No Place Like Home_a gripping psychological thriller

by Rebecca Muddiman

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come yesterday. Things have been busy. But it looks like you’re feeling a bit better,’ I said finally, and still, there was nothing.

  ‘Lesley at work has got engaged. I’m going to the party,’ I said, and still, Mum didn’t respond. Saying that, I probably wouldn’t have responded, either. It was an entirely dull piece of news.

  After a few more minutes, I decided to say something. ‘Cathy came round,’ I said, and waited for a twitch.

  Nothing.

  ‘She said you were worried about me.’

  I sat under the flickering fluorescent light that I’d asked them to fix a thousand times, and each sputter of electricity underlined another moment she refused to speak to me. After a while, I couldn’t take it anymore.

  ‘Why did you send her?’ I turned the TV off. ‘Mum? Talk to me.’

  Still nothing.

  ‘Why are you being like this? I know you can talk just fine. You’re chatty enough with Cathy.’ There was a flicker behind her eyes, I could tell she wanted to open them, wanted to say something to me. ‘Mum. Why her? Why not me? Why won’t you talk to me?’

  Her eyes opened slowly. ‘You know why,’ she said, and I felt a shiver go through me.

  I grabbed my things and left, running into Cathy as I did. ‘That was short and sweet,’ she said, and I thought I saw a smile creep onto her face before I pushed past her out into the fresh air.

  25

  There was no one waiting for me when I got back to the house. No Cathy. No Jacob. Not even any post for the dead old lady. I was leaving the past behind me. It was time to move on.

  On the way home, I’d been upset, but between there and here, something had changed. If Mum wasn’t going to speak to me, there was nothing I could do about that. Since she’d got ill, things had changed between us. Not only had the court decided to cut me out of any decisions about her life, it seemed Mum didn’t want me around either. So that was it. There was nothing more I could do about it. It wasn’t what I’d wanted, but I had to accept it. Mum and her affairs were no longer my business. As for Cathy, if she had nothing better to do than run errands for delusional old ladies, then that was her problem. I doubted she’d come back. She got what she wanted. Mum all to herself. I wasn’t going to think about them anymore. It was over. Mum was out of my life. Jacob was out of my life. I was starting anew.

  I felt lighter than I had in weeks. Years, probably. I put the radio on while I made something to eat and even found myself singing along. After I’d eaten, I found a notebook and started making a list. My new life started tomorrow, and these were the things that I was going to do:

  Get my hair cut

  Buy some nice new clothes

  Start eating properly - maybe join the gym?

  Pull the carpets up and get quote for new ones and/or laminate flooring - whole house

  Look for a better job

  Get new curtains - especially for living room

  Get rid of rest of junk from house

  Think about home improvements - windows, kitchen, bathroom?

  Accept invites - maybe not to Lesley’s party though

  I kept writing, for pages. It seemed like everything in my life needed changing, which could’ve been depressing, but I found it exciting. I was starting over. Making things better.

  I decided I wanted some ice cream to celebrate my freedom so grabbed my purse and keys and walked out. I stopped on the doorstep, realising I hadn’t even checked the street first. A quick glance in both directions told me what my subconscious already knew. Jacob wasn’t there because he’d given up. And now I was safe to go out for ice cream whenever I chose.

  I practically skipped down to the corner shop and bought a tub of chocolate ice cream and walked home, smiling inside and out. Everything was going to be okay.

  I finished off the ice cream and went to bed. For the first time in a long time, I fell asleep quickly without the need for mantras or burying my head beneath the pillow.

  At work the next day, I went out at lunchtime, buying a paper with job ads and a new house and garden magazine, turning the corner of a few pages where things caught my eye.

  When I came out of work, the weather was miserable, the rain made worse by the wind. I ran to the bus stop and saw my bus disappearing around the corner. For a second, I let it bother me, but I chose to use the time to go into the supermarket and buy some delicious hot bread for my tea. There was some soup at home. It would be perfect.

