Night Watcher (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Wind soughed in one side of the glass shelter and out the other. Harry gripped the edge of his jacket, where it was missing a button, pulling it closer to his body. It had been a long day and the bus was late. A good job Babs was easy going, although she would have kept Rosie out of bed because she knew the child would not go to sleep until he had kissed her goodnight.

Rosie was Harry’s only child and she was never far from his thoughts. He closed his eyes now, picturing her. She was growing fast, but to Harry she was, and always would be, a child. He loved her with an intensity that shut out everyone else, even his wife. Harry carried the guilt of this on his shoulders, but Babs understood, and was in agreement that Rosie had to come first. As a result she gratefully accepted any little morsel of love Harry had left over.

When Rosie was born, Babs became depressed and refused to look at her. ‘I’ve failed you,’ she had said, and it had taken all Harry’s persuasive powers to convince her that, as far as he was concerned, Rosie was perfect. Babs now loved Rosie as much as Harry did, but neither of them had been able to forget her initial rejection of the child. And, as a result, Babs had slipped further into depression. She accepted everything Harry did and said without argument in an effort to atone for her failure to produce a perfect child. Harry accepted her penance, although he had no complaints – Rosie was his child and would always be his child.

The bus was quiet. It was too late for the teatime rush and too early for the late night carousers to have left the pubs yet. Harry slumped into a corner of the back seat where he could close his eyes against the darkness of the night, and the darkness that was within his soul. His brow creased with the weight of his worries. What would Babs say if he lost his job? Rosie wouldn’t care. She would have her dad at home with her. She had no worries, but Harry worried for her. How would he be able to look after her? It was not as if she would ever be able to leave home, so he had to make sure her future was safe. How could he do that without a job?

Damn that Mrs Ralston. He had been all right until she took a pick at him and now she would not leave him alone. ‘Do this, Harry! Do that, Harry! You haven’t done this, Harry! You haven’t done that, Harry!’ His mouth moved silently as he mimicked her. What did she expect from him? He was doing his best, wasn’t he? Only it was not good enough for the perfect Mrs Ralston. She was one God Almighty bitch and he was at a loss to know how to manage the situation and please her. If the truth be told there was no pleasing her. Dark despair settled over Harry each time he realized his days were numbered.

‘Hello Harry, my love.’ Old Mrs Dempster from the end of his street swayed down the aisle of the bus and plonked herself into the seat beside him. ‘Saw your Rosie today. My, but she’s getting big. Soon have to watch out for the boys I reckon.’ The aroma of unwashed skin and urine wafted round Harry and he almost gagged, although that might have had as much to do with the suggestion of boys as the smell. ‘Have to watch these Mongols, you know. Sex mad they are.’

‘Rosie is Downs Syndrome, Mrs Dempster, and she’s definitely not sex mad.’ Harry’s voice was stiff with anger. He hated it when anyone referred to Rosie as a Mongol.

‘Well, whatever,’ the old woman’s eyes gleamed. ‘You’ll still have to watch her. Don’t want her bringing home any surprises now, do you?’ The malicious gleam in her eyes matched the sting of her comments.

Harry held on to his anger. It was something he had got used to doing over the years since Rosie was born, although it was getting harder as he grew older. It was like holding down a tidal wave of emotion, one that was getting increasingly difficult to manage, and the pressures surged within him in an effort to find release. But release was not an option for Harry because he was afraid of the explosive effect of lowering his flood barriers. So he did the only thing he could do, he gritted his teeth, scrunched further into the corner of his seat and tried not to listen to the droning voice of the woman who sat next to him.

He thought of Rosie, his Rosie. Rosie with her oriental features, the innocence of her expression, the way her almond shaped eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled at him, and her chunky body that became as light as a fairy’s when she danced for him. If things had been different she could have been a ballet dancer. But Harry knew that would never be possible for Rosie because things were not different and there was always the problem of acceptance. The world was a cruel place for girls like Rosie. Harry sighed, knowing there was not much of a life for his daughter outside her family, but on the other hand he would never lose her.

