The Visitors(77)

They worked amicably together. David read out the measurements in a very precise manner and Holly duly wrote them down.

‘Some pretty new curtains and perhaps a velvet padded headboard instead of that hard old thing,’ Holly murmured, looking around again. ‘Then I’ll get some sparkly cushions and things to pretty the rest of the room up.’

‘I think you’ll find that hard old thing is a solid walnut headboard,’ David said doubtfully. ‘I’d imagine it would cost a fortune these days to get one of comparable quality.’

‘But it’s so ugly.’ Holly pulled a face. ‘And old-fashioned. I’m afraid it’ll have to go.’

‘Well I’m sure she’ll appreciate your efforts,’ David said uncertainly. Holly suspected he wondered why she was making changes to a perfectly functional room.

She’d like to explain, but David would never understand.



* * *



In the afternoon, they went to the cinema as planned.

David seemed to fancy himself rather an authority on the Hitchcockian style. He chirped constantly about how the famed director had used the camera to mimic a person’s gaze, so you watched the film like a voyeur. He went on and on about Hitchcock’s use of metaphors and his ability to foster anxiety and fear in the viewer.

He also complained tirelessly that the wheelchair-bound photographer in the movie simply wouldn’t be able to see as much as he did of his neighbours from his spying vantage point. How he knew that sort of thing, Holly couldn’t imagine.

She had to stop herself yawning several times. She felt glad she’d already seen the film, as she’d missed a good third of it listening to David’s ramblings in her ear.

David’s anxiety levels had seemed to peak once they got inside the cinema. Holly couldn’t help noticing how he scratched constantly at the inside of his wrist, leaving great red welts that stood proud from his pale skin.

He had approached the ticket clerk first and asked for one seat for himself, which he’d paid for in cash. Holly had been slightly taken aback but had said nothing. She’d bought her own ticket after his transaction was completed, and that was when he’d seemed to realise his error.

‘I’m so sorry… I should have got yours too. I’m an idiot. I wasn’t thinking, I—’

‘David,’ she’d said. ‘It really doesn’t matter. Please, forget about it.’

They hadn’t bothered with snacks or drinks. The option didn’t really come up, for as soon as he had his ticket, David rushed towards Screen 5, where the film was to be shown.

It was clear to Holly that he found even the most cursory decisions difficult, and his social skills were bordering on non-existent.

Holly had chosen their seats and had made a bit of harmless conversation while the lights were still on, asking David about his job. As usual, he seemed more than happy to speak at length about Kellington’s.

‘You seem to be getting on very well too,’ he’d said finally, as though belatedly realising that she might have something to say herself.

‘I think I am,’ she’d said, pleased. ‘Everything is going nicely, considering.’

‘I’m glad Emily Beech has gone,’ he’d said suddenly. ‘She deserved to be thrown out. I couldn’t stand her.’

His outburst had surprised Holly enough that she stayed silent.

Throughout the film, she managed to cast a few glances his way. He barely moved, she noted with some amusement, sitting for the full one hundred and eighty-six minutes bolt upright with a hand on each knee.

Periodically he’d lean sideways and enlighten her with some learned observation about Hitchcock’s directing methods.

He wouldn’t take off his anorak, and frankly, Holly wondered how on earth he could feel comfortable so togged up and rigid.

Nick Brown had been right. David was an odd one.

But Holly didn’t mind that. In fact, now that she was clear in her mind about her plans, it suited her just fine.





Chapter Sixty-Two





Cora





Cora had been to the bank, her third visit this week. And she had sorted everything out to her satisfaction upstairs. Everything was in order.

Still, she couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that had been gnawing at her insides for the best part of a week.

Something wasn’t quite right, but infuriatingly, she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. She just knew these things.

As a little girl, her mother used to say she had a sixth sense. Young Cora had liked that; it had always made her feel special. She’d nearly always know someone was coming before a visitor knocked. And she could sense, on waking, whether it was going to rain.

Not the most useful sixth sense to have, she supposed, but still, even now she’d get a feeling about something and be proved correct more often than not.

The frisson of discomfort she’d been experiencing was to do with the two people around her: David and Holly. She’d been gratified when Holly told her they were going to the cinema together this afternoon.

‘Just as friends, obviously,’ she had said flippantly that morning, as if no one in their right mind could possibly want anything more from poor David.

Cora often worried about him. Despite his age, there was something vulnerable about him that clutched at her heartstrings.