The Dream House: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

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The Dream House: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller Page 6

by Jess Ryder


  * * *

  Her parents were thrilled and her father offered to foot the reception bill. But they couldn’t get married until September, because Micky was still serving his sentence and he had to be best man. Kay told everyone that he was working on an oil rig in the North Sea and wasn’t allowed any time off. It was touch and go that he was going to be released in time, but he just made it.

  When Micky turned up at the registry office, Kay was struck by how similar the brothers looked. Both big men, they shared the same solid jaw, the same intense blue eyes. Together they looked like a force to be reckoned with.

  ‘You’re the luckiest girl in the world, you know,’ said Micky, giving her a bear hug. ‘Make sure you treat him right.’

  Friday 10 September 1976, the day they got married. The day it started.

  After the hottest, driest summer on record, September was a washout. They’d had to have their photos taken indoors because of the torrential rain. But it hadn’t dampened anyone’s spirits. Everything was fine until they arrived at the social club and Foxy went to the bar. Kay didn’t clock how much he was drinking because she was busy greeting her guests and talking to aunts and uncles she hadn’t seen for years. She was no longer the black sheep of the family and wanted to make the most of her new respectability. Her parents seemed happy too, relieved that she was finally off their hands. Dad was set to give his father-of-the-bride speech, and would no doubt come up with the old joke about not losing a daughter so much as gaining a bedroom – or in their case, two.

  She moved on to a group of old school friends, Ruth, Elaine, Sue and Debbie, and their respective partners, Dave S, Dave W, Pete and Colin. She knew Ruth’s Dave from school, but didn’t know the other lads very well. They asked her where she was going for her honeymoon, and she told them that they were staying at a hotel in Nevansey for the night and catching a plane the next day for a week in Jersey.

  ‘Where will you be living?’ asked Ruth’s Dave.

  ‘We’re renting a little house on the Fairmead estate,’ she explained. ‘It’s virtually brand new.’

  ‘You’re going to be just around the corner from us,’ said Sue, who was also newly married. ‘You must come over for dinner sometime.’

  ‘We’d love to,’ Kay replied enthusiastically. Living with her husband, looking after her own place, dinner parties with friends – it all sounded so grown-up. ‘As long as we can get a babysitter.’

  Abigail was running around in her shepherdess bridesmaid dress, her jet-black hair and dark skin making her look anything but an English rose. Kay was briefly reminded of Miguel Angel, and metaphorically stuck two fingers up at him. If he could see her now … She hadn’t let him bring her down; she’d overcome so many barriers and was proud of what she’d achieved as a single mum. But now things were changing, and a new, easier life was ahead.

  She glanced across the room to Foxy. He was standing at the bar with his brother, sipping a pint and scowling in her direction. She blew him a kiss but he didn’t respond. What was wrong? Had she done something to upset him? She weaved her way through the crowds, who were shuffling into a line for the buffet.

  ‘I’m gasping,’ she said. ‘Can you get me a glass of wine, love?’

  He frowned down at her, making her feel even smaller. ‘You’ve had enough already by the look of it.’

  ‘What? I’ve only had one glass.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Come on, I’m thirsty. I’ve been talking to our guests.’

  ‘Talking? Flirting more like. We’ve been watching you, haven’t we, Micky?’ His voice was cold. Micky nodded sagely and downed his pint.

  ‘I’ve been chatting to my aunts and uncles, telling them how great you are. Don’t be silly, Foxy. Come and meet them.’ She held out her hand, but he didn’t take it.

  ‘Who’s that bloke in the red tie?’ He waved his glass in the direction of her school friends.

  ‘You mean Dave? He’s Ruth’s boyfriend, I knew him at school.’

  ‘What do you mean, “knew him”?’

  ‘He was in my class. We were … he was …’ Now she was getting flustered. ‘Nothing. He’s been going out with Ruth for years.’

  ‘We thought he must be an old flame,’ said Micky.

  ‘Well you’re wrong, he’s not even a friend … Foxy, please, I’m telling the truth.’