The bus trundled to a stop outside the few shops that serviced the council estate and was known by the grandiose title of the Greenfield Shopping Centre. Mrs Dempster lumbered to her feet in a wave of nauseating aromas. ‘I’ll get you down the road,’ she said to Harry as she turned backwards to lower herself to the pavement.

Harry grasped the icy rail and stood for a moment until she was well clear. ‘I have to go to the shop,’ he mumbled, not wanting to walk with the old woman and her accompanying smells.

She snorted as she pulled her coat collar tighter round her neck. ‘Don’t know what you want to shop there for,’ she complained, ‘dirty, Paki bugger. I wouldn’t touch his stuff if you paid me.’ Turning away from Harry she stumped off up the road. ‘Don’t blame me if you get salmon thingie,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Serve you right for shopping there.’

Harry stood for a moment watching her shuffle off down the road. He should have gone with her, there were dark areas where any of the local yobbos might be lurking and he would never forgive himself if she came to harm. Still, he thought, it would be a brave one who tackled old Mrs Dempster for she had been known to inflict serious damage with the handbag that hung from her arm like a leather weighted cosh. In any case she was not his responsibility, so he turned away and walked into the deserted shopping square.

The jangle of discordant music drifted through the pub door as he passed it and, because they were a rough lot, he hoped the drinkers were too busy with their pints and nips to look outside. He limped in the direction of the mini-supermarket, passing dilapidated shop fronts, boarded up windows and graffiti covered walls on his way to the only lighted windows in this barren area.

The shop, when he entered it, was not much warmer than the square outside, but the owner greeted him with his usual expansive smile. ‘You in for your usual?’ he asked. ‘Wee Rosie’s treat?’

Harry slumped against the counter. ‘That’s right, Ali.’ Everyone called the shopkeeper Ali, and Harry was no exception, although he was perfectly aware the man’s name was Vijay. It was a hangover from the time of Vijay’s arrival in Greenfield when the kids all called him Ali Baba. ‘Some humbugs for Rosie, she loves them and I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.’

Vijay still sold sweets in the old fashioned way which was why Harry preferred to buy them here. He did not trust all these pre-packaged sweets, they were not the same, didn’t have the same flavour for one thing. So now he watched as Vijay pulled a jar from the shelf and weighed the sweets on old fashioned brass scales.

‘You look tired, man.’ Vijay did not look up from his task. ‘Saw you limping when you came over the square. You okay man?’

Harry forced a smile, ‘Yeah, I’m okay. Just have this bloody corn on my toe, can’t get it to go away.’

‘You try corn plasters man. I give you good ones, better than the chemist.’

‘Yeah, okay, anything’s worth a try.’ Harry paid for his purchases and smiled again at the shopkeeper. ‘See you later, Ali,’ he said as he limped out of the shop.

The curtains twitched as he walked up the garden path and light spilled out onto the neglected garden. The house was a typical council house with two small bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, and living room and kitchen downstairs. It wasn’t in particularly good condition, but nevertheless, Harry was proud that he lived in a house rather than a flat as most council tenants did. He fumbled for his key, but the door opened before he got there.

‘You’ll get the cold, Rosie,’ he protested as he pushed her inside, ‘and anyway you shouldn’t come to the door in your pyjamas when you don’t know who’ll be there.’

‘But I saw you coming,’ she told him. Harry was thankful that Rosie’s speech was good and not like some of them at the Day Centre.

‘I might have had somebody with me.’

‘But you didn’t and I’ve been waiting for you for such an ever so long time.’

‘Yes I know, love.’ He pushed her into the living room as he kicked the outside door shut. ‘What you thinking about, Babs? Letting her come to the door like that.’

‘When could I ever stop her from doing what she wanted?’ Babs’ voice was soft and gentle. He had never heard her raise it in anger and he often wondered if she was capable of anger. She was so accepting of everything that happened. She held out her arms to her daughter, ‘Come on Rosie, your daddy’s here now so we can get you to bed.’

