The Wake: an absolutely gripping psychological suspense

by Vikki Patis

  I shake my head. ‘Only a handful of times. Fiona… she never liked me visiting. She’d always hover around me as if I was about to make off with the fine china or scribble all over the walls.’ I give a small smile, the memories biting as they flood back. ‘She wasn’t exactly welcoming.’

  ‘No,’ Lexi says thoughtfully. ‘I can’t imagine she was.’

  ‘How about you? Did she welcome you with open arms?’

  She snorts. ‘Hardly. I still don’t think she likes me very much.’

  ‘And Leo? How does she treat him?’

  Her face relaxes a fraction. ‘Oh, she loves him. For all her faults, she is a wonderful grandmother.’

  A memory flashes through my mind. Dad berating Toby for something, as he often did, and Fiona snapping at him, her eyes blazing as she pushed her son behind her, one hand laid protectively on his head. A lioness, I think, taking another sip of tea. Just like Lexi.

  ‘He looks so much like you,’ I say. ‘Leo. He hardly has any of Felix in him at all.’ Lexi’s mug freezes halfway to her lips, something flashing across her face as I smile. ‘Lucky for him.’

  She smiles back, averting her eyes as she drinks. ‘You know,’ she says after a moment, ‘you’re nothing like I expected you to be.’

  The change of subject surprises me. ‘Oh? What did you expect? The Big Bad Sister?’

  Her cheeks flush. ‘Something like that. Toby has always been fascinated with you though. I asked him once why he didn’t reach out to you, but he was always too nervous.’

  I feel a pang at her words. Have I closed myself off too much? Rightly or wrongly, I never liked Felix. He was always such a mixture of his parents; he had Fiona’s way of looking down his nose at you, and he liked to try to make you feel stupid, like our dad did. But Toby struck me as a sweet boy, a little timid, but harmless. I should have reached out to him sooner, I realise now. He must have felt so lonely growing up, just like I did.

  ‘Still,’ Lexi says, pulling me out of my reverie. ‘You have a second chance now. With Toby, at least.’

  ‘But not with Felix?’ I can’t help asking. She tilts her head as if assessing me.

  ‘I think we both know the answer to that,’ she says, her eyes flashing as they meet mine. ‘Some people are beyond redemption.’

  I make my way upstairs, careful not to step on the squeaky floorboard near the top. The bathroom is at the end of the hall, and I pull the door closed before creeping into the room beside it. The king-size bed is made, a silk white runner laid across the end, the pillows plump and smooth. I run my hand along the runner as I move towards my father’s side of the bed. His reading glasses sit atop a hardback book – David Cameron’s autobiography, of all things – and he has his charging cables tucked into a neat organiser. A strange feeling comes over me as I crouch before the bedside table, my fingers running beneath the bottom to find the key I know will be taped there. It’s as if his ghost is standing behind me, watching me with hard, judgemental eyes.

  This is for Saffy, I tell him silently, banishing him from the room. And everyone else you’ve hurt.

  The key drops into my palm and I slide it into the lock. The drawer makes a soft shhing sound as it opens, and I think of how I have kept the truth from Lexi, from everyone, about why I am really here. Why I wanted to bring Lexi home, return to this house which I have always hated.

  The afternoon sun has faded, leaving a dark grey sky beyond the window, and I pull out my phone and open the torch app. There is nothing of use in the top drawer; an old Kindle, a few wires, a stopped watch. A packet of condoms. Grimacing, I close it and open the second drawer. I lift out a 2017 diary and flick through the pages. Nothing interesting. But beneath it lies a small black box and a stack of papers, carefully slotted into a plastic folder with RICHARD ASQUITH – PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL written across the front in black marker. Bingo.

  My phone vibrates when I switch off the torch app. I open the message, smiling at the words.

  Have you found it, sis?

  39

  The Daughter-in-Law

  When Skye has gone, I go upstairs to check on Leo. I smile at his serene face, and wonder what he dreams of, whether he is happy in them. I hope so.

