The Face of Clara Morgan: a gripping and chilling psychological suspense thriller

by J. A. Baker

  Take the phone! Call him. Please, Anthony, just call Gavin and make everything right.

  Thoughts careen around her head, bashing into each other as she waits, silently praying he will do the right thing, that Anthony will put aside his pride and stubbornness and speak to Gavin, their friend, the man who is willing to help them out of their current hiatus.

  A buzzing fills her ears as Anthony turns the phone over in his hand, inspecting it closely before placing it back down and standing up, his frame towering over her, his shadow spreading an ominous grey mass over the floor.

  ‘No. And don’t ask me again. I have no desire to go begging to Gavin or anybody else for that matter. I have a job. It may not be the job you want it to be but it’s a job that I enjoy and that I am happy with. A job that doesn’t entail working every hour God sends with stress levels that were enough to fell a lesser man.’ He bends down and catches Kate’s eye.

  She tries to turn away from him, to hide her glassy-eyed expression and stop the tears from falling.

  ‘What price happiness and contentment, eh, Kate? Money means nothing to a dead man. Money means nothing to a lonely, widowed woman. Because that was the way we were heading. You just couldn’t see it though, could you? You were so wrapped up in your little social circle, locked into the idea of having whatever you wanted whenever you wanted it that you were blind to everything else. Money was no object and now you simply cannot handle the idea of being like every other person who has to stop and think before they buy. You cannot handle the idea of not being top dog anymore. Ordinary doesn’t sit well with you, does it, Kate? You see it as being beneath you. Well, I’ve got news for you; you had better get used to it because I am not going back to that lifestyle, to that type of cut-throat environment where I travelled to work every morning wondering whether that day would be the one when I would lose it all – take a gamble and lose everything – my money, my family, my sanity.’ Anthony stops, looks around the room then back at her, his expression somewhere between gentleness and exasperation with a touch of fury thrown in for good measure. ‘You have no idea, have you? You never did. Are you honestly telling me that you didn’t know?’

  She tries to stop her chin from trembling, thinking back to what she missed, what signs she didn’t pick up on, those subliminal messages and signals that passed her by. ‘Anthony, I–’

  ‘No. Stop.’ His hand is a barrier between them, held up to silence her. ‘Whatever it is you’re going to say, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not in the mood for excuses or to hear you play some pathetic little guessing game as to what was going on in my world, the busier bigger world that happened outside your paltry existence.’ His voice is a low hiss, menacing, intimidating. ‘Do you have any idea what it was like for me having to commute from York to London several times a week? How the hours got to me, the stress of possibly losing everything?’

  She shivers, wishes she had handled this better, been a better listener in the past, provided him with a shoulder to cry on. But she didn’t. She can see that now of course, but he never appeared to need it. Anthony, the strong resilient leader. Anthony the stalwart who never buckled under the strain. She has no idea what it is she missed; what it is she should have been looking out for.

  He is staring down at her, shaking his head, his brow furrowed. He looks old, as if he has aged ten years in ten minutes. She never considered herself a bad wife, a cold-hearted spouse who left her husband to cope on his own and yet here they are; Anthony claiming she was too wrapped up in her own little life to notice or care what was going on in his while she is left second-guessing at what she could have done to help him. What she could have said to make his life easier.

  ‘You never knew about my counselling sessions either, did you? Or my near breakdown? The day Ralph from accounts found me down by the river and coaxed me back into the office. I was ready to do it, Kate. I was ready to jump right in. And now here you are, begging me to go back to that environment, to that job, the one that was nearly the undoing of me.’

  Kate closes her eyes; she can hear his voice, sharp and breathless, the urgency in it. The desperation. He is almost begging her, imploring her to see it from his point of view. And she should, she knows that. But there are barriers there, large blockades stopping her from being empathetic and sensitive to his needs. She didn’t know about how down he was, how low he felt about his position at the firm, how the constant travelling and the long hours got to him. But that’s because he didn’t tell her. He hid it well, carrying on as if nothing was amiss.

