Home for Truths: The stand-out domestic suspense thriller for 2020

by Alan Agnew

  ‘This is my neighbour that I was telling you about,’ Donald says without completing the introduction or looking in my direction. My eyes fall to the floor in embarrassment, fearful of the tales already told.

  ‘Hello, I am Dorothy,’ she says with a wave.

  I return her smile out of relief. ‘Hello, nice to meet you, please do not leave on my account though, I can come back later.’

  She leans over the bed to Donald. ‘Goodbye dad, you take care, and I will be back to pick you up tomorrow,’ kissing him on the cheek as she leaves.

  The air suddenly thickens as I walk to the chair that Dorothy had been sitting on and pull it back a metre away from the bed. Donald sits motionless, back rigid, holding his hands in front of him and already judging. I take a deep breath and meet his stare.

  ‘Donald, I am so very sorry, I don’t expect you to forgive me, what I did was unforgivable. I can sit here and tell you I was drunk, under stress and jumped to some very wrong conclusions, which are all true, but none justifying my actions.’

  He sits up a little straighter in his bed, dressed in a thick blue dressing gown, clean-shaven and hair combed to the side, he looks surprisingly well. ‘I don’t know what happened Philip, and I have been sitting here in bed for the past few days racking my brain as to what possessed you to do such a thing. According to the doctors I blacked out and so was taken here, but I have a vague memory of your accusations.’

  Please don’t say it.

  ‘Accusing me of killing your brother.’

  I realise I have the indignation of having to repeat my accusations to Donald all over again, in the cold light of day, especially hard when I now believe it is not true. I need to buy some time. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Oh I am fine, just been kept under observation for a few days given my medical history with my hypotension and finally getting a return from the insurance company premiums.’

  ‘Good to hear, I am so relieved.’ Any more small talk would be an insult. ‘I owe you an explanation,’ I blurt out, shifting my attention to the floor. ‘I also owe you the truth as to how I reached these wrong conclusions, I am not proud of my actions, but I will be honest.’

  I scan the room for a drink. Nothing is available. I swallow hard to rid my dry throat. ‘You will recall, better than I Donald, that when we were growing up, Jimmy spent a lot of time with you and in your shed. He was fascinated by your war stories and developed an appreciation for the DIY you taught him. You were everything our father was not to Jimmy. You were well educated, had stories to tell, able to teach him new skills, had time for him, and most importantly, you did not put undue pressure on him.’

  Donald allows a wry smile, a little pride perhaps?

  ‘It is obvious now our dad was jealous and started openly resenting you and your relationship with Jimmy. I remember you two had a big falling out and at the time I thought it was over Jimmy, but mum suggested a misunderstanding over his rejection from the Masonic lodge. Somehow you were to blame. He built an image of you as being surrounded by secrecy and debauchery, someone who could not be trusted, which only intensified after Jimmy died. It was never discussed, but I remember being surprised you were not at the funeral. My dad, in his eulogy for Jimmy, did not even mention his passion for DIY or History, it was like he eradicated your influence.’

  Donald gives a knowing nod of the head, a resigned look etching across his face.

  ‘I did not give this too much further thought until I was sorting out my dad’s financial affairs and going through his paperwork for probate. I found two newspaper headlines about the sex scandal at the school involving allegations made against the teachers.’ I scratch my nose to disguise my pause, looking for a reaction that does not come. ‘The date of the newspaper coincided with my 14th birthday, and I remember clearly how distracted my parents were during my party and how every parent kept speaking in hushed voices. I knew then something was seriously wrong at the time, and sorry it took 30 years to find out what.’

  Donald sits motionless, staring deep into my eyes, consuming every word. I feel encouraged to continue.

  ‘With this revelation, it dawned on me that I had always wanted to know. To understand why Jimmy did what he did, without any note, without any consideration for his family. Living with this huge void has been chipping away at me all my life without me knowing it, the itch I could not scratch. The mist was clearing, and I thought, at last, I was getting answers until I found out that the investigation was closed down before it even started. I was so frustrated, and then grew suspicious when I linked the investigating officer, DI Peter Mayne, with yourself. I thought of you as a suspect.’

