Читать книгу Our Little Secret: a gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist from bestselling author Darren O’Sullivan - Darren O’Sullivan - Страница 10
Оглавление10.43 p.m. – March train station, England
Four minutes.
I paid the driver and stepped into the frigid wind, which carried a drizzling rain. The kind that soaked you without you knowing it was raining. As I shut the door I could hear him cough a little as he said goodbye but the door was already out of my hand and closing, cutting him off mid phrase.
Pulling my cardigan over my chin I steadied myself. The cold air mixing with the red wine I had been drinking making me feel a little tipsy. I heard my phone ping from inside my bag. Stopping in the sheltered entrance of the train station I rifled through it, finding my iPhone. Pulling it out I tapped in my security code, 0311, the month and year I first met the man who’d made me feel so abandoned. Tapping the screen on the new message icon I saw it was from him.
‘I had fun tonight.’
I read and reread the message, hoping to find some hidden meaning in its four words until the screen went blank, turning the dark glass of my iPhone into a mirror, one that showed a tired girl who had just been taken advantage of.
I opened my banking app, punched in my security code and prayed. I knew there wouldn’t be much, but I hoped there was enough to pay for my ticket in case a train conductor was on board. The station didn’t have a ticket machine or a barrier; it still worked on a trust between passengers and the train company. One I’d abused too many times for someone in their late twenties. My account read £3.41. I scrolled to see what was in my savings. A sorrowful 6p. I’d have to jump the train and keep my fingers crossed.
Dropping my phone back into my bag, I stepped into the tired station and saw a man standing close to the edge, looking out across the track towards the other platform. Oddly, he was barefoot. His shoes were carefully placed beside him like someone might do before they entered a mosque. I looked around to see if someone was there with him. Wondering for a moment if he was filming a media student’s project. Being near Cambridge there was always something of that nature happening. But he was alone, lost in his own thoughts.
I looked at the floor trying not to establish any kind of eye contact, moving slower as I made my way to the bench. Strangely, I felt like I wasn’t allowed to be there. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him swaying a little, obviously drunk. Sitting down as quietly as I could, I hoped he wouldn’t turn around and notice me. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I became aware that I was alone at a deserted train station with a drunk man close by.
Looking up at the rusting station roof I thought about my evening and felt a sense of déjà vu. Before John there was Micky and before him, in my college days, there was Paul. Men I’d loved who had lied to me. My first two loves committing betrayal had been hard. I’d cried a lot, then slept with a few men, then hated myself for it and stopped dating until meeting the next one.
But John was different. I was no longer in my teens or early twenties. I was nearly at an age where families and marriage would be a factor. And I had pictured that with him. And it was all a lie.
I pulled out a packet of Marlboro Lights from my bag and opened them. It took four attempts to get my cigarette lit. Each strike of my lighter possibly alerting the man that I was there. Luckily for me they didn’t. I leaned forward and rubbed my temple with my free hand, glancing at the damp floor. The man hadn’t moved at all and, feeling confident I didn’t matter to him, I looked at him gently swaying. I looked at his shoes beside him, once smart but now scuffed and stained. A dark brown patch across the side of the right one. The black leather worn off the toes.
My mum told me you could tell a lot about a person’s shoes. His told me that he was once someone who cared, and now didn’t. I thought he was too close to the edge of the platform for a man who was drunk. I should have told him to step back – I thought it. Almost articulated it. But stopped myself. He was an adult, able to look after himself. And besides. I didn’t want an act of kindness to be misread. As far as I was concerned he was like all men. But still, I watched. Curious as to whether my shoe assessment was in any way true.
I could only see him from behind but could tell he was in good shape, his white shirt tight and damp across his shoulders and back, showing a strong muscular form. He looked down onto the track, his thoughts obviously back from wherever they had been. Thinking he would turn and look behind at me, I shifted my body. Closing myself off. Despite my curiosity about him, I didn’t want to talk to him. I just wanted to be left alone.
***
Three minutes.
Dying didn’t worry Chris; the only thing that did was the timing. Not just the date but the moment too. He wanted to not step in front of the train but under it. The idea of the driver having to see his death bothered him too much. He knew what it was like to watch a person die. It was something he wished on no one.
If he waited for the train to pass and then stepped under one of the carriages, say, the twenty-fourth one, his outcome would be exactly the same, but no one would see it happen and therefore no one would be scarred.
The 10.47 was a cargo-loaded train; there would be no passengers. With the timing of his suicide and the note he had placed under the bench, Chris was confident it would cause only a small amount of collateral damage. He knew that the driver would have to stop because someone died but he wouldn’t see it, he would be at least three hundred feet away in his carriage before Chris would step out. The emergency services were used to jumpers. This was his final redeeming act as a human being. The only thing he still had to offer.
Looking at the picture that was crumpled into his palm, once more Chris focused on his wife’s eyes, the amber flecks like lightning bolts in her green eyes that seemed to move with fluidity. He focused on the way her smile was slightly higher on one side, giving her a mischievous glint. He kissed it and carefully put her in his shirt pocket. He wanted her close to his heart when the time came.
***
I watched him kiss a picture out of the corner of my eye. Seeing him kiss it changed how I felt about him. It made me think of an old film I love. One where a man’s heart belonged in one place. And I realized that maybe he wasn’t the enemy. Far from it. John and all men like him were the enemy. John wouldn’t even have a picture of me, let alone kiss it. This man, he was different. He was clearly in love and the way he kissed the picture, so tender, so caring, made me feel as if I’d assessed him wrong.
He was clearly a little drunk but not ‘a drunk’. No doubt just going home from a date night with the person in the picture or perhaps even returning home to her after a few drinks with friends. I found myself smiling at the idea of someone loving so deeply that nothing else mattered.
Because of that, I couldn’t help but be drawn to him. He wouldn’t be the sort to try anything on, not with the way he held that picture, and maybe, if we did talk I would learn about the person. It was exactly what I needed to hear after so many wasted years of pretending to have such a love of my own. It was a nice idea. But I knew I wasn’t going to interrupt him; it felt selfish.
He shook his head, looking up to the sky and I looked away before we could make eye contact. Focusing on the decaying bench I was sat on, I saw something perched on the corner of it, hidden in the shadows created by the armrest and bad lighting: a dark wallet. It was open and exposing money as well as a HSBC bank card. Part of me didn’t want to say anything. I could do with a little extra cash. But why would he have dumped it on the bench?
‘Excuse me?’
He didn’t respond.
‘Excuse me, hello?’
***
Chris slowly turned around to see a dark-haired woman in an oversized cream cardigan sat on the bench; he could tell she’d been crying. She looked tired and cold. How long had she been there?
‘Excuse me?’ she said.
Chris just looked back at her blankly.
‘Sorry, I just wondered, is this your wallet?’
Chris could see his months of planning, months of meticulous attention to detail over time, location, and date unravel in a second. Everything had been premeditated, but he had no contingency for anyone else being there.
‘Hello?’ she said softly, gently, barely at a loud whisper.
‘Yes, it’s mine,’ was all Chris could say as he stepped towards her and took the wallet, his thumb touching the back of her hand as he did. Her delicate wrist exposed from the cardigan sleeve. Goose bumps raising the fine light hairs on her forearm. Staring at her for a moment, he put the wallet in his pocket before turning back to the track. He had planned everything to ensure no one would be hurt by his suicide. But this.
Two minutes.
Staring ahead Chris wondered what would happen to her if he did what he intended. Would he ruin her life? He knew it probably would but the idea of him having to orchestrate it all again and wait was too unbearable to comprehend. It had to be as he’d planned. He didn’t feel strong enough to have it any other way. So he had to work out a way to get rid of her. He turned around to look back at this thin, dark-haired woman and she was staring straight at him, as if waiting for a response. Had she asked him a question?
‘Hmm?’
‘I asked if you were waiting for the London train?’ she asked again, taking a puff on her cigarette.
‘No.’
‘So the Cambridge one, like me?’
He knew, from the months of research, that the Cambridge train wasn’t for another hour. His train was imminent, then a slow London train with usually six carriages rattled through, then the Cambridge train. He wanted to shout at her for being so early.
