Closer: An Absolutely Gripping Psychological Thriller

by K. L. Slater

  I’ve honestly felt perfectly OK with Maisie visiting Joanne’s house and with the four of them acting like some sort of new, improved patched-together family.

  But now, reflecting in my quieter moments, I’m not sure I feel quite as good about it, especially since Maisie always seems upset in some way when she gets back home.

  Before Maisie came downstairs this morning to leave with her dad, Shaun whispered that Joanne had arranged a visit to an animal petting centre in Farnsfield. Apparently it’s one of the most popular tourist attractions in the whole of the East Midlands, booked up for weeks in advance.

  ‘Groups of kids pet the animals on a strict rota,’ he said. ‘But Jo knows the owners, so Maisie and Piper are being treated to their own VIP session. They get to pick the best animals to have all to themselves. How good is that?’

  ‘Sounds wonderful.’

  ‘We won’t have to queue to get in either. Like our table at Mario’s the other night. Jo always seems to find a way to get round such inconveniences!’

  I nodded mutely, wondering how our kids were supposed to learn to share and take their turn if they were allowed to just walk straight in and get the run of a place meant for everyone to enjoy.

  I’ve checked Joanne’s Facebook account several times today, but she hasn’t posted anything online. Shame, I would’ve liked to have seen Maisie happy and relaxed for a change.

  Right on cue, a text pings through.

  Sorry we’re late… Back for 8! S

  I feel a niggle of irritation and don’t reply. Instead, I pour myself a glass of red wine.

  It does the trick. A few minutes later, I’m feeling more relaxed about Shaun returning Maisie later than planned. It’s not as if anything is spoiling. There’s no school tomorrow and I’ve nothing exciting waiting for her to do.

  I wonder if it will seem dull for Maisie, coming back home after being entertained and treated as a VIP all day.

  They eventually get back at 8.30. I happen to check out of the window and see Shaun’s car pull up, so before Maisie even gets out, I have the door wide open and stand waving.

  Shaun waves back but doesn’t get out of the car. He waits until Maisie reaches the door and then drives away.

  I’m irked. I wanted to tell him about the herb garden and remind him that he hasn’t arranged for the downstairs loo window to be fixed yet.

  ‘I don’t want to go out with them again,’ Maisie says when I close the door.

  ‘Why, poppet? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I just don’t.’

  ‘OK, well look. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll put Dad off if he suggests an outing. Until things get sorted out. Fancy a cocoa?’

  ‘I’m really tired, Mum,’ she says, and she disappears upstairs, back to her bedroom.

  Chapter Forty

  The next morning, I get up early and sit at the breakfast bar, surrounded by my scattered paperwork.

  My laptop displays numerous tabs indicating all the additional documents that I need to read and digest ready for an important meeting after the weekend with our client, a weight-loss company who are dealing with a civil law suit over misleading advertising.

  Head down, I scan through the paperwork first, making notes. Through the fog of my absorption in work, I’m vaguely aware of Maisie padding into the kitchen and walking over to the sink.

  Just as I get to the end of the page I’m reading, I’m startled out of my focus by a glass shattering on the floor.

  Maisie screams and jumps back.

  I jump up, shove my feet into my flip-flops and rush over to her. ‘Are you OK? Have you cut yourself?’

  ‘Sorry… I just wanted a glass of water,’ she whispers as I slide my arm gently around her shoulders and guide her backwards, away from the broken glass.

  My fingers connect with what feels like pure bone on her shoulder, no padding of flesh.

  I look at her and swallow hard. When was the last time I really looked at my daughter? She is gaunt. Her skin is pale, emphasised by dark circles under both eyes, through lack of sleep, I’d guess.

  She’s wearing a big baggy sweatshirt, one of Shaun’s old ones she sometimes used to throw on at night, instead of fussing with a blanket, while we watched television.

  She raises a hand to push back a strand of hair that’s escaped its bobble, and I see that it’s shaking. Then I notice her nails are bitten to the quick.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ I lead her to the comfy seats near the television and sit next to her. ‘You haven’t had any breakfast. How about a slice of toast and a nice glass of fresh juice?’

  Her beautiful blue eyes stare back at me just the same as they’ve always done, but it’s as if Maisie isn’t behind them this time. They look dull and lifeless.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she whispers, and stares out of the window into the garden.

  It’s a windy day, strong enough that the bare branches of the blossom tree and the skeletal hedge wave in the blustery air.

  ‘You know you can talk to me, sweetie?’ I cup my fingers under her chin and turn her face to look at me. ‘You can tell me anything that’s worrying you.’

  ‘I know, Mum,’ she says, her voice rising an octave with irritation. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’ She turns away again and her fingers pinch and pull at the sweatshirt.

  It’s hard to tell how much weight she’s lost in her nightwear and the baggy clothes she’s taken to wearing. I don’t know why I’ve not noticed how her dress sense has changed recently, the way she wears oversized sweatshirts and cardigans over her school uniform.

  I glance at the pile of paperwork on the kitchen top and bite my lip. My focus has been elsewhere for a while now. Work has become a refuge.

