The Watcher (11 page)

Well, you couldn’t say that she was
not
pretty. But to be honest, her appearance did not get his heart racing. And she was not the woman around whom his thoughts circled when he lay in bed at night and stared at the ceiling, just able to make out its lines in the weak light cast by the street lamp outside his window. It was just that she was the only woman in the neighbourhood who was roughly of an age with him. And who was not obviously in a relationship. Of course, Bartek would raise his eyebrows and ask him why on earth he did not look more widely. Why the one suitable woman whom he had stumbled across on his walks now appeared to him to be the only possible woman for him in the whole world? Bartek would mention the Internet again and all its opportunities. Very clever of him. As if Samson had not worked that one out on his own. He had even met several women that way. He could remember how awkward, even tortuous, the dates had been. He had no idea how to fascinate a woman, and each time after just a few minutes he had realised that his date was starting to get bored. That of course made him stutter and start to talk about the stupidest things. And once the women heard that he lived with his brother and sister-in-law, they quickly made their excuses and fled. Now he was unemployed too, which would hardly improve his chances.

They left the beach, crossed the big car park, which was jam-packed in summer and was now completely empty, turned inland and reached Gunners Park, a large open space. In spite of all the paths that criss-crossed it, it had not been developed. It was still meadows, fields, copses and expanses of scrubland, where the wind coming in off the North Sea flattened the grass. Part of the area was a nature reserve, closed to the public but a paradise where innumerable kinds of birds nested. The locals loved to come on outings to the rest of the park. Samson remembered school walks that had ended in a sausage sizzle. Everyone whittled a stick to a point, spiked a sausage on the end and held it over the flames. The Tupperware containers full of carrot sticks and dips were opened, and the cartons of apple juice. And everyone had fun and enjoyed the day. Samson was the only one wishing for it to end soon, because he felt isolated among all the happy people. He would sit there on his own with the rucksack that his mother had packed for him. From the way she equipped him for school outings, Samson had seen how much his mother loved him and how much she wanted him to enjoy himself. But her power had shrunk over time. When he was still a small child, she had been able to force the other children to look after him. But by the time he was in secondary school, that no longer worked. Certainly not by the time he was a spotty teenager. And she could not help him at all when it came to girls.

He sat down on a bench. Jazz crouched down at his feet. The fog enveloped them from all sides, leaving them as good as blind. The sea had disappeared somewhere in these thick, wet veils.

Samson thought about Gillian Ward.

In fact, for a while he had only been thinking about Gillian Ward, and, what was more, in a way that was quite inappropriate considering that she was a married woman. The previous day, he had crept around her house. He had seen her friend come and then leave, managing to catch a glimpse of Gillian herself too. He spent almost all his time on Gillian.

‘I’d never try anything with her,’ he said to Jazz. ‘She’s married and has a child. The Wards are an ideal family. A family like that shouldn’t be destroyed.’

Jazz cocked his head to one side in an effort to understand what Samson was telling him.

An ideal family . . .

Samson had had the shock of his life when he saw Gillian enter the Halfway House on Friday night. Why was she there? Without her husband? And who was the man accompanying her? Samson did not know him, had never seen him with the Ward family. He took an immediate dislike to the man, although he tried to analyse his feelings objectively. Was he just jealous? It was obvious that this was a man who only had to snap his fingers and any woman he wanted would jump into bed with him. Or was there something about him that justified Samson’s suspicion? Something dishonest, shady, insincere? That was how Samson would have described him, but perhaps he was being unfair. The man had taken to a pub the woman Samson would have loved to take out – at least in his dreams. In reality, he died a thousand deaths just at the thought of it. For it would be impossible for him to sit down at a table with her and chat over a glass of wine without her realising how pathetic he was, that he was neither entertaining nor witty nor exciting. And that he often stumbled over his words, stuttering and messing up every punch line, should he even get close to delivering one. He had noticed how women sitting with him would try to look at their watches inconspicuously and, with greater or less success, suppress a yawn. It made him come out in a sweat and filled him with despair. He could not let that happen with Gillian. He had the feeling that a similar reaction from her would make him suicidal.

So he had to focus on Jazz’s owner. Perhaps something would come of this plan. If only it didn’t take so long! He looked at his watch. Nine in the morning. He did not want to turn up at her house before nightfall.

He cursed his idea. No doubt it would all lead to nothing anyway.

When Millie’s shift finished at noon, she immediately set off for home. She never stayed a second longer in the care home than she absolutely had to. She could barely stand the smell of the place, or the sight of all the fragile old people. The meaningless blather of those who had dementia. The long corridors, the horrible linoleum on the floors. The trolley on which lunch was wheeled round to the rooms long before lunchtime. She found the food in the home so disgusting that she often lost her appetite for the rest of the day too. The thought of the contents of those plastic plates and feeding cups would stop her eating when she got home. At least that helped her to stay slim – perhaps the only good thing about her job. She was getting old so fast, she thought, but at least she had a nice figure. Sometimes she turned this way and that in front of her bedroom mirror to stop herself from falling into a depression. In tight jeans and a low-cut top her body was still capable of spreading some happiness.

She had to take the train from Tilbury to Thorpe Bay. She and Gavin could only afford one car, and normally Gavin used it. Otherwise he would have to get up even earlier for his early shifts. It infuriated Millie that Samson had his own car and that it was normally left unused. She wondered what had brought her late mother-in-law to leave her car to such a loser. Gavin had explained to her that his mother had had a very close relationship to Samson. She had always felt the need to look after and protect him more than Gavin.

‘He was the problem child. He was always on his own, always in his shell. Whatever he did, it never went well. He was clumsy and never able to function well socially. Never. Even back in nursery. When our mum died, her biggest worry was for Samson’s future.’