‘You do know the Cambridge train isn’t for another hour?’
‘I know.’
‘There’s a pub on the corner. You look cold. Why don’t you sit in there?’
‘Well they kind of want you to buy a drink,’ she said, followed by an honest and embarrassed: ‘Payday next week.’
There was his opportunity; if he could get her to go for a coffee he could be alone.
‘Let me buy you one?’ he said, his voice a little softer than before. ‘I mean, let me pay for you to have a drink.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Let me buy you a drink.’
‘What? No, thank you.’
‘I don’t want to come with you. It’s not like that. It’s just, I can see that you’re cold. I don’t mind paying for one, saves you waiting here for so long.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a really kind offer.’ She said it slowly, clearly weighing up whether to take him up on the offer. Holding his eye to try and work out what the catch was. Breaking eye contact, he looked at her cigarette burning in her hand.
‘They’ll kill you,’ he said, noting the irony, watching her put it out under her shoe.
‘I can’t accept your offer, but thank you.’
‘It’s just a fiver.’
‘N-not many people would be so generous.’
‘Please. Take it and go get warm. It’s cold tonight.’
‘It is. Are you not cold?’
‘A little.’
‘Why don’t you have a coat?’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘Long story.’
She looked at his feet, clearly wanting to ask but not wanting to embarrass him.
‘To be connected,’ was all he said by way of explanation, regretting the words as they fell from his mouth.
‘Sorry?’
‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Are you all right?’
Chris opened his mouth to reply. But caught the words before they left. A pause she noticed. Telling her that he was far from it.
‘Wanna talk?’
‘No, and you shouldn’t want to either. I could be anyone. I could be a mugger or worse.’
‘I did think that. But somehow I know you’re not.’
‘How could you possibly know what kind of man I am?’
‘I don’t know – instinct.’
She watched as the tension from his shoulders lifted momentarily. Her kind words having the impact she wanted them to have. Chris kept eye contact with her for a second. Trying to process what was happening. There was something in the way she looked at him that was unnerving. It reminded him of the way he used to see the world. Hopeful, kind. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his tear ducts. His words slipped out of his mouth again before he could catch them.
‘It’s been a rough day.’
He glanced past her to the clock.
90 seconds.
‘I’ve had a rough day too. My boyfriend, I mean ex … You know how it is.’
As he turned back to look at the track, the girl’s voice faded away. Chris’s mind raced, as if he was drowning. This was supposed to be a peaceful time for him. He was supposed to be alone with his thoughts so he could reflect upon his short thirty-four-year existence up till the point where he watched Julia die – and the long ten long months after.
He wanted to be seeing it all in a series of flashbacks, pausing on the highs and lows of his time. He wanted to be thinking of his first bike ride, and the long summers he enjoyed as a child and the way his father smiled when he spoke of his mother, and that night when he took him into the garden to show Chris the night sky and the terrible day he died and his funeral that was on a beautiful summer’s morning as well as his first kiss as an awkward teenager, and then how years later he met and fell in love with Julia, the way she snored and how she would tease him about his slowly greying hair before kissing him and telling him she liked a silver fox. Their holidays and adventures, their kindness to one another. Their plans for a future.
He wanted to, as painful as it was, think of that night.
Instead he was panicking and his mind grabbed for something he couldn’t quite reach. For the first time since he knew what he must do, he didn’t know how things would play out. It had all been clear up to this point: wait for the 5th of May, their wedding anniversary, a date that mattered to her. Find a discreet place that would cause little damage. Leave this earth quietly. Be with his wife again.
It didn’t matter if it hurt; it didn’t matter if it was quick or slow. It just had to not cause harm to another person and it just had to be now, and therefore the girl had to leave. He turned around to look at her once more and she was looking straight back at him. Had she said something again?
‘Hmmm?’ muttered Chris.
‘I was just telling you why I’m here.’ She waited for him to respond, but he didn’t. ‘Anyway, so he’s been using me, and if I’m honest, I’ve known for longer than I let on. I guess that sometimes things are rough. You know?’ Again, she waited for him to reply, but he said nothing, only lowered his head. ‘I saw you kiss that picture.’
