WHO FOLLOWS: a gripping, dramatic, intense and suspenseful thriller Read online

  All my dreams have come true. We have met and now we are to have our first meal together. My cup really does run over with happiness.

  Chapter 6

  She sits opposite to me, the sunlight shining on the highlights in her hair. The spun golden strands dance at the sides of her head. Her eyes, an unusual grey and blue mix, are large and clear. The skin at the corners crinkles slightly, she smiles often and the smile lights her eyes and imprints the skin of her face. I adore that about her, that she carries the proof of her good nature for the world to witness. Her lips are full and curve upwards slightly at the corners as she talks to me of incidentals. There are two quite large dark freckles just to the side of her nose and one more on the side of her chin. Her skin is smooth and fine. She is a living masterpiece.

  As we wait for our meal my glance is drawn to her fascinating hands, they are long and slender and the skin stretches tautly over those impossibly fragile bones. Her nails are short but not as neat as one would have expected, there is evidence that she chews them occasionally – so the elegance of the first day was false. I find this tiny fault endearing, a sign of deep emotions, worries maybe. If she would only let me I would take care of all her worries, calm all her fears. My own little Humming Bird, if she knew how she affected me now in this ordinary, rather boring place. If she could only discern how my heart pounds and flutters and my hands are damp with the excitement of being so close. At this thought I glance at my own hands lying as hers are atop the wooden table. My nails are manicured and neat but ah how dark, how rough my skin when compared to hers, how plain and ordinary they look. I am ashamed of their ordinariness and fold them on my lap out of sight where they belong.

  I am so overcome with the moment that I have let her do all the talking. Now I think she is wondering about me and my silence. I drag my thoughts back, what was she saying just now before my mind wandered to the perfection of her hands. Ah yes, the workaday world, how incongruous to talk of such stuff with her but I must.

  “My work, oh rather boring I’m afraid. Computer stuff, web design and such like. Not as glamorous as interior design must be.”

  “Oh I should think that it is very interesting, all jobs have their boring side of course and I have to say that parts of mine are very humdrum and dull.”

  “Is it your own business?” That was it, those few words were the end of joy.

  “No, not really I am in partnership with my husband.” The world spun, the day was dulled and for one moment my mind was an empty void. I had never for one moment even considered that she may have a husband. I realise now it was stupid of me but such was my belief in the rightness of our future together that I could imagine no other person would have claim to her.

  Chapter 7

  The beauty is gone from the day. The warmth of the sun through the window is chilled and the aroma of food cooking, which only moments ago caused me to salivate, now causes mild nausea and disgust. I want to leave. It is a struggle for me to sit on this hard wooden chair. I notice for the first time that there is a greasy spot on the wooden arm and salt has been spilled which no-one has cleaned from the table top.

  She is chatting still, now I see that her arms wave and gesticulate unnecessarily to accompany her dialogue. I can form no rational thoughts. My mind is full of this new and devastating knowledge. She has a husband, she is a wife. Another person has shared and will share her most private moments. He has held her body and caressed it, kissed those lips which only moments before I had admired. I can’t let my mind walk that pathway, it will drive me to distraction. I nod and smile and try to cover my confusion but after a little while she pauses in her chatter.

  “My dear are you quite well, you have suddenly gone terribly pale. Can I have them fetch you a drink of water. Do you need some air?”

  I shake my head and raise my hand to fend off the kind gesture which, if allowed, will call forth tears I know it.

  “I’m fine really, a momentary dizziness, it’s nothing. I am probably hungry. I wonder how long the food will be.”

  I am rescued by the waitress delivering a plate of sawdust for me to struggle through. It is supposed to be a chicken and pasta dish. The chicken is dry and overcooked and the pasta is badly prepared but I force it into my mouth and swallow it hardly chewed. I drink my wine, I don’t normally drink alcohol at lunchtime but this was my celebration and it deserved the sparkling recognition we were to give it. My head is floating unattached above my shoulders and my arms and legs are made of rubber.

