I became obviously upset, not because of Mark but more because of my current state of mind. And because, once again, I’ve that feeling of being caught in a life where I’m needing to keep the peace, to explain and justify things beyond my control and doing. This is how it was for years, me always attempting to second-guess the thoughts and motives of just about everyone, to dodge, prevent and vindicate. Even when I finally broke free from the care system at the age of eighteen, I never wanted people to know my ugly back story; I couldn’t relax fully in normal conversations, always sitting on the edge of experiences. And look what I’ve now gone and done. Never, ever would I be dependent on anyone, I’d promised myself; now Mark holds all the cards. He’s not only someone I’m in a relationship with, he’s also my landlord and my boss. Classic, well done, Natalie. The motive behind the photographs is unsettling but the implications are even greater. In the end I think I managed to convince Mark of my innocence but now I feel indignant because I’ve needed to explain myself because of someone else’s behaviour. Question is – whose?
‘Penny for them?’ I hear from behind.
I turn as Nigel draws level with me. ‘Nigel. Didn’t hear you coming, totally lost in thought.’
‘Yes, so you were.’
We continue the last few yards in comfortable silence, him pushing his bike, me caught in turmoil. As we reach the door he says, without looking at me, ‘Things are rarely as bad as they appear. Sometimes, so I am told, it helps to talk too.’
‘You think?’
‘I do.’ Nigel opens the door to the reception with the key in his spare hand, gesturing for me to go through. In the hall, I hover as he leans his bike against the far wall. Is Nigel subtly offering me a shoulder to cry on, a rational head to bounce off? Gently, he squeezes my arm, stepping around me. ‘Good evening, Natalie,’ he says, before disappearing into his flat. Me still standing gawping at his door before shunting myself to move.
‘I wish I had your faith, Nigel,’ I mutter to his door as I pass for the stairs. How I wish I had your straightforward, uncomplicated thinking too. Trousers tucked into socks and all.
Seconds later, I’m opening the door to my flat, feeling for the light switch then rushing to turn on the TV. Before commencing the twitching between rooms routine, checking each orifice and dark corner, sniffing the air as I do. It’s only after I’m satisfied I’m alone, I again begin to contemplate – who could have taken these injurious photos of me? I mean, if I was all glammed up, when the heck were these photos taken? I only ever venture anywhere remotely plush with Mark, anywhere that needs dressing up for. But Mark’s hardly likely to send the photos to himself, is he? Is he? Unless he’s completely lost the plot.
Having cancelled my evening out tonight, I decide the best option is to slip into comforting pyjamas, make myself a mug of tea and settle down to stare inanely at the TV. Tomorrow, when I’ve calmed down, I’ll ask Mark to forward the photos on to me, then maybe I’ll be able to work out when they were taken. The more I mull it over, it’s possible my father is behind it, motivated by his sick need to meddle with my perfect life as he probably sees it. But, and this is the huge but in the room, unless he’s having me followed, he’d have been in prison very possibly when these photos were taken because they can’t have been too recent.
That aside, it makes perfect twisted sense: my father is attempting to divide Mark and me because I’ll be much easier to conquer alone.
25
Natalie
I must have fallen asleep on the sofa, as I jump out of my skin with a frenetic banging on my front door. ‘Jesus!’ I shout. ‘Give me a second, will you, whoever you are?’ I’m uncurling myself when it occurs to me I don’t know who this is. Technically speaking, the front reception door is locked, but technically doesn’t mean definitely and it wouldn’t be the first time the door’s been accidentally left on the latch. Or, worse still, this could be Mark. He has the front door key – maybe he’s come to continue where he left off, which would be typical dog-with-a-bone behaviour. Or, it could be someone else?
‘Who is it?’ I reach the door and place my ear against it, as if I may hear someone deep breathing from the other side. I feel my heart accelerate. ‘Who is it?’ I repeat. ‘Who’s there?’ I can’t open the door – perhaps this is their intention, so they can slam it open, force their way into my flat. For a moment I sense us both either side of the narrow piece of wood separating us, both with ears to the door, holding our breath. Both waiting for the other to make the next move. As my chest begins to thump in my ears, I decide to run for my mobile. ‘I’m going to call the police,’ I call over my shoulder, heading for the sitting room.