‘That’s none of your business,’ he said, his guard back up.
‘Sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t pry.’
He watched her pull her scarf up over her chin to shelter herself from the cold wind that was sweeping though the station.
60 seconds.
Chris had forgotten it was cold, but he did notice that her gestures reminded him a little of the way Julia used to hide her face when she was embarrassed or shy. Another memory began to swirl into focus among the million that were circling his mind, unable to fully settle, like a flock of birds feeding at sea. He grabbed the one that was closest and as it fell into place he could see it was one of his favourite moments.
He was in bed lying with Julia next to him, facing him, lit only by a small lamp that cast shadows over her delicate features. The memory was of their first night together. The night that had begun at this station. They were both nervous and tipsy after a dinner party her mother had hosted. He still couldn’t believe he’d summoned the courage to go, but he guessed that’s what she was to him: personified courage.
They were both in his bed in their underwear and between gazing at one another and giggling due to their nerves they kissed passionately, her gentle moans and heavy breathing in his ear making his whole body tingle as if suddenly exposed to intense summer heat. His pulse moving at such a rate that for a second he thought his heart would burst and he would die right then in that moment.
He remembered the way he entered her without looking anywhere but deep into her eyes and how it was over quickly, both climaxing together in such a way that Chris didn’t know where his began and hers ended. He thought about how she giggled after and hid her face, embarrassed about how loud she had been, with only her smiling eyes showing above the covers. He remembered thinking that nothing else mattered.
The woman in the cardigan was looking at him still. Had she spoken again? Why was she bothering?
‘Hmm?’
‘I just wondered why you would want to get me a drink, that’s all.’
‘I’ve said – you look cold.’
‘I mean, why would you care?’
‘Because I can.’
***
Taking a deep breath, Sarah felt something she didn’t understand, something in her stomach, a kind of ache.
‘I didn’t think there was anyone nice left in the world.’
‘There probably isn’t.’
‘And yet a complete stranger offers to buy me a drink so I can stay warm. I mean, who does that?’
‘Don’t read into it; it’s not a big deal. I’ve only offered because, as I’ve said, I want to be alone.’
‘Clearly.’ She took a breath. She needed to keep him talking. Despite him wanting to be alone, she knew she couldn’t leave him. ‘Did she leave you?’
‘What?’
‘The girl in the picture?’
‘Just take the money, please.’
Sarah chose to ignore him. She had never met a man who clearly treasured love. Despite him not wanting to talk about it, she knew she needed to. He offered hope for her future.
‘Is there any chance she will come back?’
***
Chris thought about the moment Julia stopped fighting whilst he could do nothing but look on. Her chest rising with her last breath. An expression of fear left on her face after she was dead.
‘No.’
‘You clearly love her.’
‘Yes.’
He didn’t know why but the stranger’s persistence had somehow found a way through his walls. Just a small crack that she managed to squeeze in through.
‘I wish I had someone love me like that.’
Chris looked at her. He could see in that moment she was hurting in a way similar to him. But on a smaller scale. He knew he would never love anyone like he did Julia. And in return he wouldn’t be loved back. But this girl, the train girl, she still had a future.
‘You will.’
She broke eye contact, a small smile on her lips. He felt as though in a different time they might have had a good conversation. But the clock was ticking. He needed her gone. He closed the gap she had broken through. His wall solid once more.
‘She was a lucky lady.’
‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to be alone. Will you please go for that coffee. I insist.’
He glanced from her to the clock and back again, her expression startled by his sudden forcefulness.
45 seconds.
‘Sorry,’ he repeated a little softer. ‘I want to be on my own and I don’t really want to talk to anyone. It’s sweet of you to care; it really is. But I need you to leave, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she replied. ‘Sorry.’
‘Go for that drink.’ Holding out the five-pound note, Chris looked up.
35 seconds.
‘Please.’
***
Sarah stood up and walked towards him, standing a little too close as she took the money. Her hand unintentionally stroking against his, for the second time, as she did. She felt it again. There was something, although she didn’t know what it was, that drew her to him, to this stranger. As she looked at him she could see fear in his eyes and she wanted to know what he was frightened of. What she did know though, was that if she left, something terrible would happen. But not knowing what else to do she started to back away.
