‘At the back of the cupboard.’
‘Nancy must have made it. She used to knit a lot.’ I hug the blanket around myself, warmed at the thought of Nancy being close to me.
Alice pats the bed and I get in, enclosed by the blanket.
‘Here, take this.’ She passes me a hot-water bottle.
‘What about you?’
‘I’m fine. You’re in shock, you need it. You’ll warm up in a minute.’
Alice climbs into the other side of the bed. She’s wearing navy silk pyjamas with a gold trim. She’s looking after me and it feels precious; her actions make me feel valued. Her affection is a tiny compensation for the care Nancy gave me that was so cruelly snatched away. Maybe it isn’t a mother I need, but a friend.
‘OK if I turn the lamp off?’ Alice asks.
‘Yes, thanks.’ Darkness descends. Despite the wind roaring outside I can hear the comforting sound of Alice breathing beside me.
‘Alice?’
‘Hmm?’
‘I’m so glad you’re here. Especially with Chris being such a bastard.’ My words sound soppy but I want her to know how grateful I am.
‘No worries.’
The window rattles in the wind, but I’m warm now, under Nancy’s blanket. Alice is lying on her back; I’m wide awake.
‘Alice?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you have a lot of friends?’
‘No, I’m a loner, me. Friends weren’t high on my list of priorities. I hated school, left as soon as I could.’
‘It’s a terrible place if you don’t have friends. I went to too many different schools to make roots anywhere. I’d make a friend, then I’d be off and I’d have to leave them behind. It hurt more each time, until I realised it was easier not to get attached to anyone in the first place.’ My eyes are adjusting to the darkness. A slither of light shines under the door – she must have left the hall light on. ‘Your cousin in the photograph. She must be a good friend.’
‘Olivia. She’s… she’s not really my cousin.’
I stare at the ceiling, waiting for Alice to continue. A noise shatters the silence and it takes a moment for me to realise it’s the house phone.
Alice’s hair tickles my face as she jumps out of bed and goosebumps erupt on my skin. ‘What now?’
She runs downstairs and I sit up, rubbing my arms. Her face is drawn when she comes back into the room. I pull the patchwork blanket around me.
‘Who was it?’
Alice bites into her lip, hesitating.
‘Who was it, Alice?’ My voice sounds high, hysterical.
She hesitates. ‘Nobody there. Wrong number. Try and get some sleep.’
I lie for hours listening to Alice’s soft breathing and the wind howling over the heath. I go over the events of the night in my head; I think about Alice going outside alone, not wanting to wake me. The concern I saw in her eyes, I’m sure I didn’t imagine it. But I’m such a light sleeper, why didn’t I wake up when she got up and went downstairs? The stairs creak, no matter how softly you tread. Lying here, in Alice’s room, I suddenly feel vulnerable. Am I right to trust her?
Thoughts in my head clamour to be heard. That was no wrong number. Lady’s death is too much of a coincidence. Somebody is out to get me.
Diary
5 JULY 1996
Last month Doris told me I needed to see a doctor about my lack of appetite. I wish she’d stop going on about my health. This week I wear a baggy cardigan over my dress, to stop her looking at my shrinking figure with that worried look disturbing her face. When I left her house she said she’d noticed I had a black eye, and she asked if everything was OK. I pictured the look on Edward’s face when he swung his belt at me and I gave her my brightest smile. ‘Of course it is,’ I told her.
Edward was waiting when I got back from next door, sitting at the kitchen table gripping a bottle of beer. I’ve long stopped wishing he would use a glass. He asked me why Doris didn’t come over here any more. The question took me by surprise. I said she didn’t mind where she went and I enjoyed going there. He accused me of wanting to get away from him. Said he didn’t want me going over there any more. I tried to stand up to him, I really did; I told him Doris was my one friend and the only person I have any kind of social interaction with. I explained that he gets to go to work and mix with other people while I’m stuck at home all day long, day in day out, doing housework. I shouldn’t have said that, those words were what set him off. His nostrils flared as they always do before he takes the first blow; I had just enough time to curl in on myself so his punch landed on my side. I closed my eyes and stayed bent like that until he had finished, not making a sound. Melissa’s got enough to worry about.
