Jasmyn Read online

  ‘I don’t understand how this can happen,’ I said flatly, vaguely aware that my voice sounded completely and utterly emotionless. The doctor started rattling off causes - high blood pressure, head trauma or even just a matter of a pre-existing congenital disorder - they couldn’t be sure and sometimes these things just happened and that was all there was to it ...

  There was an itemised list inside the bag and I ran my eye down it to distract myself: T-shirt, jeans, trainers, watch, wallet, knight, wedding ring, loose change . . . I frowned and my eyes moved back up the list. Knight? I emptied the bag out onto the floor, moved the clothes and shoes to one side and then found four small clear plastic bags. One held Liam’s wallet, the second about two pounds in loose change, the third held his watch and in the fourth bag was a small black knight just a little taller than my thumb. A large, rusty nail had been shoved though his visored helmet.

  I gazed at the little figure in surprise. According to the list it had been found in Liam’s jacket pocket. I had never seen it before and could only assume a child had lost it, Liam had found it and, for some odd reason, picked it up. I put it to one side with the other things. Then I picked up the grass-stained clothes and put them in the box with the others, profoundly glad to be rid of that particular outfit. I never, ever wanted to see it again.

  I drove the boxes to a clothes bank that afternoon. And that was when I first began to feel it - that prickly sensation of being watched. As I carried the boxes out I kept turning around to look behind me, sure that someone must be staring at me intently to make the sensation so strong and insistent. But there was nobody around apart from a few people waiting at a bus stop who didn’t seem to be paying me any attention. In another moment the feeling had passed so I shrugged it off, put the empty boxes back in the car and drove home.

  Ever since Liam’s funeral I had occasionally had strange, surreal dreams involving swans and that night I dreamt I stood on the deck of a large, majestic old ship. The deck was deserted but for me. It was quiet. And icy cold. I strained my eyes out across the black ocean but it was too dark to see anything. I wondered absently if it was going to snow. Even as the thought flew through my mind the sky filled with falling black feathers. They brushed against my bare arms, falling over the side of the boat to float in the water and landing at my feet to cover the deck in a sleek black carpet. I stretched out my arms, twirling on the spot, enjoying the silky touch of the feathers as they brushed against my skin. It was like being inside a large, rather surreal snow globe.

  The odd thing about these dreams was that I quite enjoyed them at the time. I felt . . . a sort of contentment. There was no grief pressing down on me any more. But when I woke up I would be swamped with an intense sense of loss . . . only it wasn’t for Liam. It was for something else. Almost as if I’d lost something I hadn’t even known I’d had . . .

  3

  Wedding Photos

  It was another couple of weeks - right at the end of November - before something else happened. Ever since that day when I’d cleared out Liam’s clothes I had experienced those strange moments when I was convinced I was being watched. The back of my neck would prickle and the fine hairs along my arms would stand up. I mentioned it to my mother one day, who promptly prattled off some sentimental rubbish about Liam watching over me from wherever he was now. But it wasn’t Liam.

  It never lasted very long - only ever a moment or two - so it was hard to know if I was really imagining it or not. I never saw anyone and it did, after all, seem a ridiculous notion that there was some unseen observer lurking about all the time.

  But then, one day, I decided to look at my wedding album. Since Liam had died I hadn’t been able to look at any of the photos, but that evening I took the album out of the cupboard, sat down in the middle of the bed with it and opened the front cover. My eyes automatically went to Liam on the first page of photographs of the two of us in front of the church. It had been a sunny day and the golden light gleamed off his chestnut hair. In every photo he had that boyish grin I knew so well and triumphant happiness shone in his eyes as if he truly believed that every man there must envy him the freakish white bride on his arm.

  Then my gaze flicked to myself in my pale-blue wedding dress and I jumped in horror. There was something wrong - dreadfully wrong - with my face. I had spent my entire wedding day grinning like an idiot but in this photo . . . it was hideous . . . my face was screwed up in pain. I looked like I was in physical agony. There I was, in that lovely dress, holding the arm of the man I loved most in the whole world on the happiest day of my life and yet I looked as if I was dying.

