QUIET NEIGHBOURS an unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist

by MCPHERSON, CATRIONA

  “I did!” said the woman. “I’m just relieved to see you’re all right.”

  Jude frowned at her. “You knew I was all right, Mrs. H.,” she said. “We met the night before. You knew I was staying here.”

  Mrs. Hewston gave a laugh with more bravery in it than amusement. “Old age, hen. It comes to us all and it doesn’t come itself. That had flown right out of my mind when I heard in the Co-op this morning about the fire.”

  “So what did you come to tell us?” said Jude. “Or ask us?”

  “Oh!” said Mrs. Hewston. “There I go again. I’ll need a minder soon. Well, I was looking out for you, you see, to tell you this: Jackie McLennan is much better. Maureen told me. And so I was looking out for you, as I say. And I need to tell you: men came.”

  “Yes,” said Lowell. “Thank you, Mrs. Hewston. Those were firemen, bringing me home from Kirk Cottage. But thank you.”

  “No, no, no, no,” Mrs. Hewston said. “Not them! I mean later. I was looking out later and two men came. Drove right up the drive and got out, banged on the door, and looked in the windows. Walked right round the house.”

  “Really?” said Lowell. “How distressing for you. They were probably police, or perhaps fire investigators.”

  “They didn’t look like police,” Mrs. Hewston said. Jude was suddenly aware of a movement. Eddy was standing in the shadows of the vestibule, hidden behind the porch light. “They certainly weren’t Stranraer police.” She dropped her voice as she went on, “I don’t mean anything by this, but one of them was very dark.”

  “Jesus Christ!” said Eddy.

  “You know I don’t care to hear His name taken in vain, dear,” said Mrs. Hewston.

  “Aye, well, He was probably quite ‘dark’ too,” Eddy said.

  “Thank you,” said Lowell, putting a hand on Mrs. Hewston’s shoulder and turning her a little to face back towards her cottage. “Thank you for the information. You’re a good neighbour.”

  “I try,” she said. “I don’t like to stick my nose in, but I—”

  The end of it was lost under peals of laughter from Eddy. Jude shushed her but, when she turned back, Mrs. Hewston was well away over the lawns, her torch beam quivering with indignation. Jude, in spite of everything, felt a small tug of tenderness towards her. She really was old and getting wandered. Then something struck her.

  “Mrs. H.!” she shouted.

  The woman turned. “Mrs. Hewston, hen. Not to criticise you, but I don’t care for nicknames.”

  “What was it you came to tell us this morning?” Jude shouted.

  “What?”

  “This morning when you turned back because the grill was on? What was it you wanted to say?”

  “I told you!” she shouted. “About Jackie. And the strange men. And to say I was so sorry to hear about the fire.”

  “But that was after—” Jude began. Then she saw the way the rain was soaking the woman’s shoulder, the way it dripped off the buckled umbrella, and she waved a hand. “Never mind,” she shouted. “On you go.”

  Lowell had started moving books, doing without the golf umbrella. Jude stood staring until the torchlight winked out and one of the small back windows of the bungalow lit up instead. Mrs. Hewston was safely home for the night.

  “Poor old girl,” she said to Lowell as he came back, empty-handed and puffing.

  “You’re a very kind woman,” he said.

  “She’s completely losing it,” said Jude. “She doesn’t even know what time of day it is.” She shivered and Lowell took hold of her hand, slamming down the boot with the other.

  “I’ll get the rest of this later,” he said. “Let’s go in.”

  They heard Eddy crying when they were halfway through the little pantry connecting the kitchen to the front parts of the house. Lowell dropped Jude’s hand and bolted through the door.

  “I’m all right,” Eddy said, swiping viciously at her tears. She sniffed deeply and spat into the sink. “Yuck, sorry.”

  “My dearest, dearest child,” said Lowell, striding over and wrapping her in his arms. “What’s wrong, my little one? Tell me.”

  “Nothing,” she said. “I’m happy. I’m happy you’re my dad even though I don’t see how you can be.” She leaned against him, sobbing.

  “Well, shush then,” said Lowell. “Dry your tears.”

