The Bride: A twisty and completely gripping psychological thriller

by Wendy Clarke

  I pull my hand away. I want to say no, pack my bag and go, but my loyalty to Joanna stops me.

  ‘If I did stay, what would I do with myself?’

  ‘Do?’

  ‘Yes, I can’t just sit here for two days.’ I think of my dead phone. The book with only one chapter left to read. And then it occurs to me that it’s already Wednesday. I’ve been here since Saturday evening and, apart from that initial walk along the quayside with Mark, I haven’t left the building. How has that happened?

  Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, then looks at me. ‘There is something. We’ve had a small staffing problem recently. Our cleaner, Rosetta, handed in her notice, and we haven’t been able to find a replacement. Maybe you’d consider covering for a few days, or at least while I’m away. There won’t be a lot to do. Just the corridors. You don’t even need to do the reception. Derek has that in hand, as well as the outside.’

  Seeing me hesitate, he carries on. ‘I’d pay you well for the inconvenience, and it would give you something to do.’

  ‘And food? There aren’t exactly any shops around here.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that. Last night, after you’d gone to bed, I placed a food order from Waitrose. I didn’t know what you liked, so I had to take a guess. It will arrive later today.’

  I stare at him. How did he know I’d say yes?

  Sensing he’s made a mistake, Mark reddens. ‘Please, Alice, I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important.’

  ‘All right, just a couple of days, then I really must get back.’

  Mark reaches across and pats my hand. ‘Good girl.’

  I’m standing outside the lift on the first floor, my finger on the call button, waiting for the number above the door to change from six to one. At last it pings, signalling the lift’s arrival, and the metal doors slide open. I pull aside the concertina grill and drag out the vacuum cleaner, feeling pleased with myself for devising a way to get the heavy contraption from one floor to another without actually taking the lift myself.

  I wonder what Mark’s doing now. Earlier, I’d watched from the window as his Lexus had disappeared around the corner of the warehouse. Then when I could no longer hear the throaty rasp of its engine, I’d turned and viewed the apartment. Imagining what it would be like if it were mine. Thinking of how I would make it more homely: what paintings I’d hang on the long bare walls, what coloured rugs and throws I’d buy. But then I’d pulled myself up short. This was Joanna’s world, not mine. And maybe it was no longer hers either.

  Now that I’m outside the apartment, I’m feeling the building’s isolation more keenly, and as I plug the vacuum cleaner into the socket on the wall, I can’t help picturing the empty warehouse spaces behind the closed and locked doors that run the length of the corridor. Spaces that have lost hope of ever being filled with furniture or the sound of voices.

  More unnerving than that, though, is the image I have of Derek in his small room off the entrance hall, his pale eyes fixed to the monitors. I glance up at the camera, wondering if he’s watching me, and shiver.

  Making sure the setting on the cleaner is for hard floors, I make my way down the corridor. The high-pitched whine cutting through the silence. The sweet, musky tobacco fragrance teasing my nostrils. As I guide the metal nozzle along floorboards that have barely had any feet walk their length since the warehouse was completed, it occurs to me that no one will even see my efforts.

  When I reach the end, I stop and turn the vacuum cleaner off. On this far wall is an arched window and through it, I see the warehouse next to this one, its side clad in scaffolding. Leaning my elbows on the sill, I look down at the cracked paving below. It’s choked with weeds that don’t quite manage to hide the wheels of the upended shopping trolley that’s been left there despite no shop being near.

  As I watch, a gust of wind slaps a sheet of newspaper against the broken wire fencing, beyond which the Thames continues its journey to the sea, not caring that I’m here alone. That Joanna could be out there somewhere. Unhappy. Lost. Or worse.

  My thoughts turn to Mark. How horrible it must be for him living in this deserted place with Joanna gone. At least with his first wife, he knew what had happened. Tanya. I saw how his eyes had softened when he said her name and can’t help but wonder if he was over her when he married Joanna.

  I’m lost in thought when a noise behind me makes me turn, one hand to my heart. It’s not a loud noise, but a faint click like a door opening or closing. I hold my breath and listen. Mark said this floor was unoccupied.

