The Woman at 46 Heath Street: A twisty and absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Lesley Sanderson

  ‘You’re living here, aren’t you?’

  He stood and stared at me for what felt like ages, then opened a filing cabinet, extracted a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and poured himself a hefty slug. Just like our father. He didn’t offer, and I didn’t ask. He gestured to me to sit down.

  ‘What are you playing at, Melissa? I’ve agreed to your plan, I’ll happily split number 46 with you, but getting Ella out of the house hasn’t been as easy as I thought. As you know only too well, Alice.’

  His knowledge of my alias was a shock. I thought I’d managed to avoid him. We’d only met once, briefly, to talk about the plan. It was painful for both of us, seeing one another again after so long.

  ‘Oh, I know you’ve been living there. The next-door neighbour told me. Good old neighbourhood watch. He was concerned about this woman who’d moved in, seemed obsessed with the garden and didn’t appear to know what she was doing. I had my suspicions, Ella told me about her flatmate. Funny how you disappeared when I called round, wasn’t it? I saw you at the party, that’s how I knew. Ted pointed you out to me. We had a plan – why couldn’t you stick to it? She’d have moved out sooner if she’d been living there on her own. She hates being alone.’ A look of sympathy crossed his face. ‘What are you even doing there? I told you I’d get her out. Why are you there?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re asking me that. To find where he buried her, of course. I’ve waited years for this. Getting Ella out of your way is taking too long. That’s why I befriended her, took her into my confidence, just in case you tried to double-cross me. Do you think I trust you? After what you did, abandoning me, leaving me to Dad? Ella told me about her wonderful husband but when she told me about your affair, alarm bells went off. That wasn’t part of the plan – you didn’t mention any of that to me. You were going to move this other woman in, weren’t you? You would never have let me back in. As soon as Ella told me you hadn’t paid the mortgage and you’d stopped keeping fit, I knew something was up. The estate agent was good, though – you almost fooled me there. It was just another means of driving her out, wasn’t it? But it backfired, didn’t it, made her even more determined to stay.’

  ‘Hang on a minute. You’re accusing me of not sticking to the plan, but what about you? Moving in with her? That was never part of the plan, either. What are you playing at?’

  ‘One word, Kit… Chris: Trust. Why should I trust you after what you did? You said you’d take me with you when you left home and when the time came you laughed in my face and left me behind to fend for myself.’ I paused to take a breath; I didn’t want him to see me get emotional. ‘I thought if I befriended her it might come in handy. And I was right. Even better, her colleague had heard all about me and suggested I move in. It helped me start the search earlier.’

  ‘What are you searching for, exactly?’

  ‘I’m sure Mum would have left me some kind of clue. And I was right, only Ella found it. A piece of embroidery, with a date on it: 30 July 1997.’

  ‘Is that when…?’

  I nodded, couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘Mum made it for me. But it’s not enough, there has to be something more. I already know the date. What I need to know is where my baby girl is.’ I got up and paced around the small space.

  ‘It’s too much of a risk. Snooping about like some kind of spy. She’ll catch you, won’t she?’

  ‘She won’t. We’re pretty close, and she needs me. Anyway, it turns out I was right to move in. Look at you. You’re in trouble, aren’t you? Admit it. Why are you staying here? Tell me what happened.’

  He stared into his drink. ‘I tried, honestly I did. When Mum died I instructed the solicitor to try and find you. We waited months. We had no idea where you’d gone. We were forced to remortgage and I had to accept help from Ella because I couldn’t afford it on my own. It was a mistake. Ella was too needy. She was more interested in Nancy than in me; she wanted to have a mother figure in her life. The stress about what happened in that house has never left me. Living there, knowing what Dad did, my part in it. Knowing I could never sell up apart from to you – I couldn’t take it any more.’ He drained his glass in one, then immediately refilled it. ‘You can have the house, I don’t want it.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you moved back in the first place, after everything.’

