I Know You're There

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I Know You're There Page 25

by Sarah Simpson


  He has become flushed, holding his hand over his mouth. ‘I didn’t know.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m so sorry, Natalie, I didn’t know. He seemed so nice and friendly, I’d never…’

  ‘Shhh. I know. You haven’t done anything wrong. Promise. But can you remember, where was he? How did he approach you? What did he say?’

  ‘It was not long after I’d got back the other week. I think I’d been to the cottage – not the cottage, the resident home.’ Daniel giggles. ‘I don’t why I just called it a cottage, maybe—’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s not important, Daniel. You’d not long returned from wherever and…’ I nod for him to continue.

  ‘The front door was open so it must have been earlier in the afternoon. Yes, I was about to shut it behind me when he pushed it from the other side. He seemed nice, smiley, friendly. Said he was a friend of someone in the house, they’d suggested he should pop by. I asked him if it was Mo, Nigel or you, because if he was looking for Mo or you, you were on the next floor up, with you on the right and Mo on the left. Then he laughed. Said it was good to meet me and he’d come back later. Thinking about it, he never did mention who it was he was looking for. He didn’t look horrible, Natalie. I didn’t think. He never said he was your father.’

  I’m thinking about all the strange happenings within my flat: the towels, the noises, the smell, the rat’s head, the missing cardigan, the lip balm. Was I right? Has he been inside my flat? But how would he have gained access, without a key? ‘No matter, Daniel. This isn’t your fault. It was only ever a matter of time.’ In my mind’s eye I see his head, popping around the front door, replaced with the head of Jack Nicholson in The Shining, saying, ‘Here’s Johnny!’

  ‘I remember now, he said his name was John, that he had an old favour to return. I thought it was kind of him. Nice.’

  ‘John, such an ordinary name for an anything but ordinary father. Don’t you think?’ I curl up on Daniel’s sofa and talk him through the watered-down version of my memories. At first Daniel asks so many questions it feels more like a test, but I suppose he’s known bits of my background for some time and he simply needs to understand the gaps, my reasoning for being so afraid. Daniel becomes visibly upset and I wonder if I’ve been selfish in spilling all tonight – I’m all too aware of his fragility around such behaviours. The sadness in his eyes is plain to see. ‘Daniel, I’ve been selfish. I shouldn’t have offloaded onto you.’

  He takes my hand. ‘I’m so sad for you, Natalie, you didn’t deserve this.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry because now I’ve made you sad, made you think about things in your past too.’ I’m treading on precarious ground here, should I have left this out of the occasion? But would it have been fair to create pain for him, only to bid him goodnight? ‘Are you okay?’

  Daniel looks down to his hands, fidgeting in his seat. ‘For some reason, it’s made me think of my sister. Then, that note. The one about telling who killed her. I’m scared, Natalie. Scared – what if it was me? What if it was me who killed Rebecca?’

  I inch a little closer to Daniel on the sofa. ‘We’ve been over and over this. You were only a child, ten years old. Rebecca killed herself. Listen, when we’re upset, it can blur things, make us question stuff, blame ourselves for what we shouldn’t. Please don’t do this to yourself.’

  ‘I still see her, asleep on the floor. Blood everywhere. So much red. But she wasn’t asleep, she was dead.’

  ‘I bet you do. It’s not something you could ever forget. It’s completely heartbreaking but it’s not your fault.’

  ‘They think it is. They think I killed her.’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘My mother and father.’

  ‘How do you mean, Daniel?’

  ‘My mother thinks I did it.’

