Perfect Stranger: A gripping psychological thriller with nail-biting suspense

by Jake Cross

  ‘How?’ Julia said. ‘Who would think she lives here?’

  Maybe not. Chris gave Rose a glance. That one said: Be careful, don’t give away too much.

  ‘She had to give an address to someone she spoke to last night about the fire and gave ours.’

  That seemed to do it. End of interrogation. Julia finished her food and announced she was going to get changed. Rose got up, too, but Chris was in no hurry.

  With Julia gone, he said, ‘Eulogy.’

  Rose just nodded and took her bowl to the sink. He waited for a response, didn’t get one.

  ‘Eulogy?’

  She finished washing her bowl, gave him another nod, and left the room. In the bedroom, she was standing by the mirror, still in her dressing gown and struggling to put on earrings. When she failed and shook her painful fingers, he stepped in to help.

  ‘Stop messing about, Rose? Where’s the speech? I need to practise it.’

  ‘In my handbag, where it will stay until it’s your turn to step up.’

  ‘What? Why? I can’t just read it fresh and—’

  ‘Oh, but you can. It’s better if it doesn’t look rehearsed because you need emotion. If it’s new to you, you’ll pause and stumble and it’ll look like you’re suffering under emotion.’

  A horrific idea. ‘No way. Don’t mess about. Where is it?’

  ‘You need to look like you give a shit,’ she said, then pulled away from him to get her dress.

  Chris didn’t argue, figuring there would be time at the church to talk her round, or snatch her handbag. He shifted to the mirror to fix his hair. Lord, he’d tried to mope about a bit but he was no actor. Twenty years ago, a woman he’d known for a day, most of it drunk.

  Nobody could really expect him to vent tears.

  Twenty-Eight

  It happened on Herries Road South, the slash through the woods where, four days before, men with baseball bats had tried to rob them. Like before, Chris was driving and Julia was alone in the back.

  ‘Gosh, she even drives like you, Chris,’ Rose said as they turned onto that road. ‘Something built into DNA that means you both can’t use indicators. Wait, what’s she doing?’

  Katie’s hire car was ahead, leading them. But it had started to slow and veer, and the outside wheels rumbled off the side of the road into the stones along the verge, and Chris realised something was wrong and it wasn’t with the vehicle.

  Chris slowed, too.

  ‘Is she okay?’ Rose said.

  Katie’s car stopped, like something dumped. The moment Chris’s was at a standstill, Rose jumped out and rushed to the vehicle.

  ‘What’s Katie doing?’ Julia said, finally noticing.

  Rose didn’t speak to Katie. She took one look through the driver’s window and turned to Chris. Nothing said, no change of expression, but he got her message.

  He told Julia to stay put and walked to the passenger side of Katie’s hire car. She was slumped in her seat, hands in the lap of her black trouser suit, head down, as if asleep. She was chewing on her ponytail. Chris looked at Rose over the roof of the car.

  ‘It’s probably just hitting her properly,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have left her alone to drive.’

  ‘She said she wanted time to think.’

  Rose said nothing further, just walked away. He knew she wanted him to talk to Katie. He got in the hire car. Katie didn’t look at him.

  Chris was wondering how to start this conversation when she spat out her hair and said, ‘I know I’m meant to be there. Everyone’s waiting. It’s been days in preparation. Everyone’s expecting me.’

  Chris waited. Something heavy in his gut lightened a little. The funeral no longer loomed ahead like a mammoth and bright tower – unavoidable.

  ‘I can’t go,’ Katie said.

  Chris knew that he could say nothing, do nothing, and he’d be released from today’s horrible commitment. No awkward speech, no meeting a horde of distressed strangers.

  But he said, ‘It’s to give you, give everyone, a chance to say some final words to your mother.’

  ‘Do I need to adhere to some kind of social traditions to do that?’

  ‘It’s considered an acknowledgement to the deceased. That’s why people go. But not everyone. It’s not a law. Just a respect thing.’

  ‘Do I need to attend this single event, and see my mother in a box, and witness everyone crying, to show respect? It’s about honouring Eve, but can I not show honour in other ways? I went to Ron’s and almost wish I hadn’t. I hated it.’

