Love Me to Death Read online

  ‘It’s none of his business what you do.’

  Jacob kicked a stone and it hit the bottom of the metal bus stop.

  ‘He’s nice. You should get to know him better,’ she told him.

  Jacob wanted to tell her that the Vincents didn’t understand how to be nice.

  ‘He’s always sniffing around you.’

  ‘He’s not.’

  Maggie got up and he could tell that she was annoyed with him.

  ‘He has a new girlfriend every five minutes.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Maggie shrugged. ‘I need to go to the shop. We’re out of bread.’ As she got up she sighed. ‘She was pretty though, wasn’t she?’

  Jacob frowned. ‘Yeah,’ he replied, because he didn’t want to say anything bad. Jayne wasn’t like Maggie. Everyone said she was pretty, but it was just the makeup and short skirts. She was nothing special. Maggie was flawless. A natural beauty, not that she ever saw it that way. He never understood why she couldn’t see it.

  They walked back up the hill in silence. The wind pushed her hair over her face and Jacob wanted to put his arm around her, but didn’t.

  ‘He came round to see how I was getting on yesterday. So you’re wrong. He’s OK.’

  ‘He fancies you. That’s all.’

  She blushed and he regretted saying it. She looked pleased with the idea.

  ‘He doesn’t.’

  ‘He’s only bothered about himself. Same as his brother.’

  ‘It’s an act. Matty’s OK. He’s…’ She paused. ‘He’s kind.’

  ‘Kind when he wants something.’

  Maggie rolled her eyes and Jacob didn’t tell her about the time they held him down and put stones down the front of his trousers or what they were calling her and her cousin the other day. They weren’t kind.

  A police car was parked across the road.

  ‘You’ll never guess whose house I went into the other day,’ Jacob said.

  Maggie stood outside the shop and stared at the long queue. The woman inside gave her a second glance and he wondered if it was because of Jayne. Maggie usually liked being the centre of attention, but only when it was her choice.

  ‘I can’t be arsed with the bread,’ she told him.

  Jacob scratched his nose. ‘I can go in for you,’ he said, putting his hand out. ‘Give us the cash then.’

  ‘It’s fine. I'll see you later. I need to get back anyway.’

  ‘Maggie, it’s OK. I can just—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, OK?’

  ‘I went into the Anderson house.’

  ‘Tell me about it another time, I want to go back.’

  She walked towards the alleyway before he had a chance to say anything else. He wanted to tell her that she could talk to him, that he was the only one that really understood what it was like to lose someone. She treated him like he wasn’t a part of it and it annoyed him that she didn’t even want to hear about Mr Anderson. If it had been Matty, she’d have wanted to hear everything.

  Jacob went home and up to his bedroom. He stayed on his bed until the road was black, and in the far distance a light moved like a firefly on the back lane. He wasn’t sure if it was a torch or the lights of a car behind the houses. Jacob had the book on his knee that Mr Anderson had given him from the library and he was so grateful. The pictures were special. He hadn’t realised the first time that there were so many clues, so many items in the rooms. He’d skipped over them before, looking for the face of his mother. He’d spent the night looking at them through a magnifying glass to see if there was anything of hers he could see, or anything that could help him understand what it had been like for her. The book was his now and thanks to Mr Anderson he could keep it forever. He thought about what the Vincents had said and he’d almost shown them the book to prove that Mr Anderson was a good person. Almost…

  As the television hummed from downstairs, Jayne was on his mind and her face was in his dreams after he’d fallen asleep. He dreamed that she was sitting on the bench where she was last seen. In the dream Maggie and Matty were laughing on the other side of the road as Billy attempted wheel spins up and down the road, while the dead girl watched from afar, sat alone, wearing a pair of red shoes edged in glitter and blood.