  I gripped the wedding album and hurriedly flicked all the way through the photos. It was the same in every single one. My posture was as it should have been but my face . . . On the last page my mouth gaped open almost unnaturally wide as if I were screaming with the full force of my lungs. Liam stood beside me grinning, oblivious to whatever was wrong with me. I knew I hadn’t looked like that on my wedding day. I knew I hadn’t looked like that in these photos before. When Liam and I had gone through this album together we had both looked as happy in the photos as we had felt at the time. I snapped the album shut as if some awful thing might escape from those dreadful pictures and devour me.

  The deep sadness I had felt moments ago was now eclipsed by a terrible, cold fear that chilled me to the bone. I wondered if I could be missing Liam so much that the grief of it was actually starting to turn me a little mad. The thought terrified me . . . I tried to tell myself that I was just tired. I would go to sleep and, in the morning, the photos would be back to normal. I hurriedly put the album back in the wardrobe and then went to bed.

  But I couldn’t sleep. I felt unsafe and uneasy being alone in the house. The photos weighed on my mind, filling me with a horrible sense of strangeness which made everything feel odd. Even the familiar bed seemed different. I lay there for a while, listening to the sound of the heavy rain that had started half an hour ago splattering against the glass. In the end I gave up and got out of bed. I had no need to turn on the light as I’d left the curtains tied back and the street lamp on the quiet road outside shed a soft glow into the room. I went over to the wardrobe and took the wedding album out. It was illogical, but I felt I would rest easier if it wasn’t in the same room with me, so I carried it out of the bedroom, treading softly even though there was no one else there for me to disturb any more. After dumping it on the coffee table in the lounge, I went back to the bedroom.

  And that was when I saw the man outside.

  He stood beneath the street lamp on the other side of the road and appeared to be watching the house. I froze with my hand still gripping the edge of the quilt where I had been about to get back into the bed, wondering if he could see me. It was almost two in the morning and chucking it down with rain. What on earth was he doing out there?

  I couldn’t see him properly because he wore a dark waterproof coat with the hood drawn up over his head. The light from the street lamp above him cast a slick, shiny sheen across that hood, reflecting rainbow colours as if drops of oil rolled down it rather than water. The effect was frightening and out of place and unnatural. His face was lost in shadows and his hands were thrust into his pockets. The sudden and completely unexpected sight of him sent a horrible chill right through me and I felt my heart speed up fearfully in my chest.

  If he had been a drunk, stumbling home from the nearby pub, singing tunelessly, I would not have felt so threatened for I could have explained his presence. But he was just standing there motionless, staring directly towards my house, getting soaked by the rain and I was suddenly painfully aware that without Liam I was alone and vulnerable here.

  I decided to call the police, but as soon as my hand began to move towards the phone on the nearby table, the man outside turned abruptly, his hooded head bowed against the force of the rain as he slowly walked away. I moved closer to the window and watched until he turned a corner at the end of the road and disappeared from sight
.

  How long had he been there and what did he want? I didn’t think he would have been able to see me from that distance, for when I got up I hadn’t turned on the light, but it was possible he had caught some hint of movement and that that was why he had left . . . Perhaps he was a thief who’d been checking out the properties in the area. Perhaps he was the reason I had had that occasional feeling of being watched. Perhaps I had not been imagining it after all . . .

  After a brief hesitation, I phoned the police. Of course I could tell them next to nothing about the man - I couldn’t even describe him - and so there wasn’t very much they could do, but the officer I spoke to seemed to take what I had to say seriously and just the act of reporting it made me feel a little better. But I did not sleep that night. And as the dark hours dragged by I felt Liam’s absence in the house even more keenly than usual.

