Watching You Chapters Seventeen and Eighteen

 

Chapter Seventeen

      

Kelly sighed, grabbed the remote, and flipped channels. Nothing interesting on the box, nothing new in that either. There seldom was on Saturday evening, but in any case, she wasn’t in the mood for TV. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and glanced at the clock, eight-thirty, and McCain hadn’t phoned. She wasn’t sure it was his company or reassurance she craved most, but even the briefest phone call would have been nice. The only time it had rung was when Joe called to say he’d be back sometime around midnight; she supposed she should be grateful he’d made the effort, but she suspected that he was simply checking up. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She cast a glance outside; thunderclouds darkened the houses opposite, looked like there’d be a storm soon, large droplets already beginning to splatter spasmodically on the windows.

It made her feel on edge. Lately, she’d begun to dread the dark, her nightmares, her traumatic experience of the previous evening, and her convictions that Carl Black was responsible had contrived to create that fear. And where was Black now? Was he outside, watching and waiting, just biding his time until –

A heavy knock on the front door forced her bolt upright. Just a few seconds ago, it was imagination, now plain fact. What should she do? To hell with McCain and his empty words.

A rap of a fist against a pane, twice this time, and angry sounding, like hammer blows. The lounge door was open; she managed to drag herself up, unwilling legs conveying her to the edge of the hallway.

A figure loomed large in the pale light of the glazed front door. Three raps now, staccato fashion, and then a familiar voice dispelling her fears. ‘Kelly, Kelly, are you there?’

‘McCain, is that you?’

‘Jees, it isn’t the little men, that’s to be sure. Will you open the door before I get soaked.’

‘Hang on.’ Kelly’s surge of excitement was tempered by her practical side; the phone call she’d expected, the personal visit she hadn’t. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea at all to have McCain showing up on her doorstep – the old woman who lived opposite was as nosey as hell and a gossip to boot. Besides, Joe might not be back until midnight, but McCain had no way of knowing that. It struck her as rash, to say the least.

‘Jees, is your hall a mile long? What’s keeping you?’

‘Keep your voice down.’ Kelly undid the latch at the second attempt. ‘I thought you were going to phone. I didn’t expect a personal appearance.’

‘I thought it better this way, seeing how worried you’ve been.’

Wouldn’t you be? But the words caught on Kelly’s tongue. She stifled them. ‘You still might have phoned first; besides, you put the fear of God into me.’

‘I’ll take that as a reprimand, shall I?’ McCain pulled her close, drew her into the lounge. It seemed almost as if it was his place, and despite her attraction for him, Kelly felt the urge to pull away. He came on too strong.

There was alcohol on his breath and something else, more acrid than cigarette smoke that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She managed to slip from his grasp, ‘Can I get you something? Tea or coffee, perhaps?’

‘Aw, have you nothing stronger?’

‘I think you might have had enough of the stronger stuff.’

She saw his look darken for a second before he broke into a smile. ‘Naw, just a couple of glasses of Guinness, Kel. He’d renewed his grip and tightened it around her shoulders, his gaze travelling quickly around the room before returning to her with a magnetic fixation. ‘Nice place you have here. Why don’t we sit down and relax awhile?’

She surprised him by managing to remove his arm from her shoulders, ‘Yes, you in that chair, me in this. The sofa is out.’

‘Okay, kiddo, I know when I’m beaten.’ McCain let his grasp slip, held up his hands, smiled his charming smile.

‘And don’t call me kiddo.’

‘No.’ McCain’s eyes suddenly filling with intensity, he sat in the chair, hunched forward, his hands locked together, the sudden change in his disposition disarming. He watched as she seated herself opposite. ‘I have feelings for you Kel; I really do, and I think I know you have them for me. I’m not such an idiot to know that I can’t rush things, but if I’ve seemed a little over the top, it’s because I know I won’t see you for a while.’

‘What?’

‘It’s why I called in person, Kel. I’m going to be too busy keeping an eye on this rogue Black on your behalf. I just dropped by while Joe was out since you left so quickly this afternoon. I’m sorry, Kel.’

‘Don’t be. I understand, and thanks for what you’re doing, McCain.’ Kelly felt foolish, slid her hands restlessly along the seams of her jeans. ‘I saw a posh car pull into the pub car park just as I left. Was the driver a friend of yours?’

‘Not a friend exactly, more of an acquaintance.’ McCain drew in breath, edged forward in his seat. ‘He brought a little something for me … that’s why I had to hang around.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Kelly met McCain’s eyes again. Their gazes locked, and her mind glazed over. Without knowing why or how she was in his arms in the centre of the room, kissing his large lips, feeling his hands caress her body, moving gently but firmly downwards over the curves of her skin. All doubts had dissolved; McCain was her friend and would soon be her lover. It wasn’t like this with Joe; she had never felt like this with him. Her heart pumped furiously, but only her subconscious felt the effect as she tightened her arms around his neck, drew herself up, clenched her legs around his thighs, and squeezed them. She drew her face away from his lips for a second. ‘If I have to wait a while to see you again, McCain, I want something to remember you by.’