  She isn’t the only one to blame here. If they are meant to be a partnership then why didn’t he confide in her? Why didn’t he speak up and ask for help? She isn’t a mind reader and doesn’t possess psychic powers. Anthony is a charmer, a master at it. Was that why she didn’t see the cracks in his veneer? Because he is so adept at covering up and putting on a good show? Wearing his game face to work every day because that’s what he excelled at. Or was it because she was too self-centred, too wrapped up in her own existence to see it? Kate chews at her lip, biting down hard and wincing as a line of pain slides across her mouth. Every inch of her stings with distress and irritation.

  No, she won’t have the narrative that she is the conniving selfish wife who neglected her husband’s welfare. She simply won’t have it. She did everything she could for her family – made a lovely home, kept it clean and tidy, always ensuring their meals were on time, that their clothes were laundered, that they mingled and had lots of friends around. Theirs was a happy, contented house. A happy, contented family. She failed to notice his mental decline because he lied to her, covered up and pretended everything was perfect when it was not. She isn’t the only selfish one here.

  For all she was immersed in her activities and clique of friends, Anthony too, was totally submerged in his. Nights out with the boys, business trips away in swanky hotels doing God knows what with God knows who. She turned a blind eye to it all because it was what was expected of them. Those were the circles they moved in. And now look where it has left them, two people struggling to make sense of this situation. Two people cast adrift, directionless and bereft.

  She wants a better life. He wants the one they have. She strives for more. He is happy to tread water here in this house for the remainder of their lives. She wants to swim the entire ocean.

  ‘You didn’t tell me, Anthony. You didn’t tell me anything!’ Tears start to flow. She is lashing out now. She knows it but can’t seem to stop. ‘How was I supposed to help a person who acted as if nothing was wrong?’

  He doesn’t reply, leaving her to gabble and sob, each utterance feeling as if it has been plucked from deep within her body leaving a great big void where her soul should be.

  ‘Maybe,’ he says, squatting down on his haunches to meet her gaze, his grey eyes steel-like, ‘you should have tried harder, looked beyond the superficial, tried to see behind the mask I wore every fucking day.’ He stands back up and stares down at her. ‘It’s not as if you had anything else to do, is it? No job, no real housework to do. We had a cleaner, for fuck’s sake. You ran a duster around the place once a month and acted as if you’d cleaned the entire bloody street. Breaking a nail at one of your yoga classes was your idea of a bad day, Kate. Maybe you should have tried walking a mile in my shoes, put your neck on the line every fucking day. So, if you don’t mind, I won’t be ringing Gavin or any of his cronies. I won’t be stepping back into that life. Not for you, not for me or the kids. Not for anybody. Not ever.’

  His footfall as he passes her and the subsequent slam of the door makes her tremble, sending a spear of disquiet through her. She wraps her arms around herself, shivering despite the warmth of the room.

  This isn’t the end. Far from it. Kate may not consider herself the most skilled or qualified of people but if there is one facet of her personality of which she is proud, it is her tenacity. Anthony may believe that what he is doing now, taking this retrograde step, is the best route for him and his fa
mily, but he’s wrong. With a renewed sense of purpose and Kate’s support, he is capable of so much more. He just doesn’t know it yet. But he will soon enough. And if he doesn’t – well the cracks and fissures in their little family unit may just become too wide to ever be repaired.

  13

  Alex lies on his bed, listening to his parents arguing downstairs. They don’t think they’re arguing. If he were to point it out to them that they are continually at each other’s throats, they would wave him away, insisting they were simply having a discussion. A debate. That’s what they would call it. A heated conversation.

  We’re just discussing a few things, son. We need to speak at length every now and again to clear the air.

  It’s a complete lie and he is sick of it, sick of the constant battles, sick of the snide remarks and the filthy looks. It’s like living in a war zone.

