The Dream House: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Jess Ryder

  Rising from my desk, I leave the room and go into the hallway. Banging sounds are coming from upstairs. The radio is blasting out even more loudly than usual and I can hear Lori and Alan calling out to each other above the music. I climb the stairs, rehearsing a few lines in my head.

  Alan is ripping up the floorboards in what will eventually be our master bedroom, and Lori is in the room opposite. She’s back in her bloodstained clothes, a bucket of water at her side, metal scraper in hand. One wall has already been stripped, revealing patches of crumbling plaster.

  ‘It’s nearly lunchtime,’ I say. ‘Come down when you want a break.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ve got my sandwiches, remember?’ She nods in the direction of the foil packet sitting on the windowsill.

  ‘Well don’t work too hard. Anyway, I could do with talking to you about … well, you know …’ I tail off, pathetically.

  ‘I just want to finish this alcove.’

  ‘Fine. When you’re ready … I’m around all afternoon.’

  Hurrying downstairs, I fix myself some lunch, then go back to my room. I’m not handling this very well. I need to be more assertive, but it’s difficult when she’s so much older than me. Maybe I should just go ahead and fix an appointment for her tomorrow.

  But an appointment with whom?

  I go back to the internet. Helplines are all well and good, I think, but it would be better if Lori could talk to someone face to face. The best place seems to be Citizens Advice. The nearest branch is in Laversham, about five miles inland; they run a drop-in session on Thursday mornings. I can drive her there; I’ll even accompany her if she feels nervous.

  There’s a knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ I shout, and Lori enters. She looks upset and is breathing heavily. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s Mum,’ she says. ‘Darren only went and smashed her house up.’

  ‘Oh God. Is she hurt?’

  ‘She says no, but I think she’s just trying not to worry me.’

  I stand up and go over to her. ‘I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘I had a feeling he’d do something like this.’ She sniffs the tears back up her nose. ‘She’s a hard nut, my mum, but if he’s laid a finger on her, I’ll kill him …’

  ‘I hope she called the police.’

  ‘Nah. She doesn’t have any truck with them.’

  ‘But surely—’

  ‘They just make things worse.’

  I frown. ‘That’s not true. They can protect you.’

  ‘They can’t, love. Not when it comes down to it. You have to deal with your own problems.’

  I look away, unable to reply. I was brought up to trust the police; it has never occurred to me that they wouldn’t help me in times of trouble. How could they possibly make things worse?

  Lori starts to cry. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t want to dump all this on you, it’s just that there’s nobody else I can turn to.’

  ‘No, no, don’t worry, it’s okay. But you absolutely have to get some proper, expert help. I’ve been doing a bit of research. The Citizens Advice place in Laversham do a drop-in session tomorrow morning. I’m happy to give you a lift.’

  She takes a tissue from the box at my bedside and blows her nose. ‘Laversham? That’s not far from where I live – I mean, lived. What if Darren sees me?

  ‘We’ll just zoom in and out. I can drop you outside the door and pick you up again.’

  ‘I don’t need to go to Citizens Advice. I used to see a therapist, but it didn’t help much. Just made me more depressed.’

  ‘This will be about getting you practical help – somewhere to live, basically.’

  There’s a long pause. ‘Okay,’ she says at last. ‘If you’re sure it’s safe.’

  She leaves the room and goes back upstairs. I feel a sense of relief. It’s frightening that Darren attacked her mother, but at least it’s made Lori realise that she has to do something about the situation. She can’t hide in my house and strip wallpaper for ever.

  * * *

  It’s gone half past seven. I hear footsteps walking up the front path, and my stomach twists at the thought of another evening of lying to Jack. My secret guest is hiding upstairs, all evidence of her presence carefully removed. The mugs and plates she used have been washed up and put away; the packaging for her ready meal has been buried under other rubbish in the bin. I’m ready with excuses for why Alan has started stripping wallpaper, although hopefully Jack won’t go up there and I won’t have to use them.

