The Dream House: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Jess Ryder

  * * *

  There’s a rattling outside, like a padlock is being undone. The sound brings me sharply back to the present. My muscles tense as the door squeaks open and a beam of bright light shines across the floor, blinding me.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Stella

  Now

  ‘Stella?’ Dawn’s voice.

  I try to answer, but my mouth is too dry to speak. She walks into the shed and crouches beside me, her face lit from beneath by her phone, making her look skeletal and sad.

  ‘Are you okay? I’ve brought you some water.’ She lifts my head and I gasp with pain. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, and I wonder what she means – what exactly it is that she’s sorry for. I take a few sips from the mug and the water dribbles down my chin. ‘Thank God you’re still alive. I was terrified I’d find you … you know …’

  The cold liquid tastes exquisite as it travels down my parched throat. She puts the mug on the floor, then kneels down next to me. The torch on her phone goes off and we’re plunged into darkness again. She doesn’t put it back on. I think she prefers it this way. She can’t bear to see me trussed up like a piece of meat, my face covered in mud, hair matted with blood. A body waiting to be buried, the grave freshly dug.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeats. ‘This wasn’t meant to happen.’

  ‘Police. Call the police,’ I reply. My voice is croaky but the words come out strong. ‘Now. Police, ambulance. Before it’s too late.’

  ‘I can’t! I want to, but I can’t.’

  My eyes start to readjust to the darkness. I can see her out of the corner of my right eye, hands in her lap, head bowed, her lank hair hanging like a veil over her face.

  ‘Abi’s going to kill me,’ I say flatly. It’s a statement, not a question. Why else would she have rolled me up in this tarpaulin and bound it with ropes? I’m a glitch in the operation, collateral damage, an unfortunate mistake. A sacrifice for the greater evil. ‘Listen to me, Dawn. It’s not too late, you can stop her.’ She moves her head from side to side, as if the answer has got stuck and she’s trying to shake it out. ‘I know it seems like there’s no way out, but actually it’s easy.’

  ‘Everything’s gone wrong,’ she cries. ‘It’s out of control.’

  ‘Just call 999 and it’ll be over. That’s all it will take.’

  ‘I can’t! Daren’t.’ Her voice recedes into the gloom. I shift my shoulders, trying to relieve the pain, but it makes no difference. The back of my head is sticky with blood, my hair glued to the sheeting. The plastic crackles with every tiny movement.

  ‘What’s Abi doing?’ I say.

  She looks up. ‘She’s asleep – said she was exhausted. I don’t know how she can sleep when you’re lying here, but that’s Abi for you. Hard as nails.’

  ‘You’re not hard, though, are you, Dawn? You care about people, you care about me. You don’t want me to die, I know you don’t. But if you don’t act very soon—’

  ‘I can’t, all right?’

  ‘You can! You can make it stop.’

  She sighs heavily. ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘Try me,’ I say. ‘Tell me about it. Go on, you might as well.’

  There’s silence. Silence and darkness. All I can hear is the sound of our laboured breathing. I know Dawn wants to unburden herself and let all the poison out.

  She clears her throat, then slowly starts to speak. ‘I never wanted to trick you. It was Abi’s idea, she said it was the only way. I had to “create a character”, somebody who would be convincing. She made me pretend to be Lori. I didn’t want to do it, it felt bad. But I knew how to be her. I knew how she spoke, how she felt. I’d spent hours and hours listening to all the terrible things that had happened … I was very emotionally involved. And in a strange kind of way …’ She hesitates, twisting her fingers in her lap. ‘I know this sounds weird, but it was as if I was bringing her back to life, giving her a second chance.’

  ‘Well you did a good job,’ I say crisply. ‘Completely convinced me.’

  She lets out a small, breathy huff. ‘Almost convinced myself sometimes. I liked being her, it was almost easier than being me, you know? I wanted to keep her safe in the house, out of danger. I was never going to send her back to Darren. I wanted her story to have a different ending … That sounds ridiculous, I know, but at the time it made sense. It was the only way I could justify what I was doing – to myself, I mean.’