  What the hell, I give way to the sensations and allow myself to watch from afar as she twirls pasta and breaks bread to dip into the bloody sauce. She has broken my soul and made worthless my life. She has no idea and so talks on enjoying this small deviation from her normal day. A couple of times she looks concerned and flashes a questioning glance. I force myself to react with a smile and a raised glass and so the occasion passes. I am in a torturous hell where my heart screams and cracks unseen and unremarked upon by my assassin.

  Despite my efforts she realises that all is not well with me. She reaches across the table and lays a gentle hand over mine. What is left of my heart fractures into a thousand pieces.

  “Are you alright? What’s wrong? Please let’s just leave, you are dreadfully pale. Let me take you home.”

  I nod and so allow her to pay the bill with only the smallest of dispute for appearances sake and we leave. As we reach the step she takes my arm and steadies me. This touch should fill me with ecstasy but it scorches my skin. This hand holds his, this hand caresses his body and look now, this hand does not wear his ring though surely it should!

  Chapter 8

  Her kindness is limitless. She closes her office, drives me home and supports me with a steadying arm as we walk up my narrow path. I fumble with the rock hiding the key and she takes it from me to unlock the door.

  It is cool and welcoming in my home and now she is here. Her perfume is in the air of these rooms. Slipping off her shoes at the door she patters to the kitchen, bare skin slapping on ceramic. The rattle of the water into the kettle intrudes as I sit at the table stunned by her being here. The small slam of my cupboard doors, chinking and ringing of crockery, the shush of the fridge and then the aroma of brewing coffee. Her presence here in my space heightens every sense. The smell of the brew is overwhelming as the coffee steams in the small cup she places before me. There is a biscuit from the tin placed on the saucer.

  “Here some sugar, caffeine. This will help, you should eat. Drink the coffee.”

  It scalds my tongue and throat, I gasp.

  “Oh God, sorry I should have put some cold in. Are you alright?”

  “Yes, yes don’t worry. Please don’t worry. You are being so kind, there really is no need I am not ill, truly I am not ill.”

  “But you went so pale, I thought for a moment you were going to faint. Do you have diabetes maybe, something like that? You should check, you know, see the doctor. It’s best to find out. Just in case you know.”

  “Truly my dear I am really fine. To be perfectly honest I had some bad news and I think that it simply hit me harder than is reasonable.”

  “Oh, you poor thing. Nothing too horrible was it? I am sorry, and you being so kind, bringing back my shawl. You could have sent it you know. I really do appreciate what you did.”

  “No, truly I am fine. I am simply being rather silly and dramatic for no reason. Thank you for bringing me home and making the drink and really just for being so patient.”

  Her eyes light in a smile and she bends to wrap her arms around me in a tender hug. “You know, I really like you. I think that we could be friends.” The blush creeps into her cheeks wiping years from her face and she grins. “Oh, would you listen to me, I sound like a kid. It’s just that you are so friendly and I feel so very comfortable with you. It seems as though we have known each other for years. I can’t believe that we’ve only just met.”

  “Well, I have to say that pleases me and I know just what you mean
. I would really consider it a privilege if you would let me return the favour. Well actually if you would let me make amends for today’s rather spoiled lunch. Do you think it would be alright for us to have dinner sometime perhaps? Will that cause any sort of problem for you at home?”

  “Home?”

  “Yes, you know with your husband. Or maybe there are children, baby sitters to arrange.”

  “Oh no, sorry I didn’t mean to give the impression, well the thing is we aren’t together any more. Divorced. But the business, well that was easier to just leave things like that. We are friends, well sort of and no there are no children. I would love to have dinner with you Amy, I really would.”

  My world glows with rainbows as it begins to spin again. She smiles at me and sips the cooling coffee.

