Her Dark Retreat: a psychological thriller with a twist you won't see coming

by J. A. Baker

  ‘Right, sorry, I’m with you now. What’s that you were saying?’

  His voice is a crackling squeak through her mobile as the engine kicks in and the heater roars into life, blasting her with a stream of cold air. She shivers and closes the vents. Jesus! All she wants is some warmth.

  ‘Sorry to ring you, Bren, but she’s being all weird.’

  Brenda has to stifle the laughter that she feels bubbling. Can you get weirder than Maude when she’s at her weirdest? Is that actually possible?

  ‘Okay. In what way?’ She wants to ask is it that Maude thinks the Germans are about to march in and take over the whole of the north-east? Or is it that she keeps asking why she can’t go to school? Or perhaps it’s that thing she does where she gets on her hands and knees and crawls around the living room pretending she’s a fairground donkey asking if anybody would like a ride on her back for tuppence a go? So many weird moments to choose from, Brenda feels spoilt for choice. If it wasn’t all so scary and bizarre and hysterically funny, she would cry. But she doesn’t. She won’t allow the tears to escape, because if they do, she fears they would never stop; a saline river of dread at her predicament; at the husband who keeps threatening to bleed her dry, at a mother who is slowly but surely turning into the child that Brenda never had, at the whole sorry, amateur dramatic performance that is her life at this moment in time.

  ‘She was going on about a body under the house,’ Andrew says as Brenda rubs her hands together, her attention waning by the second. There is nothing her mother can do or say that will surprise or shock her. She’s seen it all now, so this particular incident had better be good. She is tired, cold, hungry, and wants to get home before the traffic starts to build up and all the rush hour crazies hit the road and hinder her progress.

  ‘A body under the house?’ Brenda replies, the words hollow and meaningless to her. When it comes to her mother’s activities, everything she says and does takes on a whole new meaning. To Maude, dead bodies under the house is simply an extension of the whole WWII thing that is still raging in her head. She’s said it before - dead bodies everywhere! Bombs exploding killing the whole street …

  ‘I know it sounds daft now, but at the time - when she was going on about it, she seemed like, well, really clear about the whole thing and it was a bit scary …’

  Brenda suddenly feels sorry for him. It’s a really crap job, caring for an old aunt who has the mind of a seven-year-old. She doubts there are many young lads out there who could do what he has done over the past few months. He has been quite brilliant at it, despite everything Maude has thrown his way. Quite literally as well, on more than one occasion. He has done a sterling job and saved Brenda’s sanity, stopped it from slipping out of her grasp and sailing off into the blue yonder.

  ‘Okay, well, how is she now?’ She feels a waft of heat begin to emanate from the top of the dashboard and leans forward to open the vents. Heat. Letting out a sigh of relief as a blast of warm air hits her, circling around her legs and thawing her freezing toes, Brenda stares at her reflection in the mirror. God, she looks old. Overweight, tired, and just bloody old.

  ‘She’s asleep now. After she was going on about it she quickly fell into a really deep sleep. I had to prod her a few times, make sure she wasn’t – well, anyway, she’s out for the count on the sofa at the minute. And I hate to say anything but one of my mates rang earlier asking if I fancied going—’

  ‘Andrew, you have been utterly brilliant. I’m on my way home now. As soon as I get there you can get yourself off. I’ve got your money here, so you go and see your mates and have a good time. You’ve bloody well earned it.’

  ‘Right thanks,’ he says, stumbling over the words. Brenda visualises him biting his nails nervously, his soft, pale face flushing up at having to ask for time off and for the money she gives him. She wants to weep. Poor lad. She feels so sorry for him. Stuck there with Maude for hours at a time. The whole thing makes her want to hammer her fists on the steering wheel and cry out to the whole world about how unfair it all is. Then she thinks of the people she saw this morning, the victims of car crashes, the beaten women, the cancer patients, and tells herself to get a grip. Because right now, that’s the only thing that is keeping her going, helping her to put the whole sorry scenario into perspective. Despite the long shifts, despite the cutbacks that have made her job a thousand times more difficult than it already is, despite all of it, work is the only thing left in her life that she can rely on. That and poor old Andrew.