Then I hear, ‘Natalie. Not the police. I don’t want to get into trouble,’ in a hushed voice. ‘Please. Not the police, Natalie.’
I rush back towards the door, undo the deadlock and open it. ‘Daniel! What are you doing? You scared me. Why the banging on my door? Why didn’t you answer me?’ I leave him standing there, mouth slightly open. ‘Jesus, Daniel.’ He’s not responding, but stepping from foot to foot on the threshold. ‘Come in, for goodness’ sake, why are you just standing there having nearly knocked my door down?’ Instantly, I feel bad as he looks towards his feet. Gently I pull him over the threshold, shutting the door behind him. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout, but you scared me.’
‘Sorry, Natalie. I’d never want to scare you.’
‘I know,’ I tell him. ‘But you did.’
‘You scared me too,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to get into trouble with the police.’
I laugh. ‘I’m not really calling the police. I was only saying that because I thought… oh, it doesn’t matter now. Hot chocolate? Something sweet? I’m having one.’
Daniel nods – a chastised child springs to mind – and he still hasn’t moved more than a few feet away from the doorway. ‘You not properly coming in?’ I make my way for the sitting room with Daniel tiptoeing behind me. ‘Grab a seat. Then you can tell me what’s the matter.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Yes, what the panic is.’ I glance at my oven displaying the time. ‘It’s gone ten – I mean, it’s not like you to call this late. I’m not moaning, by the way, I’m glad you did…’ I smile ‘… else I’d have slept on that sofa all night. But… oh, Dan, don’t look at me like that, come on. This isn’t like you to call so late. You’re usually tucked away reading in that library room of yours.’
Daniel smiles and wanders over to the sofa, perching himself on the edge. ‘Didn’t realise how late it is. Sorry.’
‘No probs,’ I tell him, leaving him a few minutes to get it together for whatever was so urgent, as I make us consolatory bedtime drinks. Minutes later, I hand him his mug. ‘Careful, it’s hot,’ I warn him. I feel really bad. It’s not as if Daniel is a sulker, this is Mark’s trait, but he does become hurt very easily, then finds it difficult to snap away from it, as if he’s absorbed it and it takes time to work its way from his system. ‘I really didn’t mean to get all arsey with you. I was asleep, you see, the banging frightened me. Then when I called out, no one answered. I panicked, that’s all.’
‘I don’t want you to be frightened.’ Daniel finally meets my eyes.
‘Sit back, Dan, relax. I’m not frightened any more.’ I slump into the corner of the sofa, coiling my legs underneath me, sipping the hot chocolate deliciously enriched with a medicinal splash of rum. I didn’t offer rum to Daniel because he never drinks, not since whatever happened at Cambridge. From the odd comment, it has crossed my mind, maybe he was thrown out for being drunk and disorderly? I’m slowly piecing together the bits of the jigsaw randomly thrown into conversation, but it’s taking some time. So many pieces either don’t fit or are completely missing. ‘Come on, don’t look so put out. I was startled but now I’m fine. Really.’
‘Because of your dad?’
‘Yes, kind of, but it’s silly, I know, it couldn’t have been him. I think.’
‘You w
ere worried because of the letter he sent you?’ I tilt my head to one side. Daniel knows about this? How? ‘I heard you talking with Morwenna, sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.’
I shake my head. ‘You’re fine. It wasn’t a secret from you.’
‘The letter, was it nasty?’
Quickly, I shift through the wording of the letter in my head. ‘No, not really. In fact, to the contrary, it was apologetic and understanding before it turned to emotional blackmail. More insipidly predictable than anything.’
‘He’s blackmailing you?’
‘Kind of, no, what am I saying? Yes, this is exactly what he’s doing. Nothing new. One low-life behaviour after the other.’
‘How much does he want – to leave you alone, I mean? I have money. I can help.’ I can’t help myself from laughing at Daniel’s confused face before it breaks into a smile. ‘He doesn’t want money. He wants you, doesn’t he? That’s what you meant?’
Why I’m finding this funny is beyond me. ‘Afraid so. Although if he thought I had money, he’d probably want the money over me. And on this point, no, Dan, before you suggest it, I don’t need your money.’