  When I got off the bus, I couldn’t wait to get home. The wind was getting worse, so I decided to cut across the field behind the house. It was still light, just dull from the rain. I didn’t feel vulnerable, even though I probably should’ve. I walked by quickly, desperate to get home. It’d been three weeks since I moved in and I was still excited by the thought of the house. My own place. My own home.

  I risked a blast of icy rain in the face and looked up to the backs of the row of houses ahead. I counted them, in my head. One, two, three, four, five. Five from the end. I kept my eyes on my window. My bedroom window. And something caught my eye. Someone was in my house.

  26

  Phil walks out of the room, to do God knows what, and I’m left with Jacob. He stands there looking at me as if he doesn’t know what to do now, as if this wasn’t his idea. I should’ve known from the start that he was capable of something like this. I’d known about things he’d done, known he’d been in prison, but I thought I was safe.

  I try to talk to him, try to beg him to let me go but the dirty dishcloth in my mouth muffles the words and makes me gag. I can feel vomit sneaking up my throat and my eyes burn. I scream and beg and shout his name, but none of it is intelligible. I struggle against my binds but only make things worse, only cause the nylon tights to cut deeper into my flesh.

  I’m crying now, gasping for air, but nothing’s getting in. I’m breathing too quickly, and I can feel myself shaking. I’m hyperventilating. Jacob looks at me with fear in his eyes. I can’t tell whether he’s afraid for me or for himself, but he comes closer, and it looks like he wants to do something…then, he looks back over his shoulder as if he needs permission from Phil.

  Do something! I want to scream.

  Jacob pulls the filthy cloth from my mouth, and I gasp, inhaling deeply before coughing and spluttering and bringing up some bile that just dribbles down my chin.

  ‘Help me,’ I say to Jacob, my throat raw from screaming. ‘Do something.’

  Jacob looks over his shoulder again. ‘Jacob,’ I say, softly, not wanting to attract Phil’s attention. ‘Jacob, look at me.’ He finally turns, but his eyes wander, above my head, then to my knees, anywhere but my eyes. ‘Jacob, listen,’ I say. ‘Look at me.’ I wait a couple of seconds, and he finally makes eye contact but only briefly. He can’t stand what he’s done. And I know I can use that.

  ‘Jacob. You know this is wrong, don’t you? You know you’re going to get in trouble for this.’ His eyes settle on mine again. ‘I know this wasn’t your idea. And I don’t know why he wants to do this to me. I don’t know what you’ve told him. But you have to stop it. If you let me go I won’t tell the police. I promise.’

  I hear the sound of something smashing in the room next door. I can’t tell what it is, but it distracts Jacob, and he’s no longer looking at me.

  ‘Jacob,’ Phil shouts from beyond the wall. ‘In here.’ Jacob starts to walk away from me, but I need him to stay. I need to get to him, to make him see he can’t do this.

  ‘Jacob,’ I say. ‘Please don’t do this to me. I love you.’

  He stops and turns to me, and I think I’ve got him. But his face changes, and he runs at me, pressing his face close to mine.

  ‘Liar!’

  I know I shouldn’t have said it, but I was panicking. His face is still against mine, he’s shaking with rage. I know I’ve made a mistake. Another mistake. He’s breathing heavily, a bit of spit sits on the corner of his mouth. I can smell his breath. It smells of cigarettes an
d cheap lager.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Phil says, charging in and pushing Jacob aside. ‘Why did you take this out?’ he asks, picking up the dishcloth.

  ‘She was choking,’ Jacob says.

  ‘So?’

  Phil stuffs it back into my mouth, and I cry out, but it’s too late, my mouth is full, and I’m back to where I started, except this time, Jacob isn’t on my side. I almost laugh. When was Jacob ever on my side? Phil might be the one giving orders here, the one taking control, but it was Jacob who started this. Jacob, who went crying to this monster because he can’t do anything for himself. I try to kick out at them, but the binds are too tight. I am trapped here. At their mercy.