  It’s only as I’m beginning to think I’ve imagined it that I hear the noise again. This time there’s movement too. A few steps away from where I’m standing, the door of one of the apartments opens. Long thin fingers, the insides of the first two stained with nicotine, grip the doorframe.

  ‘Joanna?’ a male voice asks.

  A face looms from the darkness within. Peaked. Sallow. Someone of around nineteen or twenty.

  He blinks in the light of the corridor. ‘Is that you?’

  I hear the urgency behind the words. The underlying relief.

  Pressing my back against the cold brick wall, I shake my head, the shock of seeing him striking me dumb. The boy’s hollow eyes meet mine, and it’s then he sees me properly. Realises his mistake.

  ‘Fuck.’ He spits the word, and then the door closes as quickly as it opened.

  I don’t move. Scared that he might come out again. From his reaction, it’s clear he’s not supposed to be here. But he knows Joanna. Called her name.

  Leaving everything where it is, I tiptoe along the corridor and press my ear against the door. There’s no sound. Nothing. I raise my hand to knock and then drop it again. What would I say? I don’t know this person. For all I know he’s a squatter, off his head on drugs. I could ask Mark of course, but my phone is dead in my pocket.

  Trying not to think of my unnerving encounter, I wind the cable around the vacuum cleaner and place it, along with the box of cleaning products I’ve been using, inside the lift. Then I climb the stairs to the next floor and press the button to summon it. Moving down the corridor as I did on the previous floor.

  But the guy’s face keeps floating into my head. Who is he and why is he living here? Those sharp cheekbones, the indigo shadows under his eyes – they bring to mind a boy Joanna hooked up with when she was eighteen, a casual worker on a neighbouring farm. It was a time when she’d have done anything to shock her parents. But I’d been shocked too.

  How does the boy I saw know Joanna? Could he have seen her in the corridor or on the stairs and fallen for her? He wouldn’t be the first and had clearly been expecting her… Might he be the key to where she is?

  My imagination is running wild, and I have to force myself to stop thinking about it. What good will it do, suspecting everyone I meet? Instead, I try to empty my mind and finish the work I’ve started.

  By the time I’ve finished all the floors and have put everything away, I’m starting to feel hungry, and the thought of the Waitrose delivery has grown appealing. When, later, the buzzer goes, I throw the door open, expecting to see the green plastic boxes filled with food.

  It’s not the delivery man.

  Twenty-Four

  As soon as I see who it is, I try to shut the door, but he’s too quick, his dirty trainer blocking the gap. I push harder, but he leans into the wood, forcing it back open.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing in Joanna’s apartment?’ He spits the words out, saliva flecking his chin.

  Despite my fear, I stand my ground, scared he’s going to come into the apartment, but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks at me, his haunted eyes beneath the black beanie hat, unnerving. What little I can see of his hair is greasy, so fair it’s almost white, a flap of it falling across one side of his gaunt face like a curtain that hasn’t been opened properly. He pushes it aside irritably.

  ‘I asked you a question.’

  My heart is thrumming against my chest, but I kn
ow he mustn’t see how scared I am. I force my voice not to quaver. ‘Tell me what you want, or I’ll call the police.’

  Hoping he won’t notice the blank and useless screen, I slide my fingers into my pocket, but just as I’m bringing the mobile out, his hand shoots out, snatching it from me.

  His eyes dart to the screen, then back to my face again. He waves the phone in front of my face. ‘Really?’

  I take a step back. ‘Look, I don’t know what you want, but if it’s money…’

  ‘I don’t give a shit about money. Did Joanna ask you to come up and clean the place? Answer me… did she?’

  As he speaks, he wraps his arms around his body as though he’s cold. He sounds less sure of himself now and, up close, there’s something vulnerable about him, his stained hoodie and dirty jeans hanging off his thin frame.

  I glance behind me. ‘No, she didn’t. I’m not the cleaner.’

  ‘Then what were you doing when I saw you earlier?’ Behind his south London accent, there’s a hint of public school.

