The Housemate

by Pattison C. L.

  ‘I’ve certainly had nicer compliments.’ My mouth was twitching at the corners. I glanced at Sammi; her nose was crinkling as if she were trying to ward off a sneeze. Unable to hold back any longer, I started laughing. I laughed with relief and with the sheer pleasure of letting go. Then Sammi started laughing too and in that moment, the tension between us began to evaporate.

  31

  I’ve decided it’s time I showed Anouk what’s what. She acts as if life is a big shiny present she gets to unwrap every day. Well, it isn’t; sometimes it’s a slimy monster with one eye and a black, rotten heart. I know I’m not very old, but I’ve been around long enough to know that life will stab you in the back, or put nails under your tyres, or push you over a cliff edge without so much as a backward glance. But if you’re smart, like me, you can use life’s mean tricks to help you get what you want. So believe me, I’ll be doing Anouk a favour. And when she does know what’s what, she’ll realise what a huge mistake she made going to Kayla’s stupid party, and she and I will be tied together forever.

  I told her to meet me by the swings at the rec after school. She didn’t want to at first, but she changed her mind when I reminded her what had happened to Liam. My heart flutters when I see her walking across the playground towards me, her beautiful hair bouncing with every step; I knew she wouldn’t let me down. It’s only when she gets closer that I see her eyes are red, as if she’s been crying. I think I should probably ask her what’s wrong, but I don’t, because there’s no time to be nice. And anyway, where did being nice ever get anyone?

  ‘Follow me,’ I tell her, smiling because of the secret I’m holding inside. Then I lead her to the little path that runs behind the back gardens of the houses in Churchill Close. I’ve been there quite a lot recently, watching and listening and planning. This is a big day for Anouk and I don’t want to leave anything to chance. When we’re nearly at the garages, I stop and turn towards a garden that’s separated from the path by a wire fence. The fence isn’t very high, which is silly really; the people who live here are asking for something like this to happen.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Anouk says in a wobbly voice. ‘I know, why don’t we go back to my house and play with my Girl’s World?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘We’re going to do something much more fun.’ I put my finger on my lips, the way Miss Pickering does when she’s about to read us a story. If Anouk makes too much noise, someone might come out. Then I put my hand in my coat pocket and pull out the slice of salami I took from the fridge at home. After a quick look around to make sure no one’s watching, I roll up the salami and push it into one of the diamond-shaped gaps in the wire.

  ‘Here, Barney, Barney, Barney,’ I say in a quiet voice. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are.’

  Barney’s a good dog and we’ve practised this a few times now, so he comes straight away. I wait for him to jump up and rest his front paws against the fence. The minute he chomps down on the salami, I grab him by the loose skin on the back of his neck and lift him up in the air and over the fence. Then I pop him inside my coat and do the zip up quickly before he has a chance to escape.

  Behind me, Anouk makes a noise in the back of her throat, like a cat coughing up a fur ball; she’s really going to have to toughen up.

  ‘Come on,’ I tell her.

  ‘Where are we going now?’ she moans. I wish she’d stop asking so many flipping questions!

  ‘Wait and see,’ I tell her. ‘Wait and see.’

  It doesn’t take long to get to the allotments. There’s no one else around; there usually isn’t at this time of day. In the corner, next to the compost heap, is a big metal dustbin with a chimney thingy sticking out on top. It’s for burning leaves and stuff. I know how it works, I’ve seen people use it. I start walking over to it, my hands wrapped across my tummy like a pregnant lady. Suddenly, I realise Anouk isn’t behind me. She’s still standing by the gate, looking like a wet weekend. I have to go back and practically drag her by the arm (which isn’t very easy when you’ve got a wriggly dog inside your coat!). I don’t know why she’s making this so hard; I wish she would just trust me and realise that I’m doing this for her own good.

  Once we get to the bin, I lift up the lid and toss it on the ground. Then I unzip my coat and drop Barney inside . . . plop, down he goes, on to the nice big pile of leaves I chucked in there yesterday. He looks up at me with his big, soppy eyes. Poor little thing, he doesn’t know what’s going on. He will in a minute! I pick up the lid and jam it on top of the bin; now it’s time for the good bit.

  As soon as Anouk sees the matches, her face goes all crinkly and white, like a piece of paper screwed into a ball and thrown away. ‘I want to go home,’ she says. I can almost smell her fear, but that’s OK, because I was frightened too the first time.

  ‘Stop whining and watch this,’ I tell her. As I strike the match, there’s a buzzing in my ears, the sound of my own blood pumping in my head. It’s a nice feeling; it helps remind me I’m alive. I’m about to drop the burning match down the chimney thingy when a voice rudely interrupts me. I can’t believe it, there’s someone else here . . . a man, standing next to a shed on the other side of the allotments. He’s shouting and waving a walking stick in the air.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he says. ‘Get away from there.’ Then he starts coming towards us, but he can’t move very fast because he’s got a bad leg. This is REALLY annoying. I’ve spent ages planning this and now that moron has gone and ruined my best friend’s big day!!

