What Goes Around: A chilling psychological thriller (22 page)

Mrs Patterson has been wandering up and down the street calling for him and that should make me feel guilty but it doesn’t. It makes me feel like I’m the winner and she’s the loser. I’m in the know and she is out in the cold. Gareth always told me I was a psychopath – takes one to know one! I would shout back – but I’m not a psychopath or a sociopath. I’m simply acting out an old pattern, learned in childhood. Sometimes I let myself go there – as treat or punishment? I’m not really sure which. All I know is that it feels familiar and in that familiarity I find security.

Rob Mooney from the Bridge calls me to say that Alex is doing well and that he can have a visitor this weekend. The thought of visiting my son has me walking around the house with a smile on my face. I’ve missed him, not in an overt way, but in a subtle, discreet manner that no one else would notice. I don’t tell Tom because I don’t want him to come with me. I’m beginning to feel that my future lies elsewhere. I know he’s trying hard to support me but I don’t need a man making a meal of fussing over me. I need him to pay for Alex’s treatment. And if he can’t – or won’t – do that then he’s no use to me.

The scratch lines on my forearm are itchy. I’m wearing long sleeves to hide the marks. I’ve been wearing long sleeves for the past couple of days to hide the marks and have covered two areas of broken skin with small dressings. I pull them off now, quickly, wincing as I do so. Pus is leaking from one of the deeper scratches and I wash it with some antiseptic, then cover the same two areas up again. Gareth would tell me the reason the cat scratched me was because I was out of practice. It’s my own fault for letting my skills slide. Skills I never wanted in the first place.

‘Fuck you, Gareth,’ I say quietly as I pull my blouse back on again. ‘Fuck you.’

Alex. On the drive over to the Bridge I’m mindful of what he will be feeling. We’ve been through this before and last time neither of us got it right. We were both nervous and I made the mistake of asking questions that sent him into defensive mode. I decide that this time I won’t risk that. This time I’ll listen and encourage him. If I’m more therapist than mother then I should be able to hit the right note.

I park the car and have to stop myself running into the building, where I find him waiting for me in the foyer. ‘Hi!’ I hold my arms wide and walk towards him. He’s bashful but grinning despite himself and we hold each other in a hug for twenty seconds or more. ‘So good to see you!’

‘Aye. You too, Mum. How’s everything at home?’

‘Good, yeah. Same old, same old.’ I make a face. ‘You know how it is.’

Rob Mooney is hovering in the background and he comes across to say hello. ‘It’s a good day to have a walk in the grounds or you can mosey into the village.’

‘What would you like, Alex?’ I say.

‘Wouldn’t mind a cheese toastie. They have a cafe in the village that’s quite nice.’

‘Village it is then! Let’s go.’

I loop my arm through his and we walk the half mile into the wee village that comprises no more than a hundred homes, a pub, a cafe and a general store. As we leave the grounds I see a man standing beneath a tree but I don’t think anything of it. We’re settled in the cafe at a table by the window, with piles of food in front of us, when I catch sight of the man again, lurking outside, only about twenty yards away.

This time I am close enough to make out who it is – David. He knows I’ve seen him and he strides past the window, full of purpose.

For a split second, before the anger and fear kick in, I admire him. He’s crafty, all right. Arguably craftier than me. I hadn’t noticed him following me because it hadn’t occurred to me that he would go further than Edinburgh city limits. Stupid mistake, Leila, I tell myself. He’s perfectly capable of hiring a car and waiting at the end of the street for you to appear. You really can’t afford to underestimate him.

‘Do you remember Alistair, Mum?’ Alex is saying. ‘He was in the last time I was here. We’re thinking of starting a band together.’

‘That sounds like a good idea.’

‘Put my bass guitar to good use.’ He blows on the hot string of cheese leaking out the side of his toastie. ‘Alistair plays drums and he knows a lead guitarist who might be interested.’

‘Where does Alistair live again?’

‘The far side of Glasgow, close to Paisley.’ He lays his toastie down on the plate and takes a breath, suddenly anxious. ‘The thing is, Mum. Well … I don’t think university suits me.’ He watches my face to see my reaction to this bombshell but I’m far too preoccupied with what David is up to to be concerned by this news. ‘Would you be bothered if I dropped out?’