  ‘No, Daniel, I don’t think she does, not really. People say things they don’t mean when they’re hurting.’ This isn’t the first time Daniel has voiced such concerns. The first time, it shocked me enough for me to mention it to Tommy. Tommy sat me down, took the time to provide a brief synopsis of the tragedy that swam in the depths of Daniel’s eyes. He explained, after the loss of her daughter, his mother, who had suffered for years with mental health issues, inadvertently blamed Daniel. Apparently Daniel was always a challenging, highly energetic child, and his mother struggled to cope with him; all her spare limited capacity was taken up with Daniel, with little time for his sister. So when his sister took her own life, there was a mention of how she blamed Daniel for this. Had she not been consumed with her own problems and then dealing with Daniel on top, she may have noticed her daughter was struggling. ‘Daniel, you loved Rebecca. Remember, you’ve told me numerous times, how special she was to you, how she cared for you. You said – you loved her more than you loved anyone. That, really, she was all you properly had, as your parents were always so… so busy. She was the only one who had time for you other than the staff people.’

  Daniel’s eyes fill with tears. ‘I did love her, yes, more than anything.’

  ‘See. It wasn’t your fault. You must remember this, no matter what.’

  ‘Who’s sending us notes, Natalie? How do they know about us?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ I’ve no idea about so much. In a matter of weeks, my ordinary, most uncomplicated life has become some kind of messed-up, disconnected dream. ‘But it has to be someone who knows all of us, doesn’t it?’

  Daniel whispers, ‘That’s what Nigel thinks too.’

  I can’t put it off any longer. I remove the couple of formal-looking envelopes from the pile of post on the sofa to reveal the typed one. I’d spotted it earlier but decided I could only deal with one envelope at the time; my father’s felt like the worst one to suffer first. Daniel gasps opposite me as I rip open the envelope to pull out the trade-mark postcard.

  YOU CAN LOCK YOUR DOORS BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE

  Why did I leave my flat tonight, knowing at some point I’d need to return? The very thought petrifies me.

  Eventually Daniel speaks to break the silence. ‘Natalie, should we go to the police?’

  Daniel must be as afraid as I am, for someone who physically cowers in broad daylight at the thought of the police. I’m considering how best to answer this because I don’t know the answer. Is it time to involve the police, for all of us to make some kind of appeal? No one else has suggested it, but then I suppose they all have reasons to think twice about it. We all hold negative associations: Nigel and his recent dealings, Mo and the visit from the police reporting the death of her husband, Mark and his precious reputation – what with this being a small town, he’ll always shy away from being seen with police. He was overly cross with Nigel attracting their recent attention to his property. People talk, he’d said. Let’s give it some time, don’t go doing anything rash without talking to me about it first. In some way, I guess we can all feel some comfort in that we’re all in this together, we’re all being targeted. Except for Mark, who still maintains the note was not intended for him.

  ‘I’m not sure, Dan. Maybe,’ I finally say. Then I think about what Nigel said when we briefly broached the subject. The problem is, Natalie, what can they do at this stage? It would simply involve lots of our time, providing statements. They’d probably then dismiss it as some kind of early Halloween prank. The notes aren’t so much threats as suggestions. Let’s wait and see what happens.

  Nigel isn’t a criminal lawyer, but he probably understands the procedures better than the rest of us. I mean, what can I add? I can’t find my cardigan or lip balm. I found a rat’s head in my flat, which I could have walked in myself or it could have been strategically placed. Oh, yes, and someone was walking along the same pavement as me and could have bumped into me deliberately. Not forgetting, I keep feeling as if I’m being watched but there’s no one there when I look. Except for the shadow – I’m as sure as anyone can be, my mind wasn’t playing tricks in the dark when I peered into the garden.

  ‘What about the strange sh
adow?’ Daniel blurts out. ‘In the garden. The other night. You said it was probably a cat, but I don’t think it was. I think it was someone.’

  ‘Daniel.’ I jump forward. ‘Are you sure? I mean, as in a person?’ Should I tell him, I did too? ‘As in, could you have been mistaken? Could it have been a different animal, for instance?’

  ‘I think I’m sure. It was very dark, like the shadow.’

  ‘Try and think. It’s important. How sure are you of what you saw?’

  ‘At the time, I was very sure.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Daniel half smiles.

  ‘But you just said you were sure a few moments ago?’