Just remembering this conversation made Millie pull a face. It was so unfair! Gavin had a job. Gavin had a wife. Gavin was normal. And who got the car? His little brother, who just annoyed everyone around him.

The train was taking forever again. Millie had to force herself not to think about how quickly she could have got home by car. It would only make her more angry, and she knew that it was this rage that was etching the deep lines in her face and giving her an embittered expression.

The rage was making her old.

She strode down the street towards her house. It was a good distance from the station. Every morning and evening the Christmas lights sparkled from the houses, but at this midday hour there was only the dreary atmosphere of a leaden, foggy December day. In the autumn, leaves had glowed red and golden in the gardens, but now the bare branches rose up jagged and black against the grey sky. The fog was not as thick on the ground any more. Perhaps it would dissipate by the afternoon and even let in a few rays of sunlight. But as it got dark so early now, that was little help. Millie hunched up her shoulders. If she ever had the money, proper amounts of money, she would emigrate. Somewhere warm and sunny.

She had not consciously registered the woman coming towards her, although she was the only other person on the street, so she jumped when the woman suddenly addressed her.

‘Excuse me!’ A high voice, a little shrill. Desperate.

‘Yes?’ Millie stopped.

‘I’m looking for my dog.’ The woman’s eyes were bulging, her hair a mess. Drops of sweat were glistening on her nose, suggesting that she had been running around in the area for a long time already. She looked warm. She seemed distraught.

‘Jazz. Part Alsatian. Quite large, long-haired. You haven’t seen him, have you?’

Millie was not particularly fond of dogs. ‘No. I’ve just come on the train from Tilbury.’

‘He ran away this morning. It was still rather dark and . . . I don’t understand. He’s never done anything like this before.’

Millie noticed with annoyance that although the woman was about her age, even in her desperate state she looked much fresher, younger and less wrinkly than Millie. No doubt she had a job that she enjoyed.

‘I haven’t seen a dog. If I notice anything, I can let you know, Mrs . . . ?’

‘Brown. Michelle Brown. Miss.’ The young woman got a bit of paper and a pen from her coat pocket and scribbled some numbers down. ‘My phone number. Please, if you . . . You know, he’s everything to me.’

So, not such a happy life after all, thought Millie. She put the piece of paper in her pocket, nodded at Michelle and carried on home. It was not likely that she would come across the dog.

Samson’s car was in the drive. He had gone out that morning and once again left his car. She had asked him about it once. He had said petrol was too expensive. That was a fair point, particularly for someone without a job.

She unlocked the front door. She did not expect her brother-in-law to be back yet. For the last few months he had left home early and returned late. That was, essentially, fine by her, but it also made her suspicious. What the devil was he up to all day?

She did not believe his assertion that he was looking for work. If he had been, he would not have needed to be outside from morning to night. To her, job-hunting meant writing piles of applications. It was true that Samson was often on his computer late at night, but why should he do something at night that he could do just as well during the day? And if someone was looking for work and not finding any, that involved rejection letters, which came by post. Some might come by email, but not all of them. And it was often Millie who was the first downstairs after the postman had been. Nothing had come for Samson for months. All right, one or two bits of direct mail from companies that he had ordered from in better days. But nothing that looked at all like it could be a rejection letter.

She glanced at her watch. Quarter past one. Gavin would be home for lunch in half an hour. His shift ended a little earlier today too. But she had time to get something out of the freezer. One of the few advantages of having Samson in the house was that since his job delivering frozen foods, they had had a discount on the company’s products.

Making a quick decision, she climbed the stairs. She had snooped around in Samson’s room a few times when he was not there, justifying it to herself by saying that he was obviously mad and that it was important for Gavin and her to know a little more about him. Gavin had grown up with Samson. He was used to him. He could not see that his brother had a screw loose, but she had felt it from the first moment. When Gavin had introduced her to Samson, her first instinctive thought was:
there’s something funny about him.

And every year since that day her conviction had only grown that she had been right. She called his name, and as no one answered, she pushed open the door with determination. Although she had known his room for years, she still shook her head in disapproval. It was a teenager’s bedroom, not that of a man in his mid thirties.

The narrow bed in which he had slept as a little boy. The football club pennant above it, although he had never played football, as far as Millie knew. Adventure books on the shelf. The flowery curtains that his mother had sewn.

The room was meticulously tidy. There was not a speck of dust to be seen. The cover was pulled up neatly on the bed. She had tried but never achieved such perfection with her and Gavin’s bed.

She looked at the bookshelf, now and then glancing out of the window. The bedroom faced the street, so she would see Samson if he came back unexpectedly. She did not expect him to arrive before the evening.

She opened the door of his wardrobe. The classic children’s bedroom wardrobe in pine. It contained neatly folded pullovers, a few shirts and pairs of jeans. All of it plain and respectable. Millie was not surprised that he never managed to get a girl. Apart from his nature, his shyness and his tendency to stutter and blush, it was also down to his clothes. He looked like a little boy. Nor was she surprised to hear that most of his clothes had been bought or made by his mother.

However, it was the computer on Samson’s desk that most interested her. Samson had bought it himself when he was still working as a chauffeur and earning reasonable money. Flat-screen. Quite big at that. It was the only thing that gave this old-fashioned room a more modern look.

Samson sat for hours at the computer. Millie had never managed to find out what exactly he did on it. A few times she had surprised him by coming in without knocking, but she had found he could react remarkably quickly on those occasions. Whatever he was looking at, he had clicked it away before Millie could see what it was.

She knew that what she was doing was out of order, but she excused herself by saying that it was important to know what Samson spent his time doing. After all, they all lived under the same roof. You had to be careful. What if he was browsing on sites that showed child pornography? She and Gavin wanted to have children one day. It was her duty to get to the bottom of this.