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

 

Black lay in solitude, shaken out of an uneasy slumber as an express train shook the arches on its way to who knew where. And who cared where? From somewhere further along the cavernous row of arches, shrieks rang out. Indecipherable voices high on crack, oblivious to all and sundry. He often joined them, but never for long; his tolerance level wasn’t that high.

He’d taken dope himself that evening, but only enough to make his head buzz, not revolve and twist like a demented roller coaster from hell. He needed his wits about him right now, for what he had to do had to be done at dead of night while the airwaves were quiet. He had no other option.

His little plan had worked up to a point, the first part of it anyway, and it had been unexpectedly easy. The Beadle had opened the town hall doors at nine, manning the reception desk in the absence of receptionists who never worked Saturdays. He’d moved to the doorway, chatting with his cronies for what seemed an age, oblivious to his presence in the narrow street opposite, obviously having nothing better to do. The cronies had moved off, and it was then that the large woman they employed as the town crier, her of the mighty gob, caught his eye.

The Beadle had to be as deaf as a post if he could stand getting anywhere near the centre of the awful racket, but that was exactly what he’d done. He’d walked right down the steps as she’d bawled, ‘Hear yea, hear yea,’ something about a coffee morning, and whispered in her ear. They stood there talking, and he’d seen his chance. How often on his travels past the town hall had he seen that radio on the desk unattended; it wasn’t in the Beadle’s hand right now, and he didn’t seem to have it on him. A quick check on the CCTV camera, and he’d been on his way; the pair of them had been totally engrossed in whatever mindless conversation they were engaged in, as he’d threaded his way through jaywalking shoppers, up the town hall steps, through the foyer and the main hall, then out the back door, the radio sitting on the desk, now safely pocketed.

‘Hear yea, hear yea,’ the voice resumed, ‘roll up, roll up.’ Yeah, you all do that. As he made his way along the narrow back street, he pictured the Beadle searching frantically for his radio. ‘Oh hear yea, oh hear yea.’

But here he was now, at two a.m., unable to effect part two of his plan, not until she came on the air, and he knew now that wouldn’t be tonight. He didn’t need the radio either to know she wasn’t there – there was no heat, no vision. The radio that sat by his side was switched off; no point in wasting battery life. It had a time span of approximately forty-eight hours; he knew that much. Forty-eight hours to get his message across, not even that really. Night-time was his only chance, while the airwaves were still.

The wind rose, carried the dossers’ voices across him, coked out of their tiny minds; what it must be like to be blessed with one tiny brain cell.

The rain came in a sudden squall, forcing him further inside his retreat. Yeah, in a couple of days, the radio would be useless, security would have been stepped up, the Beadle bollocked or dismissed, but he didn’t really care which – the guy had been careless in the extreme.

He wanted to hear her on that radio now, though he knew it was impossible. Let whoever the operator was, go sick; force her into work. He wondered whether she was asleep now, her of the corn-coloured hair and supreme looks, or was she having sex with some lucky guy? 

No, it might just have been intuition, but she didn’t seem the type to sleep around. Sometimes you could look at a girl and tell at a glance whether she’d go for it, but he didn’t get that impression with her. When he’d laid eyes on her outside the riverside pub, he’d hardly been able to believe it; seeing his vision in the flesh, every bit as enticing, and seeing her look right back sent shock waves that made even his hands tremble. And then seeing that bastard appear, somehow expecting that he would. That had made him angry, but something more, something else had –

He felt a hand grip his shoulder, knew at once who it was. Why now, what would bring him here? Tension built inside like a vortex. It came that quickly now – he’d been on dangerous ground for that long. He mustered his resolve, held his breathing steady as he stared into the eyes of Main Man.

‘What brings you here at this time of night?’

‘I’ve a little job for you, Carl, don’t look so startled.’ Main Man’s eyes hardly ever seemed to blink; that much was obvious now, though it had never occurred to him before. It was the whites of his eyes in the darkness that brought the fact home.

‘What kind of a job?’ He managed to keep his own gaze firm. ‘I’m not used to being disturbed at this time of night.’

‘I’ll explain later, certainly not here. I can hardly hear myself think, with the rain, wind, and winos.’ Main Man leant closer as Black got slowly to his feet, placing his arm around his shoulders. ‘Let’s just say I need someone I can trust; it’ll mean being away for a couple of days, but you won’t object to a change of scenery, will you now?’

Black felt a new wave of consternation. What the fuck was going on here? He could do with going away, but not right now. And he didn’t like Main Man’s look – it seemed overly friendly, and that just wasn’t like him.

‘I’m okay where I am.’

Main Man’s newfound friendly look progressed into a smile. ‘I think not. Like I say, I’ve a special job. I need someone I can trust.’ He lowered his eyes, the smile vanishing immediately. ‘What are you doing with that?’

Black looked at the radio he’d gripped in his hand, remaining expressionless, though his heart thumped like a hammer.

‘A security measure.’ Black followed Main Man through the archway, his face hidden from view.