The Other Side Of The Wall: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by Andrea Mara

  “Well, what if you catch him out, then tell him he has to go back to work and take ownership, and if he doesn’t, you’ll tell – what about that?”

  Sylvia tries to imagine it for a minute. What would Justin think if she showed up outside his house and started taking photos? And of what – him coming out to get milk from the doorstep?

  She smiles. “I love it on one level – like the version of me who once wanted to be Nancy Drew – but I’m not sure it would work in real life.”

  “Why not? You can’t just sit back and let this happen. There’s no way I would. Do it this afternoon – leave Zack with your husband, go to Justin’s road, park across from his house, and see what happens. He lives – what – ten minutes from your house, you said?”

  Kate is serious, and Sylvia is in no doubt that she’d do it if it was the other way around. It wouldn’t be that hard to just drive past the house and see if the car is there. If it’s not, that’s telling in itself.

  Kate starts again. “Is he married? Does he have kids? Is he on Facebook? Maybe we can see what he’s posting. What’s his surname?” She pulls out her phone.

  Sylvia has never checked if he’s on Facebook, but Kate finds him easily.

  “Damn. Privacy settings. We can’t see anything. Does he have a family?”

  “No, he’s single. I think he’s waiting for a time machine so he can go back to the 1950s and find a proper little wife who’ll stay at home, pregnant and barefoot.”

  Kate laughs at that.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Sylvia says, “that’s probably a bit mean. But he’s definitely single.”

  “Right, promise me you’ll do it – just drive past?”

  Sylvia nods, wondering if people ever say no to Kate. A waiter comes by to take their empty cups and Kate orders another coffee.

  Zack is getting fidgety but Sylvia decides to risk one more. “Actually, could you bring that in a takeaway cup?” she calls after the waiter. Just in case.

  “So, are you going to move back up now – with the boys starting back to school?” she asks Kate.

  “Yes, but not into our own house. My mum still has her house up here – it’s in Stillorgan – and her tenants are moving out this week, so we’ll move in.” She sighs. “It means I definitely have to tell the boys this week. I’m dreading it. And I suppose part of me keeps thinking it’s all a bad dream – that Sam will tell me it was a joke. I know,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Ridiculous.”

  Zack starts to cry then – loud wails that fill the entire coffee shop. Sylvia can feel her face grow hot. She offers him a mini rice cake but he bats it away, and does the same to his soother.

  Kate waves away her apologies. “I have to go now too – I need to get new schoolbags for the boys. The ones they had last year are fine but they were in the spare room, and Sam had locked it when I was there last week. I couldn’t be bothered going back again to get them.”

  “Well, do you want me to do it? I could call in and get them from him?” Sylvia asks.

  “No, don’t worry, it’s as easy to get new ones. And I need a few bits for myself too – I need to think about going back to work now that I’m a lone parent.” She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “That’s the first time I’ve said the words ‘lone parent’. God.”

  Sylvia touches her arm. “If you need anything, I’m here. Sometimes it’s easier to let off steam with a relative stranger – give me a shout any time you want to meet for coffee. Maybe I can leave this little guy at home next time.”

  Kate touches Zack’s nose. “He’s been great – I probably bored him to tears. But tell you what, how about next time we go for a glass of wine instead?”

  “Perfect,” Sylvia says.

  They weave their way between the tables to the exit – Kate striding ahead, turning heads, Sylvia slower behind with a crying Zack in her arms – and say their goodbyes.

  “Don’t forget the Justin plan – I want to know how it goes,” Kate calls as she gets into the lift to the carpark.

  Sylvia clips the buggy straps into place and waves, nodding politely, wondering if it would be harder to actually do it or to confess to Kate that she hadn’t.

  Chapter 37

  Sylvia – Sunday, August 28th

  Lazy man’s load – Sylvia can hear her mother’s voice in her head. And indeed, a moment later, one of the four shopping bags slips out of her hand and onto the ground, spilling its contents all over the driveway. Putting down the other three, she scrambles to catch rolling apples and peppers, sighing at the two broken eggs.

  “Oh-oh! Let me help you,” says a voice behind her.

  She turns and finds herself looking straight into Sam’s eyes.

  “That’s okay,” she tells him, “I can manage.”

  But he insists, and together they repack the fruit, meat and surviving eggs.

  “Will I help you to clean up the egg?” he asks.

  “Not at all. You’re very good, thanks.”

  Why is she being nice to him? This is probably what he does – charms people then goes off and cheats on them with work colleagues. He smiles and, in spite of herself, she smiles back. It’s obvious now what Kate saw in him, and the girlfriend too. But seriously, what an asshole. Abruptly, she stops smiling.

  “Is everything all right?” he asks.

  “Yes, absolutely. Just, you know, thinking about . . . well, I suppose I should say, I met Kate and she told me about . . . well, that you guys have separated.”

  His face clouds over. “Right. I didn’t know she was telling people.”

  “I’m sure she’s not telling loads of people – it’s just that we met and had coffee and got chatting. Don’t worry, I’m just one person. And it’s probably easier to let it out with someone you don’t know very well.” Oh for goodness’ sake, now she’s feeling guilty.

