Touched (2 page)

She found herself looking straight into the eyes of a masked man.

She felt a blow to her midriff.

A brief, dull pain, then an icy numbness.

Tess looked down. There was blood everywhere; over the carpet, on the sofa, soaking her t-shirt, dark as the wine in the glass that she still held. Even at that moment it struck her how odd it was that she was still being careful not to spill a drop.

Blood? It was on the knife held in the hand of the man, the blade big and evil and silver, no, silver and red; his hands in leather gloves, black but darkened further by her blood.

Her
blood.

She looked back up into the eyes of the man, a question framed on her lips, but suddenly the eyes shot upwards, away from her, whilst the carpet rushed up to meet her.

She sighed.

*

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fear_me_now: 
Women. Who can trust them? I don't. Never again. The last one who crossed me paid the price tonight

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Chapter Two

One year ago, the next morning

Dan’s personal space was being squeezed. Someone was stood on his foot, he was being elbowed in the ribs yet still more people pushed into the carriage, forcing the reluctant standers further away from the doors. Five years he had done this and he hated it more each day. He asked himself the same question he always asked himself at this time, in the middle of the morning rush hour; was it really worth all this hassle travelling in on the Underground? Were the benefits of London life worth all the downsides; the crowds, the cost, the squalor, the heat, the bad manners and the bad personal hygiene?

He tilted his head away from the man next to him who was pressed intimately close. Garlic clearly played a big part in this man’s diet. Dan wondered what he had eaten for breakfast that had that much in it. Garlic muesli? Or did he just have an insane fear of vampires?

The carriage jerked and jolted as it passed over some points. It was badly timed; Dan had shifted his weight away from garlic man and was off-balance. He half fell and buried his nose in the armpit of a dreadlocked student. He tried to recover, stepping back slightly and felt something under his foot. There was a muffled but angry yell of pain. Dan turned to
apologise but his hand brushed the breasts of the girl next to him who glared and spat the word ‘pervert’ at him.

With relief he saw that the train was pulling into Green Park. Experience had taught him that it was neither worth
apologising or getting into an argument. Personal space did not really exist on the Underground at rush hour. Actually that was not true - the personal space was there but it stopped at the skin. That was why everyone who was a regular commuter kept the uneasy act up of being alone within the crowd, never speaking, avoiding eye contact, avoiding running the risk of appearing to challenge or argue. We’re apes, Dan had decided during one of these interminable commutes that allowed so much introspective musing, that’s all we are, troupes of anthropoids forced together unnaturally with no clear definition of the pecking order, no idea who the alpha male or the dominant females are. No wonder this was such an uncomfortable feeling for everyone; for all the generations of civilised veneer we might pretend to have we still had the instincts of the savanna.

Whatever, he gladly joined the crush out of the carriage and onto the platform, all sweeping together towards the exits with the rest of the West End workers.

The street still held the same damp grey chill that it had when he had left his friends flat an hour before. It did not improve his mood, the dismal malaise that seemed to sit with him all the time now.

He
realised how tired he was. He had leave due but had neither the money or the inclination to actually go anywhere on a proper holiday. Instead he had gone up to Manchester for a few days but, instead of being a break, it had taken it out of him, both physically and mentally.

He wasn't even entirely sure why he had driven up there. He had a vague idea that going back to his old haunts would lift his mood but instead the ghosts of the past seemed to haunt him. He wanted to be reminded of happy memories of his carefree student days but all he
he got where reminders of Alice at every turn – the restaurant that was
their
place, the pub were they played pool and flirted, the park where...no, that was enough. Those memories hurt, he had to stop dwelling on them, he had to stop torturing himself with them. All they did was drive him to drink more, and the drink just led to more brooding and more drinking.

He had to stop.

He pushed open the plate glass doors which had the company name and logo etched into it and walked up to the reception desk.

‘Morning Marta,’ he said as cheerily as he could muster. For all his problems, Dan didn’t see a reason for anyone else around him to suffer. ‘Any mess…’he continued, but stopped as she raised her hand up to him. She was wearing a headset and was obviously on the switchboard as well as on reception.

‘Wilberforce Watts?’ she said in a sing-song voice. Dan often wondered what clients actually felt about these greetings; they were so obviously false and not reserved for them alone, yet the pretence on all sides continued.

‘Thank you. Just trying his line for you.’

She typed a number into the keyboard in front of her as she looked up at Dan questioningly.

‘
Er..any messages for me?’ he managed to get out as she answered the phone again.

‘Wilberforce Watts? Thank you. Putting you through to his secretary.’

She reached behind her into Dan’s pigeon-hole and passed a few handwritten message chits to him just as she said ‘Wilberforce Watts?’ again.

Dan nodded his thanks though Marta was not paying attention. He reflected that he had been here 5 years and they had hardly passed any conversation between them more than the one they had just had. He was just another surveyor to her, first as a graduate then a bit more senior, a bit more tired, a few more lines, but just another face. And he knew nothing about her. Not that he was that interested but it just didn’t feel right not to know, it didn't feel natural.

