Merle takes her hand, passing on the touch of his skin. ‘Yes, but I think he’s warmer than you are. Can’t you feel the heating in this building? It’s suffocating. I’ll try to get through to the balcony doors, let some air in. Otherwise I’m going to throw up.’
‘Careful,’ Fi says. As Merle squeezes between the towers of boxes, she runs her icy fingers under the hot tap in the bathroom. She does not look at the murderer in the mirror.
When she returns, Merle has succeeded in opening the balcony doors and has her mobile phone in her hand. ‘Right. Shall I call, or will you?’
Fi says she will do it. Her hand trembles as she uses the phone; her voice is dull with shock. ‘Hello? Please, I need someone to come to my flat . . . There’s a man here . . . My friend and I have just arrived and there’s a body. We think it’s someone my ex-husband knows. We think he’s dead.’
‘Good,’ Merle says, when she’s finished. ‘That sounded exactly right.’
Because she’s not acting. That’s the unintended beauty of this plan of theirs: none of it has to be manufactured. The feeling that she might sob or be sick or wail and wail until someone puts a needle in her arm and blacks the world out: it’s all real.
Lyon, 6.30 p.m.
It is evening now and he is smoking a cigarette, ready to begin. He is not a fluent writer and he expects it to take him weeks, perhaps even as long as a month. When it is done, he will collect up his remaining antidepressants, plus any other medication to be had over the counter from the French pharmacies, and he will swallow them in fistfuls with the strongest vodka he can find. And he will die. He will go where he put little Ellie Rutherford.
He writes: Let me remove any doubt straight away and tell you that this is a suicide note . . . And at once, he understands why he is doing it, why he is delaying the inevitable. He wants to spend his last weeks with them, with Leo and Harry and Fi. Writing about them is not the same as being with them, in the flesh, in the house, but it’s still time together, isn’t it?
He can give them that, if nothing else.
London, 6 p.m.
While they wait, they retrieve the paperwork Fi unearthed the previous night and dig through some of the boxes to assemble the rest she might need to start investigating Bram’s embezzlement.
‘Would we do this?’ she asks Merle. ‘Would we not be too shocked by what we’ve discovered to want to go hunting through files?’
Merle considers. ‘Maybe, but the whole place is going to be sealed off, so now’s your only chance to take your passports and financial stuff. Like we said, we might need to explain why your prints are inside some of the boxes.’
Fi nods. ‘Do you think there’ll be sirens?’
‘Yes, I think an ambulance will come first. They won’t just take our word for it that he’s dead. We’re amateurs. They’ll want to see if he can be revived. Then they’ll bring in the forensics people.’
‘You definitely got rid of the phones?’
Merle nods. ‘I threw them as far into the lake as I could. No one saw, I’m sure of it. If it turns out someone saw us parked in the car park, we pulled in because I felt sick, okay? It’s happened a lot lately.’
What with her being pregnant – being pregnant and yet still choosing to do what she is doing. There is atonement and then there is this.
With the distant scream of a siren, they sidestep once more through the gully between the boxes to wait on the balcony. The street below is slick with rain, reflecting in lurid flashes the colours of the passing car lights. The smell is unexpectedly fresh and renewing, as if the nearby park is on the cusp of spring, the worst over.
The first vehicle, an ambulance, runs the red light at the junction and approaches Baby Deco in the near lane, while the oncoming traffic gives way and waits.
‘Last chance to change your mind,’ Merle says.
Fi knows no answer is required. It is an illusion that she can change her mind now; they both know there is only one narrative ahead. And it’s a good one. The bottom line is that as long as no link is made between the Toby Fi has been dating and the Mike sprawled lifeless in her flat, she has a fair chance of getting away with it. Freedom, if not for Bram, then for her and their sons.
As the paramedics exit their vehicle, Fi and Merle return inside. Merle positions herself in front of the intercom before the buzzer goes, a conductor taking charge of her stage.
‘Ready?’ she says, her fingers poised to press.