‘Wait, wait,’ Rosie squealed. ‘I need to show him my new dance step.’ She pirouetted around the living room in her pyjamas which made her stocky body look even more ungainly. However, she was light on her feet and there was a grace in her movements.

Harry applauded. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘That calls for a wee treat,’ and he handed her the sweets.

‘You’re the best daddy in all the world,’ Rosie said as she grabbed the paper bag.

‘Off to bed now,’ Babs told the excited girl. ‘Daddy’ll come up once I’ve tucked you in.’

Familiar tears pricked at the back of Harry’s eyes and a lump gathered in his throat as he watched them leave the room. He was afraid for them. Afraid of what the future might bring. He had a sudden vision of the tramp who sat in the alley and wondered if it might come to that. His shoulders slumped as the desperate reality of his position hit him, his lack of power and his inability to get his problems sorted out.

Babs shouted from upstairs, ‘She’s bedded and looking for her goodnight kiss.’

‘I’m coming,’ Harry said, forcing a smile to his face.

He hugged and kissed his daughter with a desperation that made her eyes widen. ‘Go to sleep now, Rosie,’ he said, ‘and I’ll see you in the morning before I go to work.’

‘Yes, daddy,’ she said as she snuggled further under the covers and closed her beautiful almond shaped eyes.

Harry blinked away the tears that had been threatening to overwhelm him all day. How could he face Babs tonight when he was so upset about the possibility of losing his job? Babs, who had never harmed anyone and was always so gentle and understanding. There was enough worry and sadness in his wife’s life already. How could he add to it? Harry forgot his corn as he stumbled down the stairs and opened the front door.

Babs followed him out. ‘I’ve got dinner in the oven for you?’ she called to his retreating back.

‘Sorry love, I’m not in the mood,’ he shouted over his shoulder, as he vanished up the dark street.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Julie slowed when she reached the end of the alley, but even then it was not enough and she almost collided with an elderly couple as she turned onto Whitehall Street. ‘Sorry,’ she panted. The breath whistled out of her throat in a wheeze as she struggled to regain her composure.

‘And so ye should be,’ the old man scowled. ‘Running out of the alley like that, ye near knocked us down. A woman of your age should know better, it’s not as if ye’re a lassie.’

‘Shh, Charlie, she didna mean it. Did ye no, hen?’ The woman smiled apologetically and, grasping her husband’s arm, she pulled him along the street. ‘C’mon or we’ll miss the start . . .’ her voice faded as they turned the corner and continued along Whitehall Crescent.

There were more people than usual hurrying along the pavement. Some were coming from the direction of the railway station and some from the car park under the Tay Road Bridge which lay just beyond Tayside House. They formed a constant stream of bodies that met and merged in front of the massive building that towered over the city like a watchful sentinel of the ruling Council. She could only guess that some pop star or celebrity was appearing at the Caird Hall.

Julie weaved her way through a mass of people hurrying in the opposite direction. Sidestepping to avoid a couple who seemed intent on pushing her out of their way she narrowly avoided bumping into an old busker with an accordion. She veered sharply to her right, battling through the crowd where more than once she collided with passers-by, but she sped on to cries of, ‘Canny up there,’ ‘What’s all the hurry,’ ‘Watch where ye’re going,’ or the more prevalent, ‘Get oot o ma fuckin road.’ Intent on catching up with Nicole, she paid no heed to any of them.

Tayside House loomed in front of her. She sped past the metal mesh barriers which denied access to the escalators, and then through the short tunnel that connected the buildings on either side. With the multi-storey tower now at her back Julie gripped her shoulder bag close to her body and started to run. A combination of breathlessness and despair clutched at her insides. She was determined to catch up with Nicole, although afraid she would not, unless Nicole had been hindered by the throng of people as well.

***

Nicole drew her hand back in disgust. The feathers were stiff and cold. As stiff as the body they clothed. She bit her lip as another scream threatened to erupt.