  ‘I’ll be there in under half an hour, Andy. You get your stuff sorted and you can get straight off.’

  ‘Cheers, Bren.’ His words are soft and thoughtful, making tears prick at her eyes. She blinks them away. She will not cry! She flings her phone onto the seat and watches as it topples onto the mass of litter spread in the well of the car. Ignoring it, she swings out of her parking space, suddenly keen to hit the road and get home to see her mother; the woman who, in the past six months, has turned her life upside down, the same woman who gave birth to her and is now the woman who has been reduced to no more than a child. The very same woman Brenda right now wishes were the dead body under the house.

  34

  Rachel

  It never felt right, the tone of those messages. She should have pushed the police further when she first reported her sister missing, told them that something was amiss. But would they have believed her, when all she had to go on was a hunch? Would the local, overstretched police force have taken her seriously when she had no more than gut instinct telling her that Sheryl was in trouble? Probably not.

  ‘I’m taking some time away to sort my head out …’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be in touch soon …’

  It didn’t even sound like her. Sort my head out isn’t a phrase Sheryl would ever use. When Rachel had replied and asked what she needed to sort out, the message simply said,

  ‘Relationship issues.’

  That didn’t ring true either. As far as she is aware, her sister isn’t even in a relationship. If she is, she is doing a damn good job of hiding it. God knows she has had some real humdingers in the past so maybe she’s keeping quiet about it until she’s sure it will work out? Rachel doesn’t think so, but then again, after Sheryl’s previous car-crash relationships, anything is possible. Her last boyfriend turned out to be the local big guy in town, a drug dealer with his own brand spanking new Mercedes and a host of dodgy minders to watch his back. That one didn’t last long after the police swooped on his flat in a dawn raid, breaking the door down while the rest of the neighbourhood slept. He is currently serving seven years in prison. Not long enough in Rachel’s opinion. The one before that was a serial philanderer, somebody who simply couldn’t keep it in his trousers. Everyone knew about his ways and tried to tell Sheryl, who ended up in complete denial. And the one prior to that - well Sheryl kept pretty quiet about that one actually. Rachel has always suspected it was a woman but said nothing. Not that it matters. Sheryl’s love life is her business. She just wishes her older sister would find somebody - a soul partner - like she has in Dominic. Sheryl always seems to stumble from one catastrophic relationship to another. She has a knack for forming disastrous relationships with totally unsuitable partners. Funny how she can spend her days advising others how to navigate their way through difficulties in their lives and yet can’t manage her own.

  Rachel thinks of her sister’s job. Sheryl’s clients are her lifeblood. She lives to help them and would never just abandon them the way she has. It’s unthinkable. Rachel knows that Sheryl has some savings but with no money being earned, how are her bills getting paid? What about her rent and her other outgoings? She has badgered the police to check Sheryl’s bank account to look for any suspicious activity and only hopes they’ve done the appropriate checks and realised that something is terribly amiss. Because it is. She can just feel it. Somebody has taken her sister and the same somebody has used Sheryl’s phone to send these fake messages, to fool ev
eryone into thinking she is safe. Well it won’t work. The police may have fallen for it but Rachel can see straight through such a cruel and devious trick.

  She stares at the screen, at Sheryl’s smiling face beaming out at her from the police incident page and feels her stomach tighten. Where are you Sheryl? Where the hell have you gone to? The most difficult part, apart from the obvious, has been keeping it from their dad. It’s fortunate that he rarely leaves the house and doesn’t know how to operate a computer. The one thing they’ve nagged him about for years, not getting a laptop, has suddenly become a fortunate state of affairs for her. He thinks Sheryl has gone away on holiday with some friends but it won’t be too long before he begins to question why she hasn’t rung him. He’s disabled, not stupid.