‘Ready,’ Fi says.
The buzzer goes.
56
4 March 2017
Lyon
The pills are already assembled in the kitchenette when he writes the last line. Enough to kill a horse, in his non-professional judgement. Less grisly to stumble upon than a hanging.
He was convinced it would be easier for you if he wasn’t here to bring more shame on you.
He has left no message, nor taken any precautions to spare the sensibilities of the poor cleaner, his most likely discoverer, whose next shift is in two days’ time. Far too late to pump him empty and save him.
The last words are written. A story about his speed-awareness course: not how he would have predicted he would sign off when he started this account, but it’s as illuminating a tale as any. It’s in his voice; it gives the reader the measure of him.
Plus the bank details, of course. No doubt there will be delays, but he trusts the police and the lawyers to determine that the money is rightfully Fi’s and to allow her due access to it.
He titles the file ‘For the attention of Detective Sergeant Joanne McGowan, Metropolitan Police’, copies it to a memory stick, and turns off the laptop. Of course, he could safely use the WiFi now, no police officer on earth would get here quickly enough to stop him, but after six weeks offline he has no appetite for reconnection with the world. Besides, he feels like getting some air, taking a last stroll.
As he walks to the internet café, he thinks how funny it would be if he found the place closed down, forcing him to search for another, bringing him back into contact with humanity, happenstance, a last chance at life.
It is open.
Exactly as planned, he is less than five minutes at the computer terminal. He noted and memorized the email address before he left London, but for good measure he copies in a general address for the Serious Collisions Investigation Unit at Catford. As he waits for the document to upload, he reminds himself that he needs to make a decision about which music to play while he loses consciousness. It should be a requiem, by rights, or opera, perhaps, but he has none in his collection.
Maybe Pink Floyd.
No doubt it’s disingenuous, but he really does think of this document as his last gift to Fi. Not only does it divulge the means by which she can claim the proceeds from the house, but it also exposes Mike: his criminal acts, his coercion of Bram and deceit of Fi. Especially his deceit of Fi. Because the police need to know that she became entangled with this evil man only because he targeted her – she has done nothing wrong herself, not a step, not a breath.
Once the police know that Mike is Toby and Toby is Mike, they only need ask Fi how and where to find him and then she and the boys will be safe.
At last, seeing that the file has successfully attached, he presses ‘Send’.
Acknowledgements
Our House was written partially out of contract, which, as writers know, entails a cash-starved and yet exhilarating work period during which there is really only one person in your corner: your agent. So a huge heartfelt thank you to Sheila Crowley: I will not forget your encouragement and support during a time when you had far, far more important things to think about.
My thanks also to Team Crowley at Curtis Brown (UK): Becky Ritchie, Abbie Greaves and Tessa Feggans. Also at CB: Luke Speed, Irene Magrelli, Alice Lutyens and Katie McGowan.
Thank you to Deborah Schneider of Gelfman Schneider for US expertise: it is a pleasure to work together and long may it continue. I consider myself privileged to have
been present at the unveiling of The Opals.
A very special thank you to Danielle Perez at Berkley for extraordinary skill and patience in the editing of this book. Danielle, we both know how significantly you’ve improved it and I couldn’t be more grateful. Your ongoing faith in the book and championing of it in the US means the world to me.
Thank you to the rest of the crack team at Berkley, including Sarah Blumenstock and Jennifer Snyder, and Alana Colucci, who designed the beautiful cover (you may not know how rare it is for me to love a cover design first time!).
At Simon & Schuster UK: I’m so happy to be reunited with fiction legend Jo Dickinson and to be working for the first time with a team I’ve admired from afar for years: Gill Richardson, Laura Hough, Dawn Burnett, Hayley McMullan, Dom Brendon, Jess Barratt, Rich Vlietstra, Joe Roche, Emma Capron, Maisie Lawrence, Tristan Hanks, Pip Watkins, and Suzanne King. Last but never least, Sara-Jade Virtue, to whom this book is dedicated. You have been a great friend and powerhouse supporter for over ten years and I still can’t believe we are finally working together.
