The Dream House: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

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The Dream House: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller Page 15

by Jess Ryder


  ‘Did she throw herself at you? The slag.’

  ‘Don’t call her that.’

  Kay turned to her brother-in-law. ‘I think you should go.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not leaving you with him, not like this.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ll be okay.’

  ‘No you won’t! He’s gone mental.’

  Foxy gave Micky a shove. ‘Get out. This is my business, nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Please, just go,’ Kay said, shaking all over. ‘It’ll be all right.’

  Micky took off the suit jacket; she thought he was getting ready for a fight, but he put on his donkey jacket instead. She heard her daughter’s footsteps running down the stairs and her stomach jolted.

  ‘Get. Out. Now.’ Foxy jabbed at Micky’s chest.

  ‘Why are you shouting?’ Abigail asked, poking her dark curls around the door frame.

  Micky shot his brother a look of withering contempt. ‘I used to look up to you, Alan, but you’re out of order. Way out of order.’

  ‘Who’s Alan?’ asked Abigail innocently. Kay put her finger to her lips, gesturing at her to keep out of it. Micky always used his brother’s proper name, refused to call him Foxy. She didn’t know why exactly – maybe he thought it was childish, or maybe he didn’t like him taking sole ownership of their surname.

  ‘You lay another finger on her and you’ll have me to reckon with. Got that?’ And with a shake of his fist, he stormed out, slamming the door.

  Foxy didn’t move, didn’t say a word, but she could feel his temper building, like a pot rising to the boil. Now what? she thought. As if she didn’t already know …

  Chapter Twenty

  Stella

  Now

  ‘The final score was 12–6,’ I say. ‘Wales had a penalty in the seventy-seventh minute.’

  He grips the sides of his skull. ‘Jesus Christ, what does it matter? The game was already over. Wales couldn’t win, I’d stopped paying attention.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, Jack.’

  ‘Leave me alone! You’re doing my head in.’

  ‘I know you too well. I can tell you’re lying to me.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m not! Stop being such a bitch!’

  His insult sends an electric charge through the room. I feel a fissure cracking between us, pushing us apart. We are on either side of the fault line, alone and unable to reach each other. I never thought I’d ever feel so distant, so alienated from the man I love. We stare at each other, reeling from the aftershocks. He’s shaking – I can’t tell whether it’s with anger or fear.

  My voice is strained, the air stuck in my lungs. ‘Please stop denying it. You’re insulting my intelligence.’

  He throws a look at me, his eyes flickering with contempt. ‘Okay, okay, I did it, I faked it.’

  Even though I already knew, his words still punch me in the guts, making me gasp. ‘My God, Jack … Why?’

  ‘Why do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. To hurt me, I guess. You were pissed off because I let Lori stay and didn’t tell you. You wanted revenge.’

  ‘No, that wasn’t it. I was pissed off, yeah, but only because you weren’t listening to me.’ His voice ratchets up a notch. ‘The thing about you, Stella, is you always have to be in the right, you’re never in the wrong. Your motto is all women are good, all men are evil bastards.’

  ‘That’s not at all what I think.’

  He starts to pace around his side of the room, flinging his arms up. ‘You go on and on about your gut instinct, but when it comes to my instinct, you’re not interested. Men aren’t allowed to have instinct; that’s a woman’s thing. You see, I knew Lori was trouble, I clocked it right from the beginning. I tried to warn you, but no, no, you knew better.’

  ‘But you don’t know that Lori’s trouble,’ I say firmly. ‘You’ve got no evidence, other than the stuff you’ve made up. She’s an innocent victim, not a criminal. When I think of the hell she’s been through … and then you try to set her up as a thief! That’s completely unforgivable.’

  ‘I wanted the police to check her out, that’s all,’ he says, not giving in. ‘I was sure they’d already know her. I bet you anything Lori’s not her real name and she’s got previous. That’s why she’s refusing help. She’s a con artist, it’s obvious. All I needed was for them to take fingerprints and DNA. I was sure she’d come up on their database and then we’d know her true identity.’