  Eddy sniffed again and then made a gagging noise. “Fucking hell, Dad, your jacket honks. You need to send every stitch you own to get cleaned, and I don’t know what you use for deodorant but it’s not working.”

  “You are a wretch and an urchin,” said Lowell, but he was still patting her back. “If I had spoken to my father that way he’d have hit me with his slipper.”

  “Aye well, I’ve smelt your slippers too and they’ll need to be taken to the special bit of the dump and signed for.”

  Jude had to turn away until she brought her face back under control.

  “I’m not at all in favour of this modern fad of washing oneself to a sliver,” Lowell said. “It’s unhealthy. I suspect it’s American.”

  “Well, I’m in favour and Jude’s in favour,” Eddy said, “so you’re outnumbered. Tough shit and put a shower in.” She pulled away from him, yanked a long bolt of paper towel from the rack and blew her nose enormously. “And speaking about your dad,” she said. “Do you want to go first? We’re all coming clean, aren’t we?”

  Lowell stared at her for a moment and then sank into a chair. “I don’t know why you pretend to be such a churl,” he said. “Anyone as perspicacious as you must have brains somewhere.”

  “Perspicacious,” Eddy repeated. “I literally have never heard that word in my life.”

  “Well, anyway, I shall go first,” Lowell said. After a sigh he went on. “It’s the dates. Norma Oughton to Todd Jolly. Late 1983 to early 1985. As soon as you said the dates, my dear, I started to wonder.” He broke off and looked around himself and although he said nothing, Jude interpreted the look correctly.

  “Glass of wine?” she said.

  “At least,” said Lowell. “Might take whisky.”

  “I’d kill for a voddy and Sprite,” said Eddy. “Even just the Sprite. I’m definitely coming with you to Tesco next time.”

  Jude opened the dresser cupboard and took out a bottle of red. Then she took down two of the good dusty glasses from the open shelves above and set the lot in front of Lowell with the corkscrew.

  He was still staring at the dresser.

  “Who moved the vase?” he said, nodding at it.

  Jude followed his gaze and then frowned at Eddy.

  “It’s there for Jude,” Eddy said. “It’s therapy. Look, I didn’t think it mattered. It must have been sitting there for months.”

  “It’s been sitting there for years,” Lowell said. “Your mother cut that forsythia before she left.”

  “You’ve had dead flowers in your front lobby for twenty years?” said Jude. “Why?”

  “It started as an act of faith,” said Lowell. “I believed she’d come back, and I left it for her. And then … well, dear me, the days go by. And then the years and then all of a sudden one is old. I can almost understand it when I think of it that way. Not the flowers. I’m thinking of the thing I must tell you.”

  “We won’t judge,” said Jude. “God knows, we’re in no position to.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Eddy, inevitably.

  “It’s the dates,” Lowell said again, ignoring her. “Norma Oughton died about six weeks after my mother.”

  “So?” said Eddy. “I mean, sorry about your mum, but it was a while ago. So … so?”

  “I think my father killed them,” Lowell said, simply. “We were clutching at straws blaming the relatives. I think as long as my mother was alive he kept up the façade of … whatever it was, but as soon as she was gone he couldn’t get away quick enough. He had a handful of old patients. A Norfolk handful, counting Lorna McLennan, and since he couldn’t see his way clear to retiring before they
were gone, he helped them get gone sooner. Killed them, signed their death certificates, and went to their funerals.”

  “But …” Jude took a deep swallow of red wine. It was rich and full-tasting with a bite at its back, making her think of blood, warm and metallic. She shuddered but took another swallow anyway. “But he threatened to ask for exhumations.”

  “Double bluff,” said Eddy. “Classic.”

  “And he didn’t kill Lorna,” Jude insisted. “He had an alibi.”

  “Ah yes, Mrs. Hewston,” Lowell said. “Well, if providing an alibi bags a free cottage for life, then providing a false alibi certainly should, shouldn’t it?”

  “Why would she do that?” Jude said. “Why would she lie for your dad?” But as soon as she asked the question, the answer was clear.

