Ross Armstrong - The Watcher - A dark addictive thriller with the ultimate psychological twist

I can’t tell Aiden because he’d be worried about the rumours of what goes on and the sort of people that we’re told lurk around those flats at night. But I’m sure it’s scaremongering. It’s not like I’ll be wandering about looking for her. I saw her. I saw her go into her home. I saw her and I thought, Now I know . So as soon as I’m ready, I’m going to go and see her. And apologise. For crossing the road. For everything. I’ll see how she is. What she’s like. It’ll be interesting. Maybe take her some soup. Would that be condescending? People like soup, right? Perhaps we’ll be friends.

I saw a Missing poster today, stuck crudely to a lamp post as I cut through the estate. A girl from over there has disappeared. It seems. Into thin air. I won’t tell Aiden. People go missing all the time. But he worries about that kind of thing. He really worries.

One last thing. You really can’t tell anyone about what I tell you when you read all this. Not Aiden, not anyone. In fact, especially not Aiden. If I ever do change my mind about seeing you. And we come over to you or we decide to have you here. If that does happen. You can’t say a word about this.

It will always be between us. Just us. You and me. For ever. Just like our bird stuff. OK? I’m serious. So, no matter what happens. No matter how old and senile you get.

Remember that.

My phone goes. Bleep bleep . And we both know who’s texting. And we both know what about. But no. No thanks.

I’m not ready to talk yet.

WFC – Tippi and Janet – Waterway – Blonde and red – 2 flock – Relaxed, feminine, serene – 19 degrees, under cover of night, a light breeze – Both around 5’ 6”.

I turn off the light. Binoculars in hand. Aiden has a beer on the go and he’s giggling at the ridiculousness of it all. I was looking at the moon through them. Sipping some wine. He finally noticed what I was up to and mistook it for something more sinister. I don’t know what. Having another perv at Gregory perhaps. But now he knows he can be involved and it’s all quite silly and fun, he loves it. He’s really up for it now, in fact. It’s become a game. It’s so funny.

We roll down the blind and leave ourselves the smallest gap at the bottom to look through. We make sure all the lights are off and I walk him through it all. You would love this. It’s like being back in the hide, but better. I get my elbows in place on a magazine and look up, playing with the focus dial and looking for a light on in the Waterway building. I flash past a couple of darkened ones, probably owned by overseas investors, so many flats are empty here. Then I see it. Lit up like a Christmas tree. A couple. At it. Not sex. Just at it. Living. You can see their whole room.

‘OK, get the notebook out. The one I got you from the Japanese shop. Come on. What do you see?’

‘The Waterway building?’ he says, flatly.

‘Good, that’s habitat, make eight columns and put “Waterway” in the third slot. What else?’

‘They’re fashionable looking, they’re pristine, like they’re in costume. Maybe they work in—’

‘ Woah , there, cowboy, let’s stick to the facts for the columns. How many of them are there?’

‘OK, Lil… there are two of them. One blonde, one redhead.’

‘Good! Two flock! Put that in column five and the colour of their plumage, blonde and red, in column four. We don’t know their names so we’ll pick some later for column two. We’ll do a brief weather description for column seven. Something about behaviour in six and an estimated height for the last column. I’m good at this so let me suggest five foot six for both. It’s a skill. You can get better with practice. It’s my party trick, have I never told you that? I’m usually right to the centimetre.’

‘Inch.’ He smiles. He loves corrections. He loves a bit of control. ‘Is zis your farzer’s method? Tell me about your farzer?’ he says.

I look at him, maybe a beat too long.

‘It’s my method. So. For column one I’m going to say… WFC. What do you think that–’

‘White… female… couple.’

‘Very good! Very. Good. Now…’

A lesbian couple. They’re a lesbian couple! How exciting! Not that it’s unusual or anything. It’s just that I don’t have any lesbian friends and I’d really like to. I would’ve voted for the marriage thing, if they’d asked me. Definitely. I’d have knocked on doors. If I’d lived in Ireland or something. I heard a podcast about people knocking on doors over there, changing people’s minds. It sounded really cool. It’s a no-brainer.

Look at them. We could be friends. We could have lesbian brunches. Or a lesbian book group. I’d love to have a lesbian book group. And now I have some lesbians.

‘They’ve got a globe that lights up. They’ve got a record player. They’ve got a retractable punchbag. On a stick. They’ve got… an oak bookcase. They have blue fairy lights. They have a Dualit toaster, like we do! Ooh, they’ve left the Country Life butter out. Perhaps one of them thinks they might fancy some more toast in the not too distant future. They’ve got… cushions from Heal’s, not cheap those ones, I’ve seen them online. They’ve got a tall fern in the corner where the exterior windows meet. They’ve got a pink orchid. They’ve got a twelve-bottle wine rack. They’ve got empty bottles ready to go down to recycling. They’ve got a bike in the corner, even though there are racks beneath the building. Oh. It’s a Brompton! It folds. They’ve got a Chinese-framed print of the original poster of Nights Of Cabiria , the Fellini movie, and I think… yes… it’s limited edition!’

‘How do you think they do it?’ he says.

‘What? Keep the place so tidy? They both do their fair share, I’d imagine.’

‘No, the sex. The two-woman sex… thing.’

‘It’s pretty much the same. Just with two of one thing, rather than the other.’

‘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: