Flowers for the Dead (27 page)

It takes a while to balance the arrangement, but eventually the large and small purple flowers are broken up beautifully by the splashes of bright yellow. Even the lichen has its place in the heart.

By the time he is done, the sun has come out. The world is sparkling, winking at him to tell him that everything will be all right. By half past ten, the rising temperature has made the frost start to melt, creating a soft mist that hangs in the air to give everything a dream-like look. Adam lies on the sofa, pulls a blanket over himself and falls asleep, content again.

When he wakes, he gets straight into the car to deliver the bouquet to Laura.

He is halfway there when his phone buzzes: Laura is texting someone and he is automatically receiving it too, thanks to the spyware he has put on her phone.

Thought about your offer. OK if I come over tonight, 7-ish? Stay ‘til Boxing Day?

Irritation moves through him, as swift as a bee sting. But with a sigh, he puts his phone away and continues with the plan. He ought to be more understanding: it is inevitable that she wants to be with family during the festive season, and all he really wants is for her to be happy. Next year will be different though; next year he will be her family.

He feels almost no annoyance when a few seconds later his phone buzzes again, this time with Aunt Linda’s reply for her niece.

Great! Stay as long as you like! Big hugs xxx

***

FOUR YEARS AGO

Since Adam had the argument with the voices, choosing to ignore them on the advice of Jimmy Durante, he had launched himself into the search for the love of his life with renewed vigour. He had, however, decided to take a different tack. Technology was fine up to a point, but he was never going to find his ideal match through dating sites, speed dating or the like.

Instead, it was time he capitalised on the fact he was different.

He wanted to find a woman as broken as he, and together they would fix each other. After all, what woman did not want to be swept off her feet by a knight in shining armour? He would rescue her – and she would rescue him.

At first he had hung out in Birmingham’s bustling city centre. The Bullring shopping centre, New Street Station, the beautiful canal area crammed with bars and restaurants. But then he had decided that if he was playing a numbers game, the chance of him coming across his perfect woman was far greater in London.

Covent Garden quickly became one of his favourite places. It was busy, yet not dauntingly large, and was a popular place for people to meet up. Lots of locals and tourists around. An addiction grew; Adam adored watching people’s faces light up when they spotted someone they knew. With so many people finding happiness there, he thought it inevitable that he too would find a connection eventually. And so his addiction grew.

He became better at seeing people’s auras, reading the people who were actually masking terrible sadness. The women who were surrounded by clouds of grey, but had little sparks of other colours fighting to get through.

They were the broken ones like him.

The time was not yet right for him to make a move though. He had spent his childhood being cautious, ever watchful. It had served him well, allowing him to survive his mother, and dispatch his parents. His years alone had made him relax, forget some of the pain, and he had totally abandoned his reserve when he had attempted the dating game. Rejection after rejection, hurt after hurt had been piled on him, until finally he had remembered the lessons of his youth: to be reserved, be watchful, be prepared. ‘
Hope for the best, plan for the worst’
had become his new motto.

With that in mind, it was another reason why he had chosen London – should something go wrong with his plan, and he have to move to protect himself, there was nothing to connect him to the woman. That lesson had been learned from Lisa, and even from Mrs Nixon back in his Peeping Tom days. He would never again allow himself to be vulnerable. It was time he took control of his life again, the way he had when he had killed his mother.

Romance research was replaced by the study of forensics, as a result. Just in case. The information he picked up from his father was ten years out of date; there had been no end of advances in that time. Adam was stunned to discover it was possible for police to pick up a killer’s fingerprints even if they had been wearing gloves. Admittedly it was only if the gloves were very thin, and would only help them if the boys in blue already had the perpetrator’s prints on file. But still, it was a worrying development. He tracked some gloves down online that should be thick enough to prevent his fingerprints showing through, but still thin enough for him to be able to operate effectively in.

Adam had also done some research on how detectives used CCTV footage. Forces could run software that recognised the way a person walked and moved, so that even if that person, for example, ditched their coat and put on a baseball cap, the computer would still identify them. It was fascinating. Adam experimented with subtly different walks and body language from that point on.

As soon as he was ready, he started looking in earnest for the love of his life. She wouldn’t know what hit her once he started sweeping her off her feet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

~ Milkvetch ~

Your Presence Softens My Pain

PRESENT

With a yawn and stretch, Adam stirs himself from sleep. He is amazed at the time – he has been out for the count for six hours, which is unprecedented for him. Since he was pulled over by the cop lethargy has clung to him like a creature on his back, weighing him down, but he is feeling a little better this morning. Today, he is doing something extra special for Laura.

He rarely ventures into Birmingham city centre these days; he has so little free time now that he is frequently in Colchester. But the day before, he had hit the city’s shops in order to buy something that would make Laura feel like a princess.

Today, he will deliver it. And hopefully see his love.

The miles seem to fly away under the wheels of his Ford, which now has brand new, easy-to-read registration plates. The closer Adam gets to Colchester, the lighter he feels. It has been torture for him to stay away from Laura; he feels the physical distance is causing him to fade away, like the Beast did when Beauty went to visit her father. Just as Adam had when Julie went off on holiday without telling him.