  Feeling sorry for myself after Shaun’s desertion, and with my dad’s critical voice constantly echoing in my ears, somehow I’ve allowed my concern for my daughter to slip down the list.

  ‘Let me get you some food.’ I make to stand up and she glares at me, eyes flashing.

  ‘I told you, I’m not hungry,’ she snaps.

  I’m seized with a sudden fearful feeling.

  ‘If someone is upsetting you, Maisie, I want to know about it.’

  ‘What?’ She looks at me, eyes wide. ‘What do you mean?’

  She must know I mean Joanne and Piper, but I’m not going to put words into her mouth.

  ‘Look, I know it’s been difficult for you, going to see your dad and trying to fit in with a different family, but—’

  ‘I told you,’ she says, standing up. Her cheeks flush pink. ‘Nothing is wrong!’

  Then she turns on her heel and stomps back upstairs. I feel instinctively that it’s best not to follow and bombard her with questions. I think I’ll speak to Mum about it, see what she thinks.

  The house is quiet for a couple of hours. I work and Maisie stays in her bedroom.

  Later, I hear the rumble of the boiler kicking in. I stand at the bottom of the stairs and listen.

  Maisie is in the shower.

  Upstairs on the landing, I pull out a warm, fluffy bath sheet from the airing cupboard and stand outside the bathroom door.

  For once, I’m thankful that Shaun never got around to putting a lock on it, despite my repeated requests when we first moved in. It’s not really been that much of an issue. We’ve always respected each other’s privacy and knocked first to see if the room is free.

  I crook my index finger and tap the knuckle on the wood, so lightly even I can barely hear it. Just to satisfy myself that I did it.

  Then I open the door and walk into the bathroom.

  The small window is closed, the extractor fan hasn’t been turned on and the room is full of steam. The shower curtain is pulled across the full width of the bath, a plethora of brightly coloured fish and sparkles bobbing around inside it, affording my daughter an almost opaque screen.

  ‘Only me,’ I call, striding across the room. ‘I brought you a fresh towel.’

  I hear a sharp intake of b
reath, and her hand shoots out to grab the shower curtain to cover her at the open end of the bath.

  But she’s too late. I’m already there, peering around the waterproof fabric to catch a glimpse of her, and what I see makes me catch my breath.

  ‘I’ll just leave the towel here,’ I say, fighting to keep my voice level. I fold it double and place it on the small wooden stool at the end of the bath that I use for my glass of wine and my current paperback.

  Then I rush out of the room and close the door behind me.

  Back on the landing, I allow myself to sink against the wall to draw in breath and squeeze my eyes against the shocking vision.

  I can’t believe the change in her is happening as quickly. To lose weight this fast she must literally be starving herself.

  The shower is off now and I imagine Maisie drying her newly thin body and bony shoulders.

  It’s all I can do not to rush up and gather her into my arms, tell her everything will be OK and that I’m sorry that me and her dad did this to her, wrapped up in our petty squabbles and desperate to make our own lives perfect again.

  But I don’t rush back in. I know it will do more harm than good at this point because Maisie is closed to any suggestion that something is wrong. For some reason, she won’t talk about what happens when she visits her father.

  I pad quietly back downstairs.

  First thing tomorrow morning, I have to get Maisie an urgent doctor’s appointment. I could kick myself I haven’t done so before now.

  I also know I need a long, frank conversation soon with Shaun, whether Maisie approves or not.

  Chapter Forty-One

  At eight a.m. the next morning, while Maisie is getting ready for school upstairs, I call the surgery.

  When I finally get through, I have the good fortune to speak to a receptionist who I know very slightly from a local conveyancing issue a while ago, I manage to get Maisie the first appointment with Dr Yesufu on Tuesday morning.

  I’m sure Joanne isn’t going to be impressed that I won’t be at the office first thing to brief her on my findings for the client meeting later that day, but that’s just tough luck. I feel like someone just gave me a good shake, and my focus and concern is definitely now off the job and back where it should be, with my daughter.

  For now, I decide not to mention the appointment to Maisie. No sense in causing further tension.

  As I end the call to the surgery, I hear mail dropping through the letter box.

  I walk into the hallway and pause at the bottom of the stairs.

  I pick up the small stack of mail and take it back into the kitchen. Flicking on the kettle, I discard the circulars and brightly coloured pizza delivery flyers and open the one remaining letter.

  I don’t hear the kettle click, I forget about Maisie upstairs. It’s all I can do to keep standing.

  I manage to get myself over to the seating area, where I sink down into the soft cushions and steel myself.

  I read the note for the third time as the thin, cheap lined notepaper quivers in my shaking fingers.

  The envelope is smaller than the regular office size, and my name and address are printed neatly and clearly in blue ink in the same hand as the note.

  I’m no handwriting expert, but the print is even and the lines straight. I’d say the person who wrote this took time and care to get things right. They wanted to ensure that the note reached me safely, and that I – and only I – fully understand the short, loaded message within it.

  They succeeded. In the last couple of minutes, my heart rate has doubled and my chest feels tight as a drum.

  I sit down and allow the note and envelope to fall to the floor, but the words play on repeat in my mind.

  I’m so enjoying being in touch again – more to come soon!

