The Silent Sister_An gripping psychological thriller with a nail-biting twist Page 21

  ‘Not really a wine drinker, but yeah, okay, why not. Thanks.’

  ‘Hey, Frank.’ I reach down to stroke him, but now he’s had his food, he’s not too interested and he scoots past Ruby and scampers back upstairs.

  ‘Cute cat,’ Ruby says. ‘He used to hang out in our garden, but I haven’t seen him for a while.’

  ‘He had an injury, so I’ve had to keep him indoors.’

  ‘Poor thing,’ Ruby says. ‘Sounds like you’re both having a crap time.’

  I pour us each a glass of wine and open a packet of Kettle Chips that Joe was saving for the weekend. I pass Ruby a glass and shake the crisps into a bowl. ‘Let’s go into the lounge.’

  I sit in my usual spot on the sofa while Ruby sits on one of the armchairs. I take a sip of the cool, crisp wine and try to think of something to say. It seemed like a good idea, inviting her in for a drink. But now she’s here, the atmosphere is a little awkward.

  ‘So, how come you and Joe split up?’ Ruby asks.

  I don’t know if I have the energy to recount the whole story with her. She seems lovely, but we hardly know one another. I’ll keep it vague. ‘I found out he lied to me.’

  ‘About another girl?’

  I nod. ‘My sister, actually.’ I hadn’t meant to say that.

  Ruby’s eyes widen. ‘That’s harsh.’

  ‘She didn’t do anything with him. But he tried it on with her.’

  Ruby shakes her head. ‘I would never have put Joe as the cheating type. I mean, he’s fit as anything – good-looking, ripped. But I could tell he was really into you when you came round to ours. Didn’t look like he wanted anyone else. Not being funny, but most blokes flirt with me a lot. Joe? Not so much.’

  ‘Yeah, well. The thing with my sister was five years ago, so maybe he’s not like that any more.’

  ‘Five years ago? So why are you getting mad now?’

  ‘I only just found out. And the thing is, I blamed Emma – my sister. And he let me blame her. He let me think she was the one who’d chased him, not the other way around.’ I realise my glass is empty. ‘Want another?’

  Ruby nods. ‘What a wanker. Yeah, I guess I’d have kicked him out too.’

  I get up and weave my way unsteadily into the kitchen, bring back the bottle of wine and distribute the rest between us. I take a handful of crisps and stuff them into my mouth. I need something to soak up the alcohol. They’re sharp and salty, scraping the back of my throat. I offer the bowl to Ruby, but she shakes her head.

  ‘You ever catch that stalker?’ she asks.

  ‘No.’ The crisps feel hard and undigested in my throat, so I gulp down more wine. ‘It’s all gone wrong, Ruby.’ I set my glass down on the coffee table and try to bite back my tears.

  She comes and sits by my side. ‘Hey, it’s bad now, but it’ll be okay. My mum always used to say that sometimes things have to fall apart to make way for better things.’

  ‘Your mum sounds like a wise woman.’ I sniff.

  ‘Have the police got any closer to catching him, whoever it is?’

  I shake my head. ‘The police are supportive, but they haven’t come up with any evidence or DNA or anything.’

  ‘Bummer. Look, if you ever feel down, or nervous or anything, you know you can always come next door. Ian and me, we don’t have that many friends – losers, I know! But we love having people round. And I already feel like we’re friends. So, just saying.’

  ‘Thanks, Ruby. I really appreciate that. And I also appreciate you coming round like this. It was really thoughtful. Makes me feel like I’m not so alone.’

  ‘’Course.’ She nudges me with her elbow and I manage a smile. Even though I have a hollow feeling inside that’s not due to lack of food. ‘Look,’ she says, ‘I’ve just thought of something.’ She kicks off her flip-flops, wriggles back into the sofa and brings her feet up under her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you know I clean for CCR.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Cotswold Country Retreats.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, the holiday let company.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, at the end of each quarter, all the staff’s names are put into a sweepstake to win a minibreak, and I won the last one.’

  ‘Nice. When are you going?’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing. I booked it for this coming Friday and Saturday night. Me and Ian were going to have a dirty weekend away.’ She winks.