‘Is something wrong?’ The voice came out of the darkness behind her.

She jumped and shrank back against the side of her car. He was tall and fairly young, although his face was in shadow.

He raised a hand in a reassuring gesture. ‘It’s just that I heard you scream . . .’ his voice tailed off, ‘but if you’d rather I went . . .’ He turned and started to walk away.

‘No! No!’ Nicole pulled herself away from the side of her car. ‘It was just the shock, you see.’ She struggled to regain control of her breathing. ‘I . . . I wasn’t expecting it and it took me by surprise. It’s something horrible and it’s on the front seat,’ she looked at the black object. ‘I don’t want to touch it again.’

He looked over her shoulder, ‘Christ, what the hell is it?’

‘I don’t know, but I think it’s dead.’ She wanted to cry and her body stiffened as she held back the tears.

Leaning into the car, he grasped the tip of a wing and held the blackbird up so that it dangled, wings outspread. ‘Christ, how the bloody hell did that get there?’ He looked at it for a moment and then threw the body into the shadows. ‘Some bloody sick buggers going about,’ he muttered.

The dull, thudding sound of the bird hitting the ground vibrated from her head into her body, leaving an aching nauseous emptiness behind. The silence that followed was even more disturbing.

‘Will you be all right now?’ The stranger’s voice jarred her back from the black void into which she had been sinking.

‘I . . . I think so.’ She glanced at the driver’s seat in her car, still seeing the body lying there, although she knew it was gone, thrown into the dark recesses of the car park.

‘Here. I’ll wipe your seat for you.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gave the leather a vigorous rub.

He fidgeted for a moment and she sensed he wanted to leave. ‘I’ll be fine now.’ She sat in the seat with a jaunty confidence she did not feel. ‘Thanks for your help. I don’t think I could have touched that thing.’ Her foot pressed hard on the accelerator. The wheels spun, and with a roar of the engine the car sprang forward. Looking back over her shoulder as she slowed for the exit she noticed he was still standing where she had left him.

***

Julie’s footsteps slowed when she reached the car park and she slipped behind one of the overhead carriageway’s support pillars. From this position she could see Nicole standing beside her car, although she could not hear her or see her face clearly. The young man Nicole was chatting to bent over the car and then made a peculiar throwing motion. Trust her to find a man, Julie thought, even in a car park. She was like a cat in heat, and they seemed to smell her out.

Julie sidled round the pillar trying to get a better view, but she was still too far away to hear anything and had to be content with standing in the shadows and watching. She wanted to move nearer, but was afraid to in case she was seen. Gripping her arms round her body, she was oblivious of everything around her except for Nicole.

In this state of mind it felt as if she were in a world apart, a strange place made up of shadows and fear, where revenge was the controlling force that held her in its grip and would not let her go. A world where she was an automaton pre-programmed for a task that was impossible for her to complete. A world where she did not really like herself anymore, but found it impossible to change and become the old Julie.

The stutter of a nearby motorbike engine roused her from her reverie in time to see Nicole slide into her car, roar the engine and take off with a wheelspin that put her on a collision course with a pillar. Julie caught her breath, but Nicole straightened the car and drove out of the car park. Too bad, she thought, a dent in her bonnet would have given Nicole something to think about.

***

The drive home seemed twice as long and, apart from an occasional car travelling in the opposite direction, was more deserted than usual. Wind tore at Nicole’s hair as she drove and her body shivered uncontrollably. She pressed the electric hood control, but nothing happened. It had always worked before and considering the cost of the car it should not have failed. But her driving was erratic and the car was not responding in its normal way. The engine spluttered and stuttered and occasionally a red light flashed on the dashboard. She shrank lower in her seat as the vulnerability of her situation struck her and, although she loved her sports car, she was now wishing she had taken the Saab this morning.