  “She adored him,” said Lowell. “Even if she found out something like that about him, I can imagine that she wouldn’t want him brought low. Oh yes, I can easily imagine that.”

  “Yeah, but if you’re right,” Eddy said, “and I’m not saying you are—but if you’re right, who left that anonymous note for Jude? And who did Jackie phone?”

  “The phone call was irrelevant. She has daughters and sisters and you women are always ringing one another up about something. Usually,” he added with a look at Jude.

  “But who set the fire?” asked Eddy.

  “I don’t know,” said Lowell. “I don’t understand the details, but it makes sense of one fact that’s never made any sense before: My father died a very unhappy man. His last years were haunted.”

  “But that’s not right,” Jude said. “If he was racked with remorse when he started it, why would he carry on? It was over the course of better than a year, remember?”

  “I didn’t say it was remorse,” said Lowell. “I think he was haunted by the spectre of being reported and shamed. It was fear.”

  “It might have been both,” said Jude. “They’re a killer combination if you get the mix just right. I should know.” She was scared almost every minute of every day, and guilty for being scared instead of just being sorry. And in the few moments she felt neither—in the moments she felt happy—the guilt just gathered strength to hit her harder on its return.

  Lowell was looking at her not with his dim, scattered look and not with his rueful look, the one he kept for the modern world and Eddy’s language. He was regarding her with a very steady and affectionate gaze, as though nothing she could say could shock him. She didn’t believe it, but that only spurred her on. If she had to lose him, the sooner the better, before she could get used to having him. Before the loss would wound her. Rip off the plaster, as Eddy said.

  Another gulp of wine and she was down to the sediment, black flakes sticking to her tongue.

  “You know about my parents,” she said. “And you know about my husband. But you don’t know about my husband’s new wife and their baby.”

  “Except yeah he does, cos I told him,” Eddy said.

  “Devastating for you,” said Lowell.

  “But I never told about the night of the funeral,” Eddy added.

  “Only because you haven’t had a chance yet!” said Jude, but she smiled to show she wasn’t angry. In fact, she wished he did know, then she wouldn’t have to say it. She fixed her gaze on the tabletop and spoke quickly, describing how she hid in the cupboard, Max passing out, Raminder’s arrival, standing behind the door in the shadows with her heart banging at the base of her throat, Raminder’s sobs and her flight. And the moment she tripped, that slow-motion moment when it seemed impossible that she could fall too fast for Jude to catch her, because she was falling so slowly and Jude reached out so quick, like a lizard’s tongue, but all she managed to do was put the tip of her middle finger on the fluttering end of Raminder’s scarf, feeling the slide of chiffon before it followed her plunge, down and down, and then settled softly on her back as she lay so still at the bottom.

  “And the baby was screaming and screaming. I looked into her pram and her face was bright red and her eyes were shut and her little mouth was wide open. She was yelling and waving her fists, kicking her legs. I put my hand on her to try to comfort her and maybe if she had quieted, I’d have been able to think, but she … she hated me! She screamed even louder, even higher, and she went rigid! She arched her back right off the pram, like she was trying to buck my hand off her. I was … it sounds stupid, but I was scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “So you phoned 999,” said Eddy. “Didn’t you?”

  “Of course you did,” Lowell said.

  “Yeah but … Okay, I’m just going to tell you and if you want me to go, I’ll go.”

  “I can’t imagine anything you could say that would make me want you to go,” said Lowell.

  Eddy snorted. “Get a room.”

  “I dialled 999,” said Jude. “But I used Raminder’s phone. Because I’d already decided I needed to get out of there. And I knew if I used my phone, they’d know. She had hers in her hand when she fell and it was still in her hand. I took it from her. Her hand was warm, but limp. She wasn’t gripping it. I took it and I dialled and they say … ‘which service?’ and you’re supposed to say ambulance or police or fire, I think. But this woman said ‘which service?’ and I said … I said … I said …”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and remembered. The absolute stillness of Raminder on the floor, with her feet up on the second step and her hair covering her face and spilling out in a pool around her head. And the sound of the baby, screaming as if someone was torturing her, and the feel of Raminder’s phone in her hand, the smell of Raminder’s perfume—something light and sweet—clinging to it, and then her own voice saying it.

