He’s moving around downstairs.
I think I managed to bring all my personal papers up here last night when he was asleep. If I left anything downstairs it’ll just be bills and junk mail.
I’ve told him I want to pack up my bedroom alone today but what I really need to do is think. Something is wrong, very wrong.
I have to be quiet in case he hears me. And I had to put a happy, happy title on the post in case he sneaks a read at it. Does he know I do this blog? I don’t know. I’ve only written in it when he’s been asleep or busy in another room but he could have used one of his devices to watch what I’m doing, or used another device to listen in (that’s why I’m whispering).
He won’t go out. He won’t leave me alone, he’s been here in the house ever since he arrived. Usually when he visits me he goes to see his old mates for an evening, or he goes for walks, or at the very least he’ll nip to the shop for a paper. But this time he hasn’t done any of those things.
Last night I heard him making a phone call and if I didn’t know better I would swear he was speaking to Lottie, except he and Lottie haven’t spoken for years after she found out what he does for a living. No, it couldn’t have been Lottie, I don’t see how or why it would be.
What’s that noise?
I thought he was coming upstairs. Late yesterday afternoon we were sorting through my collection of Bookmarks and I brought up the subject of child support and the fact that he doesn’t pay any. He trotted out his usual excuse, he didn’t see why he should, he had only been in relationships with 3 of the mothers and they all had new partners now and the other mothers were one night stands or ports of call and he said he didn’t believe in DNA anyway, it was a global con to make men pay for someone else’s flyblow, the world governments just wanted someone, anyone to cough up, they didn’t care who as long as it wasn’t them. He got agitated, I could tell by the big vein pulsing in the side of his neck, so I didn’t say what I wanted to say about it, what I always say, that this is the only bad thing about him, that if he’d just pay up he would be perfect. At the time I thought I didn’t say it because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but when I thought about it last night – and I hate to say this – I didn’t say it because I was scared of the pulsing vein.
It was only a couple of hours afterwards that I heard him on the phone.
I was right to be scared.
I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to think but I’m stuck in this house with him and if I have to I can’t get away. What is he planning? What are they planning if it was Lottie he was speaking to? And I’m more and more certain it was, I’m sure I heard him say ‘Lots’ which was what he always called her.
You see I know what he can do. How he can make things seem other than they really are. After I killed Simon, Scotty said I should have got him to do it and no one would have suspected a thing, he could have done things to make it look as if Simon had got himself into dark deeds with criminals, or embezzlement, or an affair with a nutter’s wife or something. He could have faked a whole life that Simon never lived and it would have been real, officially, on paper, which would have made it more real than the truth.
Is there a new house or is he lying to me? He could have easily found some random pictures of someone else’s house to show me. Why though? Why would he do such a cruel thing? Why would he make me get rid of my collections and pack up my house if there wasn’t a real house to go to? Is he – are THEY – going to section me again, this time forever?
I think I know now what I have to do.