  19

  Mr Anderson felt his neck tighten as he headed home. He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to the date with Noreen now, his mother would not have approved at all. His mother liked to humiliate him in front of the customers at the shop where she worked and he remembered her laughter as he squirmed. If she were still here, she’d have enjoyed using the information about Noreen to make him look bad. She loved to humiliate him, smiling through the corner of her arsehole-shaped mouth as he crumbled. He could see it like it was yesterday.

  As he cycled up the hill he thought of that look of satisfaction on her face. There was one day he’d thought he was going to piss himself and she knew it. He wondered if his mother would be surprised at the man he’d become. She wouldn’t be surprised that he was still here, tied and knotted, firmly attached to this place. She would probably still be here too if she was still alive. Stood up behind her counter with her tight brown woollen skirt on and tan tights, her fat feet pouring over her shoes. He thought about Noreen’s, the same little trotters.

  The wind was cold on his face, despite the fact that his scarf was pulled up high. He felt it bite his skin. The nip of winter through the drab greyness was almost too cold. It was dark. He left for work in the dark and came home in it. The building he was in was such that you could miss the sunshine if you stayed in certain parts of it. There was something about that that he liked. Summer wasn’t for him. He liked the dark corners, the inky skies and the wet slimy leaves on the streets. There was something magical about the dark and he was comfortable in it. He was happy to be among rats, darting about in bushes and darting through the dark corners when the light faded.

  It had taken him twenty minutes to get home. He had ridden up and down first. It was something he couldn’t shake off, the old thoughts of not wanting to go home, even though she wasn’t there anymore; he knew that Jacob Clarke was the same.

  He put his bike against the side of the shed in the back garden and saw the light from next door through the hedge. The urge to watch them was back. Jacob’s stepmother was addictive – clinging to his thoughts by her red painted fingernails.

  Mr Anderson went back outside the gate so that he could see into the Clarke’s garden. The tree cast shadows across the lawn, long lines that crept across the grass like elegant limbs. The curtains were open; it wasn’t necessary to close them, because the house was hidden from the road.

  Mr Anderson stood by the tree at the back of the garden and pulled the scarf up over his face. When Jacob’s father stood at the window, Mr Anderson froze, but he saw nothing. Mr Anderson was invisible – just another shadow in the darkness. In the top window someone walked along the landing and put on the light in the bedroom. He waited there in the blackness, with the sounds of the tree branches creaking in the wind above, until he saw her: Jacob’s stepmother, dressed in white as she glided past the window. He thought about how her satin clothes would billow and float with the wind if she was up on Cage Hill, a vision on the ridge, just like his mother had once been.

  Mr Anderson stayed by the tree as the clouds moved past the roof of the house and towards the distant hills. He stayed there until his fingers were numb, before he went back through the little gate. By the time he got home, his hands were so cold that he could barely open the door. Back inside, he placed a hand against the flocked wallpaper and felt the warmth: the warmth of the people inside – so close to him. So near. He thought of the stepmother in her satin nightgown and felt a rush of blood, wishing he could be closer. Wanting to feel the curve of the knife handle in his hand.

  Mr Anderson dropped his hand; he was seeking something that should be avoided. They were too close. The family project was too important, b
ut the thought that he couldn’t have Paula, made him want it more. No. No, I am strong, he told himself. I do not need to do this. I can find someone else, another woman is out there, I just need to open my eyes. He needed the mother – the most special one of all. He licked his lips as he heard the sound of his own mother’s voice in his head: the scrape of her heels against the concrete cellar floor, the strength of her, the way she could reduce him to nothing with just one look. Whoever was going to fill her shoes had to be special.

  He’d seen someone at the park today, but she was too young. She wasn’t right. He thought of Noreen too, the way she cast her eyes to the floor, ready to be taken, asking him out on a date so she could come to the cellar.

  On the news was a woman. ‘The nameless death of another homeless man on our city streets just pinpoints the attitude of today’s society,’ she said.

  Her lipstick was painted in dark pink curves and the white leather gloves on her hands made them look doll-like and smooth. Her name flashed up on the screen as she stood outside the refuge where she worked, urging him to choose her.