  Why hasn’t he come in yet? Has he forgotten his key? Maybe I was mistaken and it was just someone passing by. I listen again, more carefully this time. Somebody is definitely standing on the driveway, slowly pacing about. I cross the room and stand at the edge of the curtains, peering through the gap. But it’s dark out there, impossible to see.

  What if it’s Darren, come to get Lori? She swore she hadn’t told her mum where she was staying, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she had. Darren could have beaten the information out of her.

  Somebody’s definitely out there. Is he going to force his way in? My heart starts to race as I try to remember whether any windows are open on the ground floor and whether I locked the back door. I should warn Lori, tell her to barricade herself in one of the bathrooms.

  Then I hear the key turning in the lock and the front door opening. I run out of the room as Jack steps over the threshold.

  ‘It’s you!’

  ‘Of course it’s me.’ He takes off his beanie and kisses me, scratching me with his beard. His cheeks are shiny with cold and he smells all wintry.

  ‘Why didn’t you come in straight away?’

  ‘It was nothing,’ he says, taking off his jacket. ‘I was being stupid. Have we got any beer? I could do with a drink.’ He walks down the corridor into the kitchen and I follow.

  ‘What do you mean, you were being stupid?’

  He opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of pale ale. ‘I thought I saw a face.’

  I gasp involuntarily. ‘A face?’

  ‘Yeah, I was walking towards the house and I just happened to look up at the turret window and it was there, staring. Freaked me out for a second.’ He snaps off the lid and puts the bottle to his lips.

  Lori, I think. What was she doing looking out of the window? She knows what time Jack gets back from work.

  He leans against the counter. ‘It was more of a shadow really, a flicker of movement then it was gone. Must have been a trick of the light. I tried standing in different positions on the drive to see if I could make it happen again, but I couldn’t.’ He shakes his head thoughtfully. ‘Weird … It really looked like a face.’

  ‘The house must be haunted,’ I say playfully.

  Jack grins. ‘Yup! It’s the only logical explanation.’ He raises his arms and makes claw shapes with his hands. ‘An evil spirit terrorises Westhill House,’ he says in a deep, threatening voice. ‘I’m coming to get you!’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘Ha ha ha!’ He reaches for my throat. ‘I’m going to chop you into little pieces …’

  ‘For God’s sake, get off!’ I push him away.

  ‘Okay, okay.’ He staggers back. ‘What’s up? I thought we were having a laugh.’

  ‘We were. It was just … just … I don’t know. Don’t do that. It’s not funny, it’s … not appropriate.’

  ‘Lighten up! You started the ghost thing. What’s wrong with you?’ He picks up his beer and marches off in a huff.

  ‘Sorry!’ I call after him, but he slams the bedroom door in reply.

  A sob rises in my throat. I shouldn’t have reacted so sharply. I’m too on edge, that’s the problem. It’s Lori’s fault. I told her to stay away from the windows. If Jack had gone upstairs to check, she’d have been in big trouble. Me too, come to that.

  My hands are shaking as I pour a glass of Shiraz. This whole thing is impossible – impossible and stupid. I can’t do it.

  I should conf
ess. Just walk into the room now and tell Jack the truth about Lori staying here. He’ll be angry with me at first, but when I explain how much danger she’s in, surely he’ll understand. Who could fail to be moved? You’d have to have a heart of stone.

  But what if he doesn’t understand? What if he’s angry with me for deceiving him and turfs her onto the street? What if Darren really is driving around looking for her? I can’t risk it.

  It’s Thursday tomorrow. If I can just get through tonight unscathed … I’ll take Lori to Citizens Advice in the morning, and by Friday they’re bound to have found somewhere for her to stay. She’ll be gone by the time Jack gets home, then the weekend will be upon us and we can relax and forget any of this ever happened. Lori will be a distant memory, a strange visitor who burst into our lives for a short time and then disappeared without trace. A stone dropped into a pond, rippling the water under cover of darkness.