  The floor pulls my eyes down. ‘You and DI Mayne were both Freemasons, so I grew more curious. I read up on all the scandals of links between the police and the importance of keeping brotherhood in the masons and how they operated sometimes above the law. I was angry. I wanted to take matters in my own hands. I wanted answers, and I am sorry, but I searched through your suitcase when you had it delivered at my house. I found your amyl nitrite hidden in your washbag, and I researched the place where you stayed with a reservation under a false name. Of course, your sexuality and your lifestyle is your own business, but I thought I found a motive.’

  Donald’s eyes widen and he reaches the palm of his hand towards me instructing me to stop. ‘Enough Philip.’ His voice stern, he is Mr Lloyd the headmaster all over again. ‘You had no right going through my personal belongings.’

  I look to the floor once again, ‘I know Donald, I am sorry, I was so desperate for answers, your personal life is your personal life, and your lifestyle is your business only.’

  ‘My lifestyle,’ he chuckles only to himself. ‘My trip to Romania was on official business through the Lodge. We have brotherhood partnerships with lodges in Ferentari in Romania, and lodges in Poland and Bulgaria. The local Lodge owns the hotel, and I was invited as their guest. They made the booking on my behalf under the name Almoner, as in the Almoner. That is my role at the Lodge, the Almoner, meaning the Caring Officer, responsible for the well-being of lodge members and their families. I was there to support a couple of brothers who have recently fallen on hard times and were in hospital. We had been fundraising for them.’

  I open my mouth to apologise again, but he continues.

  ‘Oh, and my little brown bottle of amyl nitrite was not hidden, I place it in the side pocket in case it were ever to leak. In a way, it is for my lifestyle, but not the way you think. A little unconventional, I know, but I suffer from hypotension, making me vulnerable to an extreme drop in blood pressure. It is linked to my autonomic nervous system that you might recognise as the fight or flight signal.’

  My confused look encourages him to explain more.

  ‘Depending on the situation, it sends the heart and other systems in the body signals to increase or decrease the blood flow. Mine does not. Therefore I am vulnerable to blackouts or fainting, just as I did after you attacked me. The amyl nitrite was merely a quick and temporary fix I needed as I did not have my medication, the liquid alert’s me just as the strongest smelling salts would, to speed my heart rate.’

  The guilt comes back to haunt me, cutting me deep this time, my acceptance of the pain a new experience. I no longer seek to dismiss it or to justify my actions as I have done thousands of times before. I see for the first time the tangible impact of my actions, of me drawing such quick conclusions, of violating his privacy. I played with fire, not by burning down his shed, but by hiding his medication.

  ‘Donald, I am sorry once again. I did not have enough proof to confront you, yet with my warped sense of justice, I could not sit back and do nothing. I found the key to your house; I watched the builders replace it when they finished work one day. I entered your house.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘I wanted to punish you, hide some of your possessions, swap some artefacts in the house around to give you the impression you were getting confused. Saying this out l
oud now sounds so ridiculous, but I intended to attack your one potential weakness, your age, and therefore state of mind.

  ‘Good God man, why would you do this?’

  ‘I had been drinking and wanted to hide a couple of things I know you use every day, instant gratification such was my bitterness, your pills and your remote control, for example. I swear I did not plan this, I did not read the label or think about the consequences.’

  Donald shakes his head slowly, the look of disappointment infectious. ‘But why burn down my shed?’ His voice bitter now, a creeping resentment sending my eyes to the floor once again.

  ‘I saw the inside of your shed furnished like a teenage bedroom, my mind went straight to all those hours Jimmy spent there, and a blind rage just took over. There seemed no other explanation why a retired man would have video games, magazines and pop in the fridge.’