  ‘Yes. But now, it could have been an animal, I suppose. It was why I asked to speak with you, Natalie, but you were busy. I calmed myself down because I thought, like you said, it could have been a cat. Or I did, once Tommy suggested it too – he said it was more than likely to be an animal, I was worrying over nothing, I was to put it from my mind.’

  I’m desperate to push Daniel further because now I am thinking he saw the same as I did, not a cat at all. But my conscience prevents me – he’s clearly already disturbed by this and I wasn’t around for him at the time. Now Tommy has reassured him, it’s not fair or right for me to unsettle him again. And can I be 100 per cent certain I didn’t see the same. An animal? An upright animal? Standing on two legs? Smiling?

  I divert our conversation to more normal topics, mainly Daniel’s love for his hundreds of books. He promises to think about and lend me some of his classics he feels I could relate to and enjoy. An hour or so later, I make my way back up the stairs, the fist clenching my stomach muscles gripping even tighter.

  YOU CAN LOCK YOUR DOORS BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE.

  At the top of the stairs, I pause. Mo is obviously still out or already in bed; there’s no sound from her flat. I let myself in, reach down the wall for the light switch and begin creeping around. Finally, tucked up in bed, listening to the whistling of the increasing offshore winds, I remind myself I didn’t used to find the sound eerie. It hasn’t always reminded me of a creepy horror film. A year on in the hotel in Falmouth, my room feeling like a home, the sounds of the frequent sea-gusting winds used to make me feel all cosy. Safe in the knowledge of being tucked up in bed.

  Who is doing this? Whoever it is seems to understand more about all of us than we do of each other. Each of the suggestive notes pointing to some personal vulnerability. To something hidden in our pasts, only alive in the conscience. It’s like they live inside us.

  52

  Daniel

  Daniel takes only one book with him today. Jacob has taken a shine to a particular classic. Natalie still believes he visits Jacob at the residential home; he hates lying to her but it’s for her own good.

  So why the cottage on the cliff? How would he ever explain this to Natalie if she found out? They can’t really meet at the residential home – they wouldn’t even know who Jacob is, plus, he isn’t old enough and doesn’t need any kind of care. The cottage just happened to be the first place Daniel saw when asked to consider a suitable meeting place, or did Jacob suggest the cottage? He’s not so sure now – perhaps this is how it came to be, Jacob ensuring it was somewhere private and unused. Somewhere they wouldn’t be seen together. It’s also crossed Daniel’s mind, what if Jacob meets with his friends independently? How would he know? Maybe, they call him by another name too, rather than his real name. Are they privy to the need for such secrecy, of how dangerous Jacob can be?

  It was some time before their ‘friendship’ was re-established at Cambridge. Then, his time at Cambridge moved from excelling in assignments, to foggy, binge-drinking sessions. Missed lectures. Missed deadlines. The feeling of heaviness and the sensation of being watched. Followed. Hunted. By everyone: his tutors, his course heads, even the Chancellor of the university. It nearly broke him all over again. Only the weed helped him regain perspective, or so he’d thought. But it wasn’t a true perspective; it was a borrowed one. A lie. A hazy, mystifying air of misrepresentations. That was when the paranoia took hold. When each university announcement was an encrypted personal message. Each passage in the many books he read was code for something else, something sinister. Road signage became a signal to act. He couldn’t so much as visit the supermarket without diving for cover, trembling from the PA announcements. Everything became an instruction from a higher force. It was then he realised how much he’d missed Jacob.

  ‘You are allowing their issues to become yours, again.’

  ‘How do you know they have issues?’

  ‘People always have issues. They are lying if they tell you otherwise. Everyone in the house has issues.’

  ‘But you say this as if you know they do. As in, you have an understanding of what the issues are.’

  ‘Daniel sometimes you can be so naïve. People’s issues are always the same in the end. There are only so many problems in life. So many stories. Only how they tell them, respond to them, makes them unique.’

  ‘Their voices.’

  ‘Precisely.’ Jacob leans back from the table. ‘Take Natalie.’