Doris called round the following Wednesday when I didn’t show up, and she came again the week after and the week after that. I expect she would have tried to phone too, but he’s got rid of the house phone, said we don’t need anyone else. I cried when I heard him speaking to her, heard him say ‘difference of opinion’ and ‘spending more time with her family’. She knew I didn’t have anyone else.
I made a plan today. I’d hang around in the garden until Doris came out, but when I went downstairs this morning Edward was there at the table. Said he’d jacked his job in to keep an eye on me. I pleaded with him about Doris, but he said he didn’t think she was a good influence, with her modern ideas and fancy ways. Just because she went on holiday abroad and came back with golden-honey skin. My heart feels squeezed at the thought of not being able to see her any more. Edward is diminishing my life, making it smaller every day. He won’t even let me tend the garden now, said he’ll get a gardener in. My flowers are dying, too.
Every night I feel around under the mattress for the letter I’ve written to her, telling her about the diary and where it’s kept. I’m going to have to post it soon. I’m not sure I can wait much longer.
Twenty-Seven
ELLA
An alarm is buzzing over and over, but it’s distant, as if muffled under a mattress. I’m clutching a woolly blanket with colourful squares: Nancy’s blanket. I’m in Nancy’s room. But Nancy’s gone. And so is Lady. The swoop of pain that follows the realisation is familiar. I sit up, jolted back to reality.
The house creaks and sighs but I can’t hear any sign that Alice is here. The grandfather clock chimes and I count each chime: it’s ten o’clock. Alice must have gone to work.
I sit up feeling hot with shame. Getting so scared last night was pathetic. What must Alice think of me? Olivia’s photograph is no longer by the bed. She said she wasn’t her cousin; why would she lie about that? I stand under a hot shower and will myself to wake up. I need to get myself together, focus on my business. The shop is my livelihood and it’s all the more important now I’m single. One business going under is bad enough. Tears prick my eyes and I turn the water round to cold and blast them away.
* * *
I’m washing the mugs in the sink, thinking about my conversation with Alice, remembering my doubts about her last night when the doorbell rings. A young man stands at the door brandishing a mobile phone and a bunch of keys. A red Mini Cooper is parked outside the house. As I open the door he zaps the keys towards the garish car, which has SUTTONS written on the side, next to an image of a crudely drawn house.
‘Good morning. You must be Mrs Rutherford. I’m from Suttons.’ He twiddles with his tie.
‘Suttons?’
‘The estate agents. Your husband arranged this visit. Did he forget to mention it?’
He adjusts the jacket of his expensive-looking grey suit.
I tighten my grip on the door frame. ‘My husband isn’t living here at the moment. I’m not sure—’
‘Oh yes, he explained all that. Said I needed to organise viewings with you. Which is why I’m here.’
‘Viewings?’ I wrap my cardigan around myself and step forward onto the doorstep: the guardian of my house. ‘The house isn’t for sale.’
Mr Suit waves
his mobile at me. ‘It’s all in here. Your husband has signed a contract, asked us to put it on the market as soon as possible. A house like this in such an exclusive area, we’re the agents for you. I assure you, I can get you the best deal. A house in the next street sold last month for over three million—’
‘You aren’t listening. Whatever Chris has signed isn’t valid. We’re joint owners of the property, he can’t do this. This house is my home.’
His confident expression falters for a second before he’s smiling again, displaying his teeth like a wolf, ready to pounce. ‘Mr Rutherford didn’t mention anything about that. How about I get him on the phone for you to discuss this? I wouldn’t mind a coffee, and I really do need to measure up, take some photographs. These properties don’t come on to the market very often and we’ve got a waiting list for anything that comes up in this area. It can’t be easy to run – these houses are what, late-nineteenth century? The upkeep must be pretty expensive.’
Ted from number 42 walks out of his house and looks over. I know that Chris used to go for a drink with him occasionally and I wonder if they’re still in touch. I’m sure he ignored me the other day.