  I wish she hadn’t put that image in my head.

  ‘Anyway, long story short, remember I came into Georgio’s for that retirement card? Well, the party’s this Saturday night. I got the dates of the holiday mixed up. Bloody annoying. But we have to go to Ian’s dad’s thing – he’s renting next door to us really cheap, and he’s Ian’s dad, so we kind of have to show our support. But it’s too late to change the booking for the minibreak. So bang goes our weekend in a posh place.’

  ‘Oh no, that’s a shame. Surely your company will let you change the booking?’

  ‘Nope, too short notice. It’s my own fault for cocking up the dates.’ She pulls a face. ‘Anyway, what I’m getting at is that you should go.’

  ‘Go? I don’t understand.’

  ‘On the posh minibreak!’ She beams. ‘You’d love it, Lizzy. It’s not naff. It’s proper premium. Honestly, like something out of a magazine. It’s got a swimming pool and everything.’

  ‘Sounds amazing,’ I say, thinking that the last thing I need to be doing is going to a posh holiday home on my own. I’m just not in the mood.

  ‘Look.’ Ruby pulls her phone out of her pocket and starts tapping and swiping. She scooches up next to me again and shows me some pictures of a place that looks like it’s straight out of Ideal Home magazine.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I agree.

  ‘So you’ll go? You deserve a weekend to pamper yourself, after all the crap you’ve been going through.’

  ‘I’d love to, but I’ve got to work tomorrow and Saturday.’

  ‘Call in sick.’

  ‘Ruby!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I love my job. I can’t call in sick. Especially now that… well, let’s just say that I’m short-staffed at the moment. And with Joe gone, the last thing I need is to lose my job.’

  ‘Okay, then. Go for one night. Saturday night after work. It’s only up the road, about fifteen minutes’ drive away. One night of serious luxury.’

  I stare at the aqua swimming pool on the screen. At the teak sunloungers and the striped hammock. I think of easing myself into the hammock. Letting the sun warm my bones as I pretend to live a life of luxury. Of gliding beneath the surface of the pool like you see in the holiday adverts. ‘I can’t,’ I reply. ‘But thanks so much for offering. It was really generous of you.’

  ‘Well, the offer’s still there if you change your mind,’ Ruby says, getting to her feet. ‘Better get back. Ian will be wondering where I’ve got to.’

  ‘Thank you, Ruby.’

  I see my neighbour out and close the door behind her. The house feels emptier than ever. But I’m not going to wallow. I’m not going to think about it. I’m going to crawl into bed and try to sleep.

  I climb the stairs, run a toothbrush around my mouth, peel off my clothes and slide beneath the sheets. The space next to me is as wide as a mile and as empty as a canyon. Even Frank has deserted me, taking himself back downstairs. Lying huddled on ‘my side’ of the bed, I feel like a failure. Like I’ve done something wrong, when I know I haven’t. I close my eyes and attempt to empty my mind. To slip between the silences of my ticking bedside clock. But it’s impossible to stop thinking about everything.

  Defiantly, I stretch my legs across the mattress, kicking angrily at the covers as they try to impede my movement. And now I’m lying diagonally across the bed, proving to myself that I don’t miss him. That it’s better this way, with my toes meeting no resistance. I’m free to sprawl whichever way I like. But the truth is, it’s strange. And my heart is heavy.

  M
y eyes remain closed, but my brain doesn’t want to shut down. Maybe I should give up on the idea of sleep; read or get up and go downstairs. However, at some point during the night, I must have dozed off eventually because now I’m being dragged awake by a furious banging sound. I gasp and sit upright, trying to reorientate myself. I’m in my bed. Joe’s gone. I’m alone. My heart is pounding. The landing light throws a narrow strip of light into the bedroom. I glance at the bedside clock. It reads 2.15 a.m. Now the doorbell is ringing, too, accompanied by further heavy banging.

  Someone is at the front door.

  Thirty-Eight

  I pull the sheet up around my neck, half asleep and sick with fear. Who is it? Who could be banging on my door in the dead of night? Joe? Could it be Joe? No. He’d use a key, surely. In the gloom, I hear a soft swishing noise as the door to my bedroom opens. Light from the landing spills into the room. I squeal, squashing myself back against the headboard, bracing myself for the intruder to show themselves. Is this it? Is this when my stalker finally reveals their identity? Am I in danger?