  ‘You stupid fool.’ Fire spreading across his face. ‘You met my daughter Dorothy just now, but who you did not meet was Elizabeth, her daughter, my granddaughter, who is 14 years old and loves to play video games, read horsey magazines, and drinks pop. I watch her once a week while her mum works shifts in the hospital, sometimes she stays over. And like all teenagers, she appreciates her own space.’

  I bring the palms of my hands to my face, partly to slap myself but mostly to hide my embarrassment. Already the word sorry feels meaningless and overused.

  ‘I did not think. I lost all control. I wanted to be right, and I wanted an answer to the question I never asked. I wanted an ending. I wanted it to be you, and it was easier than the alternative. The alternative terrifies me. How can I live with myself, knowing that abuse was happening right under my nose? You told me that I never knew who my dad really was, I think I am finding out.’

  It was Donald’s turn to bring his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes intently as if changing focus.

  ‘I am not condoning anything you have done to me over the past week Philip, and you could have killed me. But, hearing your internal pain has made me realise I could have been more open with you when we first met the day before your dad’s funeral. The truth is, you and I have not seen each other for 30 years, and I had no idea that you knew so little. Your father and I did not speak, but I had assumed you and he did.’

  ‘It is my turn, to be honest with you.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five – 14 days after

  It’s my turn to sit up straighter and shuffle in my chair. Donald pauses for what seems an age, his look is pensive, and his eyes navigate the room, buying time before fixing back on mine, and taking a slow intake of breath.

  ‘It is true, your dad and I had a falling out, a big one actually, which is also the reason I did not come to Jimmy’s funeral.’ A glance up to the ceiling as if recalling his silent prayer. ‘He made it clear I was not welcome, but nothing to do with what you suggested. Yes, your father was a little sore about being rejected by the Lodge, but it had been me that put him forward in the first place.’

  Donald reaches for the water at his bedside and takes a long, thoughtful drink, while I wait patiently for him to continue. Will he implicate my dad? Will I believe him?

  ‘And yes, I did sense the creeping jealousy from your dad, but the truth is Jimmy and I enjoyed each other’s company.’ I wince, did he see that? ‘In the early days, your dad was grateful as he knew little about DIY and it was not just war stories as you put it, Jimmy had a thirst for knowledge for all things History.’

  Donald places his empty cup on his bedside, locking his hand together. ‘It was your dad that made the allegation against the school, and against me, he lashed out. It was completely fabricated, he, rather like yourself, was driven by a vindictive motive, and when coupled with alcohol, it is a toxic mix. Brother Mayne, sorry Peter, had nothing to do with the investigation, in fact, we never spoke of it, not once.’

  I remember the days of my dad and Donald being friends, long conversations over the fence, exchanging books. But something significant must have sparked his vendetta. ‘So what happened Donald? I have seen the Police cautions against my dad for aggressive behaviour, going a step further than just a prank call.’

  ‘If I am honest Philip, your father’s gripe with me did originate from the Lodge.’ The Lodge, I knew it. ‘A brother from the Lodge in Bournemouth contacted us looking for help, sharing with us his grievances. His sister had been in a relationship with a man from Baysworth for several years and started a family with him in good faith. Instead of being there to support his new family, he spent more and more time away.’

  Donald pauses, as if checking that I am taking all this in, I give the faintest of nods, willing him to continue, to get to the point.

  ‘It turned out he had another family here in Baysworth and was using his job as a smokescreen to hide his double life. Our Lodge is not the mafia, and we were not going to threaten him or anything like that, his ask of us was only if we knew him.’

  ‘So what Donald?’

  ‘And could we have a quiet word, to remind him of his responsibilities and to find out his intentions.’ Of course, you scratch my back and I will scratch yours, that should be the freemasons motto. ‘You must remember this was the only way before the Internet. It was through connections that you found people in those days. That fell on me, both as the Almoner and, well as the neighbour to the man in question. I am sorry Philip.’

  I sit frozen, ice sweeping up my spine, tasting the cold air getting sucked into my dry mouth, my eyes suddenly blinded by the light. I swallow hard, the air in the room suddenly thick. My mind races a million different thoughts crashing into one and other.