‘But he scares you?’
I’m conscious of the time. If I start regurgitating my horrid childhood now, I’ll never sleep tonight. Not that I’m sleeping at the moment, but even so. It all feels so much more wretched in the dark. I shrug. ‘Sometimes,’ I say, ‘if I think about it. Often when I’m least expecting it, you know, randomly, images popping into my mind. The dark obscurities, morphing into some kind of malevolent fiend, the whisperings of the sea I hear when I lie in bed become a low-level rolling goading.’ The feelings of my childhood slink down my spine, I need to change the subject. ‘Anyway, more importantly, you’ve still not said why you were banging on my door like a lunatic.’
Daniel looks to his feet. ‘The thing is I wasn’t going to come. I wasn’t going to tell you. But then… I couldn’t rid it from my mind. I was going round and round in circles. I needed to tell you but then I thought – no, I couldn’t. Then, yes, I should. I kept putting it down, then picking it up again. The note, I mean. Reading it then rereading it and—’ he pokes the side of his head ‘—I couldn’t let it go. I must have been doing it for hours without realising because it was only seven when I first found the note. I’ve not even eaten yet and…’
I visualise Daniel literally striding in circles around his flat, muttering to himself as he does when something concerns him, but I’ve not seen him quite as unsettled for a while. ‘Woah. Dan. Slow down. Breathe.’ He nods. ‘Okay now – what did you find? What note? What are you talking about?’
Daniel removes an envelope from the back pocket of his chinos. Pulling it out, staring at it, clearly still contemplating its contents and whether or not he wants to share with me. It’s pretty obvious he’d rather not share. For a moment I’m expecting him to return it to his pocket, close the door in his mind and when he does this – no one is getting in.
‘Daniel,’ I say, lowering my voice so as not to startle him, ‘let me see, please, what you have there. Maybe it’s something I can help you with, eh?’ His eyes remain fixed on the envelope. ‘Remember this is why you came here tonight, to see me, you wanted to show me?’ Uncurling my legs, I edge my way closer along the sofa to him. ‘Dan? Show me what you have there. Please.’
He lifts his head, all blue eyes frightened and unsure. ‘You think I should?’ he whispers.
‘Yes. I do.’ I nod at the envelope. ‘Let me see. I may be able to help.’
With his eyes not leaving mine, he offers the envelope. I take it. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Now let’s have a look.’ I turn the plain white envelope over. The address is typed, there is a stamp, but strangely it appears unused, with no postal marks. ‘It’s okay, don’t look so worried,’ I tell him, opening the unsealed flap. I pull out a lined rectangular postcard. The words slap me across the face.
TELL THEM WHO KILLED YOUR SISTER
Oh, my God. Tell them who killed your sister?
I’m afraid to look at Daniel before finding the most helpful words to respond with. Daniel loved Rebecca; he’s missed her terribly over the years. I don’t have the all the facts; I’ve only pieced together snippets here and there from Daniel and from Mo who was informed by Tommy. Daniel was only ten years old when he found his sister, Rebecca, she had committed suicide. Is this what triggered his comments the other day about his father? It can’t be, thinking about it, this note is since then. Who could be so cruel? No wonder he’s in such a state.
‘Look. I’ve no idea what this is all about or who could ever be so mean to send such a wicked thing. But, look at me.’ I take his hand. ‘This. Is. Not. Your. Fault.’ I shake my head. ‘What I mean is, your sister didn’t die because of you. She wasn’t killed, more importantly. It wasn’t even your father’s fault as you… mentioned. Tragically, Daniel, Rebecca took her own life. Your sister took her own life. You were no more than a child at the time.’
‘So why…? Doesn’t this insinuate I…?’
‘Shhh. Don’t even say it. But bloody hell. What the hell? Shit. I’ve no idea why, Dan.’
‘I miss her.’
‘I know you do, of course you do. Bastard. Honestly.’
‘You know who sent this, then?’