  ‘Stupid woman,’ he said to the screen.

  He knew that he was going to find someone soon. Everywhere was another possibility. He would complete the family. It was all that mattered.

  20

  Noreen was drunk. She’d had a glass of wine to calm her nerves and when she’d finished that one, she had another. Her mouth was dry and the wine was making her numb. This whole evening already felt like a dream and she knew it was going to be everything she had hoped for. She hadn’t done anything like this for months. There used to be so much fire in her, so much light. She had dreams that filled her head. Dreams that hurt when she dared to let them fill her thoughts. Her mother used to tell her that she was like a firework, burning bright and beautiful, making everyone happy. Her firework didn’t burn bright for long though, it had gone out with a quick pop and a fizzle.

  She hadn’t told anyone at work that she was meeting Simon Anderson for dinner. It was embarrassing. She knew what they’d say and she wanted to give it a chance before anyone else knew. She didn’t see him like they did. Despite what they said about him spending so much time talking to the young boy that came into the library, Noreen knew that he was a good person. She could tell by the way he spoke about his mother. That proved he was kind and decent – the kind of man that she could take home and introduce to her family.

  It had been a good few months since she’d been on a date. There was someone who’d been in the library and asked her out at the end of last year. He still came in. She’d spent time with him helping him to update his CV. He’d said that he was a pilot and the CV confirmed it. She’d been impressed. It didn’t cross her mind that it was all a lie. She could be naive sometimes.

  When she went back to his flat in Parrs Wood she realised that it was the flat of a man who had nothing. She’d still slept with him twice. That was a mistake. He didn’t stop coming into the library afterwards. He’d sit and watch her from the computer desk and she knew that he was remembering all the things they’d done together.

  It was her decision and she was glad she’d done it though. It made her realise that she wasn’t as ugly and unattractive as she’d let herself believe. She’d spent at least a year looking over at Simon and hoping he’d notice her. Hoping that he’d ask her out. She knew that she had to be the one to do it. It was the only way and here she was.

  She had dressed up tonight in a cherry-red jumper and tight blue jeans with white high slingbacks. The jumper was V-necked and her shoes were the kind that her mother would disapprove of.

  She had chosen the Italian restaurant in the village. The food was reasonably priced and the waiter was good-looking. If Simon Anderson didn’t turn up, she knew that the waiter would talk to her and make her feel better. It was dark outside and the window had a large silhouette of a man and a woman dancing. Through their embrace she saw Mr Anderson cross the road. She took a large gulp of the wine.

  The couple on the next table were slurping through spaghetti bolognese as they stared suggestively at each other. She made a note to herself to choose something else. She needed to look good, tonight was going to be perfect. It already felt like it was going to be.

  The waiter caught her eye and smiled. He was dark-skinned and slim – the kind of person she would have made a fool of herself for on holiday – and she began to think of the indiscretions of the past. She missed the life she used to have and realised that she wanted to feel young again. Like she had done when she had gone on a first date with the lanky lad from down the road whose mum dropped them off at the pictures. The look she’d given her was of quiet disgust as though she knew the thoughts she was having about her son. It was the same now. It felt that the waiter knew exactly what her thoughts for Mr Anderson were. She ordered another bottle of red wine and two glasses. If she was going to be drunk then so was he. She was going to show him another side to her, a better side than the one he’d seen before.

  *

  As Mr Anderson made his way across the road to the little restaurant he almost turned back. He was out of his comfort zone. The idea that Jacob Clarke had been around the boy in the yellow tent still agitated him. All that talk about badgers could be just a distraction. He wondered if Jacob knew something – he’d already caught him following him once and perhaps he had seen him watching the house too. Mr Anderson tried to dismiss it. Anything was possible, and yet something told him that Jacob didn’t know anything, he was just a lost boy like he once was.