  4

  Jaxon Thorpe

  It was only when the sun started shining through the windows the next morning that I at last felt safe enough to fall asleep. About four hours later I was woken up by the sound of the doorbell and scrambled out of bed thinking it was probably the postman. But when I opened the front door I found a man I didn’t recognise standing on the doorstep, his car parked in the drive behind my own.

  He was thirty years old or so, quite tall, with strawberry-blond hair and laughing blue eyes. A grin of delight spread across his pleasant face at the sight of me.

  ‘You must be Jasmyn,’ he said.

  I was suddenly self-consciously aware of my appearance. I was wearing long pyjama bottoms but only a strapped top. I didn’t often wear clothes like that in public for they showed too much of my white skin, emphasising the fact that I was different rather than disguising it. My self-confidence had taken a plunge since Liam died. When he’d been around I’d felt good whatever I was wearing. Now I was horribly aware of my white arms and shoulders and my long white hair, still tousled from sleep. It was painfully obvious that I had only just got out of bed, even though it was practically midday, but, to my relief, the stranger tactfully pretended not to notice.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, running my hand self-consciously through my hair, trying to neaten it. ‘Do I know you?’

  His smile broadened. ‘Not yet, my dear. But I feel like I know you already, Liam always talked about you so much. My name’s Jaxon Thorpe. I expect your husband’s told you all about me. Is he here? I’ve come a long way to see him.’

  My mind was in a whirl. I’d never heard the name Jaxon Thorpe before and yet this man seemed to expect me to know him. Worse still, he obviously had no idea that Liam was dead. ‘How . . . how do you know Liam?’ I stammered foolishly.

  ‘We worked together a year or so ago,’ Jaxon replied. ‘You don’t mean he didn’t tell you all about me? It’s lucky I’m not the sensitive type or I might be quite upset by that.’

  ‘Jaxon,’ I said and then swallowed. ‘I’m sorry but Liam . . . he died. Almost three months ago now.’

  I expected the colour to drain from the man’s face, for him to gasp and for the smile to disappear altogether. I expected the usual shocked, horrified reaction, especially in light of what he had just been saying.

  Instead he laughed humourlessly. ‘So he did tell you about me!’ he exclaimed, a gleam in his eye. ‘That won’t work, you know. Come on, tell me where he is.’

  I stared at him. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said coldly.

  I made to close the door but Jaxon thrust his foot into the crack before I could do so and forced it open.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I exclaimed in alarm as he barged inside.

  ‘Where is he?’ he snapped, his blue eyes no longer at all friendly.

  ‘I already told you!’ Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to me and I said, ‘Did you . . . did you come to the house last night?’

  ‘I only arrived in the country this morning. Now, tell me where he is!’

  ‘Get out!’ I snapped, not knowing whether to believe him or not, appalled by his rudeness and frightened by the way he had turned nasty so quickly. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

  He didn’t answer but instead walked straight past me, opening the first door he came across, which happened to be the bedroom.

  ‘If the bastard’s dead,’ he snarled, walking over to the cupboard, ‘then why are all his clothes in—’ He broke off in surprise when he flung the doors open to see only my clothes hanging up inside.

  His head snapped around and his gaze swept the room, searching in vain for some sign that a man shared it with me. When he found none he looked again at my face and for the first time it seemed to occur to him that I might be telling the truth.

  ‘Who did it?’ he growled, pale with anger. ‘Was it Lukas? Adrian? Was it Ben?’

  ‘Ben?’ I repeated stupidly.

  ‘His brother.’

  ‘I know who Ben is! Liam died from natural causes. Nobody killed him! Ben certainly would never—’

  ‘I . . . I want to see his death certificate,’ Jaxon said hoarsely.

  I took a deep breath. ‘If you don’t leave my house right now,’ I said, ‘I’m calling the police.’

  He hesitated for a moment before walking past me to the front door. He didn’t go through it but stood beside it, hands held up placatingly as he said, ‘Are you sure - are you sure - that he’s dead? Did you see his body? Did you—’

  ‘I saw the body!’ I snapped. ‘Trust me, he’s dead!’