  ‘It has a kind of logic, I guess,’ I say. ‘Did Abi beat you up so you’d look the part?’

  ‘Yes, I think she enjoyed it, taking out all her anger on me. I thought it would be the worst bit, but it wasn’t. Lying to you, that was the worst. I couldn’t believe how kind, how generous you were. You totally trusted me; it broke my heart. I kept thinking, if only Westhill House was still a women’s refuge, if only the real Lori had knocked on your door, you would have saved her.’

  ‘So you knew it was wrong yet you carried on. Why? Did Abi make you; was she threatening you?’

  ‘She’s always been the boss, ever since we were kids,’ Dawn says, her voice getting smaller. ‘She became impatient because nothing was happening, I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to do, so she turned up pretending to be my friend. I had to go along with it. I was sure you’d smell a rat, but you didn’t. I almost wanted you to chuck us out. You’re too kind, Stella, you know that?’

  ‘I’m not kind,’ I say. ‘I was trying to be kind, that’s not the same.’

  ‘No, you’re a really good person,’ she insists. ‘I’m a coward, the lowest of the low. I never should have agreed to it in the first place, should have left weeks, months ago. I only stayed on because I was scared of Abi.’

  ‘But what were you supposed to be doing here?’

  ‘I can’t say.’ She speaks abruptly. ‘I’ve already said too much. If Abi finds out …’ She drifts off, presumably imagining what her sister might do to her.

  But I need to understand what this is about. ‘It was a scam, right?’ I press. ‘Somehow you found out I’d inherited a lot of money. You wanted to gain my trust and sympathy, then ask me for financial help so that you could “leave Darren”? Was that it?’ No reply. ‘Or you were going to worm your way into my confidence, then hack into my bank accounts and clean them out?’

  ‘No.’ She almost laughs. ‘Nothing like that.’

  ‘So what is it you want? What has got so out of control? What’s so important that it’s worth killing me for?’

  ‘It’s not worth it,’ she says. ‘Killing you would be the stupidest thing of all. I keep telling Abi that, but she won’t listen. She says we’re in too deep now and can’t go back. I don’t know what to do.’

  I almost feel sorry for Dawn. She’s so weak and I need her to be strong. If only I could touch her, I think. If only I could reach out and place a hand on her arm, or give her a hug and tell her everything will be all right. Let her collapse onto me, take the weight of this burden off her shoulders. But I can’t move. The ties around my wrists seem to dig even deeper into my flesh.

  ‘You’ll get caught,’ I say finally. ‘Too many people know about you. Jack will tell the police, they’ll track you down. Nobody’s going to believe that I just disappeared, wandered off into the sunset …’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You’ll get the blame, not Abi. And it’s not fair, because none of this was your idea.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know! But I went along with it. I’ve done terrible things too.’

  ‘We can sort this out. Just call the police now. I’ll back you up, say you were coerced.’

  She shifts onto her heels and stands up. ‘I’d better go.’ She touches her phone and it illuminates a path to the door. I can’t let her go. If she leaves now, I’m lost, and the next person to come will be Abi.

  I lift my head and a huge wave of pain breaks over my skull. ‘I’m going to die! You don’t want that – Lori wouldn’t have wanted that. You tried to save Lori and it didn’t work. Do you
want my death on your conscience too?’

  ‘Stop it!’ She gags like she’s about to be sick.

  ‘Why are you trying to protect Abi?’

  ‘It’s not just her.’

  ‘What do you mean? Who else is involved?’

  ‘Can’t say. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Alan? Is he part of this?’

  She freezes at the sound of his name. ‘No. Why would he be?’

  ‘I overheard the two of you talking. Something about Foxy?’

  Her fingers are on the door handle; she tries to pull it open, but the wood is swollen and resists.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘It’s nearly light. Got to go.’ She turns away.