  I always thought my dad was the loving husband, the loving father. My dad was always at home, except for cricket matches, visits to his sick auntie and working away most weeks. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. When I formulate this, and the reality that he was never the loving father nor husband, it becomes real. It makes sense. But how could he do that to us, how could he do that to mum?

  ‘I can see you are shocked Philip, but until today, I thought you knew, it is why you and your mum moved away. I assumed it was discussed. I had a quiet word with your father, not out of spite, but I had a lot of respect for your mother, and I wanted to simply find out his intentions. He took this as a threat, and he thought I was emotionally blackmailing him. He went crazy, became very aggressive towards me, and started this big vendetta against the Lodge and me. He put a stop to Jimmy’s visits and started spreading rumours, and when they largely fell on deaf ears, he started this witch hunt against me. It only paused when young Jimmy died, but then something sparked it up all over again years later culminating in the allegations against the school, picked up by the newspapers but thankfully instantly dismissed by the Police.’

  I stare at the clock above Donald. It has a white face, black hands moving on each second of time with a ticking sound suddenly so loud it vibrates around the room, the numbers sit prominently in black font. I feel the anxiety building up inside me but hypnotically watch the hand complete a full minute providing a little escapism, feeling my heart slow in perfect tandem. I reluctantly drag my gaze back to Donald, his eyes search for mine.

  ‘Are you ok Philip?’

  I reply but only in my head, I cannot make my lips move as if I am underwater. The walls shimmering with the current. I respond only through my eyes, the rest of me paralysed. I fix my eyes back to the clock hands once again, the second hand approaching its vertical form, tick, he continues to stare at me, tick, a door opens, tick, some muffled talking, tick, the room brightens, tick, then my head bursts through the water to reach the surface, I can breathe again. A nurse is standing next to me, her hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’

  My focus returns, Donald staring at me, I feel the intense heat of his spotlight. I want to run but feel nothing in my legs. I turn once again to the nurse, ‘Yes, yes, please, thank you.’ I can’t stop nodding.

  I feel the air returning to my lungs and blo
od to my cheeks. ‘I never knew.’ My voice is broken. ‘I never knew that is why my mum and I left. I had always assumed it was because of the strain caused by Jimmy.’

  Wait. ‘Jimmy, did he know? Is that why he…. You said to me in your house that I was too young to know Jimmy? What did you mean?’

  Donald swallows a yawn, holding his teacup in one hand and saucer in the other.

  ‘What does this have to do with Jimmy?’ I ask again, impatiently.

  He settles his teacup on his side table, his voice now much softer. ‘Truth is I don’t know, nobody knows. There is no conspiracy Philip. I was merely referring to his struggles, you were too young to understand this.’ I blink the water out of my eyes. ‘Jimmy had his problems well before your dad and I fell out over this other family business. Growing up, he was all or nothing, from one extreme of high energy and spirit bouncing at the door to someone who could not lift his stare from the floor. As he manoeuvred through his teenage years, he became more and more of the latter I am afraid. He lost interest in football, lost interest in friends, DIY, in school…’

  ‘School.’ I shout out. The term jolting my memory from talking to Vicky and the concessions Donald offered him that has been nagging at me. I take a steadying breath. ‘What happened at school Donald?’

  ‘At school, the teachers were all aware and we tried hard, carrot rather than stick approach, he was given the freedom to choose his agenda, in the hope he would come around. I tried hard with him. Your dad, he tried everything. He treated him with such compassion, took him to counselling when in those days it was only for the rich in London, and he got him medication, he gave up his job to take care of him, to sit with him each day and read to him. He tried hard to understand, but it is one of life’s truism, that you never really know the landscape of someone’s mind. He was fighting demons only he could see. As I said, there is no conspiracy. He found his peace through the only passage he thought available. The last flicker of light from his candle had gone out. When I heard those screams from your house, I knew, we all did.’