The Memory: A Gripping Psychological Thriller With a Heart-Stopping Twist

by Lucy Dawson

  ‘Isobel?’ shouts a voice and she gasps. One word – that’s all it takes. We both know exactly who is there, now. So, not content with his family harassing her, now he has to come to the house too?

  She makes it out to the hall before I do, moving so quickly I couldn’t have stopped her if I’d tried. Sure enough, Timothy is on the doorstep, his breath forming around him like dry ice against the night sky, hands in the back of his jeans pocket. I can’t help sourly wondering if he is seeing stage directions in his mind: Curtain up. It is a misty, cold night. Enter the hero.

  Adam is blocking the way, however, hand protectively across the opening as he holds the doorframe. ‘Mate, please,’ he says to Timothy. ‘She’s had such a rough evening already. Another time, eh? Forgive me being the protective boyfriend, but she’s really not up to it.’

  Timothy ignores him completely and looks round him, calling out: ‘Iz! Please! I really need to speak to you. I need your help – it’s important. I want to keep my little girl safe, that’s all. Please!’

  Isobel walks determinedly down the hall and puts her hands on Adam’s arm to move it out of the way.

  ‘I don’t want you to be my boyfriend any more,’ she says quietly, and I wince for poor Adam. ‘I know you want the best for me but I also want you to leave now, so that I can speak to Tim.’

  How can he do anything but let go? He steps back, humiliated, hands in the air and shaking his head, disappears off into the kitchen. I should probably follow him and make sure he’s OK, but there’s no way I’m letting Izzie stay out here on her own. Whatever is about to happen, I think I ought to witness it first-hand. Anything may be given in evidence at a later date, and all that. I stare at Timothy, not making any attempt to hide my hostility. He might not know what Izzie went through after that summer because of him, but I do.

  Izzie, however, steps forward and hugs him, wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her head briefly on his chest. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come,’ she says. ‘Of course I’ll help you.’

  I watch his arms jerk automatically, unsure for a moment, but then he hugs her back tightly and closes his eyes. I can hear relief pouring out of him when he replies: ‘Thank you. I knew you’d understand.’

  They draw back away from each other and Timothy glances nervously in my direction.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Parkes, I knew this one was your house because of Adam’s van being outside, but I’m still sorry to have to disturb you. I wouldn’t unless it was important.’ I don’t answer, just stare at him stonily – and, embarrassed, he turns back to Izzie. ‘Your mum told me when she was collecting the dolls you’ve not had an easy time of it in Fox Cottage.’

  My heart thumps, and Isobel glances back at me briefly.

  ‘Anyway, I’m going to have the house blessed tomorrow,’ he continues, unaware of having just dropped me in it. She will have noticed dolls, plural, for sure. ‘Hopefully that will help. But what I really want to know is – I’m not imagining it, am I? What happened to you?’

  ‘“What happened” to me?’ Izzie repeats briefly and her eyes cloud with tears. ‘Wow.’ She wipes them away quickly. ‘Well. You’re right to be worried. That house is dangerous—’

  I frown and straighten up. What?

  ‘And I’m actually so much happier now we’re not in it!’ She gives a little gasp of laughter, and my mouth falls open. She is? Since when?

  ‘It was my home for so long, but it wasn’t safe. You’re not safe there,’ Isobel continues, ‘and I’m so sorry that I didn’t know you had a little girl. You shouldn’t have come back, I can see that now.’

  I realise she’s apologising for ‘manipulating’ him back to Fox Cottage. I’m about to intervene, to stop her appearing completely mad, when she blurts: ‘I’ve really not been trying to make trouble though…’

  He holds up a hand ‘No one is saying that you have.’

  She shakes her head, exasperated. ‘Claire thinks I am, and I’m not. I don’t want to punish anyone. I don’t want to create hysteria or cause an irrevocable family split. I just want to make sure it never happens again to anyone else.’ A tear trickles down her cheek. ‘It might have already started. I really, really hope I’m wrong, but you must not leave Rosie alone. Not ever, in that house, at night. It can’t be allowed. I feel like something big is going to happen.’