‘No, of course not. But I do know he or she is a bastard. Look, this needs destroying. As best you can, you need to put this from your mind. At the end of the day, there’s some proper sick people out there but there’s no reason for you to feel afraid.’ The words currently leaving my mouth aren’t quite connected to my heart. Because who in their right mind would do this if they meant no harm? ‘Have you shown Tommy?’ I don’t wish to alarm Daniel, but equally I feel someone else should know about this. The police? Should I take Daniel to the police station with this? But he’d never cope and would probably start telling them he killed his sister, because I’m also aware that he feels incredibly guilty, he’s always felt he could have done something to save her. It could go horribly wrong so easily. No, the police are not an option.
Daniel shakes his head. ‘No, I haven’t. Only you.’
‘Right. And you’ve not fallen out with anyone lately, that you can think of? Anyone who, you know, seemed annoyed with you?’ I see Daniel’s mind ticking over but I’m pretty sure I already know the answer. I can’t imagine why anyone would, or how they could, fall out with him.
‘No one,’ he confirms.
‘Then, you know what I’d do?’
He shrugs.
‘I’d rip this up into a thousand pieces and flush it down the loo. Then, forget about it.’
‘Really?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘What about the other one?’
‘The other one?’
‘The note that came last week?’
‘What? Why didn’t you say? They sent this—’ I hold up the postcard ‘—last week too?’
‘No, not quite the same.’
‘In what way?’
‘It said, “Tell them about Cambridge”, instead.’
Daniel studies my face for a reaction but he doesn’t need to witness the alarm bells ringing in my mind right now. ‘Right. Okay, so this has to be someone who knows about you.’
‘And what I’ve done.’
‘Daniel! You’ve not done anything. Don’t let whoever this is get to you. That’s the point, don’t you see? Someone is trying to upset you. Now, listen to me.’ I take his hand in mine. ‘It’s important, bloody important, you don’t let them. In the meantime, we’ll…’ Come on, Natalie, we’ll what? I’ve no blinking idea, but I have to think of something. Daniel is literally hanging on my words right now. ‘We’ll work this out together. Okay?’
‘Okay, thank you.’
I chat to him for a good further hour, hoping to reassure him, before sending him back to his flat. All the time wondering, what did happen in Cambridge? Did someone kill his sister? Are these notes linked in some way to all the crazy cra
p going on in my life right now? This building is secure, I reassured Daniel. You don’t need to worry, especially at night. No one can enter the building. But as I lie here, listening to the creaks of the old floorboards, the grumblings from the pipes that flow beneath me and the inhaling and exhaling of the sea in the distance, my words of comfort to Daniel do little to reassure me.
I mean, what if they, whoever they are, are already in the house?
26
Natalie
I’m pretty sure by the time I leave the following morning, I’m the only one remaining in the house. It’s taken me forever and a day to get myself ready for work. For a start, I rarely wear little more than a flick of mascara, a dusting of cheek highlighter and a slick of lip gloss. But a single glance in the mirror told me only the full-make-up look was the way to go. I’ve already consumed my day’s worth of caffeine and, still, I’ve managed to neglect anything resembling breakfast. I was especially hoping to catch Mo before she left this morning, having decided in the early hours I needed her advice about Daniel’s notes. But when I finally pressed my ear to her front door I heard no signs of life.
I’ve an eerie, ominous feeling as I close the cornflower-blue door behind me, taking in a deep breath of sharp, salty air, and begin my stroll down the hill towards town. There’s a slippery surface on the steps from the rain that pelted my windows throughout the night and the sky has a steely light to it as the sea mist drifts around it. As I pass between the cottages lining the narrow walk-through, a whiff of bacon taunts me and my tummy rumbles in response. I didn’t eat much last night either; I was too miffed with Mark’s behaviour, then must have fallen asleep until the Daniel shenanigans.
As I speed-walk my way down, I ping off a text to Mo, asking to meet for a drink after work at The Crab and Tiller, I could do with seeing her alone, away from the house and I’ve little chance of slipping away at lunch time with a fiftieth birthday party at the bistro to contend with. As I reach town, I find myself staring through the window of the bakery at fresh pastries, banana bread and cinnamon rolls; it takes only a couple of seconds for any resolve to weaken. I need sugar – sugar for shock and zero sleep. To be fair the banana could count as one of my five a day or, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard, cinnamon has some weird and wonderful health benefits too.
I Know You're There Page 11