‘You’d better come in. I’ll speak to Chris, get this charade sorted out.’
I lead him through to the sitting room, but he doesn’t sit down, wandering round appraising everything instead.
‘What a view,’ he says. It’s windy today and the red and gold leaves which are dropping from the trees rustle en masse across the heath, where the water ripples in the pond. ‘That alone will push up the price.’
‘Please sit down. Will you listen to me?’
He contemplates me for a minute, shrugs off his jacket and sits down. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just doing my job. Obviously there’s some kind of dispute going on here. Shall I get your husband on the phone?’
I nod. ‘Yes please. I’m sorry for taking this out on you, but it’s a huge shock. I’ll get that coffee you asked for.’
‘My name’s Warren, by the way.’
My hands tremble as I slot the pod into the machine, glad for something to occupy me while he calls Chris. Having a third person to witness our conversation is probably a good thing; it might stop me from losing it completely. Tension is pulsing in my head and I get myself a glass of water. My stomach churns and I’m not sure whether I want Chris to pick up or not. I can’t ask him what’s going on with his finances while the estate agent is here. But he does eventually pick up and I place the coffee, fingers trembling, in front of Warren.
He puts the phone on speaker. ‘Chris, Warren from Suttons here. I’m at the property now with your wife. It appears you haven’t had a chance to discuss the sale with her.’
Chris clears his throat. ‘That’s right. Is she there?’
‘Yes, we’re on speaker right now.’
‘Chris, of course I’m here. It’s my home. Why are you doing this? I’ve told you, I’m not going anywhere. The house isn’t for sale.’
‘I know you don’t want to sell, but listen for a moment. I popped into the estate agents just to see what the market is like. I’m sure Warren will tell you but the amount we could get for the house is astronomical. Of course we’d divide it fifty-fifty, you could buy yourself a decent place, you’d be sorted for life. I know you’re attached to the house, and it’s where Mum died… but Warren doesn’t need to hear all this. We could put it on the market, see if there’s any interest—’
‘I’ve got viewings arranged already,’ Warren says. I’d almost forgotten that he’s here; my mind is in overdrive. Chris is right, but how can I explain the way my gut wrenches at the thought of losing this house? Why doesn’t he feel it too?
‘Ella, are you still there?’
I attempt to swallow, but my throat is so dry. I look at Warren, who takes command. ‘Chris, I’m going to ring off now – I can’t go ahead without Mrs Rutherford’s say-so. We’ll have a chat now and I’ll get back to you first thing in the morning, I promise.’ He closes the call, takes a sip of coffee.
‘Mrs Rutherford, contrary to public perception, estate agents aren’t monsters and I can see this situation is somewhat delicate. You have a think about everything overnight and let me know what you decide in the morning. I’m not going to do anything against your will – obviously I don’t want to put the house on the market with you still living here if you’re not in agreement. But this house would sell easily, I promise you. As I mentioned earlier, we have a reserve list for any houses coming up in this area as it happens so infrequently. I’d love to come and measure up and do your beautiful house justice. But only once you’re in full agreement. Here’s my card, give me a call once you’ve slept on it. And I’m sorry for any upset I’ve caused.’
Twenty-Eight
ELLA
I need to talk to someone to stop me from going insane, so I call Jamie.
‘Sorry I didn’t return your call,’ he says. ‘Remember that guy I went out with? He’s gorgeous and I’ve seen him every day since our first date. I’ve neglected you, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s OK. You’ve been holding the fort at the shop for me. And it’s thanks to you that Alice is living here. I don’t know what I’d have done without her.’ I recount the events of the last few days. Except for Lady, I can’t talk about that without crying. As I’m speaking, the niggling doubts about Alice surface. The night-time goings-on are getting to me, but it feels wrong to discuss them with Jamie. I’m worried I’ll look crazy.
‘I can’t believe Chris sent an estate agent round without telling you.’
‘Neither can I. I’m actually quite worried about him.’ I tell Jamie about Geoff and the swimming club. ‘What with the mortgage and the car, I’m wondering if Chris has got himself into debt by spending so much on this woman. Perhaps he can’t face telling me. If only I knew who she was, I’d confront her. She must be pushing him into selling the house.’