  OK, now I’m worried. What the hell is she talking about? I know I made up all of that evil presence nonsense to scare Timothy, but she’s talking like there really is something to be frightened of and it’s working. Timothy nods frantically.

  ‘I feel like I’m being watched,’ he whispers, terrified. ‘I know I’m not imagining it. I’m so stressed out by it I can’t sleep and I’m having these terrible dreams and headaches.’

  Isobel shakes her head slowly. ‘You’re not imagining it. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’

  I hear a movement behind me as Adam appears in the kitchen doorway, leaning on the frame, arms crossed, watching them quietly.

  ‘OK – well, thank you,’ Timothy says. ‘Thank you so much for not laughing at me and acting like I’m mad and this is all in my head.’

  ‘You are not mad and it’s not in your head,’ whispers Isobel. ‘Trust your instincts… and the evidence.’

  ‘I’m so very sorry I walked away without helping you, all those years ago.’ Timothy says suddenly. ‘I didn’t understand.’

  Isobel doesn’t say anything to that. Just nods, her eyes shining and holds out her arms to him again.

  I watch them hug briefly, her eyes flutter closed as if she is fixing the moment in her mind forever. She moves her head briefly and kisses his cheek so lightly I’m reminded of the butterfly kisses I used to give her as a child. I also distinctly hear her whisper ‘I love you.’

  I wish I had left them alone now. Not only is this deeply private, hearing those three little words makes me ache with sadness. I can feel she means them with every part of her being and I want so very badly to wave a magic wand; make him love her back, let her have the one thing she has always wanted. But I can’t.

  Adam exhales heavily and, glancing round, I see him disappear back into the kitchen. Isobel doesn’t even notice he’s gone.

  ‘So you won’t leave Rosie alone now? You promise?’ Isobel draws back from their embrace, and Timothy nods.

  ‘Here,’ she says, ‘let me give you my mobile number.’ She turns and scrabbles in the drawer of the sideboard for a pen and scrap of paper, before scribbling on it. ‘In case you need it in an emergency, or something.’

  I look down. I literally can’t endure this. It’s too painful, watching her give her all like this.

  ‘Thanks, Iz,’ he says, and she flushes with pleasure. ‘Good night, Mrs Parkes,’ he says politely, still looking wretched, but perhaps a little more resolute as he shoves his hands back in his pockets. ‘Sorry again for disturbing you.’

  Once Isobel has closed the door behind him, she turns and smiles at me radiantly. ‘I think I’ll go to bed now, Mama.’ She gives an elaborate yawn. ‘It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I slept so well last night though. I hope that’ll happen again tonight. I’m sure it will.’

  I wait for her to angrily ask me why I lied about the boy doll’s whereabouts, but incredibly, she says nothing. It must be because she’s got it back now anyway, seeing as she took it from the drawer. I don’t think she cares about anything else except Timothy, Timothy, Timothy…

  ‘I’m so relieved!’ she says suddenly and wipes her sparkling eyes briefly. ‘I can’t even tell you.’ She blows me a kiss and drifts off up to bed.

  I watch her go in astonishment and then go to find Adam. He is sat slumped at the table, twisting a tissue with one hand, the other in his trouser pocket.

  I sit down opposite him. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking?’

  He looks up and balls the tissue in his hand before shoving it in his other pocket. ‘Honestly? Entitled, ruthless, smug fucker.’

  I sigh in sympathy
. Our apple carts have all so badly tumbled over. I told Antony, I begged him not to interfere and buy Fox Cottage. Why does a certain type of man always think they know best? It is utterly maddening. And of course he would have been there this afternoon to hear me shouting like a fishwife, and witness Isobel becoming hysterical. I saw the expression on his face when she fell to the floor; his impatience was palpable.

  His lack of compassion for her condition is one of the biggest disappointments of my life. You can’t be with a person who does not understand your child can’t just ‘snap out’ of it and ought to ‘pull themselves together’, but I used to wonder if he would have changed over time – had Timothy not existed and I’d been able to stay with him after all, of course. After this afternoon, I can see he wouldn’t have. I made the right decision: for Isobel’s sake, at least.

  ‘You can get away with anything as long as you’re charming enough, can’t you? I wish I’d realised this a lot earlier in life,’ Adam says, dragging me back to the room.