  Jacob tries to say something to Phil, but he just pushes him out of the room. I can hear them mumbling in the hallway. What are they going to do to me? I keep trying to move my wrists, to loosen the tape, but it’s not working. I look around the kitchen, trying to look for things that can help me, but nothing can help me now, not when I’m like this.

  There’s a knife on the drainer. I used it for cooking last night. There’s the cricket bat on the floor. I could use either to defend myself if only I could get out of this chair. I struggle again, but it’s pointless. I’m going to die here. I know I am.

  I hear Phil whispering loudly to Jacob. He’s angry with him. But I can’t hear properly, so all I have is my imagination. I look to the doorway and see Phil staring in at me. He puts his arm around Jacob’s shoulder and grins. Jacob smiles slightly and nods at Phil.

  What are they going to do?

  Phil comes back in, and I can’t help myself, my eyes immediately go to the knife on the drainer. He follows my gaze, and his smile widens. He walks over and picks it up, turning it over in his hand. I can still see bits of onion stuck to the knife, and all I can think is that when they do my autopsy, they’ll find traces of onion in my skin and wonder how it got there. Or maybe lots of people are killed with the knives they’d made their tea with.

  Phil comes and stands in front of me, picking his nails with the knife, something I bet he saw on the telly. He stands there, saying nothing, hoping to scare me. It’s working. But I don’t let him know that. I try to stare back, but I can feel my head shaking, I can hear my breath struggling underneath the rag in my mouth.

  Before I even realise it, I’m begging him to stop. My words are muffled, and Phil laughs and bends down closer to me.

  ‘What was that?’ he asks, and winks at Jacob.

  I try again, even though I know it’s pointless, even though I know he’s mocking me. But it’s all I have, so I scream and beg.

  After I’ve worn myself out, Phil leans in and pulls the dishcloth from my mouth. I gulp air greedily. He’s still right in front of me, and I know he’s waiting for me to beg him some more, but now that I can, now that my words are free, I can’t do it. I can’t beg this man for anything.

  ‘Cat got your tongue, Polly?’ Phil says, and presses the knife against my cheek.

  ‘Please,’ I say, the word coming out as a stutter.

  ‘Please what?’

  ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

  Phil laughs. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Because I’ve done nothing wrong,’ I say.

  Phil loses his grin now and presses the knife harder. I can feel it pierce my skin, can feel warm blood dribble down my face. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong?’ he says. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ I chance a look at Jacob. He’s just standing there, useless as ever. ‘Don’t look at him,’ Phil says, and grabs my face, squeezing hard. ‘Don’t you dare look at him.’

  ‘Please,’ I say, drawing out the word, sounding as pathetic as I look.

  ‘You started this,’ Phil says. ‘You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.’

  ‘I didn’t–’ I start, but Phil squeezes my face harder, and I can feel his fingers leaving imprints on my skin.

  ‘You didn’t what? Didn’t fuck him over?’ he says, and nods behind him at Jacob. ‘You need to be taught a lesson.’ He lets go of my face and stands back, staring at me. I can hear myself, still begging and pleading, but he’s not listening to me anymore. He’s already decided what he wants to do and he’s going to do it. Phil bends down in front of me again. His hands reach out and pull at my knickers that are halfway down my thighs.

  ‘No,’ I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Don’t. Please, don’t. Not that.’

  He rips my underwear with the knife, pulls them off and hands them to Jacob. I’m crying now, deep sobs that blur my vision and close my throat. He’s going rape me. They both are. I try to see Jacob’s face. He’s looking at my legs, won’t look me in the eye. He’s going to rape me, and he can’t even look at me.

  I close my eyes and think that I’ve brought this on myself. I knew what I was getting into. I should’ve run when I had the chance.

  27

  Three Months Earlier

  I’d had one of those days at work. It seemed like the whole world had something to complain about, and they all wanted to take it out on me. And then, there was the new guy, the temp. AJ, he called himself. He’d told Janet he had experience, but it soon became clear he hadn’t, and I spent much of the day mopping up after his mistakes, and to make things worse, he didn’t even care. He came across as entitled, like he thought he was better than everyone else.

