Deathwatch (3 page)

Back at the doorway, carrying his bag, he turns and looks at the kids. At such a distance he can watch them more easily. They flit from cabinet to cabinet, bashing green buttons. Silly kids. He doesn’t want to be close to them. He hates children. Maybe that’s a horrible thing to have in his mind. He finds them disgusting, primeval, uncivilized, ugly.

He has a moment of cruel pleasure as he recalls one of the traditional names for a dragonfly: the Devil’s Darning-needle. So called because they are said to sew up the eyes and mouth of a misbehaving child. Some children could do with such a threat, he thinks.

Children frighten him because you can never be sure what they’ll do. In a sudden flash of intuition, he thinks the girl must feel the same about the insects. His insects.

She shouldn’t be frightened.

Not of insects. She should be frightened of other things maybe, but not insects.

She should be much more frightened of people than of insects.

The girl is still standing there. She begins to walk towards him. Or towards the door. Suddenly he recognizes her – he has seen her somewhere before. Does she live near him? Yes, he’s seen her near by, definitely; maybe at a bus-stop or something. She is quite striking.

For a moment their eyes meet. Only for a moment, for they both look away. He is embarrassed, because he didn’t mean to be looking at her and there was nothing bad in his mind, only recognition. She moves to the spider display – for there are spiders here, even though they are not insects – and he runs from the room, finding himself suddenly in a room with some pointless exhibition of data processing technology or something.

He will leave now, and go to his next task. Light bulbs in the bird room. Birds are boring, but they still need their light bulbs changed. Before he moves on, carrying his toolbag, he glances back.

She is standing there, her face screwed up in slight horror, as she looks at the bird-eating spider. Another girl joins her, with big eyes and thick, dark hair. The second girl speaks. “How does it eat the whole bird, do you think?”

He is out of sight now, but he hears his girl answer, “I don’t think it eats it all in a oner.”

And she is quite right, he thinks. Bit by bit the spider eats the bird. Bit by bit. It takes its time.

CAT
McPherson and her friends pushed their way through the mess of bodies towards the hall for assembly. Jostling and noise, the usual. Always louder on a Monday – so much more to say.

And today, today especially, there was plenty to say. News had spread of Cat’s success on Friday. She’d won the under-16 age group at the regional biathlon competition. Biathlon was a tough discipline – swimming and running, using her body to its maximum – and not many people could do it, with its different demands on the muscles and body shape. She was still high on the feeling of winning, buzzing with it. It made the training worthwhile, made her think perhaps she
could
do this for the rest of her life. Though she’d probably feel differently next time she had to train in the rain instead of going shopping with her friends.

Anyway, as well as winning, she’d broken a club record in the swimming, had personal bests in both swimming and running, and her face was in the papers today. Some of her friends’ parents had seen it at breakfast. Several teachers had seen it too. The Deputy Head had already congratulated her. He had actually sounded quite sincere, and for one horrible moment she’d thought he was going to shake her hand. Mr Grime looked like some kind of leggy spider, with spindly legs that seemed too flimsy to support a body, tiny amounts of thin black hair, and an oddly protruding stomach.

One thing she didn’t tell anybody. It wasn’t that she deliberately didn’t tell them. She had simply forgotten. It had happened just before the announcement of her victory, and the excitement of all that had put this incident from her mind. Well, it would, wouldn’t it? After all, there must have been a few hundred people who watched her that day, so why would she remember particularly this one man?

But yes, she had noticed him. Not that she’d recognize him again – he’d had a hood up so she hadn’t been able to see his face clearly or his hair. She had seen he was writing something in a notebook, standing apart from the other spectators. And she’d been sure he was watching her, maybe writing something about her. He’d been near the entrance when she’d come off the track. Her imagination had begun to take over: he could be a talent spotter for the national squad. She had felt a lurch of excitement. Even if she was not sure how much she wanted to be in the national squad, who would not want to be
asked
?