Thank you to John Candlish for legal know-how, as well as for great book recommendations to take my mind off property fraud. And to the rest of my family and friends, who listen to my moans and groans with straight faces, as if books are blood diamonds and I might one day not come out of the mines alive. I won’t list you for fear of missing someone out and doing more harm than good – except for Mats ’n’ Jo, which is traditional.
Reading Group Guide
This guide is intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles in Louise Candlish’s Our House. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.
Warning: contains spoilers
Questions for Discussion
Fi’s story is told in a podcast interview meant for public broadcast, while Bram’s is a written suicide confession intended for the police. Is either form more trustworthy than the other? What are their differing agendas?
Do you have sympathy for Bram’s predicament? Might he have handled the blackmailers’ demands differently?
Fi claims that 91 Trinity Avenue is the Lawson family’s ‘primary breadwinner’ and ‘benign master’. Is the novel a cautionary tale about investing too much power in our property – both financial and emotional?
Alison, Merle, Kirsty, Polly, Fi’s mother: Fi’s network is almost entirely female and manifestly dynamic. Meanwhile, Bram comments that ‘in my experience men noticed very little’ and jokes about his desire for a ‘pre-feminist’ partner. What point is the author making about modern male-female relationships?
What do you make of the bird’s nest custody arrangements? Were they too idealistic for Bram and Fi, even before the interference of Mike and Wendy? Do you know anyone who’s had this kind of coparenting arrangement?
Fi and Bram praise each other’s parenting skills and repeatedly claim to make crucial decisions with their sons in mind. Do events bear this out?
Did you enjoy the structure of the book? When Fi’s podcast interview ends and the crucial remaining part of the weekend of January 13–14th is at last revealed, were there any shocks or surprises?
The death that occurs in the couple’s flat is arguably the novel’s most serious crime. Did you anticipate it and is it likely that the perpetrator(s) will go unpunished? Do you want the perpetrator(s) to be punished?
The compulsive new novel from Louise Candlish, coming 2019
Could you hate your neighbour enough to plot to kill him?
Until Darren Booth moves in at number 1, Lowland Way, the neighbourhood is a suburban paradise cherished by all who live there. Its residents, led by brothers Ralph and Finn Morgan and their wives Naomi and Tess, have even won a prize for their scheme to close the road on Sundays so children can play out the old-fashioned way.
The arrival of Booth changes all that. With his ugly property renovations, the used-car business he runs from his driveway, and his noisy, late-night lifestyle, he is despised on sight. Disputes over issues like loud music and parking rights have historically been resolved on Lowland Way without fuss, but with him they escalate all too quickly to public rows and threats of violence. Soon, the Morgans are coordinating complaints to the council and the police.
Then, early one Saturday, a horrific crime shocks the street. As the police go house-to-house, the residents close ranks and everyone’s story is the same: Booth did it. Some neighbours even have official diary sheets that detail his history of anti-social behaviour – right up to his movements on the morning of the incident.
But there’s a problem. The police don’t agree with them. They think Booth was the intended victim, not the offender. Instead of getting rid of him, his neighbours have created a dangerous enemy.
Before, he was just a nuisance, but now he is out to get them.
One by one.
THE
DARK
PAGES
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Also by Louise Candlish
The Swimming Pool
The Sudden Departure of the Frasers
The Disappearance of Emily Marr
The Island Hideaway
The Day You Saved My Life
Other People’s Secrets
Before We Say Goodbye
I’ll Be There For You
The Second Husband
Since I Don’t Have You
The Double Life of Anna Day
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2018
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © Louise Candlish, 2018
The right of Louise Candlish to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Hardback ISBN: 978-1-4711-6803-1
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-4711-6804-8
eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-6805-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd are committed to sourcing paper that is made from wood grown in sustainable forests and support the Forest Stewardship Council, the leading international forest certification organisation. Our books displaying the FSC logo are printed on FSC certified paper.
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