  ‘Please help me. Please! You can’t leave me like this.’

  She wrenches open the door. A shaft of grey light floods the space for a few seconds, then disappears. I hear the door shutting, the padlock clunking tight. I lie back on the hard, cold floor, my body throbbing with pain as I listen to the seagulls squawking in the new day.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Kay

  Then

  She sat at the kitchen table and let the jolly chaos unfold around her. Kids were fighting over hats and gloves, their mothers scolding as they buttoned up coats and pushed wellies onto wriggling feet.

  ‘Can I have a toffee apple, Mum? Pleeeeeease?’

  ‘If you’re good.’

  ‘Who’s got the sparklers?’

  ‘They’re in my bag. Anyone seen my woolly scarf?’

  ‘You’ve got one more minute or we’re leaving without you.’

  It was Bonfire Night and everyone else was going to watch the fireworks in Nevansey Park. The council organised a display every year, apparently, and the whole town attended. There would be mobile burger vans, fairground stalls and rides – dodgems, a carousel, swing boats and giant whirling teacups. Kay had been to look at the bonfire earlier in the week, an enormous stack of wooden pallets, precariously arranged like that game where you had to pull the straws out and try not to knock the tower down. On the top, somebody had fixed a guy – he was wearing a suit and tie and looked strangely respectable. Pat said he looked a bit like her husband, who worked in a bank. They started singing an old song from their schooldays, specially adapted for battered wives.

  Build a bonfire, build a bonfire, put your husband on the top!

  Put your boyfriend in the middle and we’ll burn the rotten lot!

  Kay had been looking forward to Bonfire Night. She had some happy childhood memories associated with the event – parties in neighbours’ back gardens mostly. Sweet, innocent times, before she grew up and it all went wrong. But unfortunately she had to stay at home this evening. Abigail had come down with a nasty cold and high temperature, and was lying in bed dosed up to the eyeballs. She’d been asleep for hours, poor thing, and Kay knew she would be devastated when she woke up and discovered the fireworks had been and gone.

  The party still hadn’t left the house. ‘You can’t go out in that, you’ll catch your death,’ Babs was saying to her teenage daughter, who was a punk.

  Pat’s voice rang out from the hallway. ‘Are we going or what?’

  Kay laughed quietly to herself as the kitchen finally emptied and the gaggle of women and kids trooped out of the door. She breathed in the silence for a few moments, then stood up, putting a hand out to keep her balance. Her belly was so huge, her legs could barely support her weight. She felt like a piece of badly designed pottery, likely to topple over at any moment and break into a thousand pieces.

  Collecting up the dirty mugs and plates, she waddled over to the sink and made a pile. It was a shame to be missing the fun, but Pat and Alesha had kindly promised to come and relieve her in time for her to watch the second display at nine. In the meantime, she would enjoy the peace and quiet. In all the months she had lived here, she had never once been in the house on her own, not even for a few minutes. Even now she couldn’t claim complete solitude, because Abigail was ill upstairs.

  She started washing up, soaking her hands in the hot soapy water and thinking about her daughter. She’d picked up the germ at her new school; it was doing the rounds. There seemed to be one problem after another. When Kay had told her that she was going back to school, Abigail had immediately presumed she meant her old one, where Ms Gardiner taught and all her friends were. Even though several of the other refuge kids already went to the new school and liked it there, she had set her mind against it, refusing point blank to go. It was only Franny who had persuaded her to give it a try.

  ‘I’ll still come at weekends and you can join my lessons then if you like. But only if you go to school in the week.’

  A deal was struck, although Abigail was convinced that she’d got the bad end of it. She’d been difficult from day one – not paying attention in class, being rude to the teachers, skulking in the corner of the playground, determined not to make any new friends.