She’d seen him again afterwards. Talking on a mobile phone. And looking at her, she was sure. For a crazy moment, she imagined that he was phoning the Olympic selectors about her. Ever since she could remember, she’d had daydreams about competing in the Olympics and it didn’t take long to conjure up that particular gold-medal-winning fantasy.

Or maybe the mobile conversation was to tell his wife he’d be late home for tea.

Anyway, then she’d got caught up in the congratulations and the excitement of winning. So she had forgotten about the man with the notebook. Completely forgotten about him.

Now they were all in the hall, finding positions on the floor, trampling over each other’s feet. Bethan and Ailsa were on each side of her, Josh and Marcus messing around behind her, and others from her year all about. Bethan, loud-voiced, dramatic, dark-haired, was acting the part of her manager or agent. Priya and Alison and Amrit and the others all wanting to talk to her, be seen with her. The first and second years were looking at her. This was what fame would feel like.

Someone had brought the newspaper article and they were showing it round. Backchat, insults, laughter, messing about. She was fired up by excitement. There were few better feelings than winning.

There was a face she didn’t want to see. Danny. She’d split with him during the summer and it still wasn’t easy seeing him. He was looking at her now. If their eyes met, his always seemed to linger just a little long, seeming to say nothing at all, dead eyes, and yet the nothingness said everything. He was still angry, she knew. Or assumed. Well, she hadn’t exactly treated him brilliantly, she knew that, but she hadn’t fancied him any more, so it had seemed right to stop seeing him. And yes, she should have told him sooner, not let him find out from someone else. And she kind of regretted that, but what had happened had happened.

Mostly, they could go for days without bumping into each other. They were in different sets for most subjects. And he did all the sciences, whereas she only did one, because you couldn’t avoid it totally. He was sciencey. It was one of the things they didn’t have in common. There were a lot of things, actually. In fact, she’d started to go off him the first time she saw his collection. Insects. She shuddered.

Cat did not like insects or spiders. Well, why would you? What sort of a person kept dead insects in plastic boxes? And what sort of a girl would want to go out with a boy who did that?

Horrible brown things. Insects, not boys. With legs. More legs than a creature needed. And Danny kept them. He’d started collecting them when he was about ten, apparently, and those ones were a bit mouldy and their legs were somewhat curled up and not looking fully functional. They looked seriously dead. But others looked so well preserved they could have been alive. Those were the ones he’d bought. Bought! What kind of a person BUYS insects?

You could laugh or you could shudder. Cat shuddered.

She’d pretended to be interested at first. After all, at that point she’d still fancied him. And she wasn’t stupid – no way was she going to tell him she hated insects. She had a brother, and she knew very well what boys do when they know a girl hates insects.

Mind you, of course Danny had found out.

Anyway. Moving on. Life was too short to keep thinking about Danny. He’d get over it. He’d have to.

When her success was announced in assembly, there was a round of applause and cheers and whistles. Cat blushed, but enjoyed the attention.

Danny said nothing. But that was OK. There was no rule that everyone had to say well done. She hadn’t noticed whether he’d joined in the clapping in assembly. Maybe he had; maybe he hadn’t.

In pretty much every lesson, a teacher said something about it. It got to the stage when Cat wished they’d all stop. Friends could easily go off you for less than that.

When Maureen, the dinner lady, said, “Well done, hen! What a wee star!” Bethan and Ailsa groaned.

“Sorry,” said Cat, as they took their trays to a table. “It’s actually getting to me too.”

“We’re all just jealous really,” said Bethan, with a grin. Bethan was not the jealous type. She had nothing to be jealous about anyway, not with those looks. Bethan oozed confidence, was never short of attention. She’d been Mary three times in primary school. That sort.

“Anyway, we’re basking in your glory,” added Ailsa. “Should we get your autograph now before you’re too famous?”

“That’s not going to happen,” said Cat.

“How not? It could.” Bethan nicked two chips off Ailsa’s plate. “Though maybe not if you eat chips and slob around and get fat like the rest of us.”

“Sometimes I’d rather do that.”

“You saying we’re fat?” demanded Ailsa, waving a chip in her face.