  Joss doesn’t seem to notice or care. It slides over her head, the dark ambience about the place, the caustic exchange of words. She’s too busy posting stuff on social media or dyeing her hair or chatting on the phone to people she barely knows who, since getting to know her just a few months ago, now hang on to her every word. She is so wrapped up in her own little life, the pretend one she has created for herself since moving here, that she has failed to notice that her real life and her close family is slowly falling apart.

  With his mum and dad warring downstairs and Joss engaged in a conversation that would make their mother’s hair curl, Alex feels very much on his own.

  He stares down at the message from Dane.

  Fancy meeting me at the end of Town Road? The part that leads into the woods. Got a plan.

  Ordinarily he would say no, politely decline using any excuse he can think of, knowing how Dane’s plans always play out, but tonight he reacts differently. The walls of his bedroom, of this house, are closing in on him. He sends a reply that he is on his way and jumps up off the bed, pulling on a hoodie and running his fingers through his tousled hair. He has no idea what Dane has in store; nor does he care. It’s got to be better than sitting around this house, listening to Punch and Judy fighting it out downstairs.

  Tonight, rather than be the sensible one who pshaws Dane’s outlandish ideas, he will go along with them, break out of his routine as the sensible well-behaved lad who never puts a foot wrong, and he will live a little. Constantly trying to do the right thing is wearing. Why shouldn’t he allow himself to be carried away by the moment? And if his parents, who are purportedly the adults around here, can’t behave themselves, then why the fuck should he? The time has come to loosen up a little, have some fun and be the teenager that he is, not walk around as if he has to keep the rest of the world in line.

  Without telling anybody where he is going or shouting any goodbyes, he leaves the house, the door closing behind him with a dull thud, and heads down the road, weaving his way through trees and parked cars, past people heading in the other direction and onto the street that leads to the park. If he cuts through it, he will make it in good time. He may even have enough minutes’ spare to call into the shop, buy a couple of cans of Coke.

  Alex pushes back his shoulders. Empowerment throbs in his veins. Suddenly he knows how his sister feels to not be constrained by the expectations of others, to just please herself and think about her own needs and nobody else’s. It’s liberating, shrugging off the shackles of sensibility and throwing caution to the wind. For so many years he has always wanted to please those around him, never disappointing anybody, worrying that he didn’t live up to the image that everybody had of him. Especially his parents. But since their move here, since his dad took a different job, everything seems to have spiralled downwards and the normal pigeonholes they all neatly slotted into have melded into a big sticky mess. Everything has shifted. Their world is out of kilter and all the usual restrictions they adhered to have been abandoned in favour of something less rigid. Something more exciting. He can turn in a different direction, go wherever he pleases, be with whomever he likes. Do whatever he wants.

  A frisson of anticipation and exhilaration surges through him. He enters the shop, delving in his pocket for a handful of change, stopping to scoop up two tins of Coca-Cola before marching to the counter, his heart thumping around his chest.

  ‘A pack of Marlboro, please, and I’ll take these as well.’ He holds out the two cans and waits for the girl behind the counter to reply. She doesn’t look much older than him, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. His spine is locked solid as he sees her ice-cold glare, realising suddenly that she exudes the confidence of somebody much older than eighteen or nineteen, somebody who is much more experienced than he could ever hope to be.

  ‘I’ll need to see some ID.’ Her voice is like granite. He can see now that he misjudged her. She is probably in her early twenties with a harsh expression and a voice to match.

  ‘Right. I don’t have it on me, so–’

  ‘No ID, no cigarettes.’

  Torn between anger and humiliation, Alex passes her a handful of change and turns to leave, trying to stem the feelings that are rising in his gut, turning his face a deep shade of mauve.

  ‘You need your change.’

  He isn’t imagining it. There is definitely sarcasm in her tone, perhaps even a touch of amusement at his predicament.

  ‘Keep it.’ He is shouting now. ‘You look like you need it more than I do.’

  He hears her sigh as he steps outside into the cool breeze. A small vortex of leaves swirls at his feet.