  Daniel feels himself flinch. Not Natalie, please.

  ‘Yes, Natalie, Daniel. Let’s take Natalie. Running from her past. Understanding she has nowhere to hide. Her having a boyfriend displeases you, doesn’t it? You have a soft spot for her, but she can never be yours. She doesn’t see you in the way you’d like her to. You will never be any more than a shoulder to cry on. Daniel the drainage system. She makes you see things differently because of how you are choosing to see her. Whilst she has someone, she will never be who you want her to be and you are responding just how she wants you to. Always at her beck and call. For what?’

  Daniel can’t allow Jacob’s words to get to him. Taunting him. ‘Natalie is only my friend.’

  ‘That’s right, you keep telling yourself as such. But like Natalie, Daniel, there is nowhere for you to hide. Each and every person in the house has something to hide. You know how I know this?’

  Daniel shakes his head, looking up to see the smile creeping across Jacob’s face.

  ‘Because we all do. Every single living or dead person has something to hide. Don’t trust those who are closest to you, Daniel. Always the most dangerous. You should know this. You need to keep your distance. Natalie is not yours to be close to.’

  53

  Natalie

  ‘I can’t tell you how much it creeped me out. “You can lock your doors but you can’t hide.”’ I still haven’t mentioned the smiling shadow in the garden to Mo. I’m not really sure why. Because I don’t want to frighten her? Or because I’m not certain enough? Or is there something else? If I tell her will I be well and truly opening the door wide for neurosis to slide in? Also, Mo doesn’t appear to be as bothered as I am about all the goings-on.

  Mo bites her bottom lip. ‘Of course it did, love, who wouldn’t it frighten?’

  It’s a cold, blue-skied day so we’ve picked up takeaway coffees and wander along Smeatons Pier to the bench seat running along the wall. The tide is in and the fishing boats bob up and down with the gentle lapping, happy to be free of the sand they so often sit in. There’s a cool breeze but the intensity of the midday sun’s rays warms us through. The town looks so pretty from here, a mishmash of topsy-turvy dwellings, shades of pale pinks and blues, greys and whites. The lowered sun acting like a spotlight on a quaint Cornish painting. Fifteen degrees, the sign nailed to the stone building at the start of the pier read. Thanks to late season tourists, we’re being hit by a regular whiff of Cornish pasties and fish and chips, the thought of food repels me.

  ‘Are you not frightened, then?’

  Mo doesn’t answer straight away, which kind of tells me the answer. ‘No, I’m not frightened, can’t say I am. Maybe confused, even annoyed, maybe if I allow myself to think about it, but not frightened. What can they do, Natalie? Whoever it is will soon find something better to do. I guess, I’v
e bigger things to worry about.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘If anything, I feel they’ve done me a favour in a way. I knew I should tell you about my past addiction and now I have, but it wouldn’t have been easy. My hand was kind of forced. Still, it’s important everything comes out in the end, don’t you think?’ Mo turns to face me. ‘I’ve other matters on my conscience too. Now, I feel I need to do something about them, but I still need to work out what. Look at your face, Nat, I’m hardly helping you, am I? Let me work some of this through in my own time, then we’ll talk again, promise. In the meantime, really, try not to worry so much.’

  Try not to worry – unintentionally Mo has made me feel a whole lot worse. What else has she not told me? ‘But—’

  ‘Please, I will explain, in the right way in my own time.’

  For a moment I want to shake this friend of mine; patience isn’t my best virtue. I let out a deep sigh before I can stop it. ‘Okay, so, changing the subject. Did you have a good night, at your arty club thing?’

  Mo laughs. ‘Arty club thing! We did, though there wasn’t much arty about it. It was Julie’s birthday – we moved on to The Crab earlier than usual. I’m spending way too much time in that place.’

  I smile – we both are, but so what? I didn’t hear her come back last night, which is odd, given I’m pretty sure I didn’t fall asleep until the very early hours. ‘Do your friends, the arty club friends, do they know about… you know, your weekly meetings?’

 

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