  Rachel leans back in her seat. This is all so surreal. Nightmarish. This is the type of thing that only ever happens to other people, not to her. Not to their family. She stands up, suddenly imbued with a sense of purpose. The police might be doing their bit now, after not taking her seriously, but what’s to say she can’t continue doing her own investigative work? Better than sitting around waiting for clues to fall in her lap from the darkening sky above. That won’t bring Sheryl home, will it? Sitting here alone with only her thoughts for company will solve nothing. All it does is make her feel helpless and frustrated. She has two days off work. She should be making the most of them, getting out and about, tracking Sheryl’s last movements.

  The first place she will visit is the town. That’s where Sheryl goes for her shopping. It’s where her office is, for goodness sake. She practically lives there. She will ask people if they’ve seen her, she will put posters up on lamp-posts, plaster them across shop windows, do whatever it takes. She won’t stop until somebody, somewhere, tells her that they saw her sister, spoke to her, passed her in the street. Anything, any little thing at all that will tell her what happened to her big sister. She will move heaven and earth to get her back. And she is going to start right now.

  35

  Peggy

  ‘Hello?’ A sharp crackle howls at her from the handset. Peggy pulls it away from her ear and glares at it as if the inanimate object in her hand is solely responsible for the disturbance. More crackling, then a voice; muffled, distant.

  ‘Peggy? Is that you?’

  She freezes. Recognises the voice as her own. It’s been a long time since they spoke. Too long.

  ‘Bea?’

  She sees Alec’s head turn, notices his frown. They never got on, not really. Too much alike. Both opinionated, both fiery.

  ‘Can you hear me? I can hardly hear you. Wait a second while I get sat down.’ Peggy listens as her sister shoos the cat off her seat. A miaow of protestation, a rustle of fabric as she settles herself and then a modicum of clarity as she speaks once more, her voice so much like Peggy’s own it sends a tingle of recognition down her spine. ‘Right, that’s better. I’m sorted now. You’ve probably guessed why I’m ringing.’

  A pause ensues while Peggy tries to go through all the birthdays and anniversaries in her mind. She hasn’t guessed at all. She has no idea at all why her sister is calling her and now alarm bells are ringing in her head, loud and clear, making her light-headed.

  ‘No,’ Peggy says quietly, loath to admit defeat, ‘no idea at all. Maybe it’s just to say hello since you rarely contact me?’

  She wants to bite her tongue as soon as the words leave her mouth. Too late. They’re out there now. Harsh and loaded with a healthy dose of bitterness.

  ‘Yes, well, the line runs both ways,’ Beatrice replies softly, her tone suggesting she is used to Peggy’s sarcasm.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Peggy whispers quickly, as if the words are poisonous and saying them will confirm to the world what she already knows to be true, that she is tainted. Venom running through her veins, hot and unstoppable. A beast lurking within, waiting to strike.

  ‘So,’ Beatrice continues, as if nothing has just taken place, ‘I take it the hospital haven’t rung you, then? Or the police?’

  ‘Why would they?’ Peggy’s vision blurs and the room begins to sway. The police. Again.

  ‘You haven’t heard?’ Beatrice’s words send her brain into complete disorder, a stream of disorganised thoughts jockeying for position in her head. Pieces of a puzzle all trying to slot into position and failing miserably.

  ‘Heard what?’ she tries to keep her voice even but in her head it sounds as if she is underwater. Her throat feels thick, coated with a bitter substance that is stopping her from speaking properly.

  ‘About Mum,’ a sigh at the other end of the line. ‘Look, it’s early morning here and we’ve just had the call. God knows why they didn’t ring you first.’

  Because mum and I haven’t spoken for twenty years? Because she always preferred you over me?

  ‘But anyway,’ Beatrice continues, ‘at least they managed to get hold of one of us.’

  ‘Who did?’

  A sigh, as if she is stupid. Peggy suddenly feels as if she is ten years old all over again. She had forgotten how good her older sister is at doing this, making her feel inadequate, making her feel as if she needs putting in her place.