  He drew her close and pinned her against the bar, pinching her hard on the arm where nobody could see and keeping up the pressure. The pain stung sharply.

  ‘I love you so much, Kay,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘You belong to me now. Don’t you dare break my heart.’

  Chapter Eight

  Stella

  Now

  I’m up and dressed by half-seven, tired from yet another sleepless night but keen to get on with the day’s task: Operation Help Lori. It’s really important that I get her to Citizens Advice this morning. With a bit of luck, they might even be able to find her accommodation for tonight.

  I make a bowl of porridge and carry it to the back of the house, eating it standing up while I gaze through the conservatory window at the frost-covered garden. Straggly bushes are crawling across the lawn; some extremely tall weeds are growing out of a lumpy mound where the vegetable patch used to be. The rockery is so overgrown you can’t see the rocks any more. It’s completely out of control, but who knows when we’ll be able to tackle it. Alan has made a start on the inside, but it’s far too big a job for one person. I feel overwhelmed by the thought of everything that needs doing and how much it’s all going to cost. The claggy porridge sticks in my throat and I hurry back to the kitchen to spit it out.

  Alan enters the house with a loud ‘Morning!’ addressed to the world in general. Wiping my mouth, I walk into the hallway to greet him.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he asks. ‘Is Lori still here?’

  ‘Yes. At least I think so. Haven’t seen her yet today. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Only I half expected she’d be back with her bloke by now. She was making all kinds of excuses for him yesterday – he’s been under a lot of strain, got an anger-management problem, takes it out on her because she’s closest and he loves her the most. Load of bollocks. You don’t hit someone you love, full stop.’

  ‘I don’t understand why she won’t go the police,’ I say. ‘I mean, he’s gone and attacked her mother now.’

  ‘Maybe he’s already on a suspended sentence or something. She could be scared of what he might do to her if he gets sent down.’

  ‘But he won’t be able to do anything if he’s in prison.’

  Alan laughs. ‘You think? Ha. Men like that always find a way. You’ve no idea what goes on inside.’

  ‘Yes I do,’ I retort. ‘I know there’s a lot of violence and drugs and prisoners carry on committing crimes. I’m not stupid.’

  He raises his hands in surrender. ‘No, I know you’re not. Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re a lovely kind girl. If you were my daughter, I’d be very proud. Now, excuse me, I’d better get a move on.’ He tips the brim of his cap in a mock salute and goes straight upstairs. Within seconds, the sound of his radio is drifting down to the ground floor.

  Alan’s kind words linger wistfully in my head. They would have been proud of me, I think. Proud, and a little surprised. Of course, the irony is that none of this would be happening if they hadn’t been killed. Was it an accident? My thoughts drift back to those weeks after their death, when the police came to interview me. As the driver hadn’t stopped, there was speculation that it might have been a deliberate hit. Mum and Dad followed the same routine every evening, taking the dog out after the ten o’clock news to give him a last walk before bed. They always took the same route around the village and had done so for the last twenty years.

  ‘Did your parents have any enemies?’ asked the detective.

  ‘Quite the opposite,’ I replied. ‘They were very much loved.’

  ‘Only one of the neighbours said there was an incident, about thirteen year
s ago. Some boy who tried to set the house on fire. Do you think it could be him, still bearing some kind of grudge?’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ I replied. ‘Kyle was just a troubled kid who’d got in with the wrong crowd. He didn’t know any better.’

  ‘Well, if you can think of any other candidates, please let me know.’

  There were other candidates – a few former foster kids who’d grown up to follow in their parents’ criminal footsteps – but the whole idea seemed far-fetched. The police made some enquiries but nobody fitted the frame. Kyle, the most obvious culprit, was serving a prison sentence.

  I go back to the kitchen and clean the porridge pan, feeling increasingly uneasy as I scrape at the congealed mess. Why hasn’t Lori surfaced yet? Yesterday we agreed that we’d leave as early as possible after breakfast to be first in the queue. But I haven’t heard a squeak out of her yet.

