He remembers a frosty November morning. Breakfast in a cafe in the centre of town, and then a walk through Kelvingrove Park. The sky was clear, the air was cold and crisp. The morning that it started to go wrong.
They had spent the night together; made love in the evening, and then again in the morning, although only after she'd insisted on a trip to the bathroom for mouthwash. She had ordered pancakes, maple syrup and bacon for breakfast; he'd ordered the same. They both drank coffee.
They'd talked about her buying a new computer. He was trying to persuade her to buy a Mac, because he had a Mac and he would have been able to help her out with any problems. She'd said with a smile that it was almost as if he was being co-dependant sometimes. When she'd seen the look on his face she'd quickly added that she was kidding. Even though he'd known what it meant, he'd Googled co-dependant when he'd got home, to find out if there was anything else that she could have meant by it, some way in which she could have offended him that he hadn't already realised.
By then it had already started, they'd already had their first major fight. Walking through the park, hand in hand, the morning as perfect as it could get, sex and breakfast and blue skies and crisp, fresh, clean, sharp air, they had met two of Jo's friends. Alex and Eugenie. Out for a walk on a cold, crisp and fresh November morning. They had stood and chatted, although he had not had much to say. They'd been Jo's friends not his, he considered it just an interruption to the perfection of the morning. And then the bloke had suggested they all went for coffee, and the interruption had suddenly blown their day apart. Jo had looked at him, he had silently conveyed his desire to not go for coffee, and then she had accepted.
They sat in the coffee shop for an hour and a half. He said nothing. He had wanted Jo to know how much he didn't want to be there. He'd stared out the window. He'd looked bored. At one point, after the mugs had been cleared away, he'd even put his head on the table. It hadn't seemed rude, not to him. He had merely been expressing himself. He thought it would have been ruder to say something.
When Alex and Eugenie had gone, Jo had torn into him. She didn't use the word co-dependent then. Worse. Much worse. They had argued in the street. People gave them a wide berth.
Later they'd kissed, they'd made up. A few days later, at any rate. They'd had sex again, but it wasn't quite as magical as the mouthwash morning. It was never quite as magical again.
Co-dependant. That was what she'd said. He called it caring and loving, a desire to see that everything was perfect in her life. And she'd called him co-dependant.
Before the end he had bought a PC, so that he could help her out with any PC difficulties she might happen across.
*
Early morning. He stands in the newsagent. Looking for a present for Jo, although he's not sure when he's going to get the chance to give it to her.
He buys presents every now and again. When she comes back he'll be ready. This one is because he's feeling guilty. Guilty about what he'd done to Jo the previous evening. He'd only wanted to talk to her. Had only wanted to sit down, find out how she'd been doing. It would have been nice to hold her, to run his fingers over her skin, to kiss her; to lie naked with her, to caress her breasts, to eat her, his lips and tongue all over her body; to slam into her, his erection aching and sore, over and over.
Had that been too much to ask? That was all, all he had wanted. Why hadn't she just said yes? It was Jo, he was sure it had been Jo. Why hadn't she just agreed to make love to him, like she had so often in the past?
He looks helplessly along an endless collection of boxes of chocolates. A glorious array of enticing packages, and every one, everything he looks at, reminds him of Jo, and reminds him of that bloodied body. He sees blood spraying into the air, he feels the knife warm and damp in his hands, he feels the soft flesh of the face splay under the force of his stabbing. It all makes him feel vaguely unwell, nauseous, but he decides it's because he hasn't had any breakfast. He wonders if he should go for a cup of tea. Looks at his watch, almost time to get to work. Plate of Cheerios would sort him out.
He can't get the vision of what he did out of his head. It was supposed to give him relief, but he is beginning to accept that maybe it wasn't Jo under that frantic knife. And he still wants to see her, but doesn't want to do to her what he did last night to that woman. That would be…unnecessary.
He looks over the middle row of books, feels a flurry of the heart, a coldness in the blood. Then he realises it's not her, not Jo, the woman with dark brown hair on the other side of the shop. She looks up, notices him staring at her, and looks away. The hair's the same. Maybe a bit shorter, curlier.
He starts to follow as the girl walks slowly out of the shop. Maybe it is Jo. Those eyes, he saw the light in those eyes. Maybe she's had plastic surgery so he wouldn't recognise her. That's the sort of thing women do.
He walks out into the cold, grey morning. Eyes narrowed. Heart beats quickly. She hasn't noticed yet as she walks along the crowded road. Too many people.
Could he do it again? So soon? The previous evening he had lost control and then staggered home to throw up, like a pathetic little child who couldn't take it. Staggered home in shock, throwing up when he walked into the house; and still the thought of it turns his stomach.
Jo steps under the bus shelter and waits. Seven or eight other people there. He follows her and stands at the side. Glances over occasionally, but she doesn't look back. Suffers the churning in his stomach, feels sick every time he thinks of what he did. Could he do it again? This time she catches his eye and he recognises that look. Fear.
Why are they all frightened of him? They don't know what he's going to do. Maybe it isn't fear. Maybe that's what he's looking for it to be. Maybe she's just got indigestion. So he smiles pleasantly and wonders which bus she's going to catch. He looks at his watch. He has to get to work, no point in arousing suspicion. There are too many people about anyway. This isn't a quiet street after dark. Morning rush hour is no time to make advances upon women, even when they ask for it. Gives her another look, which she avoids. Time to go to work.
He turns away from the bus stop, walks across the road and is nearly hit by a taxi. A horn blares.