  Act normal, I tell myself. Don’t say a word. Hold your nerve for another day and then it’ll all be over.

  Chapter Seven

  Kay

  Then

  After years of believing no man would ever want her, Kay felt she had struck gold. He was romantic and attentive, always turning up with a little gift or flowers. And in between their dates he phoned her – even at work, which wasn’t allowed – to tell her how much he missed her and how he couldn’t wait to see her again.

  ‘Have you told him about Abigail yet?’ her mother asked suspiciously.

  ‘Yes! And he’s okay with it. He loves kids,’ she replied, although to be honest, there was no evidence of that. He hadn’t shown much interest in her daughter or expressed any desire to meet her. It was a tricky subject. As far as Kay was concerned, she and Abigail were a pair, but she didn’t want to force the issue for fear of putting him off.

  They’d been dating for three months now. Mum and Dad didn’t mind babysitting as long as it wasn’t more than once a week and didn’t involve Saturdays. He seemed to quite like that arrangement because it meant he could meet the lads at the pub after football. Kay secretly dreamed of spending Saturday evenings with him at home. In her fantasies, she cooked them a nice family tea, then after she’d put Abigail to bed they’d curl up on the sofa and watch telly like a proper couple. But he clearly wasn’t ready for domestic bliss just yet.

  They usually met to watch a film or have a pizza. He was such a gentleman, holding the door for her, helping her on with her coat, and he never let her pay. She had been to his bedsit a few times, but it was on the other side of town and the last bus left at ten p.m. Their petting was getting increasingly heavy, but to his credit, he hadn’t pressed her to go all the way. Not yet.

  She wanted to make love to him, she really did. But she didn’t want to fall pregnant and she needed time off from work to go to the doctor for the pill. She didn’t trust any other contraception, it wasn’t reliable enough. One day in the future, if they married and settled down, she would love to have another baby. But not now. Not yet.

  His surname was Foxton, but friends and family called him Foxy. He nicknamed her Squirrel. On her birthday he gave her a huge puffed satin card, the most expensive one in the shop. Inside it said: Happy Birthday to my beautiful Squirrel. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, I love you more than all the stars in the universe. You are my whole world. We will always be together. For ever and ever. Your lovesick Foxy xxxx

  Nobody had ever expressed such affection for her before; it made her feel elated and yet also responsible. His present was a bottle of expensive perfume, a silver heart on a chain and a soft toy fox dressed in a checked waistcoat and yellow bow tie.

  ‘Now you can cuddle me every night,’ he said.

  She gave him a cheeky wink. ‘I’d rather have the real thing,’

  ‘Oh, you would, would you?’ he chuckled. ‘Well, I guess that can be arranged.’

  After that, their relationship moved at a faster pace. She finally got herself fixed up with contraception and they spent more evenings at his bedsit, eating takeaways and making love on his lumpy, creaky bed. A couple of times they got so carried away she missed the last bus and he had to put her in a taxi.

  But he still hadn’t asked to meet Abigail, and she was starting to worry that her daughter was a problem. When she told him about a funny thing Abigail had said or done, he never laughed. And when she had to cancel a date to go to parents’ evening, he didn’t call her for three days. He claimed he’d had the flu and couldn’t get to the phone, but she wasn’t sure she believed him. Poor Foxy, she thought, he’s a tiny bit jealous.

  It was understandable in a way – he knew that nobody would come between her and her daughter. Her feelings for him were just as strong, but the love was completely different. If he wanted them to be together ‘for ever and ever’, then Abigail had to be part of it. There was no alternative; she had to find a way to bring them together.

  ‘Invite him over for Sunday lunch,’ suggested her mother. ‘Then he can meet all of us in one go.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Kay said. ‘Maybe it’s too early in the relationship.’

  Her mother raised her eyebrows. ‘Not too early to have sex with him, though. I saw the pills in your underwear drawer.’

