Chapter 4
Helen stared out into the darkness. She was back in her flat, showered and swathed in a towel, sitting by the casement window that looked out onto the street.
The adrenaline and endorphins from earlier had dissipated, replaced by a relaxed, contented calm.
She had no need for sleep—she wanted to enjoy this moment a little first—so she’d taken up her customary position in front of the window, her vantage point on the world beyond.
It was at times like this that Helen thought she was making a go of her life.
The old demons still lurked within, but her use of pain as a way of controlling her emotions had eased off of late as she’d learned to push her body in other ways.
She wasn’t there yet—would she ever be?—but she was on the right track.
Sometimes she suppressed the feelings of hope this engendered in her, for fear of being disappointed; at other times she gave in to them.
Tonight was one of those moments when she allowed herself a little happiness.
Cradling her mug of tea, she looked down onto the street below.
She was a night owl and this was one of her favorite times, when the world seemed quiet yet full of mystery and promise—the dark before the dawn.
Living high up, she was shielded from view and could watch undetected as the night creatures went about their business.
Southampton has always been a bustling, vibrant city, and around midnight the streets regularly fill with workers, students, ships’ crews, tourists and more as the pubs empty out.
Helen enjoyed watching the human dramas that played out below—lovers falling out and reconciling, best friends declaring their mutual affection for each other, a woman in a flood of tears on her mobile phone, an elderly couple holding hands on their way home to bed.
Helen liked to climb inside their lives, imagining what would happen next for them, what highs and lows still lay ahead.
Later still, when the streets thinned out, you saw the really interesting sights—the night birds who were up at the darkest point of the day.
Sometimes these sights tugged at your heart—the homeless, vulnerable and miserably drunk plowing their lonely furrows through the city.
Other times they made you sit up—fights between drunken boys, the sight of a junkie prowling the derelict building opposite, a noisy domestic incident spilling out onto the streets.
Other times they made Helen laugh—fresher students pushing one another around in “borrowed” Sainsbury’s trollies, clueless as to where they were or how they would find their way back to their digs.
All human life passed before her and Helen drank it in, enjoying the feeling of quiet omniscience that her elevated view gave her.
Sometimes she chided herself for her voyeurism, but more often than not she gave in to it, wallowing in the “company” it afforded her.
On occasion, it did make her wonder whether any of the night stalkers were aware they were being watched, and if so, whether they would care.
And occasionally, in her darker, more paranoid moments, it made her wonder whether somebody might in turn be watching her.