  I was already feeling down after Mum had been released from hospital again the night before. She shouldn’t have been out; she was ill and needed help. But everything is about money these days and getting the doctors to listen was impossible. I’d lost count of the number of times me and Mum had been to the surgery or to A&E in the last few months. But getting them to believe me was hard, and Mum was always difficult too. I suppose it wasn’t her fault, but the doctors must know how it is with these things, the symptoms come and go. Just because she seemed perfectly rational, as she sat across from yet another overworked medical student, didn’t mean there wasn’t a problem. And if it’d been just forgetfulness, that would’ve been fine. But it was more than that; they just couldn’t see.

  But they’d had to listen after she almost burnt down the house. After putting sheets in the oven to warm up, she went for a lie down. It was only because I happened to stop by that it wasn’t so much worse. Of course, by the time I’d managed to get inside, she’d woken up, but her lungs were already full of smoke. They had to do something then, shipping her over to the psychiatric ward to assess her. But, once again, they refused to do anything useful. There’s not enough room here, they said. She’s not high risk, she’ll be okay at home. They were planning to send a social worker out, to do more assessments to see what help she needed. Of course, I could’ve moved back home, to do what I could, but I had to work. We needed money from somewhere. And what would happen when she set another fire in the middle of the day? Who was going to take responsibility for that?

  So, there we were, back at the house, a lingering smell of smoke in the air and me wondering what to do next.

  ‘I think I’m going to go to bed now,’ Mum said.

  ‘Don’t you want me to stay?’ I asked.

  She looked at me for a while before answering and then shook her head. ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘What if you have another…’ I didn’t know how to finish the sentence, at least not without hurting her feelings. ‘Let me help you.’

  Mum picked up the bag we’d just brought back from the hospital, holding it out to me. ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

  ‘Nighties. My washer’s on the blink. If you want to help, you could wash them for me.’

  I took the bag of washing and said, ‘Will you be okay?’

  She gave a slight nod. ‘I’ll be fine now.’

  So, I’d spent the night before at the launderette as Sasha was using our machine, seemingly washing every last thing she owned.

  With no more laundry that evening, I was trying to relax a little, trying not to think too much about Mum. I was standing in Tesco, t
rying to find something for my tea, something I could just take to my room and eat in there because Kimberley had told me that morning they were having a couple of people over for dinner. I knew what Kimberley had meant by a couple of people. She meant there’d be a dozen of them, and they’d be there all night making a racket. Usually, I’d join them, but what with everything going on with Mum, I just couldn’t face it. Part of me wondered why Kimberley hadn’t been more considerate – she knew how tired I was – but I supposed they couldn’t stop living their own lives just because mine was falling apart.

  I took the items to the self-serve checkout and got in the queue. It was while I was standing there that I saw him. I did a double take, to be sure it was him. And then he turned and looked right at me, and I knew that it was, even after all those years. He hadn’t changed much, older with a little more weight. But his face was the same.

  I looked at my feet, feeling his eyes on me. I wondered if I should go to another checkout and just get out of there. I didn’t really want to talk to him. What would I possibly say?

  I chanced a look up again, and he’d gone back to scanning his cans of lager and microwave meals for one. I started thinking about what that said about him, about his life and how things had turned out for him.

  By the time I’d got to the front of the queue, Jacob had gone. I glanced about as I scanned my things and felt relief that he wasn’t there, that I wouldn’t have to try and think of something to say to him.

  As I walked quickly to the bus stop, I was checking my watch to see if I’d missed my bus and didn’t notice him at first. He was sitting on the bench, huddled into his duffel coat. He looked up as I approached, and I knew I couldn’t ignore him this time. I smiled quickly and hoped he wouldn’t recognise me, or at least if he did, he wouldn’t want to catch up.