  ‘Mum! I’m twenty-one – I can do what I like. You’ve no right to snoop around.’

  ‘I wasn’t snooping, madam, I was doing your laundry.’

  ‘That still doesn’t give you the right. He’s my boyfriend, leave me alone.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Kay. If he’s serious about you, he needs to get to know Abigail. If he’s not interested – and frankly, I wouldn’t blame him – then you’re putting yourself in a vulnerable situation. Better you know now before it’s too late.’

  * * *

  Kay had to prove to Mum that she was wrong, so she summoned up all her courage and invited him to lunch the following weekend.

  ‘I’d love to come,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  He brought a four-pack of beers for Dad and a bunch of flowers for Mum. Nothing for Abigail, though. The little girl didn’t seem to notice; she was quite happy to help Grandma arrange her chrysanthemums in a vase.

  ‘Eat all your veggies, sweetheart, and this afternoon we’ll play hide-and-seek with Foxy in the garden,’ Kay said. For the first time in her life, Abigail ate her carrots without complaining. But Foxy showed no interest in her. He was too busy concentrating on his charm offensive with Kay’s parents. He complimented her mum’s Yorkshire puddings and said her roast potatoes were the best he’d ever tasted.

  ‘What line of work is your father in?’ her dad asked. Kay winced inwardly. She already knew the sad story.

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’ Foxy’s voice began to falter. ‘He abandoned us when I was six and my brother was barely two. My mum had a drink problem. I basically brought Micky up myself.’

  ‘Oh dear, that’s awful.’ Mum ladled out another portion of crumble.

  ‘Yes, they were difficult times,’ he said. ‘Still, I refuse to let my past hold me back. I’ve got a good job and I’m saving up for a house.’

  ‘Good for you, lad,’ declared Dad. ‘Custard?’

  After they’d eaten, the men talked football while the women washed up.

  ‘What do you think?’ Kay whispered, closing the serving hatch so they couldn’t be overheard.

  ‘He’s lovely. Why on earth didn’t you ask him over before? The poor boy has no mother to look after him. Next time you must invite his brother too.’

  ‘I haven’t met him yet,’ she replied, omitting to mention that Micky was in prison for burglary. Apparently he’d only been the lookout, but he’d still been sentenced to nine months.

  ‘He’s obviously madly in love with you,’ her mum added. ‘You’re a lucky girl, Kay. If I were you, I’d get a ring on your finger as soon as you can.’

  * * *

  He proposed on Valentine’s Day – the first anniversary of their meeting. She was kind of expecting it becau
se he was such a romantic. They went to a Berni Inn and ordered steak and chips and a bottle of sparkling wine. He got down on his knees in front of the whole restaurant and produced a ring from his trouser pocket.

  ‘I love you with all my heart, Squirrel. Will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the world?’

  She felt herself going pink all over. ‘Yes, Foxy, you know I will,’ she giggled.

  As he slipped the ring on her engagement finger, everybody cheered and applauded. It was deeply embarrassing and wonderful all at the same time. Kay held out her left hand and wiggled her finger, making the solitary sapphire sparkle in the candlelight. She would have preferred a diamond – diamonds were for ever, after all – but it didn’t matter. The ring would have cost him a couple of months’ wages and was probably the best he could afford.

  For the rest of the meal they discussed wedding arrangements and where they would live afterwards. Not that there was much to discuss – he’d already planned every detail.

  ‘We don’t want the fuss of a church service,’ he told her. ‘A registry office will do. We’ll have a small reception at the social club. They do a good spread and there’s a DJ I know who can provide the disco. I’ll pop down there this week and sort out a date.’

  ‘June or July would be best,’ Kay said, trying to hide her disappointment about not having a white wedding. He was right, of course; she was hardly a blushing virgin. Her mother’s harsh words – shop-soiled, damaged goods – still echoed in her head. She was lucky to have found anyone to take her on at all. But the best thing of all about getting married was that Abigail would finally have a daddy.