‘Maybe I could help you, to make up for my neglect. Jason is going away next week and I need to keep myself occupied. I could follow Chris, see what he gets up to?’
‘It’s a bit stalkerish, isn’t it?’
‘So what. Chris deserves it. And if it helps rule out who is tormenting you it will be worth it.’
Talking to Jamie makes me feel better. I ignore my twinge of guilt at the idea of him spying on Chris. It’s for Chris’s own good. I am genuinely worried about him.
* * *
‘Have you had a visitor?’ Alice is looking at the mugs in the sink.
‘Yes, an unwanted one. An estate agent turned up.’
‘An estate agent? Why?’
‘Bloody Chris sent him. He’s decided it’s a good idea to put the house on the market. Without consulting me – and I have a joint share in the property. This guy was ready to measure up and everything. Thankfully he was quite reasonable, phoned Chris and agreed to give me time to make a decision. He wasn’t as bad as estate agents are made out to be.’
‘Is that reasonable? It’s your house. Don’t let these guys push you around, Ella. How have you left it?’
‘I said I’d let him know what I decide in the morning.’
‘I’m not condoning the way Chris is going about things, but do you think he has a point?’ Alice asks.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Putting the house on the market, what with everything that’s been going on. This house is turning into a bit of a hassle for you, isn’t it? The damp, the roof, and you don’t seem that comfortable. You get nervous when you’re alone, don’t you? Maybe it’s for the best.’
‘I thought you liked living here.’ My words come out in a pleading tone and I hate myself for sounding so needy.
Alice looks straight at me. ‘I do, why ever would you think otherwise?’
‘Advising me to sell up, that’s all. I didn’t expect it.’
‘Forget me, this is about what is best for you. I care about you, Ella, you must have noticed. I’ll get by, I always have.’
She averts her gaze and a bitter expression crosses her face.
I swallow hard. I hate Chris for putting me in this position.
‘Look, it’s good of you but I’m not letting Chris get away with this. It’s the principle more than anything else. I won’t sell up. I’ll ring the estate agent in the morning and make that clear. This is my house. I’ll raise the money and buy him out if I have to.’
But it’s bravado talking. I could never afford that, and who knows what debts are piling up around Chris. We’re still married, after all. Alice goes out to work in the garden before it gets too dark, leaving me rattling around in the house alone. I haven’t mentioned Jess’s concerns about the business to her or Jamie. Up in my room, I take out the piece of embroidery from the attic and look at the date, wondering why it was hidden. The thirtieth of July was a Wednesday. Probably a birthday. Did Nancy make it? I wonder if Chris would recognise it. Tomorrow I’ll visit Mr Mortimer, find out more about the house, ask him about the dates.
It’s a silent evening, save for the shifts in movement of the old house as it responds to the weather outside. At around nine a slow patter of raindrops increases steadily until rain pounds the roof. My legs are stiff from sitting on the floor with my computer on my lap and I go into Alice’s room to look at the damp. It has spread, forming a dark, cloud-like pattern and creating bubbles under the wallpaper. I was praying it wouldn’t rain before Mr Whiteley comes to fix the damaged roof.
Listening to the rain makes me feel cold. One hot shower later and I’m tucked up under my duvet with a mug of hot chocolate. I play some soothing music, determined to get a good night’s sleep. Despite trying to empty my mind of thoughts, I’m wondering where Alice is as I drift off.
A scuffling noise wakes me. I sit upright, my body rigid. Somebody is in the house. My heart thuds as I try to convince myself it’s Alice. But my gut won’t settle. Fear stops me from calling her name, getting up and going downstairs. I’m familiar with the noise she makes when she comes in after a night out; her tread is fairly heavy and she moves fast. The shuffling sound gets quieter and the living room door gives off its familiar squeak as it’s opened. I’ve intended to oil that hinge so many times.
The Woman at 46 Heath Street: A twisty and absolutely gripping psychological thriller Page 15