WHO FOLLOWS: a gripping, dramatic, intense and suspenseful thriller
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Authors: Diane M Dickson
WHO FOLLOWS
DIANE M DICKSON
Published by
The Book Folks
London, 2015
© Diane M Dickson
Other books by Diane Dickson available on kindle now:
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Polite note to the reader
This book is written in British English so there may be some differences in spellings and word usage in respect to North American norms. We hope you enjoy the book!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The first sighting was in Costa, the one by the market, not the one by the station. She was sitting at an outside table smoking. Her long fingers flicked and twitched knocking off the ash. I watched her drawing deep drags, not playing at the thing but really smoking. She was blowing smoke out slightly off to one side so it didn’t curl back into her eyes.
I don’t approve of smoking, but watching her lips pursed around the cigarette and her eyelids pinching slightly as she inhaled, something touched me. I felt the attraction reaching deep inside to a place I thought was dead.
Her hair, blonde and a bit wispy, was caught up in a messy sort of knot on the top with something hard and plastic holding it together. Her fingernails were long and painted deep red. She seemed possessed of a magic field drawing me to her, separating her from the hoi polloi and gilding her with a glow of specialness. I watched for a little while from the back of the café but then she glanced at me a couple of times and I knew she had seen me so I left.
After a few days I had consigned the occasion to memory, a ship passed and all that. Then I spotted her in Smiths. She was queuing at the till by the door with a magazine and I was able to slip in close behind her. She smelled good, perfumed but discreetly, something gentle and girly. I edged even nearer, meadows in the summer and apple orchards, my eyes closed as I inhaled the freshness of her.
I paid for my paper and scuttled out in time to follow and see where she went. She turned into the block beside the post office. I hung around, it was cold but I needed to know whether she worked there or was just visiting. After about three-quarters of an hour I surmised that she worked there. I crossed the pavement and examined the name plates on the door. It was one of those old Victorian buildings that had been a bank but was now taken over by several small businesses. Cho Lee imports, Taylor and Spry Investments and Humming Bird. There was nothing more, just Humming Bird. I had no idea what Humming Bird might be or do.
Strange
. Was she with Taylor and Spry? Cho Lee was probably Chinese but that meant little really. It wasn’t based on any sort of logic but it appealed to me that this stranger would work for a company called Humming Bird doing heaven knows what.
I had to leave then and get back home and down to work. There was a deadline looming on a site I was designing and so much else that was calling out for me. Sitting before my desk I knew I was going to do it before I did it. I had made the decision deep in my subconscious and wasn’t the least bit surprised when my fingers, seemingly of their own volition, googled Humming Bird. Well have you ever googled Humming Bird? There were more than fifteen million results. I couldn’t do it then, there was no time. It would have to wait until I had the leisure to hone the search. In truth I needed to be calmer than I was with recent events fizzing in my mind.
The next day visiting the mall again I felt myself searching just hoping on the off-chance that I would see her, and there she was in Costa. It has been my experience that if someone works near a Costa and you see them in there twice at lunch time then it is one of their favourites. She bought a latte and some sort of pastry. She sat outside again with her cigarette. I didn’t go in but I stood across the road, her movements fascinated me. She displayed such an unconscious grace and fluidity of movement. She was wearing a grey top and a multi-coloured skirt made from some sort of floaty material. It was moving with the breeze, catching at her long legs and flipping around her knees. She didn’t fuss with it, just sat calm and at ease. I was mesmerized.
I go down there most days now, down to the market to watch outside Costa. I have to be careful of course not to stand in the same place too often or look as though I am loitering with some suspicious intent.
It’s easy if you pretend to look in the shop windows. Sometimes I go into the shops. Waterstones is a good one because you can stand near to the window and pretend to peruse the books. There’s a little stationery shop as well that was quite useful. Yesterday though I had to buy a greeting card because one of the assistants became much too pushy. She tried to engage me in conversation about my choice. In the end I snatched up the nearest thing to hand. There was a stick man and woman on it dressed like a bride and groom and some idiotic nonsense scrawled inside. “Was I going to a wedding?” she wanted to know, well that was the last time that I could use that shop, wasn’t it, stupid girl. I was put completely out of sorts and as I left I turned to find her tittering with her colleagues. I was infuriated but in the end it doesn’t matter as I say there are plenty of little places to hover and wait and watch. She is usually on her own, I like that, no gangs of giggling women and no men, not even one.
I usually follow her back to the old building, Humming Bird. After that I go off home to have a drink and let my mind wander and imagine the day when I will sit with her at Costa. We will take our coffee together and chat about our plans for later. I see myself leaning over and stroking the errant strands of hair back from her face and maybe brushing a pastry crumb from the front of her dress. It will be done discretely but we will both smile at the little contact, reminded of our times together. I will go and meet her from work of course, once we get together. I will walk down there each evening and we will either go and have a drink or maybe come straight home and make our evening meal. I wonder, will it be dinner or supper, she looks to me as though she will call it dinner, not tea though, oh no never that.
I am starting to think about colour schemes and so on now, I will have to redecorate this place when she comes here. I can tell from the way that she dresses that she is interested in colour. I am probably going to get some paint charts and fabric swatches in preparation. Best to be ready because I want her to understand that I will do whatever she wants to make her comfortable and happy.
I have decided. Today is the day to make my move, it’s now two months since the first sighting of my angel and the time has come. From first thing this morning my entire wardrobe has been thrown hither and thither across the bedroom, this first meeting must be perfect, so much is dependent on the way that it goes.
In the end my choice has been made. I don’t want to appear too formal and overdone but do want to show right from the first instance of our “real” relationship that my standards are very high. Of course Humming Bird (that is the name that I know her by and oh how it suits her) has very high standards of appearance herself. Mostly her clothes are feminine and pretty. Last Wednesday she was a vision in a pale green dress and cream shawl and it took all of my resolve and discipline not to declare myself there and then. I was rendered helpless by the sight of her. She seemed to me a woodland sprite, a nymph, something other worldly and magical. The flimsy green stuff fluttered around her knees and the shawl caressed her arms, the fringes dancing in the small breeze as she sat at her favourite table.
The only small conundrum at the moment is exactly that – the favourite table. It is one of the outside ones that look over the pedestrianised area of the mall, near the big seats. Now on the one hand it makes life so much easier at the moment, affording as it does so very many options for observation. However, the reason for her sitting there is of course the smoking. I admit to being fascinated by the movements and actions of her hands lighting the cigarette and carrying it to and from her mouth, the tiny bones moving and flexing under her fine skin, her slender fingers flicking and twitching. However, she will of course have to give up smoking as soon as we are together. One memorable day I did manage to slip into the table just behind her and it would have been absolute bliss if it hadn’t been for the smoke blowing back into my face. Of course I know that she will be more than happy to forfeit this dubious pleasure for the sake of our relationship but it is something that must be understood from the very start.
Well, I have examined my appearance now from all angles and can declare myself satisfied. These trousers are new enough to be smart but old enough not to appear too contrived and my shirt is plain fine cotton which never lets one down in my opinion.
Off we go now a little early but I can’t wait any longer. The butterflies in my stomach turn somersaults as I slam the door and pop the key under the rock beside the door. The windows are shining in the sun and the garden is neat and pretty. I have spent most of the last three days preparing the house just on the off-chance that she will come back with me immediately although I do understand that is rather unlikely. Better safe than embarrassed I always say though.