your weekend full of women.”
Anja’s tone was anything but enthusiastic or fine. Darcy was a little surprised at how she was being, but given the situation, it was also understandable. Anja’s marriage was falling apart, and she hadn’t seen her husband in nearly a week and had no idea where he was. And here was Darcy talking about going on not just one date, but two. Christ, I can be an insensitive idiot sometimes.
“Hey, wait.” Darcy caught her hand as she started up the stairs. “I’ll tell her another time and I’ll cancel with Amy as well. It’s no big deal. You’re my priority right now.”
“You don’t have to do that, Darcy. I’m okay, honest.”
“I want to.” She pulled Anja back down the stairs and into a hug. After a quick squeeze, she held her at arm’s length.
“C’mon, let’s go restock the wine and buy something that isn’t spaghetti for dinner.”
“Seriously, I’ll be fine. You’re obviously excited, and I’m not exactly stellar company. Go on your dates.”
“I am serious. They’ve made me wait; it won’t hurt them to wait for me a little. Besides, we can’t waste the fact that you’re finally smelling fresh again and ready for the outdoors.”
That got a smile, and Darcy returned it. She picked up the discarded hat and tugged it down lopsided onto Anja’s head. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive, talking about dating. What with Jason and everything.”
Anja straightened the hat and gave her a shove towards the front door. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been perfect.”
Darcy grinned and gave her a shove back. “Perfect, eh?”
Anja unhooked her keys and threw them to Darcy. “Shut up and drive.”
Chapter 12
Eilidh had actually pumped the air when the reply came back from Darcy. Despite her initial disappointment that she wasn’t available on the Saturday, it held the promise of a definite future date.
It was now Monday morning, and Eilidh had been hanging in anticipation all weekend waiting for Darcy to get in touch again. That told her a lot and gave her a lift of positivity. She was not only doing this, she was ready for it. The thought of all those firsts she’d been dreading suddenly didn’t seem so bad. Still a little scary, but surmountable.
She jogged along the corridor to the gym and caught Sam before his first patient.
“Darcy said yes.” She couldn’t keep the grin from her face, and he grinned right back at her and raised his hand for a high five.
“When’re you going out?”
“Friday night. She’s in Amsterdam working until Thursday.”
“Oh, fancy. I wish our work took us to places as cool as Amsterdam.”
“I know, right. But hey, we have a swimming pool.” Eilidh gestured towards the hydrotherapy room and they both laughed.
“What about you? Any word from Miss Seven?”
“Excuse you, her name is Emma, and yes. We are also going out Friday night.”
“Oh God, we better check each other’s plans. Inverness is a small place, I’m not sure I could cope bumping into you on a first date.”
Sam’s hand shot into the air. “I bagsy the Castle.”
“What? No fair! You know that’s my favourite.”
“Tough shit. It’s mine too, and I’ve no clue where else to go. You know how primitive I am. Plus I think it might help with the nerves to be somewhere I know.
“Oh, so screw my nerves? Cheers, pal.”
“You’re welcome. Besides, you don’t want to take her to the tavern. Pick somewhere a bit fancy. She sounds like a fancy lady, working in Amsterdam and all.”
Eilidh thought about that for a moment. Shite. Was Darcy all sophisticated cocktails and European travel? Would she hate somewhere as traditional as the Castle? Eilidh realised how little she knew about her, and panic began to set in.
“Fuck, Tommo. What if she is? Then I can’t exactly rock up in jeans and a sweater for a pint at the Castle. Where do people go on dates these days? What do they do?”
Sam was laughing, and Eilidh wanted to punch him. “It’s not bloody funny.”
“Aye, it is.” He kept laughing. “Honestly, the look on your face right now is priceless.”
“Well, a lot of frigging help you’ve been.” She made to stalk away, but he grabbed her hand.
“All right. Hang on. How about you text her and suggest she picks the place? That way you get an idea of the kind of thing she’s into and you can dress and act accordingly.”
Eilidh mulled it over. “Good thinking. Okay, you’ve redeemed yourself a little.”
He saluted. “Glad to be of help.”
She gave him a half hug and wished him a good day before heading towards the waiting room. She was excited about Friday and didn’t want something awkward like picking a crap place to screw it up. Whether it ended up a rebound, a disaster, or whatever, it felt good to be finally moving forward, because she sure was sick of standing still.
Had Darcy ever lost anyone precious? Apart from him?
His demise had been an accident, a turn of fate that eventually could be reconciled. There was no choice involved in his death, unlike his desertion.
Darcy’s years in Australia remained mostly a mystery; social media hadn’t existed then, and she was only a child. Had there been other losses? Any other tragedies that she kept hidden from the rest of the world?
It didn’t seem so.
Darcy moved through the world so freely, with a lightness in her eyes and step. It wasn’t the demeanour of someone downtrodden with grief or etched with scars. Or maybe that was her defence? Face the world with a smile and hope it smiled back.
How would Darcy have coped if the roles had been reversed? If she’d been the one abandoned? If she’d suffered through the slow and torturous demise of her own mother?
It’d been the same as any other Friday. Money had been left on the kitchen table for lunch, books were packed, and the school bus had pulled up at its regular time. Nothing of note had happened all day: there were the usual teachers, subjects, bullies to avoid, and friends to meet.
It’d been mundane and typical. The hours counting down until the dreaded moment when it was time to bundle back on the bus home, fearing the long weekend ahead. A two-day prison sentence that no child should be forced to endure. It wasn’t a home any longer; it was simply somewhere to sleep and store things, and occasionally eat. Where time moved slowly towards the anticipated day of eventual escape.
As the front door swung open, something had felt different. The TV had been off and an unusual quiet had permeated the air.
“Mum? Where are you?” The words had echoed in the hallway, and despite straining for any small sound, no response was forthcoming. After checking the kitchen, the living room, and the garden where she sometimes idled the hours away, drinking and staring at the sky, the only place left was the next floor up. The stairs had loomed high as any mountain.
The bathroom door at the end of the landing had been closed, offering momentary relief. She had regularly steeped for hours in the bath, until either the hot water or the bourbon ran out. But that had been fine; at least she was in the house. There wouldn’t be another call to the police, or another search to track her down.
The relief had only lasted a moment.
Where was the music? The usual murmur of the radio and tuneless singing. Where was the familiar waft of smoke seeping from under the door? When no response had halted the persistent knocking on the door, a number of deep breaths were required to push past the fear before the handle was turned and the door pushed open.
In dreams since that moment, the door had never been opened; the horror behind it stayed locked away. It waited for someone else to find it.
Because she had finally done it.
Her empty gaze had stared up from beneath the water, the last shred of her soul extinguished. It was a memory that would never fade. It would haunt and taunt forever in nightmares.
No one should have to see the eyes of their dead.
Chapter 13
Monday wasn’t exactly an ideal night for a date, but with a work trip looming the following day and Amy’s shift pattern, it was all Darcy could offer her. Eilidh was going to have to wait a little longer, but something told her it would be worth the wait.
In the meantime, Amy deserved a chance. Darcy had taken extra care with her wardrobe that day. Not so over the top that folk might comment at work, but enough that she wouldn’t feel so official when she met Amy straight from it.
The bar Amy had chosen was relatively classy, although a little dead given it was five-thirty on a Monday and outside the snow fell in droves. She glanced down at the profile picture again and then back up at the door; her stomach jumped a little every time it opened, only for her shoulders to drop when Amy didn’t appear.
She was twenty minutes late, but Darcy wouldn’t panic quite yet. This wasn’t new for her. In fact, it was becoming annoyingly regular. Amy could simply be caught up at work, or in traffic. Twenty minutes was nothing to worry about.
After thirty minutes, she tapped out a quick message.
Hey, I’m at the bar, are you held up at work? D x
It was diplomatic and light, in case Amy had a genuine excuse. Although Darcy was beginning to wonder if there even was an Amy. There had to be. Surely, she couldn’t have fallen for it again.
After forty-five minutes, Darcy gave up. She paid the tab on her unfinished, lonely glass of wine, and resigned to her date’s fate, left the bar.
Don’t look around.
Keep your eyes forward, head held high, neutral expression.
You are not annoyed.
There is no one watching you right now.
It’s all simply been a misunderstanding.
They haven’t got to you.
You. Are. Not. Fucking. Raging.
Back in the sanctity of her cabin, Darcy paced. How the fuck had she allowed this to happen?
Again.
The first one, Michelle, had been a mild inconvenience. She had shrugged it off as cold feet and taken the plenty-more-fish approach. It wasn’t her, it was them.
The second one, Trisha, had been a little harder to swallow. Had she turned up, saw Darcy, and walked away? What was wrong with her? Stood up twice in as many months—was she completely undateable? What was it about Darcy that made these women think they could not show up without even an explanation?
But now she was wise to it. Or was meant to be.
Amy had seemed so genuine, the real deal. There had been pictures that a reverse-image check on Google hadn’t shown to be stock photos. There was a Facebook page, locked down but with at least
half a dozen profile pictures available with likes and comments. A LinkedIn account that didn’t have a photo but did confirm all the career details Amy had told her. Darcy thought she’d been so careful and had found enough evidence to be sure Amy actually did exist.
Fucking, fucking, bastarding stalker. They’d won again. Toyed with her again. Given her hope then chewed her up and spat her out twisted.
She gulped back the last of a second glass of wine and grabbed her laptop. She knew what she would find, or wouldn’t as the case might be, but had to be sure.
As suspected, the dating profile was gone.
She clicked and searched and checked more than once, but it was pointless. Amy’s profile had been deleted along with her Facebook account, although the one on LinkedIn remained. Had they stolen it? Used it as inspiration for “Amy’s” character, knowing it didn’t have a picture and couldn’t prove them a liar? It was risky but feasible.
Her mind strayed to Eilidh as Anja’s words of warning echoed. Should she be questioning Eilidh’s sudden appearance in her life, or had it truly been a magical coincidence that brought them together on that bridge?
At least she knew Eilidh existed. Or did she? The person existed, yes, but was that her real name? Was she who she professed to be? Their meeting had been oddly random, but how would Eilidh have known Darcy would be there that early on a Saturday morning? It had been a last-minute urgent meeting; only her colleagues knew about it.
She thought of the perfume, the gig tickets, wine, flowers, and chocolates. How had they known about any of it?
Darcy shuddered. She glanced towards the porch window, its curtains still open. Were they watching her right now? Was it Eilidh out there?
She shook the thought loose.
No.
She wouldn’t do this. This is what they wanted, or so she thought.
Every move they made seemed conflicted, from a beautiful framed print by her favourite artist, that showed care and attention, despite the utter creepiness it left within Darcy’s core, to fake profiles and dates, and the crushing emotions of being seemingly rejected.