  “Did she tell you why?”

  A familiar heat spreads across her face. “Well, yes . . . ”

  “You know, there are two sides to every story.”

  Now this she didn’t expect. How could there possibly be two sides to an affair with a work colleague – what’s he going to say – that he was lonely and it’s Kate’s fault? Sylvia says nothing, waiting to see what will come next.

  “Let’s just say there are a lot of things in Kate’s background that make her see things in a kind of skewy way. Has she told you much about her brother?”

  Sylvia shakes her head.

  “Or her dad?”

  She shakes her head again.

  Sam nods. “Well, maybe some time she will, and you’ll understand the bigger picture. She’s a tough nut and not the easiest person to get on with – she has ridiculously high expectations after everything that happened when she was a kid.”

  Sylvia bristles. “Well, I don’t know about all that, but it seems fairly black and white to me. No matter what’s happened in Kate’s past, cheating is cheating.” Her cheeks are on fire now, and somehow her hands have found their way to her hips.

  She sees what looks like a flash of anger on Sam’s face but he hides it quickly with a smile, and holds his hands up in surrender.

  “Mea culpa, you’re right. Look, are you sure you don’t need any more help?”

  Her hands drop back to her sides. “I’m good – thanks though.” Maybe she should say sorry too. It hangs in the air for a moment, then she turns to go indoors. Kate wouldn’t say sorry.

  Two hours later, the lamb is almost ready and the conversation is still burning a hole in her conscience. Why did she say anything at all? It’s none of her business, and now she’s possibly made things worse for Kate. Tom thinks she’s overthinking it but Tom always thinks she’s overthinking everything. One of her mother’s many favourite sayings flashes into her head: “A problem shared is a problem halved.” Her mother mostly said it when she wanted Sylvia to tell the truth about whatever boy she was meeting or whether her friends were drinking, but perhaps it would help in this instance. Or maybe just confessing
to Kate would take a load off her mind – either way, it would be better than sitting here worrying about it.

  Clicking into WhatsApp, she starts typing.

  Just to let you know, I bumped into Sam in the driveway and mentioned that we met for coffee, and that I knew you guys were splitting up. That was probably overstepping and I wanted to apologise – it wasn’t my place to say anything … hope all OK x

  Two blue ticks – Kate’s read the message. Then nothing. No reply. No comforting little “Kate is typing” notification. Shit. And who could blame her – they hardly know each other and yet Sylvia’s gone plodding into her marriage break-up. Kate must think she’s a moron. There’ll be no more coffee, and no meeting up for a glass of wine – it’s actually completely mortifying the more she thinks about it.

  Finally, a reply comes through.

  God, don’t worry. I’m sure he wasn’t thrilled but I don’t care. At some point all our friends and family are going to know and he’ll have to deal with it then. I haven’t really been telling people at all. I’m leaving that lovely task to him. So you probably caught him off guard. No harm

  Phew. Maybe Tom was right – she probably was overthinking it. There’s another message from Kate.

  Did you confront that guy from work yet?

  She types a reply.

  No! Not something I can rush into – I need to have a think about it.

  Kate comes back a few minutes later.

  Don’t spend too long thinking – just do it. You’ve nothing to lose! Your work sounds shit at the moment, and he’s laughing about it all, hiding out in his house. I don’t know him obvs but I’m getting cross about it every time I think about him. Do. It. Seriously!

  Sylvia types again.

  I might drive past his house and take it from there. I know it sounds like a no-brainer but tbh the thought of it makes me feel a bit sick! Anyway, I’ll keep you posted. And I promise not to say anything else to your OH about anything – sorry again x

  The reply is swift.

  Don’t worry, honestly. I promise I’m not annoyed. Tell you what, let’s do that glass of wine – this Friday if you’re free?

  A fizz of butterflies pops inside Sylvia’s stomach. She’s not dumped after all.

  Yep, well, I’ll check with Tom to make sure he’s here, but that sounds good.

  Putting down her phone to take the roast out of the oven, she feels lighter already.

  Chapter 38

  Sylvia – Monday, August 29th

  The water hits her back like hot needles and with it the tension starts to ease. The whine of the shower motor sounds louder than usual – if it wakes Zack, she might actually cry. She might cry anyway at the thought of facing into all of it again tomorrow. Getting them ready on her own, waiting for Jane, then rushing late into work, hoping nobody will notice. It’s always the same when Tom’s away – maybe they should just ask Jane if she could come earlier and avoid all this extra stress. Or maybe she should give it up altogether – it’s not like work is bringing any joy to life right now. Imagine if she handed in her notice in the middle of the investigation – ha! It would nearly be worth it to see Craig’s face. But she won’t – she knows she won’t leave them in the lurch.

  Lathering shampoo into her hair, she closes her eyes and lets the water trickle down her face and neck. For the first time today, there’s no rush. She rinses, and then just because it feels good she shampoos her hair a second time. The shower door is steamed up now – the dark square of the bathroom window is only just visible through the fog. Standing perfectly still, she lets the water massage her shoulders, watching it cascade down onto her feet.