  ‘It’s your choice, Katie.’

  ‘I don’t want to tarnish my image of her as vibrant in her living days. The final time I see her shouldn’t be in a box. If I go, it would be for the other relatives, because they expect it, but why should I do this for them? They should respect rather than judge me. I have to do what feels right for myself. If somehow my mum’s soul continues to watch this planet and the people who loved her, then her final moments with us should already have passed. They should be moments of laughter. Her final image of her loved ones shouldn’t be one of people sad and mourning, but happy.’

  ‘I understand,’ Chris said. He couldn’t say he disagreed.

  ‘I would have liked to hear your speech, though.’

  In that moment Chris almost wished his wife a bloody death. The damn speech was still in her bag.

  ‘I didn’t want to write one down,’ he said, mind spinning. ‘I thought it might be best to deliver it…’

  Katie provided the words Chris couldn’t think of. ‘From the heart. Can I hear it?’

  His prayer to God went unanswered. No sinkhole took the car into the depths. Chris reminded himself that a performance in front of Katie beat one in the presence of dozens of strangers. So he agreed.

  ‘I want to record it, if you don’t mind.’ She had her phone already in hand. She aimed it at him. Watching, waiting.

  Chris took a breath. One more time he reminded himself. It was just the two of them, in a box.

  ‘Eve is a rare person, sincere, utterly—’

  ‘No. Please. Use past tense. She’s gone.’

  ‘Eve was a rare person, quite sincere, and utterly genuine, able to communicate with anyone about any subject. One of those very rare people that was able to talk intelligently and confidently to any person on any subject. She was articulate, caring, funny and a fantastic friend to all who knew her, and wholly reliable and full of integrity, with strong principles. A woman whose essence imbibed those who came into her circle. A woman who was content with her life and didn’t rue what she didn’t have, or think herself unlucky for the terrible illness that consumed her. Strong even towards the end, she didn’t let her illness get her down. She never complained, never wanted to burden others with her illness. She always put others first.’

  Here he paused, hoping that was enough, but Katie said, ‘Good. Now you. Now about what she meant to you.’

  Nothing, she was nothing to him. But he didn’t say that.

  ‘I met Eve only briefly, a long time ago, but even then, even in that short space of time, I gathered all these things about her. I knew her friends loved her. I knew, if things had continued between us, that I would love her. And I know she loved her family. Her daughter, Katie, is her living testament, her legacy, and proof of her integrity and her love and her sincerity. As will all of you, I, even though I knew her so long ago, will miss her. But I know I am a better person, and this world a better place, for having been touched by her.’

  Katie’s head had slowly dipped, eyes now in her lap. ‘That was lovely.’

  Chris didn’t feel the same. Eve’s face was hazy, his memories of her diluted by time. He felt like a liar. Those exquisite words felt so wrong, and they cast some of their fakery into his fingers so that his touch upon Katie’s shoulder seemed like an act, too. He felt like a man trying to make a home out of a hotel room. It all gave him a fresh reminder that Katie might be no one to him. Just someone passing through h
is life. But at the same time, he couldn’t forget Rose’s claims that he liked to bury his head in the sand.

  ‘Is it okay if I can have some time alone?’ Katie said.

  ‘I’ll wait in our car.’ Chris got out, expecting to sit in his own vehicle for a few minutes before they turned around for home. But the moment he shut the door, Katie started the engine and peeled away. Rose poked her head out her window.

  ‘What’s she doing? Going ahead?’

  Chris shook his head, watching Katie’s car shrink. ‘I gave her the speech. I think she just wants time alone.’

  She got out, puzzled. ‘I’ve got the speech. Did you do your own for her? There in the car?’

  He nodded. They stood together in the dirt verge and she told him it was a sweet gesture. ‘But we don’t know where the funeral is.’

  ‘She’s not going to the funeral. Too much for her, I think. I don’t know where she’s going. So what do we do now?’

  She didn’t seem that astounded. ‘Maybe it’s the right thing for her. Maybe she’ll regret it every day starting tomorrow. But it’s her choice.’