  ‘That’s really twisted, Jack.’

  He looks at me pleadingly. ‘You don’t understand. I was trying to protect you.’

  ‘Seems like you’re the only person I need protecting from,’ I say slowly.

  He doesn’t respond. The silence between us crackles like static. I fold my arms closely across my chest as the chasm between us widens.

  ‘Now can I have my parents’ things back? Please don’t make me search for them. Spare me that at least.’

  He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens them again and leaves the room.

  I sit down heavily on the bed. My chest is tight; it feels as if somebody’s gripping my heart, squeezing with all their might. How could Jack have done this? I knew things weren’t great between us, but this is way beyond anything I could have imagined.

  He re-enters a couple of minutes later carrying a plastic Co-op bag, which he empties onto the bed. My parents’ possessions lie there in a small heap – the whisky decanter, the silver sugar bowl, the napkin rings engraved with their initials, personal items and pieces of jewellery, some gold or silver, the rest worthless tat, but all of it priceless to me. It glints in the light of the overhead bulb like paltry treasure.

  ‘I would have given them back eventually,’ he says petulantly. ‘I’m not that much of a shit.’

  I decide not to reply to that. Instead I pick up Dad’s watch and study it for a few moments, feeling the worn leather strap, running my fingers around the face with its Roman numerals. He wore it every day for as long as I can remember; it was part of him, almost as familiar to me as his voice and his pale hazel eyes. Resting the watch in my lap, I lift up a gold chain of Mum’s and hold it against my neck. The cold metal sends a shiver through me.

  Jack sits on the edge of the bed, half turned away from me. He looks down at his hands, weaving his fingers into knots. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. I sense a ‘but’ coming, and sure enough … ‘But you were being impossible. I couldn’t think of any other way to get through to you.’

  ‘Other than by stealing my dead parents’ valuables and accusing some poor woman who’s already suffered appalling abuse from her husband and lost custody of her kids … That was the only way, was it?’ I sigh. ‘This is really dark, Jack. This is … I don’t know … unspeakable.’

  ‘Lori definitely met up with someone; that wasn’t a lie,’ he says after a few moments. ‘I saw her get into a car.’

  ‘Well she denies it, so who do you think I’m going to believe?’ I snap.

  ‘Just because she didn’t steal the stuff doesn’t mean she’s on the level.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Lori.’

  ‘I’m just saying …’

  ‘Well don’t.’

  There’s another long pause, pregnant with thoughts. I stare at the tangle of jewellery, and memories from the past tumble around my mind.

  ‘I think we need some space from each other,’ I say, lifting my head and talking to his back. He makes a small movement, something like a flinch. ‘It’s impossible for you to stay here while Lori’s still around, and I’m not prepared to chuck her out.’

  ‘Okay,’ he says in his smallest voice. I know that tone; it’s melted my heart in the past, but not today. Not any more. ‘For how long?’

  ‘I don’t know. Until we know how we feel, I guess.’

  He turns to face me. ‘I already know. I love you, Stella.’

  ‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it.’

  ‘Honestly, I’ve only got your interests at heart
.’ He registers the disbelief on my face. ‘But whatever you say, I’ll piss off, leave you alone to think things over.’

  ‘I think it’s for the best … Where will you go?’

  ‘Dunno. I’ll make some calls.’ I know he won’t stay with his parents – they’ll demand to know what happened and he won’t want to tell them. But he has plenty of friends, most of them pre-dating our relationship. They’ll get a carefully edited version of the story and he won’t be short of shoulders to cry on. Everyone loves Jack.

  I stand up and walk around the bed to face him. ‘And you need to call the police and tell them you made a mistake. Say you found the missing stuff.’ He grimaces. ‘If you don’t do it, I will, and I’ll tell them the truth. Wasting police time is a criminal offence.’

  ‘Okay. Leave it with me.’