  He pushed me.

  “And then I wiped the phone and put it back in her hand and I stood up and went out, and I left the door open and I walked away. I could hear the baby until I turned the corner onto the main road. But I kept walking and I walked all the way to the tube and took the tube to the station, and when I got to the station I got a train and I came here. So that’s what I did. I left a baby alone in a house with one passed out and one dead. She tripped and yet I said, ‘he pushed me,’ and Max wouldn’t remember what happened because he never does. I used her phone and I said, ‘he pushed me.’”

  “Well, my dear,” said Lowell, “from what you’ve told us, I’d say he did.”

  “Don’t be kind to me,” said Jude. “I’ll start crying and I’ll never stop.”

  “Can I say something?” said Eddy. “It might count as kind, but it’s true, and I think you should know.”

  Jude nodded.

  “She wasn’t dead.”

  Jude felt a wave of something she couldn’t name spread through her body, starting at her stomach, flooding in both directions, leaving her ringing from head to toe.

  “Are you going to faint?” said Lowell, half standing.

  “She was knocked out,” Eddy said. “But she’s fine now. And the baby’s fine too.”

  “But—” Jude began. “But I saw the headlines. They said ‘tragic’ and there were so many hits and you told me everyone’s looking for me.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s true too,” said Eddy. “They knew you were there. One of the downstairs neighbours saw you leave the house. Jesus, Jude. If you’d Googled it like any normal person …”

  “One of the … I didn’t even know those neighbours. Never so much as glimpsed them from one year’s end to the next. Never heard a peep out of any of them.”

  “Yeah, well, they knew you,” Eddy said. “This one did anyway. You know the sort—‘didn’t think much to the Muslim moving in.’ That’s a quote he gave to the Sun.”

  “She’s a Sikh,” said Jude.

  “Well, anyway, he was looking out and saw you running away and heard the baby crying. So he called the cops and said there was a suspicious person—wait for it—who had come to live in the street and she’d just chased away the resident of the house and she was neglecting her child!”

 
; “Wow,” said Jude.

  “Yeah, so you’re wanted, but as a witness, Jude. Not as a suspect. Just to corroborate, you know.”

  “Corroborate what?” said Jude. “I thought you said they were all okay.”

  “No,” said Eddy. “I said she’s okay and the baby’s okay. He’s dead, though.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jude drank another whole glass of wine, sipping steadily at it until it was gone.

  “How did he die?” she said, although she was sure she knew.

  “Aspirated emesis,’” Eddy replied. “Whatever that means.”

  Jude blinked at her, the blinks as steady as the sips had been, and then shook herself. “Look, never mind this right now,” she said. “Obviously, I’ll get in touch. I’ll phone Raminder or something, but forget it for now. We’ve got more important things to think about. Lowell, what are you going to do? If it weren’t for the fire, I’d say let sleep—”

  “Eh, excuse me?” said Eddy, waving a hand in Jude’s face. “I think you’re forgetting something, aren’t you? Never mind your dead ex-husband and never mind his dead dad and five old people who’d be well dead now anyway. I’ve just found out I don’t know when I was born, remember? I’ve just found out that for nineteen years I’ve basically not known who I am.”

  “You were born in April,” Jude said. “Aries with a diamond birthstone, not Cancer with a pearl. In other words, you were three months early and you were conceived on October the third. OJ day.”

  “Don’t mind me,” said Lowell. “I’ll just sit here quietly while you discuss my child’s conception.” He had never sounded more like Eddy.

  “But why did she keep quiet about Dad right till the end?” said Eddy.

  “You might never know,” Jude said. “You might have to just—”

  “Eighteen,” Lowell said suddenly.

  “Eighteen what?” said Eddy.

  “My dear child, I know you think you’re finished with school, but I’m going to put my foot down. You are not a stupid girl, but you are pitifully uneducated.”

  “None taken,” said Eddy. “Jeez.”