I Am Watching You(76)

Anna is thinking that maybe they should have gone back in for Sarah straight away. She is grateful but confused, and begins to cry again. He is sitting next to her, his arm around her shoulders. Tells her not to worry. That it is all right now, Anna. He is going to make sure that everything is all right.

And then she closes her eyes. And she is remembering the awful picture Tim sent her this morning. Her dad with April – Tim’s mum. She hasn’t wanted to mention it, to think about it even, but wonders why he hasn’t said anything either.

‘Why did you send me the picture, Tim?’ She is still crying. ‘I mean – why this morning?’

It hit her phone just before her dad drove her to the station. Such a terrible shock.

You disgust me.

‘I just felt you had the right to know. It was a terrible shock to me, too. I thought we should decide together what to do. Whether to tell your mum.’

‘I wish you hadn’t. I had a big row with my dad.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t think.’

‘But how did you get it? The photo?’ It was so graphic. So foul. Her dad and April. Naked. Her legs up in the air on the bed. Like porn. Disgusting . . .

And now Tim is standing, saying he doesn’t want to talk about that anymore just now, and that he will make them coffee. It will do her good. She is thinking that there isn’t time, surely. No point. With the taxi? But he says even a few sips will do her good. ‘The state you’re in . . .’

While he is gone, cluttering about in another room, Anna begins to glance around. And now she doesn’t understand. There are quite a few books on one of the shelves. Walking books and map books. And there are magazines, too, ones she knows that Tim likes. She narrows her eyes. There’s a stack – months’ worth of them. She looks down at the coffee table: they’re from the past three months. It doesn’t make sense.

‘You OK in there, Anna?’

‘Fine.’

She reaches down to the shelf under the coffee table to find a book of walks in Cornwall. A frisson of unease passes through her. The book has several places marked with bookmarks. No. Not bookmarks. She flicks the pages to find that there are photographs marking the chapters.

The first makes her smile. It is a group shot – that birthday party her mum threw for Tim. They are wearing hats made from balloons, and she and Sarah are clutching sausage dogs that the boys made. Tim and Paul.

She turns the pages to the next photograph, and then suddenly there is this truly odd feeling within her. Like a change of temperature. For it is a picture of her, taken from a distance. She is at her bedroom window looking out, just about to draw the curtains.

Anna can feel her heart rate increasing. Her muscles tensing. She flicks through the book to find more pictures – just of her. Her playing on the lawn. Her sitting in a tree. All of them taken from a distance.

She puts the book back and stands just as Tim returns with two mugs.

‘How long till the taxi, Tim?’

‘Not long now.’

‘I think I need the loo.’ She tries to hide that her hands are shaking by her sides.

‘Sit down. You’ll be back at the hotel in a moment. You can go there.’ There is a change in his tone. Clipped. Not nice. Not Tim. He is standing between her and the door.

She looks at him, the temperature even colder inside her.

‘The bathroom here isn’t nice, Anna.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Drink your coffee. Just remember it’s a good job I found you.’ Finally, he sits and sips his drink. ‘A very good job I watch out for you, Anna. That I always watch out for you.’

‘Yes. Very true. I’m grateful, Tim.’ She is looking at the magazines and the book of walks, her heart thump-thump-thumping in her chest.

‘Did you say the tenant did a bunk?’

‘Yeah. Last week. We need to find another tenant.’ He has started to rock in his seat. To and fro . . .

She can feel her shoulders starting to tremble and is worried he will see this. She looks at the books on the shelves. Notices that some of them are A-level books. Tim’s A-level subjects.

‘Let’s wait in the doorway. Look out for the cab, shall we?’ She has stood up again.

‘No. Sit down. Drink your coffee.’ That clipped tone again. He twitches his head. Rocks faster.

‘I think I need the air, Tim.’

‘You’re fine, Anna. You’re with me now. You’re fine when you’re with me.’

She sips her drink. She can hear her breath. Her pulse. Her heart. She can feel the dread building and building, the temperature falling and falling – but knows, too, even through the booze and the fear, that she must not let him see this. Little black dots on the edge of this scene, closing in. Not real.

‘Could I have some water, Tim?’

‘No. You’re fine.’ Tim has started to rock faster. To. Fro. To. Fro. He is all agitation suddenly. Strange, jerky movements of his head.

‘It’s OK. I’ll get the water.’ She stands and moves towards the door to the hall, slowly at first, but then faster and suddenly he is grabbing at her from behind. Instinctively she kicks back hard with her right leg and he recoils for a moment.

She makes it through to the hall, just feet from the door, but feels a blow suddenly to the back of her head. Blackness for a moment. Then her eyes open. She is on the floor. Black and white tiles, cool beneath her palms. A brass letterbox.