  ‘I was out of work and Mum asked me to come back. It was only meant to be for a few weeks. She told me what Dad had done, how we could never let anyone move in, she guilt-tripped me into staying. That’s why I resented her, burdening me with that knowledge. She told me Edward had left the house to me, but omitted to tell me she’d changed the will. Left it to you. Bitch. But I don’t care. That place is cursed. And as long as it stays in the family, I don’t care. We can never sell with… well, you know. We can’t risk anyone digging up the garden.’

  ‘Why does it concern you?’

  ‘Because I’m responsible, an accessory to the fact, don’t you get that? Or at least that’s how Dad made me feel and I couldn’t get that old fear out of my head. It’s haunted me my whole life. I know I should have stopped Dad from bullying you and Mum. But I was too weak. I ran away, just like I’m running away from Ella. I never planned to sell the house – it was a lie, a way to get her out, that’s all.’

  ‘There’s one small problem – your wife. She’s very attached to that house.’

  ‘I’ve done my best, but nothing seems to scare her.’

  ‘Oh, she’s scared alright, just not enough. Scratching the car, she assumed it was your other woman, couldn’t bear to think it was you. With the mouse and the meat, she wasn’t sure, she began to waver. But the cat? Did you have to go that far? Or have you been trying to scare me too?’

  ‘Bloody thing was always in the way.’

  I hadn’t really expected him to confirm it. My throat felt dry, making it hard to swallow. A memory of our father bludgeoning a limping pigeon to death made me shudder and avert my gaze.

  ‘Could I have a glass of water?’ I needed time to think.

  Chris tapped his hand on the wall as he crossed the office to the sink and a memory hit me with powerful force. Ten-year-old Kit taking ages to get out of the house because he insisted on counting the tiles on the floor. Over and over. The kids in his class at school made fun of him, mimicking him on the bus. I wanted to go and shout at the mean boys, but I was a ten-year-old girl; they’d only have targeted me. I wasn’t fierce back then. Although years later, when it was time for him to step in and protect me, he failed. But could I blame him? Now I can see that our father’s behaviour was responsible for making him the way he was. He lived in terror, like we all did. But how much of our father’s temperament had he inherited?

  Chris came back with my water, topped up his whisky, sat down again and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Tell me what’s going on. Why are you camping out here?’

  He dropped his head into his hands and without looking at me told me the business was going under and he was having to lay people off. He said he hadn’t paid the mortgage for the last few months. He felt trapped by the house, by his marriage. He’d already sold his car. He’d asked the bank for a loan and it had been refused. And the other woman? He’d made her up. All those fancy meals out and drinks on his credit card bill were Chris desperately trying and failing to woo clients to his business, losing more and more money in the process.

  ‘I thought Ella would leave straight away. She’s very into monogamy, always said she couldn’t bear it if anyone cheated on her. I wanted her to think it was the other woman playing tricks on her.’ Chris told me how he’d kept up the pretence: he got a female friend to make an anonymous call and asked her to go to the party with him. He went off to the bathroom, a little unsteady. The whisky bottle was half-empty. He grabbed it when he came back.

  ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ Chris paced up and down. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this. Meddling in my plan. I
should have listened to Dad. He told me never to let women get the better of me, and look at me now. Living in my fucking office.’ He took a swig from the bottle.

  ‘We have to get her out,’ he said. ‘The bank is threatening me with repossession. I’ve been using her mortgage payments to live on, instead of paying them in. We’re running out of time. I don’t want to hurt her, I thought she’d see straight away it would be better for her to move out. Things have been bad between us since Mum died. I thought falling in love with Ella would be enough to make me forget what happened in that house, but it was eating me up.’

  Chris accused me of stirring up things that should have been left alone, left well in the past. I maintained my cold exterior; I’d never show any emotion in front of him, but my pulse galloped. His voice got louder and my insides began to tremble, muscle memory from a long-ago time when another man with similar features raged and ranted, laying his hands on our mother. I tried to recall whether he’d locked the door behind us when we came in. I thought not, and I glanced behind me when his attention was turned to gauge how quickly I could get out before he caught up with me. Would his fury make him fast?

