Page 86 of Close to You
When 9.01 arrives, the bridge is still deserted. By 9.02, I’m starting to lose feeling in my fingers. They’re at the stage where, if it wasn’t for what I can see, it would be hard to know for certain whether they are hot or cold. The glacial air tickles my throat and I have to cover my nose and mouth with my hands in an instantly failed attempt to try to warm myself.
Time continues to move. When 9.05 arrives, I am still alone. By 9.10, I’m wondering if I was wrong. The message said I’d know where to go – but, aside from my flat, I can’t think of anywhere other than here.
At 9.15, I start to pace. There’s the now familiar sense of being watched, even though I’ve not seen a soul in hours. By 9.20, my shoes and socks are no longer effective against the chill. It’s like my toes are being squeezed in a vice as I try to wriggle some life back into them.
It’s 9.25 when I give up. My teeth are chattering and it’s so cold that even blinking has started to hurt. As I hurry back to Andy’s car, I hear every snap from the woods; every whisper from the undergrowth. I tell myself it’s the wind, but even my thoughts are frozen solid.
I fumble with the fob for the car, stumbling not only to hold it but also to press the button to unlock the doors. I can hardly get a grip on the handle and pulling on the door sends scorpion stings shooting through my fingers. I practically throw myself into the driver’s seat, before hooking the door closed and then putting the fans onto full heat and power. My skin is so numb that I can’t be sure whether the clash of temperatures is a good or bad thing. I hold my fingers in front of the vents, willing them to come back to life.
You know where.
I’m still sure this is where I was supposed to be – and yet I was here alone. Or Ifeltalone. The woods provide enough places for someone to hide. It’s not as if this is the only place to park, either. The trails lead out to other roads, some that are on maps, some that aren’t.
What I can’t figure out is why someone wanted me here.
The answer comes as my phone starts to ring. It’s Jane – and I can tell from the quiver as she says my name that something is wrong.
‘What is it?’ I say.
‘It’s David,’ she replies. ‘He’s here.’
Forty-Two
Nobody answers when I press Jane’s doorbell. It took me until I was halfway here to remember that Ben’s off at his conference. I wonder why she called me and not him – although it’s largely irrelevant if he’s now hours away.
I press the bell again, before knocking on the window next to the door. The curtains are open, giving me a clear view of the living room. With the angle, I can see through the door to the hall and the steps on which David and I sat when we first met. It’s amazing how much can happen in a short period of time. Three years to change our fortunes for good.
How can he be alive?
How?
I call Jane’s phone. There’s a brief pause and then I hear a tinny-sounding ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’ from inside. We were always such big Oasis fans, even though their best stuff was out while we were still in primary school. We were far too middle-class to really understand what Liam was singing about – but that didn’t stop us belting out ‘Cigarettes & Alcohol’ like the rebels we definitely weren’t.
I try the bell again and it’s only then do I notice the door is slightly open. There is barely a gap between the door and the frame – and a gentle push from the inside would close it. I already have a foot on the doorstep when I stop and realise it’s as if it was left openfor me. I feel like the person in a horror movie who knows something is wrong and yet charges in anyway.
‘Hello…?’
My voice echoes into the house and rattles around before curving back without response.
‘Jane…?’
Nothing.
I step forward, nudging the door open with my elbow.
‘Ben…?’
I’ve only managed a few steps into the hall when I hear a scuffling from behind. I start to turn but it’s already too late. Something slams into my neck, like a snake’s fangs. My head starts to spin and it’s as if my body is no longer my own. I think I hear a crackling and my last thought is that something’s burning. After that, there is only darkness.
The world is swimming as my eyelids flutter open. I can smell something burning as I roll onto to my side and explode in a series of hacking coughs. It takes me a few seconds to realise that I’m on the floor of Jane’s living room. The carpet is short and bristles into my cheek as I roll onto my back. I see her sofa, as well as the candles, the abstract prints and books she hasn’t read.
I try to gain some sort of momentum to push myself up. My arms ache and my head is whirling, while my neck burns.
It’s only as I peer across the room a second time that I notice Jane. She’s laid on her side, one arm splayed, the other cocked under her head. Her eyes are closed and she isn’t moving.
‘Jane?’
She remains still and unresponsive.
