Page 60 of The Lucky Winners

The Watcher

When he gets back to the B-and-B, he takes off his boots, intending to head straight up to his bedroom.

He’s looking forward to cataloguing his observations.

He places his boots on the newspaper his very organized landlady puts out for that purpose and straightens with a grimace.

He’s surprised to find Monica standing in the hallway watching him.

‘I didn’t see you there,’ he says carefully.

Monica says, ‘I can be quite unobtrusive when I want to be.’ She gestures to the living room with a nod. ‘Could I have a quick word before you go up?’

He unzips his jacket, a little irritated he can’t get on with what he needs to do right away, but then he discovers he’s thirsty and has worked up quite an appetite.

Perhaps Monica has prepared a pot of fresh tea and made something nice to eat.

The room will be pleasantly lit with lamps and the light of the electric fire, on just for the glow, despite the heat of the day outside.

He could get used to this: home cooking, and an efficient, no-nonsense landlady for the odd bit of company.

He pads into the living room in his socks. His face drops when he sees that the small coffee-table – where Monica had set out tea and cake before – is bare.

‘Sit down,’ Monica says, and he does so in the armchair opposite her. She clears her throat. ‘Let’s get something crystal clear. I know what you’ve been up to, so it’s no use denying it, and I’d like you to leave the house tonight.’

‘What?’ He wipes his hands on his trousers, his palms instantly sweating. ‘What are you talking about?’

She watches him, her chin raised as if daring him to defend himself. ‘I said, it’s no use denying it.’

‘Denying what ?’

His palms start to sweat. She can’t possibly know. She can’t know because he’s always careful. Very careful. And he’d explicitly told her not to go into his room again.

But Monica hasn’t finished. ‘I like to stretch my legs in the early evening. Usually, just a little potter down to the lake and back. I saw you out there yesterday. Raised my arm to wave, but you seemed focused on something else. You were striding purposefully towards the trees.’

Bile rises in his throat. She’s seen me .

He’d been mesmerized by the activity on the terrace at Lakeview House.

The way Janey had flitted around like she was untouchable.

The way she’d laughed as she poured the drinks and welcomed her guests.

It had infuriated him. Made him careless.

He hadn’t done his usual checks of the vicinity from his vantage point.

He swallows hard and waits.

‘I was in no rush and I thought it might be nice to say hello. Maybe even suggest we take a stroll together back to the house.’ She hesitates, her forehead wrinkling.

‘When I got closer, I could see you very clearly through a small gap in the trees. I watched you take out your binoculars and …’ she falters ‘… and then you started spying on those people up at the new house.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ He’s outraged. ‘I’ve no interest in them !’ He knows Monica is no fool, so he has to make this good. ‘I’m a twitcher, Monica. A birdwatcher! Might seem odd to you, but it’s a perfectly lovely way to spend an hour or two –’

‘That’s what I thought, you see,’ she says sadly. ‘Give him the benefit of the doubt, Monica, I said to myself. Might not be exactly what it looks like, or so I thought. But then, well, when I got back here something didn’t sit right. I just couldn’t rest. So I went upstairs.’

His throat tightens so that suddenly he chokes, then retches, his eyes watering. ‘I hope you’ve not entered my room when I’ve specifically asked you –’

‘It’s not your room, but it is my house!’ Monica snaps. ‘And, consequently, I have the right to enter any room of my choosing, if I have good reason to do so.’

‘You had no right,’ he says, from behind gritted teeth as his breathing grows fast and shallow. ‘No right whatsoever.’

‘That’s as maybe, but I did go into your room and I saw your nasty little journal detailing your spying activities and a log listing the photographs you’ve taken.

Most of them of that young lady, Janey, who’s won the house.

’ She presses her lips together and folds her arms. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but a young woman drowned in the lake last night and the police are appealing for any information that might be helpful to their enquiries. ’

There are a few beats of silence and then he feels it. A pulse of heat moving steadily through him.

‘I’m not saying you had anything to do with that poor girl’s death, but I’d be quite within my rights to go to the police with this,’ Monica says triumphantly.

He starts to sweat. The light on the electric fire suddenly burning far too brightly, the air in the room so cloying, it feels impossible to breathe. He stares at her, his jaw locking.

Monica’s arms drop away from their folded position and her face blanches slightly. ‘I don’t want any trouble here, so I’m willing to turn a blind eye to your seedy activities. Provided you leave the house tonight.’

‘I’ve just paid you in advance for another two weeks and I’ll be staying for the duration,’ he says, in a monotone, and stands up.

Monica gulps, trying and failing to give a stern response. ‘I’ll refund your unused nights. I can’t say any fairer than that.’

‘I’ve unfinished business here. I can’t leave yet.’ He takes a couple of steps forward and Monica also stands up. Her fingers twist together, her haughty attitude dissolving in front of him.

‘I won’t leave. Do you hear me?’ He tilts his head, watching her. How quickly that bossy confidence has drained away. No smart remarks now. No dry wit. Just an interfering woman who has suddenly found she’s made a very serious mistake in underestimating him.

Her mouth opens and words spill out, but he doesn’t hear them. The red mist is rising and his hands move quickly even before his mind fully registers it. Then he’s lashing out, his fingers closing around the warm, thin skin of Monica’s neck.

‘Stop … no!’ A gasp escapes her throat as he grips tighter, his thumbs pressing into the hollow just beneath her jaw. She claws at his wrists, her nails digging in, but she’s weak. He feels nothing but soft, yielding flesh and brittle, birdlike bones beneath his powerful hands.

‘You shouldn’t have gone into my room, Monica,’ he murmurs, his voice calm and steady now. His hands tighten further as he watches the way her eyes bulge and her mouth opens and closes soundlessly. ‘You should not have interfered in my personal business.’

Monica kicks out, her slippered foot catching his shin, but she’s feeble. Nothing more than an annoyance. She can’t stop him now. No one can.

He presses harder still, enjoying the way her body jolts beneath his hands.

After so many years of being invisible, of silently suffering the wounds of the past, he is finally the one with the power. His time has come.

Nothing is going to stop him doing what he must.