Staring at the road ahead, which acts like a grey ribbon attaching him to Laura, he ponders what had happened with Julie. He had been so hurt when she left him suddenly, but during her absence he had realised that her trip was a cry for help. She had been running away because she could no longer cope with life. It had been with regret that Adam had been forced to step in and put her out of her misery, but he had had no choice. Gripping the steering wheel tight at the memory, he remembers the desperate look in her eyes as he had euthanized her. She had been pleading with him to end things for her. When her soul had entered his it had been confirmation that he had done the right thing.

Laura seems so upset lately, too. What on earth can be wrong? He is going to have to keep a close eye on her when she gets back. If he has to kill her it will break his heart.

With an impatient tap of his fingers on the steering wheel, he dismisses the thought.

“I will not be miserable today,” he says out loud, “because I am seeing my lovely Laura soon.”

The car seems to move faster, spurred on by his enthusiasm. The journey is so familiar he wonders if he could literally do it with his eyes closed. Almost. The thought of trying makes a giggle bubble up, the ladies joining in inside him, but he reminds them that it would be too dangerous. He should not be drawing attention to himself, not after his run in with the police.

Once at Colchester, he uses the locator app on Laura’s phone to find her aunt’s house. It is a modest semi with a frustratingly large and over-grown hedge. He cannot see a thing behind it. In desperation, he pulls out his tablet and uses Laura’s mobile as a microphone to listen to her conversation, but it is muffled, indistinct.

He would give anything to see her, anything in the world. He hates his life without her. If he has to absorb her soul in order for them to be together forever, then so be it, he decides impulsively; it is better than the torture of separation.

Perhaps he could break into the house. He has brought his locksmith kit with him; he never goes anywhere without, or his scalpel. But no, it would be crazy, the chances of being caught too high when there are so many people inside, and without his cameras to let him know when they are all asleep. His heart gives a thump of frustration as hard as the one his fist gives to the dashboard.

It is only after several deep, calming breaths that he is able to allow himself to drive away. He briefly stops off at Laura’s flat to leave her present. Lies on her bed, breathing in her scent, sprays the air with her perfume, runs his hands over the clothes in her wardrobe, but the place feels as empty as his heart without Laura.

It is a long journey home. A12, A14, dual carriageway, roundabouts, passing lorry after lorry, M6, M40, mile after tarmacked mile of relentless grey. White lines flickering past him hypnotically.

Adam cannot live like this much longer. He makes a new year’s resolution to step up his wooing in January, then finally reveal himself. It has been long enough, and Laura’s Christmas present should be a great start to his plan.

***

FOUR YEARS AGO

Ah, Irene. Wonderful, beautiful, spirited woman that he adored. Always so chatty, always smiling. She hid her sorrow well, but Adam had looked deeper and seen it. He had vowed to rescue her from it.

As he walked towards her cute stone cottage, he turned to drink in the wonderful view of the River Ness. Yes, he might consider a permanent move up to Inverness, despite the pesky midges. The city was just the right size, had a fabulous historic centre with a cobbled High Street and beautiful architecture, and dominating the whole was the castle.

But what he loved most was the river, which he had fallen for almost as hard as he had for Irene. There was something soothingly hypnotic about watching it flow away from him, taking with it his troubled past.

After a minute or so he turned again and walked towards Irene’s home, reminding himself to limp slightly with his right foot. That would throw off any CCTV footage. For on the way back to his hotel he thought he might go for a Noel Gallagher-style swagger, because it always makes him laugh.

Inside the stone cottage the thick walls acted as a natural noise reducer as soon as Adam closed the door. Irene had not doubled glazed the tiny windows though, because it wasn’t in keeping with her home’s age…plus she could not afford it. This meant the drone of cars passing by was not blocked out completely, and if someone on the pavement was talking loudly the conversation could be made out.

The interior was tastefully but quirkily decorated. A piece of driftwood, bleached like an old bone and twisted into a fascinating shape, was used as a small coffee table, with thick glass artfully held in place as the table-top. The squishy sofa was covered in a brightly coloured patchwork throw Irene had made herself.

Arranged in a frame was a collection of seashells from the beach she visited when she went on her holiday of a lifetime to Thailand a few years back. She sometimes looked at them and talked of returning there one day, perhaps on honeymoon if she ever met Mr Right. Adam was not sure how he felt about going abroad.

He tidied up then noticed Irene needed stocking up on food, so hurried out and sorted it for her. Then he returned to the hotel in the city centre, first nipping down an alley uncovered by CCTV, turning his reversible top inside out, and coming out again with a completely different walk and air about him. He was almost there when a florist shop seemed to call to him, red tulips acting on him like a siren’s call to sailors.

It was the florist who seemed determined to be the real siren though. A billowy blouse exposed a capacious cleavage, which was put on show further when the woman leaned over the counter and smiled at Adam. The delicate perfume of the flowers was easily overwhelmed, and possibly bludgeoned to death, by the chemical, cloying perfume of the shop owner. She was probably in her early forties, but her caked on make up made her look twice that.