  I wanted to shake him, make him tell me where my baby girl was, but he was drunk, and no use to me. Yet his words frightened me.

  ‘I’ll get her out if it’s the last thing I do.’ His parting sentence echoed in my mind as I walked down the stairs. In front of the door a familiar key fob hanging on a hook with some other keys – a spare to Ella’s car – caught my attention. I grabbed it, just in case, my breath faster now. I had to get back to the house for both of them: to find my baby, who had been lost for so long, and to warn Ella that Chris was becoming increasingly erratic. Like his father. I was afraid of what he might do. Falling for Ella wasn’t supposed to happen.

  How would he react if he knew how my feelings for Ella had changed? I wanted him out, now.

  Forty-One

  ELLA

  Where is Alice? Has she gone to be with Chris?

  I must have dozed off after the glass of brandy I drank to stop my arms from shaking like leaves in the rain. Outside it’s no longer raining but the wind is battering the house and I’ve been round making sure all the doors and windows are secure. Mr Whiteley has left a message to say he’ll be free to start the roof repairs in two weeks’ time. I don’t know where the money is going to come from. My mind is so muddled it’s as if he’s from a different world. My life feels like a pile of leaves thrown up into the wind and scattered in countless directions. I don’t even know who I am any more. I have to read the diary.

  I pull on a sweatshirt and jeans and go to brush my teeth. The toothpaste is empty. Alice’s washbag is open on the side, a tube of toothpaste poking out. I grab hold of it and a contact lens case falls out. Through the lid I see two dark rings and I frown. Aren’t contact lenses always transparent? Unless… I unscrew the lid, my hands trembling. These are tinted, dark brown lenses. If I put these in my eyes would change colour. I sink down onto the side of the bath. Why would Alice want to change her appearance? The image that has been lurking at the back of my mind clears and I gasp out loud. I rush into the bedroom and take out Mr Mortimer’s photograph album, turning to the photograph of Melissa. I picture Alice’s face. Without the brown contact lenses her eyes would be blue; she would look just like the girl in the photo. It’s her. Alice. Melissa. Alice is Melissa. The thought that has been niggling me becomes clear: Alice must have spiked my drink after the meal. That’s why I blacked out. But why? Images flash before me. Nothing makes sense. The diary must hold the answers.

  If Alice is Melissa, how can she be having an affair with Chris?

  Pain clouds my vision. Even before I begin to work out what she is doing back here – her purpose, her motivation – the realisation that she is back for another reason and not for me causes a searing heat to burn through me. ‘Alice’ turning up at yoga – that can’t have been a coincidence. Did she go there just to find me? The hours we’ve spent together drinking, talking, her consoling me, offering advice. Advising me to sell up, not to sell up. Is this a game? A pain shoots behind my eye. I wish I’d remained ignorant. Alice is Melissa, Melissa is Alice. Is anything she has done real? My cheeks flush as I remember standing at my dressing table, only last night, making myself look nice for her, admiring the new dress I bought for her. One kiss, and oh, how easily I fell. A schoolgirl crush, for Christ’s sake.

  I put the pieces together. Sleepwalking in the garden, the boxes in the shed. Chris. Chris must know. I go over the times when they were almost together and something stopped them from meeting up. The unexpected visit when I made him coffee in the kitchen, Alice going AWOL at the party.

  I fetch the baby blanket, which has dried out on the radiator, and take it up to my room. Packed away in my bottom drawer is the identical blanket Nancy made for me. For the baby Chris and I will never have. A sob bursts from my throat. I place the blankets with the embroidery and take out Nancy’s diary. The answer must lie in this book. I skip the pages and turn to the date in question: 30 July 1997. I read fast, gasping as I take in the last sentence.