  The minutes tick by. I tidy up the bedroom and apply some make-up. I check my emails, although nothing interesting has come in overnight. I sit on the edge of the bed and think about Mum. Would she ever have deceived Dad in the way I’m deceiving Jack? I can’t imagine it. The two of them were always a team, stuck together like glue. Although it was incredibly shocking, it was fitting in a strange way that they died together. If one of them had been left on their own, I don’t think they’d have coped.

  I hear footsteps coming slowly down the stairs and go into the hallway.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Lori says, steadying herself on the banisters. ‘I’ve been throwing up. Just nerves …’

  I feel instantly guilty. She cuts a tragic figure in my ill-fitting patterned trousers and shapeless jumper. ‘Oh God, you don’t have a coat, do you? And you can’t go out in those slippers, your toes will drop off. Let me find something for you … Um, what size do you take?’

  Her feet are a size bigger than mine, so she has to make do with the floral wellies that I wear at festivals. I lend her my red jacket – it’s the only coat that will fit around her hips. Nothing matches, and the colours are too bright for her mood. She looks like a depressed children’s entertainer; the livid bruises on her cheek could almost be smudges of face paint. But she’ll have to do.

  I pick up my keys. ‘Ready?’ She nods, but looks terrified.

  I open the front door and she emerges like a wary animal venturing out of its den, sniffing the air, looking for predators. We get in the car, and she immediately locks herself in. I back onto the Esplanade, then take the first left, heading for the main road that leads out of town. Lori slides down in her seat, head lowered, her left hand shielding her face. But nobody is looking.

  ‘What were you doing in the turret room last night?’ I ask as we leave Nevansey and drive onto the dual carriageway.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she replies.

  ‘The room on the corner with the pointy roof.’

  ‘Oh, there. I was just exploring. It’s a fantastic room; you can see almost all the way around.’

  ‘Yes, I know, it’s my favourite room in the house. But you should be careful, Lori. Jack saw you looking out of the window.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t want to get you into trouble. What did you say?’

  ‘I didn’t have to say anything; he thought it was a trick of the light. We got away with it, but it could have been Darren out there.’

  ‘You’re right. I won’t risk it again.’

  ‘Well, with a bit of luck, Citizens Advice will find you somewhere safe to sleep tonight.’

  ‘Your petrol light is flashing.’ She points at the dashboard.

  ‘Oh shit. Sorry, I’d better stop. Don’t suppose you happen to know where the nearest petrol station is?’

  ‘Not far. On the other side of the roundabout.’

  ‘Great. I’ll be as quick as I can. Sorry about this.’

  I find the garage and pull up next to the pumps. Lori shuffles even further down in her seat and covers her face. I fill up and go inside to pay. The cashier is on the phone and makes me wait while she finishes her call. I tap impatiently on the counter.

  ‘Okay, let’s get going,’ I say, climbing back into the car and switching on the engine. Just then, a battered blue car pulls in off the road. It doesn’t go to the pumps, just stops in the middle of the forecourt.

  ‘Oh fuck! It’s him!’ says Lori, looking into the wing mirror. ‘Drive! Drive, Stella!’

  ‘What?’ I swivel round. ‘You sure?’

  ‘It’s his car! It’s Darren. Drive! Now!’ Her tone is so insistent, I put my foot down and screech out of the garage. Luckily, there’s a gap in the traffic so I can immediately turn onto the road.

  As I drive on, my eyes dart between the rear and wing mirrors. ‘Are you sure it’s him?’

  ‘Yes! Oh my God, I knew this would happen!’

  ‘Where is he now? I can’t see the car.’

  She looks behind us. ‘He’s trying to turn out of the garage … There’s too much traffic.’

  ‘And you’re sure it’s definitely, definitely him?’

  ‘Yes … Shit. Some idiot’s let him out!’

  ‘Even if it is him, he can’t have seen you; you were virtually lying down.’

  ‘I don’t know how he knew, but he’s following us. He’s going to try and overtake. I can see him edging out. Can you go any faster?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘We’ve got to lose him! Can’t you suddenly spin round and go back the other way?’

  ‘I’m not a stunt driver, Lori.’