  I jog across the garden and into the annexe, opening our bedroom door and pulling the jeans from the back of the chair. The letter is crumpled, but the envelope is still sealed. I pick it up and run back to the house, the ground cold beneath my bare feet.

  I make myself a cup of tea, warming my hands on the mug as I stare down at the letter. I already know what it’s going to say, but still I hesitate. I have managed to keep my address from my brother and father for years, but now they have found me, and I know they will never give up. The thought fills me with dread and I take a deep breath as I slit open the envelope.

  To my daughter, the letter begins. Lexi, my love. I grimace, hearing his voice as I read his words.

  How long has it been? Too long. Not long enough, I suppose you would say. Please believe me when I tell you how sorry I am about what happened. I have tried writing to you so many times over the years, and I have no idea if this one will reach you, but I pray it will.

  I am sorry, from the bottom of my heart, for what I did. I need you to know that. I need you to know how much it has haunted me, your mother’s face the first thing I see in the morning, the only thing I see in my dreams. My actions were inexcusable, and I will not attempt to excuse them now, but I hope you will understand my explanation.

  I am a weak man. I always have been, but it is not something I have always wanted to see in myself. Your mother was the strong one, the strongest person I have ever known. If only I’d let her carry me, none of it would have happened. But my pride was stronger than her love, and I allowed the darkness to take me from her light.

  I can never expect forgiveness from you. I will never ask for it. You have taken your mother’s light, and her strength, and whatever path your life has taken, I know you will be doing her proud.

  And although I could never ask it of you, I would welcome a visit more than I can say. Patrick tells me you have a son, and I would love to meet him someday. But if not, I know you will be living the life you were always supposed to, and I wish you every happiness.

  With my love always,

  Dad xxx

  Tears fill my eyes as I read his words again, then for a third time. Am I making my mother proud? If I believed she was still out there somewhere, would she be happy with the way my life has gone? Am I living the life I was always supposed to? Or is that still to come?

  I wipe my eyes, mascara leaving smudges on my fingertips. Skye and I are not so different, I realise. We both have fathers we cannot forgive, mothers torn away from us. Hers by drink, mine by my father’s hand. Would I go to his funeral, as Skye has come today? If this letter had told me my father had died, would I have gone with Patrick to say goodbye?

  I miss my brother, I realise suddenly. When I left the family for the last time, I cut all ties, moving house often, never staying too long in one place. Until I moved into Richard’s flat in Plymouth and started dancing to his tune. There wouldn’t be a second escape, I knew, another chance to start again. Not until I met Felix, that is.

  I remember that night well. It was his eighteenth birthday, though he did not remember me when we met again in the student union a few months later. He didn’t remember his father leading me into a private room, didn’t see the things he did to me. He does not know now, and he can never know.

  I think of Richard, piecing together the secrets that held us close. I should never have fallen for Felix. I should never have fallen for Richard’s charm. I should have stayed well away from this family, ran away as soon as I could. But if I had, I wouldn’t have had Leo, and he is something I could never wish away.

  Is this the life Richard would have chosen for his children? Felix is drifting, desperately clutching on to the raft that is created from what he believes his father expected of him. Toby is lost too, unab
le to find his true self. Are we all just shadows of our past? Or can we create new lives from the ashes, lives we can be proud of? I have to believe the answer is yes.

  The crunch of gravel from outside makes me lift my head. I peer through the window into the darkness as a car turns into the driveway, headlights lighting up the gloom. Is it Felix, come to continue our argument? Or Fiona, finally done with playing the grieving widow? I shake my head at the uncharitable thought. Richard fed me plenty of lies over the years, but since living here I have discovered the truth about his wife. She can be cold, that much is true, but her coldness towards Richard was well deserved. I think too of the stories he told me about Fearne, and whether any of them were true. The time she left Skye and Saffy, strapped into their twin buggy, in an aisle in Sainsbury’s, abandoning her children without a backward glance. The postnatal depression, the miscarriage she was convinced she had caused through her hatred of her husband. Her paranoia, the attack with the knife. Had Richard married two unstable women, or had he made them that way?