“Anything I can, er, do for you, sir?” she asked.

Adam’s eyes roved like a pinball, trying to land anywhere but on her. The way she seemed to leer at him made his heart race in uncomfortable fashion, but he was determined to get some flowers for his Irene. Without replying, he picked up the blooms that caught his eye.

“For your girlfriend, are they?”

Instead of answering, Adam nodded, blushing furiously.

“Ach, you’re a shy one, aren’t you?” The woman stood up straight, her bra now having to take the full weight of her breasts, which had been resting on the counter to display them to their best advantage. She carried on talking, not seeming to notice the silence.

“Had a bit of an argument with her, have you? Never mind, these’ll do the job. If flowers don’t put a smile on her face she’s a hard-hearted woman. Want me to make a bouquet up for you, or you want to take them as is? As is? Shame, I could do a lovely job… What have you done wrong, anyway?”

She looked at him expectantly. Adam shook his head. He could not think of a reply, he did not really want to speak to this woman and certainly did not want to talk about something as private and unsullied as his feelings for Irene. Suddenly a phrase from his gran popped into his head as he paid.

“Er, a-a-a gentleman never tells,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing the flowers and walking out.

He only felt truly settled again once he was safely in his room, creating a bouquet. He liked to say it with flowers. Women liked flowers. Nimble fingers tied up the stems, and Adam grinned. He could not stop it. Every time he tried it sneaked back, even wider, until he was laughing out loud in delight. Ah, this was love!

The blooms seemed to respond to his happiness, coming together in perfect harmony. He adjusted one bud slightly then he was done. It was effortlessly elegant in its simplicity, and incredibly beautiful – just like Irene.

There was a potential problem though. Tulips, which stood for a declaration of love, tended to wilt quickly; but he had pricked the stems immediately beneath the petals to prolong their life as much as possible. Part of him worried that perhaps they were the wrong flowers to choose, that their short life was an omen, but nothing was going to burst the bubble of joyous excitement he felt. No, his love was for keeps.

The thing entire was shouting out his adoration, and could not be misinterpreted. For the first time in his life, he was making his intentions loud and clear, a terrifying but exhilarating prospect. There was wallflower for fidelity in adversity, and white Monte casino for patience: he wanted her to know that he was willing to wait, willing to play the long game with her. That he would always be there for her, trying to make her happy.

On a whim at the last minute he had also included lisianthus. When Irene wore her warm brown hair in a ponytail, it formed little tendrils around her face and the back of her neck, which reminded him of the way the flowers’ buds twisted delicately.

Everything was going so well with her that Adam had barely been home for months now, had virtually relocated to Inverness ever since he had spotted her in Covent Garden. The golden light he had seen exuding from her had seemed like a beacon of hope to him. He had been almost helpless to do anything but follow her: it was love at first sight, just like he had heard of in the stories his gran had read him as a child, just as she herself had told him repeatedly.

“When you meet the right one you will know it,” she had promised. And he had.

For the next few hours he faced killing time until Irene went to sleep and he could visit her. Dinner at the restaurant in the hotel, a few hours watching mindless television. He knew Irene had arranged to go over to see her brother and his wife, who had just had a baby, so there was no point watching the surveillance feed. But by 10pm he was bored and desperate to see his love, so had a quick look…

There was Irene but, eurgh, her loser ex-boyfriend was in the cottage with her. This guy, John something-or-other, was refusing to get the hint. Irene had dumped him a couple of weeks before Adam first met her, and had been hanging around like a bad smell ever since. Irene had made it very clear she was no longer interested; Adam vividly remembered her telling John: “I’ve given you too many last chances. You’ve used them all up.”

Of course he had – as if someone like Irene would ever end up with someone like John. He was as lanky as a piece of string, and talked non-stop nonsense. He was even worse than the florist! Adam had no idea what Irene had ever seen in him, found listening to the stream of consciousness bubbling from his lips very stressful to listen to. Sometimes Adam had to turn the volume down and just watch the pictures on the CCTV, otherwise he broke into a sweat.

Now though, he hunched closer to the laptop, curious about what was happening. The pair seemed to be having a huge row.

“How could you lie to me like that?” Irene shouted.

John reached for her but she pulled away sharply.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked as if his proximity alone was enough to have injured her.

He ran his hand through his unruly mop of dark hair, looking helpless, which pleased Adam no end. Irene glared at her ex with hatred in her eyes and once more screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Get out! Just get out! I never want to see you again!” For good measure she picked up the closest thing to hand and threw it with all her might. The picture frame and glass exploded on the wall behind John, sending Thai shells flying like shrapnel in a dirty bomb.

John moved as if to go to the door, but a tiny, wet noise made him turn. A small sob. Irene stood hunched in on herself, crying softly, looking utterly lost. Adam wished he could reach through the screen and hold her. Instead John took her in his arms, and Adam seethed.

Irene seemed to have lost all her fight, and simply stood, crying gently. John whispered something to her, but Adam could not make it out. Irene replied, equally gently. What were they talking about?

The volume on the computer went up to maximum. Adam leaned down further, listening intently.

“Help me,” Irene whispered.