  Remember. I’m always watching… and waiting

  The words drip with threat and a dark intention that chills my blood, but I instinctively know that if I take this note to the police, they’ll laugh in my face. Who could blame them? Take the note apart and there’s nothing there at all.

  But it’s what happened before I received the note that drives the creeping sense of dread invading me.

  The two unexplained flat tyres within a month that appeared to have been punctured without any obvious cause. Shaun had insisted at the time it was just bad luck and after a while, I’d forgotten about it. But now I’m beginning to reconsider…

  There’s also the fractured opaque window of the downstairs bathroom that greeted me when I returned to the house two weeks ago. The glass wasn’t broken, just cracked, as if someone had banged their fist against it in temper.

  And only yesterday, the decimating of our little rectangular herb garden, the young plants callously unearthed and scattered around the lawn.

  I believe these are the ‘being in touch’ events the writer of the note refers to.

  I could anticipate a police officer’s response without suffering the humiliation of seeking it: ‘The car tyres are probably just very bad luck, madam. An animal could have dug up the plants, and there’s no evidence of a brick or boulder to show that someone intended damaging your window.’

  Something is off, though. I can feel disruption in the air, like the wind subtly changing direction. I just can’t lose the feeling that bad things are around the corner.

  You see, I can never forget the threat that was issued to me two years ago.

  If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll repay you for what you’ve done to me, the way you’ve ruined my career, my life. Keep looking over your shoulder, you utter cow, because you’ll never know when it’s coming.

  But more importantly, I can never forget that the person who said it is dead because of me.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Maisie doesn’t want to go to her dance lesson, but I insist.

  As far as I’m concerned, part of the problem is that her world has somehow become far too narrow. Me and Mum, Shaun, Joanne and Piper are the only people she sees regularly.

  Besides, I have an idea, if I can get her there.

  With tremendous effort, I push the anonymous letter I just received from my mind. Maisie is what matters most. I might have lost sight of it temporarily, but without doubt my focus is back on track.

  ‘I think it’s time to reconnect to your friends, poppet. It’s been a few weeks since you had Sandeep over, or when you visited one of your pals’ houses. Why do you think that is?’

  Maisie shrugs. ‘Nobody likes me any more,’ she says flatly.

  ‘Oh sweetie, whatever gives you that idea?’

  ‘They all like Piper more than me. I think she’s been telling them nasty things about me.’

  I feel cold inside. I can still remember what it’s like to be the odd one out at school, when you’re not in favour for no reason you can understand.

  Shaun’s reaction to this would be so predictable, if I tried to discuss it. There’s no way he’d accept that Piper could be so conniving and heartless. I have no problem at all imagining it, but it’s not going to be helpful to agree with Maisie. She’ll just feel more isolated than ever.

  ‘You’ve been friends with those girls for a long time, Maisie, they can’t just dislike you for no reason, in the space of a few weeks. You should try and join in with them again. Ignore Piper.’

  She pulls a face but stays quiet.

  ‘There are friends at school I never hear you mention any more, too. Friends that don’t even go to the dance school or know Piper.’

  ‘Nobody wants to be my friend at school either. I think the dance girls have told the others horrible things about me.’

  I feel so helpless. Maisie’s usual teacher has been off sick for a while, so I can’t just have a quiet word with her.

  ‘If I need to speak to the head teacher, then I will,’ I say in a steely tone.

  ‘No!’ Maisie stomps past me. ‘Just leave it, Mum. You don’t know anything about it and you’ll just make everything worse. I don’t want to talk a
bout it any more.’

  Just up the road from the dance studio, Maisie kisses me on the cheek and gets out of the car. I watch as she walks limply to the entrance. Gone are the days of her bounding in, excited to see her friends and get to class.

  Groups of mums and girls – most of whom I recognise – stand around talking, but nobody turns to acknowledge Maisie, much less speak to her.

  She climbs the steps and disappears inside, and I’m about to pull away when I see Joanne’s Mercedes slide into her unofficial double-yellow parking spot directly outside the building.

  Piper, sheathed in a bundle of sparkling pink net, skips out onto the pavement, posturing and preening to Sandeep and her mum, Sarita, who have just arrived on foot.

  Joanne half gets out of the car and shouts something to Sarita, who laughs and waves.

  It’s all I can do not to stomp over there and dress Joanne and her daughter down in front of all the other mums. I’d like to ask my boss what she thinks she’s playing at, allowing her daughter to demonise Maisie to the other girls.

  But I know Maisie will never forgive me, and Shaun will think I’m off my trolley.

  No. It’s best that I stick to my original plan.

  I pop to the small Sainsbury’s nearby and pick up some milk and juice to replenish the fridge. The wording of the letter keeps looming large in my mind and I keep pushing it away.

  I keep a strict eye on the time, and a full ten minutes before the end of Maisie’s class, I’m back waiting in my spot up the road. With two minutes to go, I grab my handbag, lock the car and walk quickly down to the corner of the dance studio.

  Cars are beginning to park up, and I can see Sandeep’s and Zoe’s mums ambling down the road. I’d love to speak to them, invite the girls over to ours, but there’s something much more pressing I need to attend to.