‘No, I wouldn’t.’ I smile at him. ‘All I want, Alex, is for you to lead a happy life and for that you need a sense of purpose, passion if possible, and an eye to taking care of yourself.’

‘Cheers, Mum.’ He laughs. ‘I thought you’d be mad.’

I am mad. I’m enraged, in fact. There’s a fiery knot in my stomach that wants to burst out through my mouth, my fists and my feet. But I’m not angry with Alex. My brother, David, on the other hand – I would gladly stamp on his head right now. I wouldn’t start with his head though; I’d begin with his ankles and his wrists, then feel the long bones in his limbs snap, and save the crack of his skull for last.

The doorbell tinkles and David comes into the cafe. I see him out of the corner of my eye but I don’t look at him and neither does Alex, who is busy telling me about the group therapy and how much it’s helping him. ‘I feel more determined this time round, Mum. I’m not just saying that, I promise, I’m really not. Last time I kind of knew I’d do drugs again but this time I know I won’t.’

‘That’s great news, darling.’ I reach across the table and stroke his hair. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

I’m able to inhabit two distinct identities simultaneously: I’m a mother who loves her son and is delighted and encouraged by his recovery and I’m a sister who is acutely aware of her brother’s presence in the seat behind her and is contemplating taking hold of the dessert fork, reaching round and plunging it into his neck.

The waitress takes David’s order: a cup of tea and poached eggs on toast. I can hear his speaking voice clearly, so I’m sure he can also hear Alex telling me about his plans for when he comes home. ‘I’m going to help more. I know I haven’t been pulling my weight. I think Tom would like that, wouldn’t he?’ I nod. ‘I haven’t been taking responsibility for myself. I’m only just beginning to understand what that means.’

While Alex talks, I make plans in my head. We’ll move to Paisley. If that’s where Alex would be happy then I’m willing to give it a go. We’ve only been in Edinburgh for two years; before that it was Manchester, before that Leeds, before that Guildford. Whenever we move on it takes David a while to find us again. He could contact Alex directly, through Facebook or Twitter, but he never has because his obsession is with me, not my son.

I’m going to sell the jewels our mother left me and then, when Alex is ready to leave the Bridge, we’ll plan our move. It’ll be a fresh start.

When I’ve eaten the little I can manage and Alex has hoovered up the rest, we leave the cafe and I drop him back. He gives me the sweetest smile as he goes off to his room and my heart swells with love and with pride. Perhaps I haven’t been that bad a mother. Perhaps, at times, I’ve even done the right thing, the good thing.

As I walk back to my car I’m not surprised to see David leaning up against the driver’s door. ‘You didn’t want to introduce me, then?’ His expression is smug. He caught me off guard and he knows it.

‘How did you know I was coming here? Was it Katarina? Did she tell you Alex was in rehab?’

He inclines his head. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

‘Could you move aside, please?’

He steps aside in an exaggerated manner, bowing as I open the car door. ‘Your pleasure, oh queen,’ he says. ‘See you soon!’

I start the engine and drive off. My face is set firm the whole way home. My muscles are stiff with anger and concentrated thinking, and when I get through the front door I want nothing more than time to plan the rest of my and Alex’s lives, but there is a melee in the front hall. Ben is there with Mrs Patterson and they’re telling Tom something. ‘Did you know Bruiser was missing?’ Tom says to me.

‘Who’s Bruiser?’

‘The cat.’

‘We’ve made a flyer,’ Ben says, waving a USB stick. ‘We’ve come to borrow Dad’s printer.’

‘That’s great!’ I give a ridiculously wide, false smile. ‘I’m just …’ I point up the stairs ‘… going for a shower.’

When I’m inside my bedroom I close the door behind me and go into the walk-in wardrobe. I want to see my mother’s jewellery to reassure myself that I have a way out of this. I reach behind my shoes for the lacquer box, feel along the floor with my hands, but it isn’t there. I pull out three pairs of shoes and then I pull out all of my shoes, thirty pairs or more, and scatter them across the carpet. ‘Where is it?’ I shout. ‘Where the fuck is it?’

And then an icy wind blows through me, settling in my skull like brain freeze: David’s been in the house again, in my bedroom, going through my things. The realisation is a punch to my stomach and I have to lie on the rug clutching my middle for a few moments before I can sit up again. ‘Fuck. Fuck!’