“You know I’m not! But it’s starting to get to me. I don’t think I can face a life obsessing about food and exercise.”

“I thought you were really into it, the training and things.”

“I don’t know any more. I don’t like the others at the club. There’s, you know, bitchiness, and when I’m there on Saturdays I’m thinking about you all doing stuff without me. And when I’m swimming before school, you’re all still in bed!”

“But you could be rich and famous,” said Ailsa.

“And go to the Olympics. And we would know you! We’d have a famous friend!” Bethan added.

“But I might not. Most people don’t get that far. Anything could happen.” And as she said it she felt cold.

“Have a chip,” said Ailsa. “With ketchup. It’ll make you feel better.”

Cat took one. The instant pleasure of a chip was too much to resist.

“Hey, I was going to be her manager!” said Bethan. “How can I manage a fat slob?”

They shared the rest of the chips. Afterwards, Cat was still no nearer knowing whether she’d rather eat chips or win races.

When school ended, they piled out of the gates, spilling into different directions, their uniforms marking them out as the same. Some at the bus stop going north, some at the other side of the road, going south.

Cat, Bethan and Ailsa joined Josh and Marcus as they climbed into the bus. Alison and Priya leapt on at the last minute with some others, and voices rose as they all talked about everything and nothing. Plans for homework, television, and as much time as possible spent on Phiz. Cat, of course, had an hour’s training to do, but she didn’t mention that – friends could easily get bored by things that didn’t involve them. They couldn’t really understand her dreams and fears. The twin dangers of obsession and failure.

She had noticed Danny as she left the school gates. He was on the other side of the road, watching her. He turned away and took out his phone and did something with it.

On the bus, she joined in the banter, putting any other thoughts aside. Losing friends would be worse than anything else.

Once off the bus, one by one the others disappeared into their own streets. Marcus was the last to turn into his road. They said goodbye and she walked on towards her own street. Her own front door.

Cat could see Polly on the sofa in the window. Cat smiled and mouthed “Bad dog!” through the window. Polly jumped down and was at the door as Cat turned the key in the lock.

“I’m back,” she called, fending off the Labrador’s wet nose.

Angus shouted through from the kitchen. “You got flowers! Someone loves you!” She went through to find him. Flowers? Who from? Angus, his dirty blond hair sticking up as if randomly but actually quite deliberately arranged, was making peanut butter sandwiches. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. He was cutting through a huge doorstep of bread with pale brown stuff oozing from the middle. He pointed over to the sink, where a small but expensive-looking bunch of flowers sat. She had no idea what sort they were, except that she did identify a couple of roses.

“Who’re they from?” she asked, chucking a dog chew at Polly, who took it away to her bed.

“How do I know? There’s a label. Mrs Morris brought them round when she saw me come home.” Mrs Morris lived a couple of doors down and noticed everything. If she saw a delivery being made, she’d be darting out of her door, saying, “They’re not in, you know.” As if the delivery man couldn’t work that out for himself.

Cat picked up the label that was attached to the paper wrapping. “Congratulations,” was printed on it. She turned it over. Nothing, apart from the address of a flower shop: Blooms.

Angus was looking over her shoulder. Breathing peanut butter over her. “So who is it?” He picked up the card, turned it over, his fingers grubby with everything he’d touched during the day.

“Piss off, Angus, you stink. I’ve no idea who they’re from. Could be anyone.” She was intrigued. Flowers were not normal.

She looked inside the flowers. There was no other card or message. Nothing except flowers. One of the roses was broken. Its neck was twisted.

First things first – she needed a snack before training. She knew perfectly well what she
should
eat, but she didn’t. Life was way too short for slow-release, low-GI, low-fat, wholegrain, brown, cardboard food. She made a cheese spread sandwich, selected a seriously good chocolate biscuit. A cup of tea. Grapes. She put them all on a tray, ready to take to her room.

And now the flowers. She could take them with her upstairs.

She began to remove the wrapping. The scent was strong, amazingly so. She pressed her face into the petals.