  Chapter 9

  She is gone and my rooms have become voids. The silence resounds and I feel that I will be lost in the empty spaces. Leaving, on the drive she paused and turned and blew a kiss, an old-fashioned and charming gesture that took my breath leaving me gasping from emptied lungs. The great car, a leviathan in black with glittering chrome and darkened windows, a monster of a thing made wonderful by her hands at the wheel and her slender feet against the pedals. It drew away from the kerb and I watched until it turned at the corner and became a memory.

  The door slammed into the silence and I leaned my back to the wood and slid, slowly and ungraciously to the floor. Hugging myself in delight and disbelief I re-played every moment of this chaotic, desperate, storm laden day. From the ghastly discovery of a husband and the dreadful bistro meal to the wondrous parade of events that brought her here to my home, my kitchen, sitting at my table.

  As I loll against the wood, surrounded by the ticking of my great clock and the creaking of central heating the day gives way to evening. The shadows grow and the familiar noises of returning commuters drag me back to reality and to the need to move lest the numbness in my legs renders me lame and limping. I don’t want to limp, I don’t want to feel my age. She is young, so very much younger than I am with a lithe and supple body and shining hair. Passing the hall stand I avert my eyes from the mirror. Wrinkles, sagging skin and dulled eyes have never bothered me until I start to imagine how she sees me. As her mother, her grandmother surely not, but then again just what is the age difference? Turning back I approach the glass that gleams in the fading daylight. There it is, my old face, the creases and wrinkles undeniable. My hair styled for practicality rather than glamour and my eyes, are they rheumy behind my sensible spectacles?

  The sobbing starts before I even acknowledge the sadness and useless tears cascade across my flabby cheeks. I rub at the moisture and try to control the outburst. Where has this come from, could I really be ill? No of course not. I am overwrought by the events of the last few hours and more, so much more than that I am reduced by the knowledge that my dear Humming Bird is most probably beyond my grasp. Cruel, cruel that I should meet her now in the gloaming of my days. I know that she is so much more than I could have ever hoped but at the same moment I acknowledge that she is for me, so very, very far out of reach.

  I banister drag myself up the stairs and throw myself across the duvet and so give way to a torrent of self-pity and hopelessness. For the first time in my life I feel the years crushing me and I wail for the past and for the loss and for the pain of it all.

  Chapter 10

  Tonight we will meet again for dinner. This is the third date and I am dressing with care. I apply cosmetics, something that I thought I had forsaken for good some years ago but Hannah insists that I should “Keep up my standards.” Not give up on the feminine side of things. I call her Hannah, I have let go the pretension of Humming Bird. She is so much more real now and is deserving of her correct title. She is Hannah and in the secret corners of my mind I admit that she is “My Hannah”.

  We are going to an Italian restaurant and then to a play reading. Friends from when I taught at the college part-time have invited us. More properly they invited me and a friend, and what other friend would I take? She is endearingly excited about the play reading, it is her first experience of such and I pray that she won’t be disappointed. I am so very surprised at her naiveté. For such an accomplished business woman and talented artist she is surprisingly inexperienced in many things that I have taken for granted. She has travelled a little and is “cultured” in the usual sort of way, some Shakespeare, Opera even Glyndebourne with her ex-husband but there are still many, many things for me to show her, and indeed she teaches me something new every time we meet.

  We are comfortable together now, her sense of humour is perforce younger than mine but it is enchanting to me. I have yet to broach the subject of the difference in our ages, I don’t dare mention it. I have chosen to ignore it. It is a pretence and I know it will come back to haunt me and I continually shore up the wall that threatens to crumble each time I acknowledge the issue. I am afraid all the time, I fear that she will tire of me, that she will realise that there are too many differences, that the generational discrepancy will prove too much. So many things that keep me tossing and turning in the night, and in an agony of worry in the day when my mind insists that I think about it. So many things that could force my hand and cause me to act while I am still unprepared.

