Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

 

I drove to the coast anyway. I needed to clear my head and where better than the seaside. The beach was crowded. Families were out in force making the most of the fine weather and the last days of summer freedom before school started again. The squeals and cries of happy children competed with the harsh screech of seabirds. The tide was out. I walked by the waterline watching my footprints appear and disappear in the water logged sand.

I was disturbed by the rapid turn of events. I knew online relationships could move fast and become intense, if not obsessive in the space of hours let alone days. It was a modern phenomenon, providing a wealth of new fodder for psychologists to journal about. The combination of physical distance, anonymity and emotional confession created an alluring atmosphere, which was hard to replicate in a real life relationship. Within minutes of meeting a person online you could be revealing your deepest darkest desires to them without so much as looking into their eyes. It was a liberating drug, until it became a barbed wire addiction you got caught in.

I suspected the ‘florid’ James as much as Dee-Dee was acting on a long held fantasy, which was fine if it stayed an online fantasy and played out in words. What bothered me was the speed at which James was trying to move the relationship offline and into real life. He seemed like a man with an agenda who sensed he’d found a means of fulfilling it.

An unpleasant memory returned of a horror case at the school I’d served my probationary year in. A young female student had struck up a relationship with a man online. He’d used her vulnerability, her low self-esteem and her longing for ‘love’ to ensnare her. Over a space of days he convinced her they were lovers meant to be together. She was fifteen and he was in his forties with a face that would once have been described as ‘ill favoured.’ Yet she believed he was her white knight, because she wanted to. He lured her to a secret meeting where he raped and strangled her to death.

I looked out across the sea, lifting my face to the clement breeze. Dee wasn’t a child by any means, but he had a childlike naivety about certain things. James seemed to personify the qualities of the impossibly dominant man he fantasised about and he was reaching for him with both hands.

I kicked at a pebble embedded in the soupy sand, loosening it with my toecap. Maybe I was being paranoid, or plain jealous. Given my feelings for Dee I was bound to resent anyone who showed an interest in him. A ridiculous thought popped to mind. What if this James character had a white van?

I picked up the pebble, intending to further abuse it by hurling it towards the sea. It was pretty. I rubbed away damp sand to examine it, a sepia oval, banded with tones of rose, as if painted by the rising and setting rays of the sun. I slipped it in my pocket. Dee would like it.

I could do nothing other than monitor the situation. If Dee-Dee did decide to allow James to invade the sanctity of his home the next day, then I’d hang around like a well-intentioned stalker ready to intervene if he tried to bundle Dee into a white van. No nutter was driving off with a man I cared about.

Cheered by my imaginary heroism I treated myself to a fish and chip lunch. Afterwards I had a stroll along the promenade, squandered some small change playing the fruit machines and had an ice cream cone and a final walk on the beach before heading homewards. Before driving off I thought about phoning Dee-Dee, but decided against it. It smacked of invading his privacy and his right to make decisions on his own behalf. I’d call on him when I got home.

I was yoo-hooed as I made my way from the car park to the bakery. I looked around, scanning the grounds. It was Sue, calling from the garden area.

“Simon,” she shouted, one hand clamped to a floppy cotton sun hat to stop it falling off, the other waving me to come over. “We’ve been looking out for you.”

I walked over to where she, Bob and Mrs Royston were relaxing in deckchairs on the lawn, soaking up the sunshine.

“What’s this then, a sunbathing committee?”

“We’re making the most of our day off, and the weather,” grinned Bob. “You don’t get many days like this to the pound of an English summer, especially this late in the season.”

“True,” I grinned back.

“Have you seen Dee-Dee today?”

“This morning, Sue, why?”

The three of them glanced at each other in a way that made my guts knot with apprehension. “Is there a problem?”

“It’s probably nothing,” said Bob, in a let’s retain a sense of proportion voice. “Edna is concerned something may be wrong.”

“In what way?” I looked at her.

“I didn’t say I was concerned, Bob.” She gave him a haughty look and then turned to me, tipping back her head to peer at me from beneath the brim of her pink straw sun hat. “Your friend has always been a nuisance neighbour, but he’s never been a noisy one. I heard sounds from his apartment a few hours ago, what sounded like a shout and things breaking. It stopped me settling down for my lunchtime nap. I knocked on his door to complain, but there was no answer.”

Sue chipped in. “Bob thought he heard a clatter, but I was hoovering the bedroom and didn’t hear a thing, not until Edna called to ask if we’d heard anything. We knocked on his door and called his name, but he didn’t respond.”

Alarm bells tinkled, but I remained calm. “He was probably engrossed in something and didn’t hear, either that or he’s out. Just a sec, I’ll give him a ring.” Pulling my phone from my pocket I called his mobile. It rang for a few moments before being answered. Relief washed over me as I heard his voice speak a low greeting. “Hi, Dee.” I said brightly. “It’s me. Are you all right? Mrs Royston heard noises coming from your apartment earlier. She knocked on the door and was worried when you didn’t answer.”