  ‘No. Do it now.’ I give him PC Khan’s business card. He reaches into his back pocket and takes out his phone. I listen to him leaving a message, his voice shaky and embarrassed. ‘We found the stuff; you don’t have to check out Alan Foxton, or the woman who’s been staying with us. It was a mistake. Sorry for the inconvenience,’ he mutters, ending the call.

  We both turn our heads as we hear the front door opening and then closing. I immediately leave the room, shutting Jack in and crossing the hallway. Lori is easing off her boots – or rather, my boots. Her cheeks are flushed, her badly dyed hair frizzing with evening mist.

  ‘How did it go?’ I ask.

  ‘Good, thanks,’ she replies, unbuttoning the red jacket. She must have lost some weight these past few weeks, because it fits her better now. ‘We went to the park. They wanted to go to McDonald’s, but I didn’t have enough cash.’ She hangs the jacket on a peg. ‘Still, we had a nice time on the swings, then we went back to the foster carer’s and they let me stay while they had their tea.’

  ‘Sounds good. And they’re all right, Casey and …’

  ‘Jamie. Yes, thanks. Better than last time. Said they missed me.’ Tears well up in her eyes. ‘That meant a lot.’

  ‘Of course.’ I hesitate. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Just a couple of biscuits.’

  ‘I’ve got some pizzas if you’re interested. And a bottle of red.’

  Confusion flashes across her face. ‘Won’t you be eating with Jack? I don’t want to intrude.’

  ‘Jack’s going away for a bit.’

  ‘Oh.’ She peers at me, trying to read my expression. ‘Well, um, yeah, that’d be great, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I’ll call you down in about an hour.’

  She takes the hint and climbs the stairs to her room, clutching the brown handbag she took with her when she escaped. I imagine its contents – purse, phone, mirror, lipstick, passport, a few photos perhaps. What would I take if I only had a few minutes to decide? When it comes down to it, so few objects are absolutely essential. But one’s sanity is a must.

  I go into the other reception room, frowning at Jack’s deliberate disarray of packing cases and cartons. Bending down, I pick up the jewellery box and take it back to the bedroom.

  Jack is packing a holdall. His eyes are red and he looks as if he’s been crying. I don’t feel a flicker of sympathy. My heart sits like a stone in my chest – as hard and cold as any pebble on Nevansey beach.

  ‘I’m going to stay with Dom,’ he says. Dominic is a university friend who lives in Hackney.

  ‘That’ll cut down your commute,’ I comment tartly, sitting down and putting my treasure back in its box.

  He glances at me. ‘I don’t want to go, you know. I’d much rather stay.’

  ‘We both need the space. There’s a lot to think about.’ I gesture at the four walls. ‘I know it’s not worked for you, living here.’

  He stuffs a jumper into the bag and zips it up. ‘I’m sorry, Stella.’

  ‘Yes, so you should be,’ I say through tight lips.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  ‘Maybe give it a few days? I’ll call you.’

  ‘Whatever.’ He picks his jacket off the chair and slips it on, then takes his beanie out of a pocket and pulls it over his head. We stare at each other for a few seconds, not saying anything, both of us thinking that maybe it’s all over, maybe he’ll never set foot in the house again. Unless it’s to collect the rest of his belongings and return his key. The thought shudders through me.

  ‘Right. I’m off now.’

  I nod. Tears are blurring my vision, making the jewellery look like globules of light under water. I shut the lid and swallow hard.

  Jack goes to the door, pausing with his fingers around the handle. ‘I know you don’t want to hear this, but … be careful about Lori,’ he says.

  A small laugh escapes from my mouth. ‘Funny. She said exactly the same thing about you.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Stella

  Now

  Lori leans across to top up my glass with Chianti. I gesture at her to stop, but she shakes her head and fills it to the brim.

  ‘Medicinal,’ she says, putting the bottle down and settling back into the creaky deckchair. I dragged her into the conservatory to eat because I couldn’t face sitting in the front room. It’s freezing in here, and although the pizza warmed me at first, my body is slowly turning to ice, the cold creeping up from my extremities, working its way towards my heart. I stare at my watery reflection in the dark windows, wondering how it has come to this.