  He watched Katie’s car approach the corner. The same corner she’d used to enter their lives. Maybe it now signalled an exit, for ever.

  ‘I guess we should just head back,’ Rose said. ‘You’re due into work and that will take your mind off it.’

  The hire vehicle flicked around the corner, dangerously fast, and then it was behind trees. A wild image popped into his head: himself standing by a graveside¸ speech in one hand with Eve’s name crossed out and Katie’s replacing it – and a positive paternity result letter in the other.

  ‘Yes, I can send other people for funerals.’ He smiled to show he was joking.

  ‘Give her time. I’ll call you when she comes back.’

  When they climbed into the car, Rose explained things to Julia.

  ‘But we got all dressed up. I wanted to try my first funeral. We could find another one,’ she joked.

  But nobody in the car laughed.

  Twenty-Nine

  Louise was off. No call in sick. No answer on her phone. Chris was glad. He could have a rare peaceful day. Hopefully, she was feeling guilty after trying to shift fault into his corner about Raymond Monroe’s death.

  Not long after Chris arrived at midday, and the rest of the lab grabbed their jackets to head to lunch, Alan said that he was going to Louise’s house to see if she was okay after yesterday. He announced it to all, but cast his gaze at Chris during the final part – after yesterday. Then he got his coat and went for the door.

  Chris headed him off.

  ‘Do you blame me for this?’

  Alan looked puzzled.

  ‘I mean Louise. You looked at me when you said you were going to see if she was okay.’

  Alan understood now. His eyes met Chris’s. ‘See anyone else feeling guilty, Shakespeare? Are they all crowding me at the door?’

  ‘So you do blame me? You think I caused this problem? And by the bloody way, it’s my wife who’s writing a book, not me, so stop calling me that.’

  ‘Touchy. And it depends which problem, doesn’t it? I don’t think you’re at fault for Louise missing the 0157 yesterday, if that’s your worry. But she did ask you to order the kits, didn’t she? Even though she really shouldn’t have. But if that is your worry, then you worry me.’

  ‘That makes no sense.’

  Alan said, ‘I’m worried about her state of mind. I’m worried that she’s feeling like she killed a patient. All you’re worried about is whether or not you could be blamed. Are you not concerned about your colleague’s health?’

  ‘I’ll admit that I’m still pissed off that she tried to blame me. And you just basically admitted you do, too.’

  ‘Maybe, Redfern, you have a cold soul. Is that why you’ve never phoned in sick after doing something that’s affected a patient?’

  Chris wanted to smack him. Instead, he said, ‘Sickness due to guilt means an empty bench and many more poor souls who won’t get necessary help.’

  ‘And what kind of…’ Alan started. And then stopped. And then turned his head to stare above his office door, at the plaque he’d nailed to the wall: Sickness due to guilt means…

  ‘Smart-arse, eh? What if I come back and tell you that Louise is hanging from a noose in her house, Redfern?’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll blame me for that, too.’

  Because the boss was away, his staff got the big foam dice out and rolled to see who would go down to Specimens for the microbiology box. Knowing his staff sometimes detoured for a sandwich or cigarette, Alan had timed the journey between the two departments and berated anyone who took longer; but he was out chasing Louise, so today nobody was on the clock. The winner was back forty minutes later with a dot of mustard on his ‘grill’, as someone termed it.

  ‘Grill?’ someone else said.

  ‘Yeah. Teeth. Slang. Like gnashers.’

  ‘Or chiclets,’ Chris said, his mind suddenly turning back time.

  The team crowded round the treasure chest, even though it was nothing more than a big box of more work. Except Chris, who visited a computer and loaded Medway, the national medical database. He put the cursor in the ‘PATIENT NAME’ box.

  ‘Chiclets’. The radiographer he’d overheard in the Pitstop had mentioned the term – as used by someone the radiographer had X-rayed. Katie had mentioned the term ‘chiclets’ to Julia. Chris had seen Katie checking her teeth in a mirror.

  He typed ‘KATIE LEVINE’ and held his breath as the results loaded.

