Читать книгу The Watcher: A dark addictive thriller with the ultimate psychological twist - Ross Armstrong - Страница 19

WM – Lowell – Riverview – Fair, curly – Unusually, in a 2 flock – Dependable – Interior – 6’ 2”

He is American, I think. Actually it might be one of those international school accents, which means he could be from anywhere. Switzerland or Swaziland. Hong Kong or Hawaii. Singapore or Kuwait City. He is balding but has a good head for it. He is subtly well built, muscular. Would seem formidable, imposing, if it wasn’t for his kind face. Which puts everything else into context. It’s worn like a travelling salesman, but soft like a foster parent. He seems bookish but with a superhero jawline. He’s the kind of man that could never be an accountant. But in actual fact I think he is an accountant. But some sort of posh one. For a big charity, I think. He does some work for a local organic bakery too. I don’t know what, but I don’t think he bakes the bread. Management, advice and sums. You’d want him on your University Challenge team. He’s a winner. You’d trust him to hold your baby.

He glides past me in the hallway. It’s nearly midnight. He has casual khakis and a white shirt on. He looks like he should be sanding a boat on a beach somewhere. Barefoot, with a little dog running around his feet. He looks like a ’90s Gap advert, designed specifically to show you that he is a man. A healthy man. He’s with a woman. They’re sensibly dressed. Equally dependable looking. In a gentle, middle of the road way. He is holding her up and she has had more to drink than him. He’s an extreme moderate. Always a couple of G and Ts but not so many that he’s ever out of control. I imagine – we’ve never been out for a drink. He’s never been in our flat and I’ve never been in his. We’re not close. But we’d like to be. Aiden has a man crush on him, I think. He jokes that he once saw him cycling and he swooned. We have friend ambitions on him. He’s always good for a ‘stop and chat’. I’ve never seen him with a girl before. Good for him.

‘Lily. How are you this evening?’

‘Hey, I’m good. You? Up to no good I assume?’

‘Oh yeah, you know how it is. This is Sarah…’

‘Hello,’ she says, perfunctory but warm.

She smiles. Weather girl teeth. I hope she sticks around. Maybe he’s unlucky in love. Or just has exacting standards. Who knows? He’s dependable more than exciting. Maybe that’s it.

‘Well, we’ll love you and leave you. As they say,’ he quips.

‘Do they say that?’

‘Yeah. Yes, I think they do. They do to me anyway.’

‘I don’t believe that for a second. ’Night.’

The funny thing is I do believe that. He has the extraordinary skill of looking just a touch downtrodden even with a perfectly nice woman next to him. Maybe he never makes it to the second date. Maybe once they see the inside of the flat they run a mile. Maybe there’s terrifying taxidermy everywhere. I wonder what it’s like in there. Inside his flat. And inside his head. For that matter.

I was thinking of all these things as I slid into bed. Trying not to let on I’m thinking about another man. I wonder what exactly he’s doing to her next door. I wonder if Aiden would be jealous If he knew that’s what I was thinking about. He’s dead to the world anyway. As I lie there considering Lowell’s possibly poor sexual technique.

These walls are well insulated. But not that well. But still, you never hear anyone cry out in passion. No banging from his side of the wall. Poor Lowell. And poor Suzanne? Sandra? Simone? Cecily? Sally? Samantha? Sophie? Sarah!

That’s the one.

I don’t want to boast, but I’m sure we’ve made our bedposts bang against the partition wall a few times. I’m sure he’s heard us. But you never hear a peep out of him. Not to be crude. But I assume you know how it all works. You know we were trying for a baby after all. Up until recently.