  Stuffing the drinks into his pocket, he thinks about how long it will be before he can take control of his own life, not be viewed as a child but seen instead as an adult, someone who is ready to spread his wings and take flight.

  The wind pushes at his back, an invisible palm thrusting him forwards to the path that will lead him to Dane.

  Alex spots him in the distance, is able to immediately recognise his friend’s stooped wiry figure. Dane is standing, silhouetted against the backdrop of a row of houses. Beyond the rooftops, Alex can see the sway of the trees, their tops bending and flexing as they are pushed back and forth by the growing gusts of wind. Maybe they are due a storm.

  The figure in the distance sends a burst of contentment through Alex, small bubbles of happiness popping and exploding in his belly. Being stuck at home with the two warring factions only serves to dampen his mood and make him feel miserable. For all of Dane’s faults and negativity, at the minute he is the one static thing in Alex’s life, somebody who regardless of everything, has stayed by Alex’s side, introducing him to new people, making sure he found his way around school. Six months ago, he would have avoided somebody like Dane, given him and his stupid tricks and ideas a wide berth, but things have changed and now here they are, mates together. And it feels remarkably good. He is cool with it. It’s all good.

  He thinks that he might make a joke about Dane having the hots for his sister but decides against it, knowing how awkward Dane is around members of the opposite sex, pretending he doesn’t see them or care about them when his adoration of them is written all over his face. Tonight, Alex just wants to relax and have some fun. He doesn’t want to ruin it by overstepping the mark, making a jibe at somebody else’s expense, especially Dane’s. He’s one of the good guys in this town. He deserves better.

  ‘Now then, bro.’ Dane raises his hand and they fist bump. ‘Bobby said he might meet us later if he can escape his mother’s clutches.’

  Alex shakes his head, unaware of the joke.

  ‘Ah, his old woman is a teacher, isn’t she? Makes him sit and do all his homework, then checks it over with her beady eye before he can leave the house.’

  ‘I thought his parents were really laid-back? Y’know with all the booze at the party and all that?’

  Dane cocks his head and eyes Alex from under his brow. ‘Yeah, they are but with her being a teacher and everything, she’s always telling him how well he has to do at school. He gets shitloads of extra work to do off his parents.
That’s why he always comes top in tests.’

  Alex can’t work out which is worst – having a mother like his who is oblivious to him and his life, or being saddled with somebody like Bobby’s mum who breathes down his neck over his schoolwork, even giving him extra stuff just because she can. It’s as if adults need lessons themselves on how to be decent parents. Sometimes he just can’t work it all out, this growing up shit and everything that goes with it. All the more reason to live in the moment, have a bit of fun and dispense with the usual conventions and sensible ways of going about things. Time to live a little, be a normal teenager. Time to chill the fuck out.

  ‘Anyway,’ Dane says, his finger outstretched, ‘take a look at that place over there. It’s Bennison’s house.’

  ‘Bennison?’

  ‘The Maths teacher? Walks like she’s got a pole up her arse? Wears eight inches of make-up?’ Dane is scowling, his face scrunched up, eyes narrowed into tiny suspicious slits.

  ‘Ah.’ Alex smiles and winks at his friend. ‘That Bennison. The one with the legs that go on forever. The same one who wears the tight skirts and even tighter sweaters? Nipples like fighter pilot’s thumbs?’

  ‘Fuck off, Winston-D’Allandrio. She’s nothing but an old harridan. Here,’ he says pulling out a letter from his pocket. ‘This shows you just how much of a bastard she is. Her and Dommy Rose. Pair of miserable fuckers together.’

  Alex stares down at the letter, scanning each sentence, spotting the school letterhead at the top and wondering what misdemeanour Dane has committed this time that warrants a letter being sent home. He usually keeps all of his rule-breaking activities at a low level, just enough to sneak under the school’s radar, not doing anything that is worthy of being sanctioned. But not this time.

  ‘It says here you missed lessons even though you were registered as being in school.’