  Jack will be well ensconced at his friend’s place by now, curled up on the sofa in the cosy sitting room, full of beer and indignation, ranting about how badly I treated him, no doubt. Rewriting the narrative to make himself the victim and me the perpetrator. That thought doesn’t make me feel angry, or even particularly upset. I feel numb, knocked into neutral. In the past, I’d have worked my way through a whole box of tissues, but tonight I haven’t cried once.

  Lori picks up her packet of cigarettes and takes out her lighter. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No. Go ahead.’ Jack would have had a fit, but I no longer care about the smell or even the passive smoking. Nothing seems to matter any more.

  She lights up and draws the nicotine into her lungs. ‘If you ask me, you’re well out of it.’

  ‘Maybe … I dunno …’ I sigh. ‘I always thought we had a really good relationship.’

  ‘Not from where I was standing.’

  I look at her sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you spent all your time trying to please him, worrying about what he’d think, wanting his approval …’ She puffs out smoke. ‘It was like you were scared of him.’

  ‘No, not scared … I just wanted him to be happy, that’s all.’

  ‘What about your happiness? Doesn’t that count for anything?’ I chew my lip, giving Lori’s words my full consideration. ‘Well?’ she urges.

  My brain scrambles for an answer. ‘When you’re a couple, it’s about being happy together, isn’t it? If he’s happy, that makes me happy, and vice versa.’ I drink and the wine seeps into the fabric of my brain.

  ‘I don’t think Jack gives a shit about you being happy. It’s all about him.’

  ‘That’s not entirely true. He didn’t want to leave London but he moved here to please me. When we met, I was really struggling with some issues over my parents’ death and he helped me massively. He’s actually a very loving, supportive person.’

  ‘There you go again defending him.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘If he’s so supportive, why did he pretend your parents’ things had been stolen?’ She flicks ash onto her dirty plate. ‘I mean, I understand he was trying to turn you against me, but why be so hurtful? It was just cruel.’

  ‘He was angry with me for letting you stay and not telling him.’

  ‘But you only did that because you were scared of him.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ I let out a long, regretful sigh. ‘We both made mistakes.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Stella. That’s what you kept telling me when
I first arrived, remember? I didn’t get it at first, but now I understand. I see your messed-up relationship and it makes me realise—’

  ‘It’s not messed up.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ She turns her head towards me and looks deeply into my eyes. ‘He may not hit you, but that doesn’t mean he’s not abusive. We’re both victims – just in different ways.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it any more. Too tired, too pissed.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ she says, heaving herself off the deckchair. ‘It’s late. We need to go to bed.’

  I reach out and grab her hand. ‘Thanks for keeping me company tonight.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do.’ She squeezes my cold fingers. ‘You’re a good girl. You deserve better than Jack.’

  ‘Hmm …’ I say. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  * * *

  I manage to spend most of Sunday in bed – sleeping, dozing, drifting in and out of dreams, or starkly awake, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. I can move my limbs, but they feel as if they don’t belong to me. My stomach is churning and my head feels stuffed with fur. Maybe I’m sickening for something, or maybe it’s just grief. The air is thick with Jack’s absence. I close my eyes and touch the cold space next to me, conjuring up his body, smelling his scent, hearing his breathing. It feels like I’ll never see him again, although I know that’s unlikely. He’s not dead, just somewhere else.

  Lori knocks on the bedroom door just after eleven, offering tea and toast. I murmur thanks, but send her away. Some of the things she said last night about Jack were harsh, and I feel too bruised to listen to more of the same. She may well be right, but I need to come to my own conclusions, not feel pushed along by the tide of her opinions. I was the same when she first arrived on my doorstep. How articulate we are about other people’s problems, I think, pummelling air into my pillow and lying down again.

  The hours are long and viscous; it feels as if I’m pushing them through a sieve. I finally get up at six p.m., but never make it out of my pyjamas. My phone is constantly at my side as I wait for Jack to call or text, even though I told him not to contact me. I said we needed space from each other, but right now I’m lost in it, wandering around in the void.

 

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