He never seemed to really get to know anyone any more, never got to see their real selves. Perhaps it was just London, that everyone needed the barriers to survive, a shell to hide behind. But did it work? Did it ward off the crazys on the tube? Did it really close your eyes and ears to the down and outs begging for change, the drugged up, spaced out, emaciated kids of both sexes selling their bodies to pay for the next hit? If you had even a gram of sympathy, the smallest of hearts, those sounds and images always got through.

He tried to tell himself to stop brooding; that this was just going to make him feel even worse but it was hard to stop. He read his messages as he got into the lift. There was nothing pressing, just a few surveyors from other firms wanting information and one from a bank querying something in a valuation.

In the office he met Sophie, the graduate trainee, heading for the kitchen holding a couple of mugs.

‘Morning,’ she said, with a bright, friendly smile. ‘I'm on the morning coffee run. Want one?’

‘Urgently,’ he said, ‘Strong, black please.’

‘I’d guessed. I think I know what you like by now!’

She diverted to his desk and picked up his mug, looking dubiously into it.

‘Don’t worry, it adds to the taste,’ he said, reading her mind.

She pulled a face but headed for the kitchen. ‘Your funeral,’ she said in passing.

Dan sat down at his desk and switched on his PC. Under the cover of a yawn he checked around the office, then opened his desk drawer and took out the files he had left there on Friday night.

‘Naughty, naughty,’ said Marcus from the desk opposite, his eyebrows raised in amusement. ‘If our American lords and masters find out how you flout their nightly cleared desk policy…’

‘My desk is clear. Well the desktop is. Anyway who’s to know? You using Circle today?’

‘Keep up with the times, old boy, it’s been Argus for years. I’ll need it for an hour or so.’

‘Ok let me know when you’re out. It’s too much to ask for Peter to get us another
licence I suppose?’

‘Not at seven grand a pop no. Not in this market.’

Dan nodded as Sophie arrived with the coffees. ‘There you go,’ she said.

‘You’re a life saver, Soph.’

‘No problem. And remember it’s your turn next.’

It was a standing joke; Dan never made the coffee.

Sophie sat down at her desk, a slight frown on her face. Dan guessed what was coming.

‘How are things at home? Has she seen sense yet?’

Dan sighed. ‘The divorce papers were waiting for me when I got back last night.’

‘Ah mate, sorry,’ said Marcus, ‘I really thought you and Alice were pretty solid. I didn’t think she’d do that.’

‘Neither did I, believe me.’

‘You still in those digs?’

‘Yeah, Alice has the flat.’

‘That doesn’t seem right. You should stand up for yourself,’ said Sophie.

‘Her parents paid the deposit…look can we just leave it?’

He
realised that he had raised his voice more than he had intended, in fact he had almost snapped at them. It wasn't him to lose control, to lose his temper and, by the look on their faces, it had surprised them too. He had a reputation of being easy-going, even-tempered, slightly bumbling even. He was shocked at how short-tempered he had got; the stress must really be getting to him.

'Sorry,' he said, embarrassed. 'Didn't mean to bit your heads off.'

They said it was OK but Sophie and Marcus exchanged glances. Dan guessed they had been talking about him. He wasn’t sure he liked being the current water-cooler topic. He opened one of the files, tried to give off the message that he was concentrating, that he did not want disturbing. Talking about Alice and her man, the lawyer, the partner in the top commercial firm, the one she had had an affair with, the one she was pregnant by, was just too sensitive.

But then Peter, his department head removed the need for cover by walking into the office and straight over to Dan.

‘Dan – morning. Could I have a quick word please. In my office?’

Peter made no eye contact with anyone else, he just turned and walked back into his glass bubble in the corner. That, in itself was unusual; Peter always made an effort to ingratiate himself with his team, even if his attempts were often weak and forced; at least he tried.

The three looked at each other in silence for a few moments.

‘He’s in early,’ said Marcus slowly.

‘And there was a directors meeting last night,’ sighed Dan getting to his feet. ‘Well, it was nice to have worked with you guys.’

‘Oh come on,’ said Sophie, wide-eyed and uncertain, ‘It’s not that bad... is it?’

Ten minutes later, Sophie and Marcus were stood awkwardly watching Dan packing his personal stuff from his desk into a cardboard box.

‘Oh mate, I’m sorry,’ said Marcus for the fourth time, ‘I can’t believe it. You’re a really good surveyor. Why are they letting you go? It should be me.’

‘Don’t talk like that,’ said Dan, trying to be rational and businesslike even though he was dazed, going through the motions in a dreamlike state.

Sophie was silent, out of a mixture of sadness, shock and embarrassment, Dan surmised.

‘Look it happens,’ he said, ‘The work has just dried up. Things look pretty bleak. We know that the recovery's years off. It’s nothing personal against me, it could have been any of us.’

‘Yeah but I thought they’d think you’d been through enough. What with…’ Marcus’s voice trailed off. He obviously thought he was making things worse.

‘What will you do?’ asked Sophie quietly.