***
Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked up once more.
25 seconds.
Turning and stepping closer to the platform edge he once again curled his toes over the lip. Not noticing she had stopped. His thoughts were back with Julia.
***
With the money in my hand and my back still turned, I thought of all the times in my life I didn’t act. I didn’t act when my parents split up. I didn’t act the first time John cheated on me. I didn’t act when my bank account read so little so often. I still don’t know why but I knew that in that moment I would do something. Turning I looked towards the man in the wet shirt and bare feet. The man who reminded me of the old films. His gaze focused on the rail line floor three feet below.
‘Look, I don’t know you and you don’t know me,’ I said with all of the courage I could summon, shocked that the words were coming out of my mouth. ‘But I think we both could do with something new; I know I could. I think we could both do with some help. So why don’t you come join me? Why don’t you and I get a coffee … together?’
***
Chris wanted to scream at her. He wanted to shake this stupid girl who had misread his intentions. He was not being polite. He was not being kind. He was not showing empathy or chivalry. He just wanted some fucking peace before ending it all, but she wasn’t giving up.
‘I’ve never met a man who would offer to buy me a drink like that without expecting or trying anything on. Never. That makes you someone good in a world full of arseholes and I can see you are struggling with something and so am I. I’m asking you to join me because we both need someone nice. We both need a good person to talk to, even just for a short while.’ Her breathing was shallow, panicked, rising in pitch as she struggled to get enough air in her lungs to speak her words without spilling her fear. A fear of what she hadn’t yet learnt.
‘You don’t know me,’ he replied, looking once again to the clock. ‘And I’m not a good person. Can’t you please just understand that and go for that coffee?’
‘No!’
‘What do you mean no?’
10 seconds.
Ten months flashed through his mind. He thought about the pain, the suffering. The routines he developed to cope against his great adversary that was now time. He thought of Steve’s attempted interventions as he spiralled into a downward depression. How his best friend wouldn’t give up on him despite Chris backing away completely.
He thought about his father, how much stronger he was. He thought about how sad his friends would be at his funeral, wearing black with tears in their eyes unable to contain their grief. Although none of them were shocked.
Then he heard it, the voice he had been waiting to hear for so long, calling out to him. He had longed to hear it say these words, now he was desperate to not hear them yet. He needed more time but the announcer continued to talk, despite his silent begging.
‘The next train to arrive does not stop at this station. Please stand back from the platform edge.’
The rattle of steel on steel with over three thousand five hundred tonnes of moving machine started to build. The screeching of the friction caused by the immense weight became so loud it penetrated deep into his inner ears. The train girl instinctively turned her body away from the direction of where the noise was coming from, as if she would be protected from the monster approaching.
He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink as he stared out towards the track, its rumbling almost inviting. It was as if the tracks had hands and they would surely pull him down. He looked to his right and could see the eyes of the train approaching. He wanted to step out, but she was there, she would see, and he would damage her as a result. Reluctantly he knew it wasn’t going to happen as he had planned and hoped. He turned to look at her, the girl who’d stopped him being with his wife.
***
Sarah knew that he was too near to the edge, but didn’t have time to say anything before the deafening noise of the train strangled her voice as it passed. Its driver desperate to deliver his payload and return home; his mind was on other things.
Sarah turned away further, the whipping wind generated by its passing caused her to grip onto her cardigan as her hair was jostled by the monster’s phenomenal force.
***
Chris, however, didn’t blink; he just stood there looking at her as the train sped past. She shouted something to him. He couldn’t hear. He didn’t care. To his right he could see the solid mass speed past broken only by the gaps between the carriages, which moved so fast they seemed to be only millimetres long, but still long enough for him to slip under. He would only need an arm to get caught, or a leg, and the amount of downforce created would suck the rest of him under before he could register the pain of his limb being hit. All he had to do was take one step back. Just one. But he couldn’t. She was watching him. And he hated her for it.
As it passed he looked to his left and longingly watched the red tail lights of the train disappear into the night.