  ‘No, you’ve got it wrong. I’m just helping Mark out.’

  He eyes me suspiciously. ‘If you’re not the cleaner, who are you?’

  ‘I’m Alice. Joanna is… used to be… my best friend. She asked me to come and stay.’

  The youth peers behind me. ‘So where is she then?’

  I hesitate, wondering what I should say. I decide to stick to the lie. ‘She’s been on a course. She’ll be back soon.’

  ‘She never said. She would have told me.’

  His attitude is starting to annoy me. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve told you who I am. Who exactly are you? I was told only Mark, Joanna and Eloise are living in the building.’

  His face closes. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It might matter to Mark that someone’s been calling at his apartment when he’s at work.’

  He looks uncertain now. Younger. A muscle works in his jaw. ‘Don’t tell him.’

  He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand. The whites look bloodshot, the rims red too. It’s unnerving him being here, but he looks so sad, so lost, that the words come out before I can stop them.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’

  His face pinches with suspicion. ‘Why?’

  ‘I just thought there might be something I could help you with… as Joanna’s not here.’

  He glances down the corridor, and my eyes follow his, alighting on the security camera.

  ‘Are you worried Derek will see?’

  ‘Not really. I saw him leave the building before I came up. There’s no one here but us.’ He takes a step forward. ‘You got any food?’

  ‘A little. There’s an order that should be arriving… from Waitrose.’ I stop. He’s not going to care about that. ‘I’m sure I can find something.’

  He follows me inside, and I close the door behind us, wondering if I’ve done the right thing. He doesn’t sit but stands in the middle of the open space, his fingers plucking at the seams of his grubby jeans. He’s clearly agitated.

  ‘She didn’t tell me she was going anywhere. Why wouldn’t she tell me?’

  I shake my head. ‘If it’s any consolation, she didn’t tell me either.’

  I don’t want him to know the truth – how worried I am about Joanna. His erratic behaviour is unnerving, and I’m scared of saying anything that might tip him over the edge.

  Leaving him, I go into the kitchen area. I lift the lid from the bread crock and take out the half loaf that’s in there, then look in the fridge. ‘Ham okay?’

  ‘I don’t care. Anything.’

  I butter the bread, trying to make my voice conversational. ‘How do you know Joanna?’

  ‘She’s my stepdad’s girlfriend.’

  ‘Your stepdad?’

  ‘Mark.’ He says the word as though it’s got a nasty taste.

  I lift my head in surprise. ‘Mark’s your stepdad?’

  ‘Surprise, surprise. He hasn’t mentioned me.’

  ‘Well, no, but then…’

  ‘Don’t make excuses for him, he’s an arsehole.’

  I cut the sandwich in two and take it over to him. ‘I don’t think you should talk about him like that.’

  ‘Why not? It’s true. After Mum died, he made it clear he didn’t want me. I was sixteen and had just failed most of my GCSEs. He thought I was a layabout, said that if I didn’t get my finger out, I would amount to nothing.’ He looks down at his stained hoodie. ‘I guess he was right.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  He takes a large bite of the sandwich, and I look away as pickle drips down his chin. He wipes it with his sleeve. ‘Nathan.’

  I sit opposite him. ‘I’m trying to understand. Who looked after you then if Mark didn’t?’

  Nathan swallows his mouthful. ‘He sent me to my gran’s. She did her best, but I was a mess after Mum, drugs and stuff, and she didn’t know what to do with me either.’

  ‘That must have been hard.’

  He looks at me over the top of his sandwich. ‘The only one who cared a toss about me was Joanna. I moved back with Mark for a bit and she was there. I thought I’d mind seeing him with someone else, but she was fucking awesome. Gave me the number of a counsellor. Put me in touch with someone who would help me get clean. Not many people would do that for someone they hardly knew.’

  As he lifts his arm to take another bite, I see the threadlike tracks on his skin. Seeing I’ve noticed, he yanks at the sleeve of his sweatshirt with his free hand, his glare accusing. ‘I’m not using now, if that’s what you’re thinking. Though it’s fucking hard.’