  There’s a noise – is it crying? She turns the nozzle away for a moment to hear better. No, it’s just the shower’s whine. She closes her eyes to rub exfoliator onto her skin – the expensive one, because it’s been one of those days.

  Suddenly, everything is dark. Her eyes are closed but it’s darker than that – the light has gone out. Disoriented, she tries to rinse her face so she can open her eyes – she half-slips on the shower tray, but catches herself. Is the electricity gone? But the shower motor is still running: it’s not the electricity. Maybe the bulb is gone, or maybe Megan is up and has switched off the light. She calls Megan’s name softly, then a little louder, but there’s no answer. Her eyes are only half open and stinging with exfoliator, and the bathroom is pitch black. She presses the button to stop the shower and slides the glass door open to feel around for her towel.

  Outside, the landing light is still on – not a fuse then, just a blown bulb. There are spares downstairs – she may as well change it now. She reaches for the bathroom light switch to turn it off. But it’s already in the off position. Her stomach tightens. It can’t be off – that makes no sense. She switches it on, and light floods the bathroom. Who turned it off while she was in the shower? She rushes into Megan’s room – she’s sprawled across the bed, in a deep, soundless sleep. In her own room, Zack is safely in his cot.

  Pulling on a dressing gown, she makes herself go downstairs, wishing Tom was there. It’s quiet – the kitchen light is on, just as she left it, and there’s no movement anywhere. In the sitting room, she pours herself a gin and tonic, and drinks half of it in two swallows. Perched on the edge of the couch, she takes a third swallow and thinks about phoning Tom.

  When the footsteps come, the glass slips from her hand. Down the stairs, fast and heavy. Her breathing stops completely as she waits, paralysed, for the sitting-room door to open. She hears a handle turn. But it doesn’t move. It’s the front door – opened and then closed. She pulls open the sitting-room door and without looking to see what’s to her right, she runs back upstairs and in to Zack. He’s still asleep, just as he was. Megan too. Breathless, at Megan’s window, Sylvia pulls back the curtain. There’s a shadow moving down below – a man.

  Someone is going into the house next door.

  Her fingers fail to hit the right pin code three times in a row. On the fourth try, she unlocks the phone and gets through to Tom. The words come out in a rush and she’s crying now. Slow down, he tells her, and she tries again.

  “Tom, there was someone in the house. I was in the shower, the kids were asleep, and the light in the bathroom went out. I thought it was the bulb or a fuse but it wasn’t – someone actually pressed the light switch off while I was in there.” She stops to gulp a breath. “Then when I was down in the sitting room, someone came down the stairs and went out the front door. Tom, I think it was Sam from next door.”

  Tom is trying to calm her down now, telling her she might have made a mistake and asking if the kids are okay. He’s sure there must be a logical explanation, but for the first time she can hear worry.

  “Tom, I hate it here – I loved this house for such a long time but I hate it now. I don’t feel safe any more. I dread going to bed every night, wondering if something will happen. I don’t know how much of it is in my head, but tonight was real. There was someone in our house – upstairs, where our children sleep. If we can’t do something about it, then I want to go somewhere else. At least temporarily until we know what’s going on. Do you understand?”

  Tom does, and tells her to try to get some sleep. They’ll talk about it when he’s home tomorrow night, but moving isn’t really an option.

  She shakes her head at the phone, as fresh tears muffle her response.

  “What did you say, love, I didn’t catch that?” he asks.

  “I said I’m not staying here. If we can’t figure out what’s going on and put a stop to it, we’re going. Somewhere. Anywhere.”

  She hangs up and carries Megan into her room, then locks the door. For the rest of the night, she lies awake, listening to the sounds of her house and the sounds of the house next door.

  Chapter 39

  1990

  Jean Duggan is crying. Big fat tears flow down her red face as she frantically pulls everything out of the cutlery drawer for a third time.

  “A whole m
onth’s rent, I can’t find it anywhere, what am I going to do?”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs Duggan, between us we’ll find it,” he reassures her as he goes through the newspapers that are piled up by the side of the couch.

  “Just call me Jean – I’m not missus anyone,” she replies, standing still at the sink for a moment, before searching the top of the cupboard above it.

  One of the children walks out of the bedroom, nappy around his ankles. Paul – or is it Peter? He never knows which is which.

  “Paul, why did you do that! Can’t you see Mammy is busy and upset. Come here so I can put that back on you.”

  “I’ll search through the kids’ toybox, will I, Mrs Duggan – Jean, sorry – it might be there?”

  “You’re a star, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Your parents must be very proud of you. I hope my boys grow up to be just as kind to their neighbours.”

  He reddens at the compliment. “Not at all, sure I’m only next door.”

  “I’m just glad you called when you did – sorry, I didn’t even get you the teabags you wanted to borrow,” sniffs Jean, still rummaging through papers.

  “Teabags are the least of my worries, I can get them in the shop in the morning anyway. Let’s focus on finding your rent money.”

  Peter emerges from the bedroom now too, carrying an open carton of chocolate yogurt, most of which is slowly travelling down the front of his T-shirt, heading towards the floor.