Tom opens the bedroom door, Katarina hovering behind him. ‘Everything okay?’ He stares at the shoes scattered across the floor. ‘I thought I heard you shouting in here.’

‘I was shouting.’ I stand up slowly. ‘I can’t find the black lacquer box.’

‘What box is that?’ He starts picking up my shoes, laying them on the bed to pair them.

‘The jewellery box. It was in the walk-in wardrobe. It must have been your mother’s. I put some of my jewellery in it because … because it was there.’

‘My mother’s?’ He frowns at me and then at my red stilettos. ‘What’s happened to your shoe?’ He holds one of the stilettos up in front of my eyes. ‘Look. There’s a big scratch across the surface.’

‘Jesus, Tom!’ I shout, pushing him aside. ‘I really don’t care about the shoe! I want to know where the box is!’

There follows a bitter fight, when I say the box has been stolen and Tom insists that if it’s true then it has to be Katarina who’s taken it. Katarina is close to tears and mumbles something about some woman she noticed in the driveway yesterday. ‘I see her and I think she is been in the house.’

‘What woman? When was this?’ Tom snaps. ‘And if you thought she’d been in the house then why on earth didn’t you tell us?’

Tom expects me to join in with this interrogation but I don’t because I bloody well know it has to have been David and I’ll get him back. By Christ I’ll get him back. While Tom takes Katarina downstairs to enact her story, I check under the mattress to see whether David found the letter I fabricated. It’s a small measure of relief to see that the letter is still there, silent as a sleeping bomb, ready to detonate should I need to blow David’s demands to pieces.

Mrs Patterson listens to Tom and me shout at each other until Ben has the flyers printed out and he leads her away by the elbow. She goes reluctantly; she’ll have a lot to tell the neighbours. I expect it almost makes up for the cat.

I wake up in the early hours of the morning as I always do, and climb out of bed to do my checks. I’m walking across my bedroom floor when I sense a presence in the room and I tune in to the sound of breathing. Of course! Francis stayed the night, our second night together with Ben away. I feel the almost tangible pull of comfort and warmth and consider returning to bed and not doing my checks, but anxiety rumbles in my chest and I tell myself there’s no point trying to walk before I can run. I didn’t check the sockets before I fell asleep and I know I didn’t lock the front door. Even people without a problem lock their front door.

It doesn’t take me long because I really do want to get back to bed. I’m round the house in a jiffy and then I go round once more just to be sure. Francis is facing away from me when I snuggle into his back. His skin is soft and smells sweet and subtle like roses, the Golden Celebration rose in particular. I planted several bushes of those in my back garden and I wonder whether Leila has hauled them out or hacked them down too. My last thought as I drift off into sleep is how much I’ll enjoy showing Francis Maybanks.

I don’t wake again until seven in the morning. Francis is still asleep and I get up without disturbing him, shower and make us both some breakfast to take back to bed. I’ve already been in touch with Ben to make sure he won’t return home and catch us in bed – I’m not ready for that and I don’t suppose my son is either.

By ten o’clock we’re surrounded by a mess of toast crumbs, empty coffee mugs and knives sticky with marmalade. It feels like just what the doctor ordered, a decadent and indulgent morning in bed, something I haven’t done since I was newly married.

‘What time is Ben due home?’ Francis asks.

‘In about an hour.’

‘Better get cracking then,’ he says. ‘I’ll take the dishes through to the kitchen.’ He springs out of bed and I watch him, smiling at the joys of fancying a man who fancies me back, a man who seems to be mine at the moment – not that I’m projecting ahead; one night does not a relationship make. Still … his presence has given my battered self-esteem an adrenaline shot and I can’t help but feel pleased, emboldened, strong.

‘Would you like to meet Ben?’ I ask Francis when we’re both showered and dressed.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ I lean in and kiss him. ‘I’ll say you popped in this morning. I’m not sure I want him to know we’ve been to bed.’

‘Might be a bit early for that,’ Francis agrees. ‘Where do we know each other from?’

‘Well, I already told Chloe I met you through a teacher friend at school.’

‘Chloe knows about me?’ He laughs. ‘So you were always going to seduce me. And there I was thinking I was calling the shots.’

When Ben comes through the front door we’re both laughing, but if my son suspects we’re closer than we make out then he doesn’t show it. I introduce them to each other and then Ben throws himself onto the sofa and kicks off his trainers. ‘Guess who I bumped into last night?’