  I drag my eyes away. ‘What happened then? Why aren’t you living with them now?’

  ‘Mark couldn’t cope with me. All he was interested in was his business.’ He turns away and bites his lip. ‘When he moved in here with Joanna, I was going to come too, but then he went and fucking got rid of our dog – said it wasn’t fair to keep her in an apartment and that there’d be no one to walk her.’

  I think of Eloise’s little dog. Wonder how she manages. ‘He might have had a point. New Tobacco Wharf isn’t exactly pet-friendly.’

  ‘Then he shouldn’t have moved here.’

  ‘Maybe Mark didn’t—’

  He cuts me off. ‘Don’t make excuses for him. Shona was Mum’s dog. She loved her. I loved her. Anyway, we got into a fight about it, and Mark threw me out.’

  He sniffs and looks around the apartment, and I wonder how many times he’s been here.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Fucking hell, you’re slow. You’ve seen where I doss. Joanna got me the keys to the empty apartment on the first floor. My stepdad has keys to all the unoccupied apartments, and it wasn’t difficult for her to make a copy. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d be on the streets.’

  It all makes sense now. ‘Does Mark know?’

  He looks at me as though I’m mad. ‘Of course, he doesn’t. I’m not an idiot.’ He takes off his woollen hat and scratches his head. ‘Joanna brought me food and stuff, and the idea was she’d give me the nod if someone was going to look round with a view to buying. They never have, of course. No one wants to live here. It’s why Mark has no fucking money – except what should be mine. Most of that has gone too, though.’

  I’m confused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mum left everything to him… in her will. I got fuck all.’ He slams his plate down on the coffee table. ‘Wouldn’t put it past him to have forced her into it. Scheming bastard.’

  I try to marry up the Mark he’s telling me about with the one with whom I’ve spent the last few days. ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘And you don’t know him.’

  ‘No, I suppose I don’t.’ I change the subject. ‘Don’t you get lonely, living there by yourself? I thought the same when I met Eloise. It’s so isolated here. So desolate.’

  ‘Who the fuck is Eloise?’

  ‘I suppose she’s Joanna’s friend. I got the impression when I saw
her that they see a lot of each other. Lives on the fourth floor… I’m surprised you haven’t seen her around.’

  ‘Seen her around? It’s not fucking Neighbours.’ He lifts his feet in their filthy trainers onto the coffee table and crosses his ankles. Daring me to object. ‘Anyway, I don’t go out if I can help it.’

  ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why are you sorry? I’m not your problem.’ His anger has flared suddenly. ‘Why are you here anyway? What do you care?’

  Getting up, he forces the beanie hat onto his head and strides across the room, stopping only when he gets to the door.

  ‘When Joanna gets home, tell her I asked after her. I tried to warn her about Mark, but I have to keep my distance. Last time I tried to help I learnt the hard way.’ His face pinches. ‘You and that woman on the fourth floor might think you know Joanna, but you don’t. None of you do… not really. But you know what, I don’t give a damn any more. You…’ He points a finger at me. ‘You’d better keep your nose out of my life.’

  The loud slam echoes in the carpetless room, making the metal ladles and spatulas that hang from the rack in the kitchen swing. The encounter has shaken me. Quickly, I go over to the door and lock it.

  But being shut in does nothing to lessen my unease.

  Twenty-Five

  That night I sleep fitfully. I’m not sure whether it’s due to the steak that came with the food delivery, when it eventually arrived, or the wind that’s got up and is rattling the small-paned windows. Whichever it is, the hours are passing slowly. Lying in Joanna’s old bed, watching the moon slip in and out from behind the dark clouds, it’s hard not to remember the night when the heavy metal blinds shut out all light. My paralysing fear.

  I lie awake, thinking of what Nathan told me. How Mark is his stepdad. How the money Tanya left in her will has been spent on money-draining new developments like New Tobacco Wharf. Most of all, though, I think of Nathan’s attachment to Joanna, and all she’s done for him in the short time she’s known him. Did Joanna want me to know all this? Is this why I’m here?