  I’m trying to concentrate on the road ahead and look behind at the same time. There are several cars following me; I can’t tell if the blue car is one of them. This is absurd. It can’t be Darren. It’s too much of a coincidence.

  ‘I think you’re just being paranoid.’

  ‘I know it’s him, I know it! He’s going to hunt us down.’ I glance in the mirror. A dark blue car is nosing out, trying to pick off the intervening vehicles. ‘See? That’s him, he’s coming to get me. You’ve got to do something!’

  Adrenalin shoots through my veins. The van in front of me is going too slowly. I’m going to have to overtake, but there isn’t enough room.

  ‘He’ll ram us off the road,’ cries Lori. ‘You’ve got to go faster.’

  ‘I can’t!’ I shout. ‘How does he know where you are?’

  ‘I think he must be tracking my phone.’

  ‘What?! Then turn it off! Now.’

  She digs into her bag and takes out her mobile, fumbling with the button. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know.’

  Another look in the mirror tells me that Darren – if it is Darren and not just some jerk on a suicide mission – has sneaked forward. There are only three cars between us. A junction is coming up; the traffic lights are green. I’ve got to get across. Taking a deep breath, I put my foot down and pull into the middle of the road, overtaking the van. An oncoming car hoots as I squeeze past, darting back into the nearside lane just as the lights turn amber, then red. Without thinking, I shoot across the junction, narrowly missing a car turning right.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ My heart crashes into my ribs.

  ‘Ha! He’s stuck!’ Lori says. ‘Brilliant! Nice one, Stella.’

  ‘I nearly killed us,’ I retort, feeling breathless and sweaty. ‘I can’t do this, it’s frigging dangerous.’

  ‘Turn left here, then we can double back,’ she orders. ‘I know the side roads, I’ll direct you.’

  ‘We’re supposed to be going to Citizens Advice.’

  ‘We can’t, it’s too risky,’ she replies. ‘He’ll be looking for us. We should go home … Next left.’

  My pulse is still racing as I drive back to the house, looking anxiously in the rear-view mirror for Darren’s car. But there’s no sign of him. If it ever was him, that is …

  As soon as I pull onto the driveway, Lori gets out and runs to the front door. I let us in and she shuts it behind us with a dramatic sigh of relief.

  ‘We ma
de it,’ she says. ‘Safe at last.’

  I take off my coat. ‘This doesn’t make sense, Lori. I mean, if Darren’s had a tracker on your phone, he must already know where you’re staying.’

  She bites her lip. ‘I guess.’

  ‘So if that’s the case, why did he go and smash up your mum’s house? Why hasn’t he come straight to find you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps he was waiting till I went out?’

  ‘But nobody followed us to the petrol station. Are you sure it was him?’ She nods insistently. ‘You didn’t just see a car that looked a bit like his and panic?’

  ‘No! At least, I don’t think so …’

  ‘Did you catch the registration number?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I don’t know it. It’s his car; he doesn’t let me drive it.’

  ‘Hmm …’ I can’t stop myself heaving an irritable sigh. ‘Well, we’ve missed the drop-in session now.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She sits on the bottom stair and takes off the wellies. ‘We’ll go tomorrow, yeah?’

  ‘They don’t run sessions tomorrow. Just Tuesdays and Thursdays.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they’d be able to help anyway.’ She puts the boots neatly by the door. ‘Probably just give me a load of useless leaflets.’

  ‘The thing is, Lori, if that was Darren and he is tracking your phone, you’re not safe here any more.’

  ‘I don’t know for certain he was tracking my phone,’ she says quickly. ‘I mean, I don’t think he’d know how to do it. He’s not very good at that kind of thing.’

  ‘So it was just chance that he happened to be at the petrol station.’

  ‘It’s where he usually fills up. I was on the lookout, so when the blue car arrived, I instantly thought, oh shit, it’s him.’ She looks down, shamefaced. ‘But maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know, I’m not sure now.’

  I pace about the hallway. ‘You made me run a red light. We could have had an accident.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

 

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