The lady’s jowls wobbled a little. “I didn’t say I was worried, young man. I was more annoyed at having my nap interrupted. I couldn’t settle afterwards in case there was a burglar at work in his apartment.”

My moment of relief was short lived, not because of anything he said, but by the tone of his voice. Something was wrong even if he wasn’t saying so. He was all but whispering into the phone, as if afraid someone might hear him. He said the noises had been a stack of paint canvasses falling. He’d knocked them over by accident. He claimed not to have heard any knocks on the door. He asked where I was. I told him I was in the garden. He said, ‘don’t be long, Si’ and rang off. I conveyed his excuses to the sunbathers.

“Trust him to make a production out of nothing.” Mrs Royston sniffed, obviously regretting her moment of concern on Dee’s behalf.

“Thank you, Mrs Royston,” I said sincerely. “It was kind of you to check on him.”

“Just doing my duty as neighbourhood watch warden. You can’t be too careful these days. There was a strange man hanging around the front entrance earlier. I saw him when I was collecting my mail. He was looking at the names on the intercom system.”

“What man?” My ears pricked up, as did my heart rate. “Did he give his name?”

“Of course he didn’t give his name,” she wasped. “I didn’t ask. Why on earth would I. I didn’t like the look of him if truth were told. He was well dressed, stocky, reminded me of a rather unpleasant English bulldog my sister once had. It had a pedigree as long as your arm, but the temperament of a back street thug.” She struggled to the edge of her chair. “I’ve had enough sun for one day. I’m going indoors.”

I offered her my hand to help her up, but she waved it away.

“I may be getting on, but I’m far from decrepit.”

She got to her feet, gave me one of her curt nods, bade Bob and Sue farewell and walked briskly towards the bakery.

I stared after her, disquieted by her revelation. The bulldog man had to be James. Who else could it be? Dee had obviously discarded my advice and given up his address. Had something happened, was that why he had sounded odd?

“You look pensive, Simon.” Bob gave me a shrewd look. “Something on your mind?”

“I’m fine.” I rubbed a hand through my hair. My scalp felt gritty, funny how you could never come away from the seaside without bringing particles of it with you.

“Don’t you believe the noises were paint canvasses falling?”

“No reason not to, Bob. He has been organising his paintings.” I slipped my phone into my pocket. “He has dozens. We’ve been cataloguing and hanging some of them.”

“I’d love to see some of his work,” said Sue earnestly. “I remember his uncle saying he was a canny artist, but shy about sharing. Is he good?”

“Exceptional at times, but he prefers to keep his work private. Maybe one of these days he’ll open his doors and allow people to see his worth.”

“Hope so. Do you want a glass of wine?” She indicated a bottle of white wine chilling in a bucket of what had once been ice, but was now water. “I can soon fetch another glass.”

“Thanks, Sue, it’s kind of you, but no. I’ve got to work. I start back at college next week. I have lesson plans to prepare. I’ll see you later.”

I left them enjoying their wine and sun and hastened indoors, heading straight for Dee’s apartment. I rapped on the door, expecting him to open it. It stayed tight shut. I tried the handle in case he’d left the door unlocked for me. He hadn’t. I stared at it in puzzlement. What the hell was he playing at?

Fishing my mobile out of my pocket I called him again. “I’m outside, Dee. Didn’t you hear me knocking? Let me in.”

“I can’t. I’m not in there.”

“Where are you?”

“Upstairs, waiting for you.”

He was crying. Bad crying. Hurt crying. My heart thudded. “I’m on my way, honey.”

I raced down the corridor, pushing open the fire doors, launching myself at the stairs, taking them two at a time. I shot into the upper corridor, expecting to see him standing outside my door, but there was no one there. The hall loomed large and empty. My phone was still in call. I spoke into it. “Dee-Dee, what’s going on, where are you?”

“Here.”

I almost lost bladder control as the door on the utility cupboard at the top of the stairs swung open, narrowly missing me.

“Dee?” I peered inside. He was there, standing amongst the mops and brushes, his mobile pressed to his ear, tears running down his face.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Hiding.”

A wave of intense anger dizzied me as he stepped out of the cupboard and I got a full view of his face in the daylight. He’d been hit, hard. His right eye and cheek were bruised, stained an ugly deep purple. The corner of his mouth was swollen, the bottom lip split. Blood spattered the front of his t-shirt.

“James?” I ground the name out from beneath clenched teeth.

He nodded, whispering, “you can say I told you so if you want.”

I reached for him, drawing him into my arms.

“I’m glad you’re here.” He clung to me.

I cuddled him for a few moments, saying nothing, just holding him, giving him the reassurance of my presence, feeling his tears soak into my neck and shoulder. It was all I could do not to cry myself. If only I’d stuck around the bakery instead of going to the seaside.

“Come on.” I eased him away from me, taking hold of his hand. “Let’s get inside and have a proper look at your poor face.”