  ‘The hospital. They called me twenty minutes ago. Mum is in hospital after being involved in a fire.’

  The words rock Peggy, hitting her like a slap in the face. A fire? ‘What? Where?’

  ‘In her house - her bungalow. They didn’t tell me all the details but from what I’ve gathered, the place is gutted. She was in the bedroom and the door was closed. That was the only thing that stopped her from dying. Silly old bugger had disconnected the smoke alarm after the batteries ran out.’

  The room rotates as Peggy tries to stand up. She needs to move about. She has a terrible tingling sensation in her legs and has an overwhelming urge to shake them about; to keep them moving. It feels as if concrete is being poured into them, fixing her to the floor.

  ‘I - I don’t know what to say, Bea. I really don’t …’

  ‘How about, how is she? That would be a good start.’

  Peggy feels her cheeks burn, senses a twitch starting up in her eye, ‘Is she okay? I mean is she badly injured or disfigured or anything?’ Once again, the words come tumbling out without any real thought behind them. They just appear, unbidden. Perhaps they’re always there, Peggy thinks, watching, waiting, ready to tumble out when the time is right.

  ‘Disfigured? Why would you say that, Peggy? Are you trying to be funny or something?’

  ‘NO!’ Her voice rises in pitch, echoing across the kitchen, sending Alec hurtling towards her, his eyes wide with concern, ‘I just meant is she okay? Not badly injured?’

  ‘Well, why don’t you go to the hospital and find out since you’re close by and I’m over five thousand miles away?’ And with that the line goes dead. An interminable silence follows as Peggy lifts the handset away from her ear and stares at it, bewildered. She holds it aloft as if it is diseased, something she needs to get rid of quickly.

  ‘What the hell was all that about?’ Alec is standing close to her, his breath slightly sour as it drifts near her face.

  ‘It’s Mum. She’s been in a fire.’ Peggy looks up to the ceiling and bites her lip. She feels as if she wants to cry and is bewildered at her behaviour, but then she has done a lot of things lately and has no idea why. It’s as if everything is spiralling out of control, her life is being slowly but surely sucked down a huge hole; a swirling eddy determined to get her and she is powerless against its strength; caught up in its greedy clutches.

  ‘Where is she? Which hospital?’ Alec moves away and is back in an instant. Peggy looks at his hands. He is holding two coats out towards her. She should take one of them and they should go. But she can’t seem to move, no matter how hard she tries. She is glued to the floor, unable to shift into a gear that will set her body in motion.

  ‘Peggy!’ he shouts, his voice booming around the kitchen, a stray bullet bouncing off walls until it eventually pierces through her
thoughts, sending a pain searing across the top of her head.

  ‘I don’t know!’ she cries, ‘I didn’t get a chance to ask. She hung up on me.’ Beatrice hates her. She can just tell. Her own sister, the only remaining family member worth speaking of, now despises her.

  Alec grabs the phone out of her hand. She watches, dazed as he dials 118 118 and asks for the number of the local hospital. After that it’s all a bit of a blur. She tries protesting, telling Alec that there’s no point visiting, that her mother will only turn them away but each time comes up against a brick wall. And he is so damn difficult to argue with. His reasons are solid, his emotions intact whereas hers are running free like water, spreading far and wide, leaving her unable to function as she normally would. Before she knows it, they are strapped in the car and heading onto the main road, leaving a trail of dust and stones in their wake.

  ‘You weren’t like this with your father,’ Peggy says sulkily as she slinks down into the seat, her chin almost touching her collar. She is a child again, being dragged from her play and taken to places against her will, a passenger on a journey she does not want to be making. Trees pass her; conifers, oaks, sycamores, their leaves a dark smudge in her peripheral vision, their trunks a line of huge thick, brown beams. She wants to go home where it’s safe, where nobody can see her. Home, where her problems and worries can be contained, stacked up in order. Then she thinks of the cottage and realises she is better off out here on the road, away from it all. She is a nomad, wandering through a desert, nowhere she can call home, no safe place to rest.