  The truth sits in my stomach like a rock. When I met Richard, I was young, alone, and afraid. And though the knowledge leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, I know it was for those reasons that he pursued me. Richard liked to pretend he enjoyed the hunt, but I was easy prey, and every day that passed added strength to the secrets he held over me. Secrets he liked to remind me of whenever he could, until I finally had enough.

  A car door closing, gravel skittering beneath shoes. A sharp rap on the front door makes me inhale sharply, my nostrils flaring. Which of my secrets is about to be discovered?

  40

  The Deceased

  THEN

  Richard waited for her in the kitchen, a glass of whisky at his elbow. It was early, but that didn’t matter. He was used to drinking during the day. The clock ticked above him on the wall, counting down the seconds to her arrival. He knew she would pretend to be seeing the house for the first time, papering over the memories of the times she had followed him inside, Fiona and the boys out with friends, and let him fuck her on this very table.

  Let him fuck her. Was that how he thought of it? No, those were her words, the words she’d thrown at him when she’d told him of her pregnancy. It’s not yours. I was on the pill when I let you fuck me.

  Did she fuck Felix by choice then? Or had Felix paid for the pleasure, as Richard had? Since that first meeting, when she was still a waitress, he had paid and paid for the pleasure, and he intended to continue, baby or no baby.

  They arrived in Felix’s car at twelve o’clock on the dot. Richard rose from the table, meeting Fiona in the hallway. She had been up early to prepare lunch, then left him to prepare the salad while she got ready. They opened the door together, looking like the perfect parents, welcoming a new family member with open arms. Richard wondered what his wife would think if she knew about her son’s girlfriend’s past, or the announcement that was coming. Judging by her reaction when she first met Lexi – ‘Is she… Indian?’ – he didn’t think it would go down well.

  Over lunch, when Felix announced that Lexi was pregnant, Fiona almost choked on a mouthful of quiche, and for a moment, Richard thought he might have to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre. He covered his own emotions with a toast, the glasses clinking together as they all pretended to be happy. But he was not happy. Lexi had chosen Felix, a mere boy, over him, and the realisation that things were serious between them hurt more than he wanted to admit.

  What did Felix have that he didn’t? Youth, fine, but Richard was in the prime of his life. He could support her, protect her. Love her. But he wasn’t good enough for her. Like all the women in his life, Lexi had wanted more.

  She hadn’t been happy living in Felix’s bedroom. Within the month they moved into the annexe, which had originally been built to rent out on Airbnb, and Lexi spent her days painting and wallpapering, putting flat-pack furniture together and buying rugs and tea light holders. He stood at the back door, a steaming mug of coffee in his hands as he watched her move beyond the window, his annoyance rising by the day.

  On a bright Friday morning, when Fiona was out at the gym and Felix was at work, Richard tapped on the annexe door, smiling widely when Lexi opened it. Her hair fell messily about her face, and she had a smudge of paint on her cheek. His hand itched to wipe it away.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he said, moving past her before she could answer. Of course he could go in. It was his house, his annexe, decorated with his money. Everything belonged to him, including her. It was time to remind her of that.

  He sat on the sofa, legs spread out, and patted the seat beside him. Lexi perched like a nervous bird, one hand on her stomach. Did she think he was going to hurt her? He placed a hand on her knee, his fingers stroking the inside of her thigh, but she remained rigid, cold.

  ‘How are you finding the place?’ he asked, looking around. ‘You’ve done a good job.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said, almost sullenly. Fine? It was just fine? This roof over her head, free of charge? ‘Thank you,’ she added, as if feeling the emotion radiating from him.

  He squeezed her leg. ‘My pleasure. Only the best for my child.’

