‘But it’s so ugly.’ Holly pulled a face. ‘And old-fashioned. I’m afraid it’ll have to go.’
‘Well I’m sure she’ll appreciate your efforts,’ David said uncertainly. Holly suspected he wondered why she was making changes to a perfectly functional room.
She’d like to explain, but David would never understand.
* * *
In the afternoon, they went to the cinema as planned.
David seemed to fancy himself rather an authority on the Hitchcockian style. He chirped constantly about how the famed director had used the camera to mimic a person’s gaze, so you watched the film like a voyeur. He went on and on about Hitchcock’s use of metaphors and his ability to foster anxiety and fear in the viewer.
He also complained tirelessly that the wheelchair-bound photographer in the movie simply wouldn’t be able to see as much as he did of his neighbours from his spying vantage point. How he knew that sort of thing, Holly couldn’t imagine.
She had to stop herself yawning several times. She felt glad she’d already seen the film, as she’d missed a good third of it listening to David’s ramblings in her ear.
David’s anxiety levels had seemed to peak once they got inside the cinema. Holly couldn’t help noticing how he scratched constantly at the inside of his wrist, leaving great red welts that stood proud from his pale skin.
He had approached the ticket clerk first and asked for one seat for himself, which he’d paid for in cash. Holly had been slightly taken aback but had said nothing. She’d bought her own ticket after his transaction was completed, and that was when he’d seemed to realise his error.
‘I’m so sorry… I should have got yours too. I’m an idiot. I wasn’t thinking, I—’
‘David,’ she’d said. ‘It really doesn’t matter. Please, forget about it.’
They hadn’t bothered with snacks or drinks. The option didn’t really come up, for as soon as he had his ticket, David rushed towards Screen 5, where the film was to be shown.
It was clear to Holly that he found even the most cursory decisions difficult, and his social skills were bordering on non-existent.
Holly had chosen their seats and had made a bit of harmless conversation while the lights were still on, asking David about his job. As usual, he seemed more than happy to speak at length about Kellington’s.
‘You seem to be getting on very well too,’ he’d said finally, as though belatedly realising that she might have something to say herself.
‘I think I am,’ she’d said, pleased. ‘Everything is going nicely, considering.’
‘I’m glad Emily Beech has gone,’ he’d said suddenly. ‘She deserved to be thrown out. I couldn’t stand her.’
His outburst had surprised Holly enough that she stayed silent.
Throughout the film, she managed to cast a few glances his way. He barely moved, she noted with some amusement, sitting for the full one hundred and eighty-six minutes bolt upright with a hand on each knee.
Periodically he’d lean sideways and enlighten her with some learned observation about Hitchcock’s directing methods.
He wouldn’t take off his anorak, and frankly, Holly wondered how on earth he could feel comfortable so togged up and rigid.
Nick Brown had been right. David was an odd one.
But Holly didn’t mind that. In fact, now that she was clear in her mind about her plans, it suited her just fine.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Cora
Cora had been to the bank, her third visit this week. And she had sorted everything out to her satisfaction upstairs. Everything was in order.
Still, she couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that had been gnawing at her insides for the best part of a week.
Something wasn’t quite right, but infuriatingly, she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. She just knew these things.
As a little girl, her mother used to say she had a sixth sense. Young Cora had liked that; it had always made her feel special. She’d nearly always know someone was coming before a visitor knocked. And she could sense, on waking, whether it was going to rain.
Not the most useful sixth sense to have, she supposed, but still, even now she’d get a feeling about something and be proved correct more often than not.
The frisson of discomfort she’d been experiencing was to do with the two people around her: David and Holly. She’d been gratified when Holly told her they were going to the cinema together this afternoon.
‘Just as friends, obviously,’ she had said flippantly that morning, as if no one in their right mind could possibly want anything more from poor David.
Cora often worried about him. Despite his age, there was something vulnerable about him that clutched at her heartstrings.
When she looked at him, she still saw that awkward young lad dashing round to sit with her in the kitchen whilst Harold’s back was turned in the vegetable patch.
David had always been protective of her. Loyal. Since Harold had died, he’d been so kind, popping round to do odd jobs for her despite his phobia of doing anything outside of his tried-and-tested routine.
That was why she’d joined Pat in protecting him. That was why she kept Nick Brown on side.
Cora had often thought that David was the closest thing she had to a son.
So a new friendship with Holly was a good thing, in Cora’s opinion, and she would encourage it.
But aside from this, she’d been sensing something out of kilter in the air. Holly had been very quiet of late. She hadn’t sat and chewed the fat with Cora for a while, and every time Cora had attempted to carry on with her life story, Holly always seemed to remember that she had some job to do that couldn’t wait, upstairs in her bedroom.
Cora suspected that her visitor wasn’t sleeping too well. She’d heard bumps and shuffles from across the landing on a number of nights. But in the morning, when Cora had asked if she’d had a restful night, Holly had simply nodded.
David also seemed to have what Cora could only describe as a strange energy about him. Pat had once explained that the medication he took kept him stable and calm.
‘The doctor said the worst thing he can do is get himself excitable,’ she’d told Cora over tea and a slice of carrot cake in the café after David had been discharged from the hospital. ‘It’s very important he finds himself a suitable routine so he can manage everyday life.’
Very recently, Cora had noticed that David seemed a little jumpy, as if the acute nervousness might be returning.
This could well be because that clod Brian Buckley had moved in with them. What on earth was Pat was thinking, allowing that to happen? It was bound to be disruptive to David’s routines.
There was no accounting for some people’s taste, she thought disapprovingly.
Brian could be quite cutting with David, and Cora had spotted him coming out of that disreputable betting shop on the high street. It had been packed full of men old enough to know better, she recalled. All of them frittering valuable bill money, no doubt, Brian included.
It was difficult to explain even to herself, but Cora was also finding it hard to relax in her own bedroom.
Goodness, she’d lived in this house nigh on forty years so there shouldn’t be an inch of it she didn’t know. Certainly nothing to make the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
Yet the past couple of nights when she’d gone up to retire for the night and slipped into her nightgown, she’d felt uncomfortable to the point of convincing herself someone had been in there, even though nothing had been disturbed.
As she thought about it now, she felt a little foolish. She was certain that Holly would never take it upon herself to nose around in her things.
Besides, Cora seriously doubted that any young woman would ever see past the bottles of lavender water, the heated lower back pad and the collection of support pillows arranged just the way she liked them on the bed.
There wasn’t a scrap of evidence Cora could find to support her feelings of discomfort. But if it was all in her imagination, why couldn’t she shake the feeling she was somehow being watched?
Chapter Sixty-Three
Holly