  I feel a soft pressure on the bed. I see a dark shape. It’s Frank! He has leapt up onto the bed. It was my cat who pushed open the bedroom door. I relax my shoulders and put a hand to my chest, feeling the staccato beats of my heart through my fingertips. Frank’s fur is standing on end, his ears flattened.

  ‘You scared me, Frankie!’ I chide. Then I stroke his head, as much to soothe myself as to soothe him. The air is close, thick with our stress and anxiety.

  The banging finally stops and I exhale. Even with the sound ringing in my ears, I wonder if I imagined it. I’m still half asleep; could it have been the remnants of a realistic dream? Am I dreaming right now? I swallow and press my fingers to my warm face. I feel awake. I don’t think it was a dream.

  Pushing away the sheet, I slide out of bed, pull on my dressing gown and tiptoe onto the landing, Frank at my feet. We make our way down the stairs, his fur velveteen on my ankles. I wonder who it was banging at the door. If they’re still there. Do I dare open up to see?

  As I reach the bottom of the stairs, the banging starts up again. So loud that I almost cry out in shock. What should I do? I could run back up the stairs and hide under the covers, or I could see who it is. Be brave, Lizzy. Be brave.

  I creep into the lounge and peer out through the window. A large blue van is parked in the middle of the street. Beneath the street lamps, I make out the logo on the side – British Gas. A man in a boiler suit stands on the pathway outside the cottage. He’s swiping at the screen of a mobile phone. I exhale and rub my eyes. This is who was banging on the door. Not Joe. Not some psycho. My shoulders relax. But then I experience a stab of annoyance. What the hell is British Gas doing knocking on my door at two fifteen in the morning?

  Lifting Frank up into my arms, I march out of the lounge and fling open the front door. ‘Hello? Can I help you?’ I snap.

  The man glances up from his phone. He’s an older guy. Maybe in his fifties or sixties. ‘Miss Beresford?’ His voice is deep and drawling.

  ‘Yes?’ I pull my dressing gown tighter around my body.

  ‘I’m here about the gas leak.’

  I frown. ‘What gas leak?’

  ‘You called us twenty minutes ago reporting the smell of gas. I’ve been knocking and ringing for ages. Thought you might have passed out from the fumes. I was just about to call an ambulance.’

  I have no idea what this man is talking about. ‘I wasn’t passed out, I was asleep! There’s no leak here. No fumes.’ My voice is slow, still thick with sleep.

  ‘Better let me in to check the readings.’

  ‘You’re not coming into my house!’

  ‘I’ll need to come in. I’ll have to do a safety ch—’

  ‘I said, you’re not coming into my house. And I never called you about any sort of gas leak.’

  He slides a clipboard out from under his arm. ‘You’re a Miss Elizabeth Beresford? And this is seven, Richmond Gardens?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply grudgingly.

  ‘Well, like I said, you called us to report a—’

  ‘And like I said, I made no such phone call to you.’

  The man uses the corner of his phone to scratch his head. ‘You didn’t call?’

  ‘No. I didn’t. What number was it that called you?’ I ask.

  The man frowns.

  ‘The phone number,’ I clarify. ‘Someone called you to report the leak. What number did they call from?’

  ‘I looked it up on the log details when you didn’t answer the door. But it shows a withheld number. It also says the person terminated the call before we could get all the details from them. It’s why we rushed round so quickly.’

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘So you’re telling me there’s no leak?’ He presses his lips together in a thin line.

  ‘No, there’s no leak,’ I confirm. Although I realise I was probably far too sleepy to notice if there actually was a smell of gas in the house. What if this is something to do with my stalker, and they’ve done something to the boiler? What if they came into the house while I was asleep and tampered with the pipes? But we changed the locks, so they can’t have got in. Unless… Joe still has a set of keys… could it have been him? I have no idea what to think. ‘Do you have any ID?’ I ask the man, noting once more the recognisable logo on his van and his British Gas boiler suit.