  Mr Anderson opened the door of the restaurant and saw Noreen at the table in the middle, cheeks flushed – almost as bright as the crimson sweater she was wearing.

  She poured him a glass of wine before he could say no, and a drip of red liquid caressed the wine stem and made a small dot on the white tablecloth. It sat there next to the glass and seeped into the linen. It reminded him of the woods, the whiteness of the snow and that pool of red that was so bright. That red dot was more mesmerising than Noreen. It felt like a sign. It felt as though this hadn’t been a mistake after all.

  Noreen smiled through wine-stained teeth and performed a strange dance all evening. Flicking her hair back over her shoulder. Teasing her bottom lip with her teeth and pouting. He’d never seen her like that before.

  As she talked, he smiled through the meaningless conversation. Around him, others were doing the same. Couples sat opposite each other just like them.

  Mr Anderson wondered what his mother would make of it. As the words entered his head he regretted them. He knew what she’d think. He looked away from Noreen’s tight fitted sweater and back to the dot of red that had bled further into the white tablecloth. Strands had formed in the fibres – small lines that reached out to him like tainted red fingers.

  As Noreen smiled from across the table, his thoughts shifted to the cellar. His mind was like a calm sea one moment, and then it would change. A wave that came from deep within that would grow into an unstoppable feeling that almost swept him away. He remembered a trip to the beach with his aunt and a plastic surfboard that had flipped up and sent him under the waves. He’d been pulled underwater, along the bottom of the sand and scraped his skin until it bled along the rocky bottom before it spat him out again. This was how it was for him now; he couldn’t help where his thoughts took him. He wanted to fight against it, but there was no fighting. As Noreen asked for the dessert menu he thought about her flushed skin, the beating heart that lay under her red jumper and the way her eyes were glazed from the wine. Noreen’s cheeks were pink and plump. There was something ripe about her. The way her plump flesh poured out of her top. He imagined the brush in his hand as he dipped it in the scarlet paint and ran it over smooth clay, recreating the pink hues of her skin.

  She had already started on the breadsticks and a tiny crumb sat on the edge of her lip. It hung there dangling, just a small white flake of bread on her plump lip. He stared, not being able to take his eyes off it – so precarious ther
e, stuck to the lipstick on her mouth.

  He wondered if he could get her to come home with him. She didn’t know where he lived so he could walk down the lane and round the back of the house without anyone seeing her go in.

  He poured an extra glass of wine for her and smiled as she took it and raised it to her lips. She was already a bit drunk, he could tell by the flush of her cheeks and way she was talking – different to the way she sounded at work.

  ‘Did you tell anyone about this?’ he asked.

  ‘Why? Are you ashamed of me?’

  He tried not to look annoyed. He needed to know. ‘I don’t want to be gossiped about.’

  ‘It’s no one else’s business.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s good. I think it’s better to keep things between us. Until, well… at the beginning anyway. Don’t you think?’

  She beamed back at him and he was certain that she’d be willing now that she thought he was serious.

  ‘You didn’t tell me who you lived with. Do you have anyone else? Anyone waiting up for you? Checking the clock? Kids?’

  Noreen picked up the menu and ran her finger along the spine. ‘No, it’s just me. It’s always been just me. I – well, I just haven’t found the right person. No children.’

  She looked sad and he knew that she hadn’t had the life she wanted. He wondered if it bothered her. At work she was always engaged in trivial things. It was hard to imagine that she had any feelings at all.

  ‘Like me,’ he smiled back.

  ‘Yes, well.’

  ‘So no family?’

  ‘My mother.’

  ‘She lives with you?’ He couldn’t help frowning.

  ‘Oh no, don’t get me wrong, but I couldn’t do that. Not with her memory. She, well, she forgets things so she can’t live with us.’

  ‘Us?’ He looked up.

  ‘My brother. He’s down south. So’s mother. In a home. He doesn’t work so he visits more than I can, we thought it best she was near him.’