  Scowling, he turned away without another word, but I found myself grabbing his arm to stop him from leaving, suddenly feeling more angry than scared as I said, ‘How the hell did you even know Liam? I can’t imagine him having much time for someone like you!’

  ‘Someone like me?’ Jaxon repeated quietly, gazing into my face with an expression I found impossible to read. ‘Oh dear, he really didn’t tell you anything at all, did he?’ He leaned closer to whisper in my ear, the warmth of his breath on my neck making me cringe. ‘Brace yourself, darling. Liam was far blacker than I could ever be.’

  He stepped back with a smile, clearly pleased with himself as he shook off my hand and stalked out of the house to his car. I glared after him, trying to think of some insult to shout at his back but I was too slow and in another moment he was inside the car. The image of that smug smile remained in my mind and I ran out to pick up one of the loose stones on the drive. I just couldn’t bear the thought of that arrogant bastard driving away thinking I would doubt Liam - even for a second - based on what he had just said to me. I hadn’t had the wit to tell him to his face that I didn’t believe him so I did the only thing I could think of, and that was to draw back my arm and throw the stone at his car as he pulled out of the drive, sending it straight through the back window with a profoundly satisfying breaking of glass.

  I half-expected him to stop the car, storm back to the house and demand money to pay for it but he just pulled into the road and drove away, leaving me standing there in the drive shaking a little. I regretted throwing the stone almost at once for now he might come back. I glanced at the houses on either side of mine, hoping none of my neighbours had seen what I’d just done.

  I hurried back inside and automatically reached for the phone, but hesitated before dialling 999. What exactly could I say to the police? That a man who didn’t like my late husband very much had come to my house and been very angry to learn of his death? That he assumed instantly that it had been premeditated murder? I’d never heard the other two names - Adrian and Lukas - that he’d mentioned. As for Ben . . . well, the idea of him killing anyone, let alone his own brother, was quite absurd. So I picked up the phone and called him. Jaxon obviously knew him and I thought that he might be able to explain this lunatic and the madness he’d babbled at me.

  I hadn’t seen him since the funeral. After taking me back to the car from the graveyard, he had left, not even coming to the reception afterwards. When I asked his mother about it a few days later she said that he’d gone bac
k to Germany.

  ‘You understand, of course, how difficult all this is for Ben,’ she said when I expressed surprise.

  ‘Difficult for Ben?’ I spluttered before I could stop myself.

  It had been difficult for me, but I had still made all the funeral arrangements, I had sat there enduring the service, I had cleared out his clothes and possessions. I sympathised with Ben for the horrible situation he found himself in, having parted from his brother on bad terms before his death, but he only had himself to blame. I didn’t know what they had fallen out about for Liam had refused to tell me. That in itself had worried me at the time as he usually told me everything. Liam did not bear grudges and so I knew Ben must have done something very unpleasant indeed to cause such a long rift between them.

  The last time I ever saw them together was just a couple of weeks before the wedding when Liam and I had walked into our house one afternoon to find Ben sitting at our kitchen table with a glass and a bottle of Jameson’s in front of him.

  ‘Christ, Ben, you scared me half to death!’ Liam exclaimed when we walked in and found him sitting there. ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘Spare key under the doormat,’ Ben replied sourly. ‘Still. You should find a more imaginative place to hide it.’

  He disguised it well but I could tell from the slight slur in his voice that he was drunk - the first time I’d ever seen him so in all the years I had known him. I felt uneasy at once and thought that something must have happened to make him come to our house like this.

  ‘Would you like some coffee, Ben?’ I said, aware of him watching me from heavily lidded eyes as I walked over to the machine.

  ‘No thanks.’ He turned his gaze back to Liam and said, ‘I’ve just come from Mum’s. I understand congratulations are in order.’

  Liam glanced at me, then said with a smile, ‘That’s right. Jaz and I are engaged. I wish Mum hadn’t told you, though. I wanted to do it myself.’