  30 JULY 1997

  Melissa fell back on the bed, tears rolling down her face, and Edward snatched the baby from my arms, his mouth curled upwards in a smile. I hadn’t the energy to stop him.

  I read on, eyes blurred with tears, through the next day until I get to the entry for the first of August.

  1 AUGUST 1997

  She’s buried in the garden, I know it. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

  He found me in the garden this afternoon. The whole place has been raked over and any evidence of him digging holes has gone. Lack of sleep over the past two days makes me wonder if I’ve been hallucinating, sleepwalking like Melissa used to. Then I pictured her baby’s little face with her rosebud lips turned blue before Edward snatched her away. I’m determined to find her.

  Doris came out while I was searching and inadvertently prevented a showdown, for the front door had just slammed, signalling Edward’s arrival. Doris noticed the tremor in my hands when I slid the envelope into it, hissed at her to keep it safe. ‘To be opened in the event of my death’. The letter is proof that I once had a granddaughter, however briefly, and my Melissa had a daughter. It tells her about the diary and where it’s hidden.

  I stayed out too long in the garden, no longer seeing the once carefully cultivated flower beds, the beauty that used to give me joy, but looking for my granddaughter’s grave. I shivered as the wind picked up and dark clouds landed overhead. Too afraid to go indoors.

  I needn’t have worried. Edward was dozing on the sofa when I went inside – the drink had obviously knocked him out. My head was burning. The letter is delivered, my children have gone. There is only one thing left to live for––

  A hammering sound draws my attention from Nancy’s diary. I go to the top of the stairs and look down to see who it is. I hear her voice calling my name: Alice. No. Melissa. The horror of what she has been through, what she was looking for in the garden, all that digging, hits me. Doris, she played a part too. I sit down at the top of the stairs and sob. Melissa shouts and bangs on the door, just like her brother did earlier. I can’t let her in either. Despite what she’s been through, I can’t forgive her for how she has taunted me. I no longer know who to trust.

  Forty-Two

  MELISSA

  ‘Ella, please let me in.’

  She didn’t respond. The hall light shone through the side window and I was sure she was inside. But the house felt still. It was still when I crept out all those years ago, mourning the loss of my baby, guilt scratching at me for leaving Mum. I’d taken the money from Dad’s wallet, a little at a time, planning my escape. He was too pissed to notice. I’d chosen Spain at random, taken the earliest flight I could before he discovered I’d left and came after me. I knew I’d never get away a second time. Not after what he’d done.

  Thunder roared and lightning split the sky in two. The trench co
at I was wearing had no hood, and the heavy rain poured down my neck. I ran across the road to where Ella’s car was parked, took the spare key from my pocket and opened the door. I sat in the back seat, water dripping from my hair, and tried to dry my neck with my hands. Seeing Chris drunk was like a flashback of my father and I was scared of what he might do. Scared he’d take it out on Ella.

  A screeching sound made me jump as a van rounded the corner and shuddered to a halt. Windscreen wipers moved fast across the screen and headlights blazed at me. The door opened and a figure climbed out, slowly, too slowly. Chris. He lurched towards the house and I was about to go after him when someone rapped on the window. A woman was holding an umbrella, wiping rain off the window, squinting at me. I’d seen her before. I glanced towards the house, but Chris had reached the front door. Ella hadn’t let me in; I doubted she’d let Chris in either.

  ‘Are you alright in there?’ the woman asked. It was Sadie, from the party. ‘Only this is Ella’s car… oh, it’s you, Alice, isn’t it? Only one can’t be too careful, you know. What are you doing?’

  I got out of the car and Sadie held her umbrella over me.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m soaked already. I forgot my key. I’m worried about Ella. I just saw Chris arrive. He’s been drinking. I’d better see if she’s alright.’

  We turned to look at the house and saw Chris getting back into his van and slamming the door. He drove off and I sighed with relief.