  Her head whipped round. ‘It’s not yours,’ she hissed. ‘I’ve told you. It’s Felix’s.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ He’d bought the DNA kit, and he would be swabbing that baby as soon as it popped out of her. But, he realised, he didn’t need the child to bring her into line. He knew her secrets, and he knew she hadn’t told Felix about her past. She hadn’t paid Richard back yet either, for the free rent and expensive dinners and the drawers full of clothes. He had treated her well, and this was how she repaid him?

  For a moment, Richard wondered how he had got here. From a young, whirlwind marriage with Fearne to a secret family with Fiona, to… what? What was he to Lexi? A bank? A means to an end? He had fallen for her, that much was true, fallen deep into her sea-glass eyes. He loved her scent, the way her hair trailed down her naked back as she laid sleeping beside him. But she didn’t love him, and that hurt. The way she was looking at him now, with contempt written across her face, hurt.

  He moved quickly, shifting from the sofa to crouch before her, his hand snaking between her legs. She gasped, tried to pull back, but she was trapped by the huge cushions. He smiled up at her, his thumb pressing against her. He placed his other hand on her stomach and felt the child move inside her.

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said again, and was gratified by the flash of fear in her eyes.

  Fiona caught him in the garden on his way back to the house, her expression guarded. ‘What were you doing in there?’ she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked like a shrew, an old fishwife with her puckered lips and narrowed eyes.

  Richard sighed and said nothing, stepping to move past his wife. She blocked his path.

  ‘Don’t forget, Richard,’ she said, her gaze locked with his. ‘I know everything.’

  41

  The Mistress

  I get back into my car, my head in my hands as my mind whirls. I picture her in my mind. Lexi. I’d only glimpsed her at the funeral, and I’ve seen her a few times from a distance in the past, but I didn’t know her well. Had Richard been seeing his son’s girlfriend? No, I can’t believe it; I won’t believe it. But something in my gut forces me to start the car and drive to his house. I have to know the truth.

  I pull up outside, looking for signs of life. A light is on downstairs, and a figure is sitting at the kitchen table, their back to me. Switching off the engine, I get out of the car and crunch across the gravel, raising my fist and banging on the front door. A few seconds pass, then I hear footsteps and the door swings open, the warm yellow light spilling out across the driveway. A woman stands before me, her face in shadow.

  ‘Where is she?’ I demand, pushing past and storming into the hallway.

  ‘Who?’

  I spin. The woman closes the front door and turns to face me, and my mouth falls open. ‘It’s you.’ I sway, catch
ing myself on the banister and sliding down to the floor. The woman rushes forward. I wave an arm to keep her away as recognition blooms. The shadow fleeing into the night, the pale face glancing back as she ran from the crash. Lexi is S, and Lexi was there the night Richard died.

  I see the same recognition in her eyes. ‘It’s not what you think,’ she says, crouching down next to me. Her voice is gentle. ‘I saw you, that night. But I didn’t think you saw me.’

  I want to respond, want to scream at her, to demand answers. There’s so much I don’t know, so much I want to ask, but the words stick in my throat as my heart pounds in my chest.

  ‘Come into the kitchen,’ she says, standing and holding out a hand. ‘I’ll tell you everything.’ She sighs heavily. ‘It’s about time I told someone, I suppose.’

  Something in her expression makes me reach out. I take her hand and let her pull me to my feet. We stand for a moment facing one another and I take her in. She has dark blonde hair, now pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head. She’s wearing a sleeveless black dress and is barefoot, her toes painted a dark purple. Her arms are tanned, her eyebrows dark and shaped, and her make-up is minimal. She is beautiful, I realise as she turns and leads me into the kitchen. This woman who Richard wanted above everyone else. This woman who knows more about his death than anyone else.

  ‘Are you S?’ I ask, almost falling into the chair she pulls out for me.

  She frowns. ‘S? I’m Lexi.’

  I shake my head to clear it. Her number hadn’t been saved in Richard’s phone. So who was S? I pull his phone out of my pocket and unlock it, fumbling as I look for his contacts. Empty. I exhale, my mind more confused than ever. What on earth were you hiding, Richard?