  The man slips his phone into his pocket and shows me his laminated ID card. His name is Bob Packham, and his identification appears legitimate, but how would I know what a genuine British Gas ID card looks like?

  ‘Can you wait here a sec?’ I ask.

  He nods.

  I close the front door and go back into the house, sniffing the air. I pad into the kitchen and open the boiler cupboard. It all looks and smells normal. I set Frank down and shut him in the kitchen before returning to Bob.

  ‘Well?’ he asks.

  ‘No smell of gas,’ I reply.

  ‘I really should come inside and take some readings.’

  ‘I think it must have been a hoax call,’ I say. ‘I’ve been getting a few of them.’

  The man shakes his head. ‘Some right sickos out there. I should check, though, just to be on the safe side. The bosses won’t like it if I—’

  ‘Look, I understand that this is your job. But there’s no way I’m letting you inside my house. Sorry you’ve had a wasted journey.’

  ‘Suit yourself, love, but gas leaks are dangerous. We’ve had people pass out from the fumes before. They can kill you. Anyway, sorry if I scared you before, knocking on the door like that. I was worried, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s okay. Not your fault.’

  ‘You wanna call the police about this. If it really was a hoax call then it’s time-wasting and harassment.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Bob nods and turns to leave.

  I sigh and close the front door, fully awake now. What the hell was all that about? Did someone really report a gas leak on my behalf? This is all getting too much. And with Joe gone, I’m dealing with it all on my own.

  I let my cat out of the kitchen and sit on the stairs, unable to contemplate going back to bed right now. Frank lies on his side on the hall floor, pretending to be relaxed. One eye open, his striped tail flicks periodically back and forth. ‘I know how you feel, Frank.’

  I need to tell the police what’s happened, but it almost seems pointless. They won’t be able to trace the call; they won’t be able to find out who’s behind it. It will just get logged as yet another incident. And meanwhile, I’m having yet another interrupted night’s sleep. Which means I’ll feel like crap tomorrow at work. Whoever’s doing this is becoming more and more creative with their methods of harassment. And the thing is, I have no way of knowing how far they’re prepared to go…

  Thirty-Nine

  In theory, getting ready for work this morning shouldn’t have felt too different to normal. Joe was always out of the house before me anyway, so I gen
erally have the house to myself. But, after last night’s scare, the house feels anything but normal. I’m alone. I have no one to talk to. And someone is trying to scare the daylights out of me. Trying to make me feel terrified in my own home. But why? Why can’t they simply tell me what it is they want?

  I reported the supposed gas leak to the police last night and, as I predicted, they logged the incident but couldn’t trace the call. So it’s just another incident in a long line of incidents.

  I check my phone, finally feeling brave enough to read my messages. I scroll through Joe’s texts. They all say variations of the same thing:

  I’m so sorry

  I love you

  Please don’t ignore me

  When can we talk?

  These texts don’t look like they were written by someone who’s trying to scare me. But maybe that’s part of some twisted plan. Pretend to be in love with me while playing with my mind. It makes no difference either way – whether he’s behind everything that’s happened or not, I’m still not going to reply to any of his messages. I’m going to put all this crap on the back burner and I’m going to go to work.

  * * *

  True to his word, George is already inside the shop when I arrive, wandering around, checking the place out. At least I managed to speak to Pippa while he was away, although the outcome of that conversation isn’t likely to impress my boss.

  ‘Hello, Lizzy, love.’ We kiss on both cheeks.

  ‘Still in holiday mode?’ I ask, staring pointedly at his shorts and polo shirt, rather than one of his usual suits.

  ‘The missus has booked us in for some wakeboarding thing over at Cerney Lakes. Says our holiday isn’t over yet. I told her, Sophie, love, I’ve got work to do. I can’t be mucking about doing water sports. Got to earn the money to pay for all these holidays she’s been booking. But she’s not having any of it.’

  ‘Wakeboarding sounds fun, though,’ I reply.

  He throws his hands in the air. ‘Not at my age. Not sure the old knees will take it. But I can’t deny it’ll be good to cool down on the water. Warm in here, isn’t it? You got that fan switched on?’