  ‘Yes, sadly I think that’s probably true,’ I agree. ‘I don’t even understand what all of that was about, out there.’

  ‘Neither do they,’ he says flatly. ‘They were talking at totally cross purposes. You got that he thinks there’s something in the house though?’ he looks at me again. ‘Something that needs “exorcising”?’

  I nod.

  ‘Well, that’s not what she thinks he means. I know what she’s talking about and what really happened in the house. She’s close to finally confronting it, but it has to be on her terms. I can’t intervene.’

  I blanch and sit up straighter. ‘You can’t say all that and then not tell me! That’s not fair!’

  He sits up too and covers his face with his hands before sliding them up and behind his head, arms wide, in a faux-relaxed position, which is anything but. ‘Eve… I’ve wanted her to talk about it for a very long time. I wish I could tell you, but I really can’t say any more. I’m sorry.’

  There’s a long, uncomfortable pause. ‘Then it seems I must accept that,’ I say tightly. ‘I wish I had burnt the place down now though.’

  Adam frowns at me.

  ‘On the day we completed,’ I elaborate. ‘I lit Izzie’s wacky candle and I was this close,’ I lift my thumb and forefinger, ‘to dropping it and letting the whole place go up. If there’s no house, they can’t live there, can they? Except knowing my luck, that wretched Claire would have arrived, and because she can’t smell anything, would have been overcome by the smoke, died and then I’d have been done for murdering her. So there we are.’

  Adam stares hard at the table, shakes his head and then gets up. ‘I’m sorry, I have to leave. I can’t handle this right now. I’m all Vaughan-ed out and as I’m apparently not even “the boyfriend” any more, there doesn’t seem much point in my sticking around. I’ve always only been the consolation prize. My gestures were never grand enough.’

  ‘You are the boyfriend,’ I reassure him, gently. ‘You have been for a very long time now.’

  ‘Um, no – I really haven’t. Never, in fact.’ He looks at me pointedly.

  I’m aghast. While no one wants to think of their child having a sexual relationship, Isobel is also a grown woman. She may have mental health issues, but she is not stuck in permanent childhood, whatever Susannah Vaughan and anyone else might think. I admit I talked to her about sex later in life than I otherwise might have done with another teenager. Too late, it would now appear, but I was factual, realistic, positive… I made it stress free. I had assumed she and Adam… that they must have. I mean… all this time? Nothing?

  ‘Actually, I don’t want to discuss this with you, if that’s OK?’ He wraps his arms around himself, protectively. ‘Sorry. It’d be weird – and unfair. It’s complicated.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say quickly. ‘I don’t want to pry, I just—’

  ‘I love her,’ he says simply. ‘That’s all. I’ve loved her since we were seven – when you first moved here and she was sat on my table at school. People think children that young can’t fall in love – but they can. It nearly killed me when Timothy rescued her from Paul Jones and I just stood there, crying like a baby.’ He pushes his chair in. ‘And now he’s back to save her again. Timothy the Hero, forever.’ He pats his pocket for his keys. ‘I just want to keep her from being hurt.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. What she’s said tonight has hurt you – deeply – I can see that, but please don’t leave. She’ll have changed her mind again by the morning and you’ll be the boyfriend again. It’s also freezing out there. Stay here tonight, like we agreed? I’ve made the spare room up?’

  ‘I know, and I’m sorry – but I can’t,’ he says miserably, scratching his head. ‘I won’t sleep in the van though, I promise. I’ve got somewhere I can go.’

  I nod. I don’t like it and I wish he wouldn’t, but I understand why he can’t stay. It’s too painful to be that close to someone you love – only a wall apart – and not be able to hold them. So near and yet so far. Agony.

  ‘Can I just get my washing please?’ he says.

  I stand up. ‘Of course, it’s in the upstairs airing cupboard, actually. I’ll get it.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he says quickly. ‘I’ll go.’

  I let him, appreciating that even though his heart is breaking, he still, nonetheless, hopes to get one last look at her, exchange a good night on the landing. Any little scraps.