Turning her head to look over her shoulder was becoming a habit, like a tic that was uncontrollable. She did not want to do it, but even though her car mirror told her there was nothing there, still could not prevent herself. Most times when she looked there was only the dark, winding, country road behind her, although, early in her journey, a tailgating car made her break out into a sweat until it roared past with an angry honk of the horn.

Nothing else seemed to be moving on the road and she listened to the stutter of her engine with growing alarm. The single headlight of a motorbike almost dazzled her as it reflected back from her mirrors, ‘Dip your light, you fucker,’ she muttered under her breath in an attempt to stop the burst of nervous reaction that left her quivering.

Reaching for her handbag on the seat beside her, she fumbled with the clasp, ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ she muttered as her slippery fingers struggled with the catch. She must have travelled miles before the bag eventually opened. She wiggled her fingers down past her purse and chequebook, past the comb and make-up bag, past the plethora of junk, rummaging for the remote control, which somehow or other always seemed to slip to the bottom. Scott always said she should not keep it in her handbag, but then, when did she ever do what Scott said, or anybody else for that matter. Even as a child if she had been told to do one thing she would do the opposite.

Her fingers had only just closed over the remote when the motor bike screamed past her car in a cloud of dust and fumes that almost choked her. The fumes still lingered in her nostrils when she pressed the remote button and the gates to her property slid open. She drove through them as fast as she could and only breathed properly again once they closed behind her.

The long winding drive up to the house had never before seemed so hostile and deserted and when she reached the garage she was reluctant to leave the car. Not that the sporty model provided any protection, but at least it offered her a degree of mobility. Besides, the security lighting was off and the garages were in darkness. The logical part of her brain told her it must be a fuse, but the other part, the irrational side of her, feared the worst. She imagined shapes in every shadowy corner and footsteps in every rustle of the shrubbery.

The wind whistled through the orchard, bending tree boughs and shaking bushes. Leaves rustled and moved. Shadows danced. She remembered stories of a big cat stalking through the Angus countryside and saw gleaming green eyes in the darkness among the trees. She thought about the moving shadow outside her dining room window last night and as each fear joined to other fears, she grasped her body with shaking arms and shrank into the seat of her car.

Long before Scott arrived home she froze into an immobility that she found impossible to break on her own.

The lights from Scott’s BMW splashed over Nicole as he drove up to park beside her. Even then she still could not move. She heard his door slam and the crunch of his feet approaching.

‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘You’ve scraped your car. How the hell did you manage that?’

She looked up at him with a mute plea in her eyes. Couldn’t he see she was distressed? What was wrong with him?

‘Well, are you going to sit there all night? Get your butt off the seat and have a look.’ He bent down and traced his finger along the length of the car. ‘That’ll cost a pretty penny to put right,’ he grumbled. He pulled the door open, grasped her arm and pulled her from the car.

The top part of Nicole’s body moved, but her feet and legs were reluctant to follow, and it was only when her face was in danger of coming into contact with the gravel that she managed to regain her balance. She leaned heavily on Scott’s arm, pressing her body into his. Shudders turned her into a quivering weakling. Hot tears pricked her eyes threatening the defences she had so carefully built round herself over the years. But Nicole would not cry. She had not cried since she was a child and, although she had difficulty quelling the threatened flood, she did not cry now.

‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ Scott tightened his arms round her. ‘Been in an accident or something?’

Nicole could sense Scott’s perplexity. He was not used to her needing him in this way, although she could discern that in some strange way he was enjoying it.

‘It’s been a horrible day,’ she muttered. ‘Horrible things have happened.’ The flood was in danger of breaking.

‘Can’t have been that bad.’ He patted her, treating her like a child or a pet animal. ‘Come on into the house and have a drink. You’ll feel better.’ He guided her to the side door, flung it open and flicked the light switch. With both hands still on her shoulders, he pushed her gently into the kitchen.

She froze. Stared. Shrank back into his body. A scream pushed its way up from her throat. She bit her lip until the blood came, to prevent it escaping, but was unable to stop the tortured groan it turned into.