He had failed to do the one thing that may have redeemed his fractured soul. Unable to think of how to fix it, Chris looked towards the exit. Still facing the train girl, he crouched down to grab his shoes. He looked up at her; her eyes were fixed on him. For a while neither moved.
‘Please, can you stay?’
He was unable to form any words. His ears unable to hear what she had said. But she didn’t matter; all that mattered was searching through his thoughts for a solution. It was either find one or fail his wife.
‘Please?’
He picked up his shoes and then without putting them on, he walked towards the entrance, up the stairs and away from the station, leaving the girl noticeably alone.
***
I watched him leave and for a moment couldn’t move. Like a rabbit caught in headlights. I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure, but it felt like the man who had just left was there to do something terrible. My instincts told me that’s why I couldn’t leave the platform when he insisted. It was in the way he kissed that picture, the way he stood too close to the edge. The fact he had taken his shoes off ‘to be connected’. On their own, they were oddities; together they told something else.
They told me he was there to take his own life. And I had stopped him. Still looking towards the entrance that was lifeless, I heard a breeze sweep along the platform and the sound of traffic rattling over the bridge. The sounds returning after a brief moment of not existing. Sitting down on the bench, my gaze shifting from the entrance to the track, I tried to shake off the feeling I had about him. It made me feel sick.
Taking another cigarette from my bag, I lit it. The adrenaline in my hands made it difficult to hold the flame steady. Once I had taken a few drags my mind settled and I realized the truth. I was mistaken about him. He was just drunk, or a nut job, a sad man whose girlfriend dumped him who had no intention of hurting himself. Instead, it was something I had made up as an elaborate distraction tactic from my sad little life. That was the real tragedy, my pathetic loneliness, meaning I had to practically beg a stranger to spend some time with me.
Allowing my head to sink, I watched my cigarette ash blowing away in the wind and let out a laugh that quickly turned into a small cry. I just wanted to be home, in my bed, desperately trying to forget the night’s events and getting on with my life, as sorrowful as it seemed. I wondered if I would ever feel the elation that came with victory. Just once.
Wiping my eyes, I saw there was a letter directly under where I was sat. One that was carefully folded and placed under a stone that looked alien on the cold, damp asphalt. It was clear the stone didn’t belong at the station. Reaching down I picked it up to examine it as well as the note it held down, although I wasn’t ready for what it said.
‘To the person who finds this letter …’
Scanning to the bottom made me almost throw up and I stood up as I realized what the letter was. My gut instinct had been right. That feeling I had when he walked out of the station was true. He was there to kill himself; he was going to jump in front of that train and I had accidentally saved his life.
‘… There is no one who could have stopped this from happening …’
And yet, he didn’t do it.
I thought about my reason for being there, how it was a massive coincidence, how it was probably usually deserted at this time of night. If I came any night other than tonight or had decided to stay at John’s, I would have never have seen him and then he would be dead.
I felt an overwhelming need to find him, to talk to him, to explain I had seen his note, to tell him that whatever had happened to him, it would get better. There was something good lost in him, buried under pain, and I wished I’d forced him to get a coffee with me so I could have helped him see that. I wished I’d left when he did and followed him so I knew where he was going, so I could help, or get him help, or something, anything.
But I didn’t. I’d made me wanting to have a coffee with him about me needing a distraction from my problems. That’s why I had given up so easily. Running towards the exit I left the train station and stopped in the middle of the quiet road. Looking to my left and then right I saw nothing, only the dark footpaths lit by orange lights. No one could be seen in the gloomy spring night, everything was deathly quiet as if the night couldn’t speak of what had happened and what had not.
Only the wind remained unaffected as it blew through the trees that lined the pavements. The way their limbs swayed looked so peaceful, reminding me of his gentle swaying when I first saw him. I thought of how I had just inadvertently saved a life and yet I was worried that he would just find another time, another place, to do what I had stopped.
‘Shit, Sarah, he was right there and you let him just walk away,’ I said out loud. Looking at the letter once more I learned his name, which was neatly printed at the bottom: Chris Hayes. I called out desperately. My voice jagged, on the verge of crying. ‘Chris? Chris!’
But only the breeze, rustling the leaves, and my echoing voice, desperate and delicate, replied.