  He disappears, and I sit there thoughtfully for a moment. So, more secrets, Isobel? Have I misjudged this? Is it Timothy’s daughter she’s becoming fixated with, rather than Timothy himself? Christ, I hope not. I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Timothy really is terrified about moving in, though. Antony must be spitting feathers about an exorcism. I can’t help but give a brief smile of satisfaction at that. “Misery and guilt hiding behind bells and smells” was his damning summation of the Catholic church, I seem to remember.

  I open my eyes again and my gaze alights on Adam’s rucksack in the corner of the room. He’s left the zip slightly open having clearly shoved his phone back in, only it’s lying on something: the red doll. My eyes widen with shock. He took it from the drawer? I hurry over and open the zip a little more widely… to discover a woman’s scarf – not mine or Izzie’s – and a pink, glittery hairclip, complete with a unicorn’s smiley face.

  I lift it out, turning the small item over in my hand. It very obviously belongs to a little girl. Rosie.

  ‘Eve?’

  I turn around to see him standing there, holding his bag of now-clean washing. I hold the clip aloft.

  ‘Why have you got this? You couldn’t possibly want to hurt that little girl? And that scarf under the poppet?’ I point to them. ‘I understand Timothy, and at a push, Claire too – but Rosie? She’s just a child!’

  ‘You think I’m going to use them to make more dolls?’ he says slowly. ‘I was going to get rid of them. I’m trying to protect Izzie. I’m always trying to protect her. I saw them in her bag when I picked her up this morning, so I took them out. Please don’t challenge her about them, she’ll only get upset.’

  I must hesitate just a fraction too long as I consider that explanation because he walks past me, grabs the scarf and the doll from the bag and tosses them onto the table.

  ‘You take them then if you don’t believe me. Destroy them yourself if it’ll make you happier.’

  I place the hairclip down on the scarf carefully. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound accusative.’ I think of Izzie’s cold bed last night when I wondered where she’d been. ‘I’ve obviously made a mistake.’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ he says angrily, picking his bag up. ‘You honestly think I could hurt a little girl?’ He slings it over his shoulder. ‘You don’t know me at all then. Even after all this time.’ He quietly walks out of the room. The front door closes behind him with barely a click.

  Nineteen

  Claire

  My alarm goes off at 1 a.m. I wake instantly to stop i
t before it disturbs Tim, only when I turn over, I discover he’s not there and his pillow is missing.

  I sit up in the dark room, blinking fully awake, all thoughts of sneaking off downstairs to call Jen, gone. Where is he?

  I get up and shiver into my dressing gown. Creaking out onto the hall landing, I glance at the bathroom, but the door is open, the light on, and the room empty. I pad across the landing – only for Tony and Susannah’s door to drift slowly open. I freeze, thinking I’ve woken one of them – except when I look down, two liquid brown eyes stare up at me and a tail thwacks against the doorframe.

  ‘Shhh, Badger!’ I whisper. ‘Bed! Go on! Shooo!’

  He looks at me balefully and vanishes back into the gloom as I hear Susannah or Tony snore loudly, wake themselves slightly with the noise and turn over to go back to sleep.

  Tiptoeing towards Rosie’s room, I push the door open enough to see her sleeping peacefully, but I also spy a familiar leg sticking out from behind her bed, lying on the floor.

  I walk round to discover Tim flat out on a duvet, his pillow under his head, and another duvet with no cover on it pulled over him. He’s fast asleep.

  I stare down at him. Is Ro ill? Did she come in and I didn’t realise – so he got up with her? I’m about to reach my hand out and put it to her skin to check for a temperature when Tim suddenly wakes up, wide eyes staring at me – and scrambles backwards so fast he hits his head on the chest of drawers. It makes such a thud, wobbling the china ornaments on the top of it and the lamp, as he sits upright – I’m sure Rosie will disturb, but she doesn’t. Just sleeps on through.

  Tim stares back at me, breathing fast, and swallows, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘What are you doing just standing over me like that?’ he breathes hoarsely. ‘I almost had a heart attack!’

  ‘Sorry,’ I whisper back. ‘What are you doing in here? Is she all right?’

  ‘Um,’ he blinks again, confused. He was obviously deeply asleep. ‘Just give me a second.’