  Kay placed the clean mugs on the drainer, sighing as she reflected on how much her little girl had changed. She’d always been near the top of the class at her old school, a good reader for her age, with a talent for maths and a keen interest in every lesson, regardless of the subject. But those months off school had taken their toll, despite Franny Gardiner’s best attempts to plug the gaps. Abigail no longer seemed to care about having approval from her teachers. It was true that the refuge kids were a wild bunch. They stayed up far too late and were always charging around, screaming at the tops of their voices. But it was impossible to stick to a calming routine of baths and bedtime stories when you were sharing with so many other families. Kay had tried, but had given up after a couple of weeks – she simply didn’t have the energy to battle through. In the last few months, she’d watched her daughter unravel like a piece of knitting. She didn’t know what to do with her, and it was going to be even more difficult when the new baby came. She hoped Abigail wouldn’t turn out to be the jealous type.

  It was three weeks until her due date, not long to go now. Everyone in the house was excited, with some convinced she was having a girl and just as many others certain it was a boy. Several of her friends were knitting squares to make a patchwork baby blanket, and Verity had moved her and Abigail into the round room at the very top of the house in preparation for the new arrival. It was a thoughtful gesture, although Kay suspected it was mostly for the benefit of her roommates.

  The turret room had fantastic views over the beach and towards the pier but it was too small for what would soon be three of them. Still, she wasn’t going to complain; there was nowhere else to put them. Verity had dreams of turning Westhill House into bedsit units, maintaining a communal lounge and kitchen downstairs. But they would need to be able to buy the place legally first, and that was proving to be quite a challenge.

  Kay swept the crumbs off the breadboard, washed the knife and put it on the drainer, then wiped down the surfaces. After checking on Abigail, she would switch the telly on and watch a programme of her own choosing, then get ready to go out.

  The first firework display seemed to have started – she could hear rockets whizzing and bangers exploding. If she went up to the top floor and looked out of the back windows, she might be able to see some of it.

  She turned the lights out in the kitchen and went into the chilly hallway. For once, all the coat pegs were empty and the mound of footwear had been reduced to a few odd or broken shoes. She was about to climb the stairs when there was a loud knock on the door. She sighed. Either one of her friends had forgotten something, or it was a new arrival. She knew what to do if it was the latter. Invite her in, make her feel at ease, give her a cup of strong sweet tea and call Verity.

  Without thinking about it, she opened the door wide, gasping as she saw Foxy standing there. He looked haggard, like he hadn’t been sleeping, and there was a stain on his jacket.

  ‘Kay, it’s you.’ His eyes flicked over her, resting proprietorially on her round belly. She immediately felt sick and light-hea
ded.

  ‘Who told you I was here?’ She knew the answer; there was only one person it could be. Over two months had passed since she’d seen Micky in Vegas Amusements. She’d felt frightened at first, but as the weeks had passed, she’d gradually relaxed into the idea that he’d kept her secret. Clearly she’d been wrong.

  ‘I’m very worried about you,’ he said. ‘So’s everyone else. Your parents, Micky, all our friends. I’ve come to take you home.’

  ‘I’m already home, thanks.’ She started to close the door, but he stepped forward, putting his foot in the way. This tiny act of aggression was enough to make her feel faint. She gripped the edge of the door, steadying herself. All the bruises that had faded, all the cuts and burns that had healed suddenly felt vivid and sore.

  ‘Aren’t you going to let me in?’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m freezing my balls off out here.’

  She pushed the door against his foot, and it bounced off. ‘No men allowed. It’s the rules.’

  ‘All right. Put your coat on and we’ll go for a drink.’

  ‘I can’t. Abigail’s sick, I’ve got to stay and look after her. Nobody else is …’ She bit off the end of her sentence. Bad move to let him know she was on her own.

  ‘In that case, it won’t matter if I come in for a few minutes, will it?’ He walked forward, banging the door against her stomach as she quickly backed away. ‘At the fireworks, are they?’

  ‘They’ll be back any minute,’ she said.

  Foxy shut the door behind him, then walked up and down the hallway, poking his head into the two front rooms like he was spraying his territory. He whistled through his teeth. ‘What a dump.’