The Watcher: A dark addictive thriller with the ultimate psychological twist

‘Yeah, but…’

‘God, you’ve led a sheltered life. Use your imagination. In fact, don’t. Don’t, do that. You’re ruining this.’ Sometimes he needs a scold.

‘I mean, do you think they’re a “get into their pyjamas” kind of couple? Or d’ya think at some random moment the blonde might just grab the redhead, throw her on that wooden table and just… give her one?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so, they’re varnishing it. They’re only half finished.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘The difference in the colour of the wood. There’s newspaper on the end there, look. And by the sink, brushes in a glass jug.’

‘Bloody hell, you’re good at this.’

‘And, now I come to think of it, I’ve seen these two before.’

‘Where?’

He holds my gaze.

I look away from him.

Shit.

‘Wow. You. Are. Mental,’ he says

‘Don’t say that. It’s not nice,’ I say, breezy, but firm.

Whoosh! A plane shoots overhead. They come very close here. It’s like they’re getting closer every time. The women look up. You can see their pale, white necks. Janet strokes Tippi’s red hair. She dyes it. Must do with that shade.

Footsteps plod along the hallway. We pause. And give each other that grinning look of recognition.

‘Uh oh. I zink our znext-door neighbour ist home,’ Aid says, his eyes twinkling.

Soon, I’ll tell you about the man who lives next door.

Part Two: (#ulink_63670264-ebcb-59ba-8621-bc0d7f94354a)

The night. And the day that followed. (#ulink_63670264-ebcb-59ba-8621-bc0d7f94354a)

20 days till it comes. Night. 10 p.m. (#ulink_f2095946-0c0f-53dd-b189-216c3593e576)

SWM – Cary – Parkway – Brunette – Singular – Pensive – 21 degrees, under cover of night, windy – 5’ 10”.

Cary has his favourite Breton top on. He’s recently got one of those new haircuts. It’s slick on top and shaved at the sides. It’s the haircut that would occur if De Niro from Taxi Driver became the third member of Wham! He probably works in Shoreditch. It’s probably a normal haircut there. He’s finishing the look with a red scarf/neckerchief. Which is bold. I get the feeling he’s been plucking up the courage to do this for a while and surprisingly it looks OK. He’s dancing around a bit, probably to electronic sounds. I wish I could hear what band or DJ. I really wish I could. To get a better idea of it all.

His mates arrive and they do ironic fist pumps. They’re probably going out somewhere actually. ‘Mate 1’ has a Hot Chip T-Shirt on. One of them disappears and then comes back and pinches his nose. Then the other ones disappear and do the same. They start playing on the Wii and it’s competitive. One of them licks his teeth as he flings his controller forward, lets go of it and it smacks into the window. It’s kicking off!

They’re all laughing but Cary doesn’t find it so funny, he probably only part owns this flat as part of that scheme. It’s not as posh as the Waterway flats but it’s nice, same floor plan as ours. He knows the window isn’t broken or cracked but he’s telling them:

‘Dude, careful, these windows cost a fortune.’

Yes, I think that’s what he said. And he’s right, I bet they do. They wouldn’t be cheap to replace. He thinks there’s a mark. There is a mark. He’s got a cloth. Oh, he’s pretty much got it. Oh, I see. It wasn’t a proper mark.

‘How’s Tippi’s table coming along?’ Aiden says, without looking up.

‘Er, not bad, I think. Looked like it was nearly done and drying about an hour ago.’

‘Do you think they sanded it first? I might do something like that.’

He never does anything like that. Not any more. He barely even leaves the house.

‘I’d imagine so, Aid. I imagine they’ve done it with a few tables before, mate.’ Doing my mock-urban-upper-middle-class voice.

‘Oh, I’d imagine so, babe. I imagine they sell them online actually. That’s what I imagine. Babe.’ He loves it when we do this.

‘Oh yup, that’s what I imagine too. It’s probably reclaimed. From some suburban yard, somewhere you wouldn’t have heard of, mate.’

‘Oh yeah, mate. I imagine it’s difficult to tear Tippi and Janet away from the reclamation yard. There’s so much there you can… er… er…’

‘Reclaim, babe?’

‘Well, exactly, mate.’

I’m not sure who we’re making fun of really. Everyone, I suppose. And ourselves.

Oh dear! Oh no. Cary. You poor thing. You poor little hip, upwardly mobile thing, you’re bleeding. Ouch.

No sooner had ‘the lads’ put ‘cloth-gate’ behind them, when catastrophe struck again. I caught it in my sights perfectly. I could see it before they did. Those boys in their high spirits were larking about on their Wii. And Cary was standing way too close to the action. I thought, someone’s going to get hurt here. And bang! He caught a controller right in the face.

He’s bleeding quite a lot. From his top lip. The one with the mohawk is looking for something, maybe ice. While ‘Mate 1’, still clutching the blood-flecked controller, apologises profusely while pacing from foot to foot.

I’d call an ambulance but I don’t think it’s my place to. It might prompt a few questions. Like: ‘Who the hell called this ambulance?’ ‘Dude, is one of us sending messages out into the airwaves without knowing it? By mental telepathy? Or, like, some other discreet human transmission process we’re as yet unaware of?’ And ‘Hey, bloody hell, man, who’s that woman staring at us through her binoculars over there?’

I think an ambulance might be a bit extreme anyway. I’m sure it’ll stop bleeding in a moment. I still wish I could help. I’d go and give it the once-over myself if I was a doctor. But I’m not. No. I’m not a doctor.

‘You’re obsessed,’ Aiden mumbles.

‘No, I’m not. People always say that sort of thing about women. She’s mad, she’s mental, she’s obsessed. You should know better. You write good women.’

‘I think I just write people. Hopefully. But you’re right. Sorry. I won’t say that. It’s stupid.’

‘I’m just interested.’

‘Yes, and you’re good at it. It’s probably from your past as an “avid birdz votcher”. You big old geek.’

‘I was never a birdwatcher.’

‘What? Of course you were. Told me on our first date you were.’