  For tonight I will live again in the moment, I will enjoy the sight of her, the feel of her skin as she wraps her arms around me. I will devour the wondrous feel of her lips on my cheek and the brush of air as she kisses me. I will enjoy the tinkle of her voice, the chime of her laughter and the warmth of her in my space. I will bathe in the glory of her nearness. Then later when I am alone again I will, I know, feel the track of salt water across my cheeks and under my ears as I lie in my solitary bed and crave her presence.

  It can’t go on I know that, the time is coming when I will have to decide how to progress, what direction this relationship will take. Will she come willingly, become my happy helpmate and my loving companion or will it be like the last time, the time with Marie. I pray there will be no need for any of that and as my thoughts stray down that painful alleyway I fiddle with the charm on my neck chain. It is the only thing that there is left of her my silly, silly girl. How sad that was.

  Chapter 11

  The days move on and with them joy grows ever stronger. I have invited Hannah for dinner. I am in a dither, my hands shake as I trim beans and skin the salmon. The wine is chilled and there are small dishes of nuts and dips with carrot sticks. Flowers cascade in colourful abandon from vases on the side tables and my room is shadowed and charming with the small lights turned on and the curtains closed. I love my home and have spent many hours and much money on the gathering of things and the decoration. Normally it is a source of great pride but tonight I see only the faults. There are stains on the wall near the door, the result of damp umbrellas leaning there. There is a crack on one of the kitchen tiles which I have never been able to have repaired. These small things bother me occasionally but tonight they have assumed huge importance. Her life is after all made up of decoration and beautification.

  The times that she has visited, since the first time when she made coffee, she has merely rung the bell and I have been ready, waiting for her in a fever of anticipation and so we have left with only a momentary greeting. There is sound reason for this. I don’t think I can trust myself alone in my home with her. I have no confidence in my ability to hold my tongue and not blurt out my feelings and my desires. It has been too soon I know and so I have avoided a situation that would lead me astray and cause untimely action.

  Now I am ready, the time has come. I can wait no longer. I have no way to gauge what her reactions and indeed her actions will be. I know that she was married but she has shown great affection for me and often hugs and kisses me. She is naturally a very tactile person, to my continuous delight I admit. Anyway I have made the decision, tonight I will lay my cards on the table. I will admit my total devotion to her and if I judge that it is time to progress my ca
se I will suggest that we take our relationship to another level. It is dangerous, it is nerve-wracking and it is an end game for I will have her and tonight will decide how and when that will happen.

  The time approaches, the clock chimes six and I hear her great car pull in to the kerb. I hear the click clack of her heels on my path. There it is, the chime of the doorbell. I throw my apron onto the worktop. I check my appearance in the hall mirror.

  “Welcome my dear, welcome.” A short peck on the cheek.

  “Some wine, I hope it will suit what we are eating.”

  “Perfect, quite perfect. Come in, here let me take your coat.”

  I lock the door and take the key and slip it into the little wooden drawer, she doesn’t see. She walks before me down the dimly lit hall.

  Chapter 12

  Well, I don’t know, I just don’t know. I had thought deeply about how the evening might progress. It is my own fault I know, but how was I to help it? Such hopes had bloomed as I planned and prepared. It is too soon, I see that now, but how deep is this disappointment?

  In my mind I had foreseen a pleasant evening leading to my declaration and her happy, happy acceptance. Perhaps talk of the future, at the least a deepening of our connection.

  It began well, the food was – adequate – the atmosphere convivial and intimate. Music filled the quiet moments. Hannah truly did seem to enjoy what she ate and she is a delightful table companion. My standards are high, there is a correct way to behave at table and though there are a few rough edges there she performed well. I can polish and hone her until our future meals together will be the delight I have missed for so long.

  Perhaps it has been too long, perhaps my voluntary solitude has made me too friable, too intense. I never expected that she would stay the night, of course not. Indeed it would have been in some way a disappointment, an indication of looser morals than I would hope for.