  Katie Levines unfolded down the screen, and Chris quickly scanned, discarding those of the wrong age or wrong hospital. There were Katie Levines across the country with a welter of problems, but he found none who’d recently got an X-ray at Sheffield Royal Infirmary. Chris sat back with a sigh. The radiographer had said that chiclet woman was a freak, had something wrong with her mind. But that freak, thankfully, wasn’t Katie.

  That freak was someone else’s daughter.

  ‘Aliens get a bad press, but I think…’

  Chris’s phone cut into a fascinating conversation between a Generation X grunger and his Gen Y goth girlfriend at the next table. He shifted to a desolate corner of the Pitstop to chat to his wife.

  ‘Chris, you saw Katie’s burns, didn’t you?’

  He knew this had been a looming conversation. ‘Yeah. Did it as a kid farting around, playing dangerous games with fire. You only just seen them? I didn’t think it was my place to talk about it. I was waiting for her to tell you.’

  ‘Yes, well, she did tell me. And I felt the same way. That’s why I didn’t mention it to you. But here’s the thing. Playing about with fire as a kid? That’s not the story she told me. And I thought it was just her ankles. She told me her bike caught on fire while she was riding it.’

  Katie had lied? ‘When was this? Today?’

  ‘Tuesday when she dropped off our stuff. I saw her ankles. But here’s the thing. Julia just told me that she saw Katie’s burns, too. She swore her to keep quiet.’

  ‘As you would. It’s embarrassing. And girls gossip.’

  ‘But she didn’t see her legs, Chris. She said Katie’s T-shirt rode up and the burns she saw were on the lower back and belly. It’s more than just her legs, Chris. It might be a big portion of her torso, too. Katie told her she fell in a bonfire. Why do you think she lied?’

  Chris remembered that Katie had been careful to hide her torso the other night, after the flat fire. Because she was female, he’d figured. To hide the scars, he now knew. She must have left her legs exposed to him because Rose already knew about the damage to them, and would have informed Chris. But when Katie realised Chris didn’t know, she must have felt compelled to explain. But why with a different story?

  ‘Chris? You there?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m here. She probably lied about the extent of the burns because she’s ashamed, don’t you think? The more someone is burned, the worse they probably fee
l about their appearance. I guess if I had my whole leg burned but someone saw only a burned foot, that’s all I’d be happy showing them. And maybe I’d invent a story about how I burned just my foot. So each of us got to see only what we’d already seen. Maybe she told you about a bike fire because that could explain just her ankles. And then a different story for Julia. To explain just her torso, because Julia hadn’t seen the leg burns.’

  ‘Do you remember how scared she looked when those envelopes caught fire in our kitchen drawer?’ Rose continued. ‘She had something horrible happen to her as a child, and it’s mentally scarred her. Made her terrified of fire. We should cancel the barbecue part of our anniversary party on Saturday.’

  ‘That’s a bit extreme. Everyone will ask why. We’d sound a bit silly saying it’s because this girl here nobody knows is scared of flames. And we can’t tell them who she is, can we?’

  ‘Maybe we could by then. If the paternity results are in. But, Chris, those burns? How? She told three different stories to three different people.’

  Chris thought he already knew the answer. ‘I think it’s only two lies, Rose. With you and Julia, she was put on the spot, so you got a tale about a silly accident. But to me she admitted it was a foolish error, her own fault. She believes I’m her dad and I don’t think she’d lie to me. Is this a worry for you? The lies? I understand why she did it, but will this cause some kind of problem between you and her?’

  ‘It’s not a problem, Chris, of course not. That’s silly. I just don’t want her to have to hide anything. Especially if the paternity result comes back positive. She shouldn’t have to hide things or lie. Not to any of us. Do you think we should talk to her?’

  ‘Leave it for her to decide what to do.’

  ‘Good. My thoughts exactly. I just didn’t feel it was my place to keep this from you. We’ll wait for her to tell us all the truth.’ She bid him bye and hung up.

  Chris put his phone down, looked at the next table, and saw the grunger and the goth turn away quickly. But he didn’t care that his conversation had been overheard. He was thinking about truth.