  I flick the match into a bed of lettuces and turn to Anouk. ‘Run,’ I tell her. She doesn’t move, pale and stiff as a statue. Meanwhile, the man with the stick is getting closer and closer. ‘Do it!’ I hiss, shoving Anouk in the back. Then she starts running. At least she’s learned something today: I make the rules around here.

  32

  Megan

  I glanced over at Serena. She was still on the phone, her brow crinkled with concentration as she advised one of the hospital’s registrars on pain management for a patient with leukaemia. I knew that if I was going to do it, it had to be now. I turned to the vast system of drawers behind me. It filled an entire wall, and would be highly confusing to the uninitiated, but it only took me a few seconds to find what I was looking for. As I pulled open the drawer, a pebble of fear lodged in my throat. If I was caught, it could cost me my job. My hand was shaking as I scooped up a modest quantity of the white tablets and poured them into a small amber bottle. I’d promised Chloe I would do this for her, and I wasn’t about to let her down a second time.

  She had been in a wretched state when I came across her this morning, sprawled across the chaise in the sitting room, a look of pain collected on her face as if she had some terminal illness. I listened with horror as she told me that she’d woken up some time around three that morning – not in her own bed, or even within the relative safety of the house, but in Number 46’s small front garden. Barefoot and clad only in a short nightie, she was shocked to find herself inexplicably clawing at the loose earth around the rose bushes with her hands. Even more worrying than her scratched arms and broken fingernails was the fact she had absolutely no memory of going downstairs or unlocking the front door. Too unnerved to go back to bed, Chloe spent the rest of the night on the chaise, knowing it was both hard enough and narrow enough to ensure sleep never came.

  By the time I found her, she was anxious and weepy and fretting about the important meeting she was supposed to be chairing at work in less than three hours’ time. I did what I could to comfort her, but it was clear that words were not enough. ‘I’m falling apart,’ she told me. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. Please, Meg, isn’t there something you can do . . . just to get me through the next couple of weeks, until I can see my GP?’

  It was a big ask, but this latest turn of events was very disturbing. Chloe had never gone outdoors during the course of her night terrors before and it was clear to me that they were now entering a new and
potentially dangerous phase. I knew I had to do something, or it was surely only a matter of time before she came to serious harm.

  It was late afternoon when I arrived home after my shift and Chloe was still at work, as I knew she would be. I’d arranged to see some former colleagues that evening, who were in town for a pharmaceutical conference. They would be staying the night at a hotel and, knowing what we were like when we all got together, I suspected it would be a late one. I grabbed something to eat and went upstairs to change, hoping Chloe would be back by the time the taxi came to pick me up. If she wasn’t, no matter, I could always leave the tablets outside her bedroom door.

  The skirt I wanted to wear needed ironing and I had to touch up some chipped polish on my toenails, so it took me longer than expected to get ready. I knew the taxi would be here any minute, so I was rushing as I went downstairs to the kitchen in search of pen and paper, so I could dash off a quick note to Chloe. I was hunched over the kitchen table, writing out the dosage instructions, when I heard a floorboard creak. I hadn’t realised anyone else was home and the sound made me jump. When I turned my head towards the open door, I saw Sammi standing in the shadowy hallway. Even though she was the one spying on me, I felt for a moment like a child caught peeking through a forbidden door. She gave me a narrow smile as she stepped across the threshold into the well-lit kitchen.

  ‘Hi Megan, what are you doing?’ she said. Her pupils were so dilated I could barely discern the iris and it gave her an unworldly, almost spectral appearance.

  None of your damn business, I was tempted to say. ‘Leaving a note for Chloe before I go out,’ I replied as I added a kiss to the bottom of the note and folded the paper in half.

  ‘What’s it about? I can pass on a message if you like.’

  ‘I’ve got some tablets for her to help her sleep. I think she’s reaching the end of her tether with these night terrors.’

  ‘What sort of tablets?’

  Jesus, what is this . . . twenty fucking questions?

  ‘Just a mild sedative; it acts on the central nervous system to induce a state of relaxation.’

  She gave me a mocking look. ‘Do you really think they’re going to work?’ The tone in her voice suggested she was annoyed with me and I thought I knew the reason why. It was transparently obvious that Sammi had few – if any – friends of her own and for some reason she had become fixated with Chloe. She must have been thrilled when she learned about the night terrors, no doubt viewing it as a golden opportunity to act as chief comforter and confidante to Chloe. But now here I was – supporting my best friend in her time of need and providing a practical solution, albeit only a temporary one, to the problem.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said, assuming the calm, quietly assertive attitude I took with difficult patients. ‘In addition to its sedative effect, this particular drug also suppresses stage four sleep . . . the phase when dreaming and sleepwalking typically occur – so in fact it should be highly effective in addressing Chloe’s problems.’

  Sammi’s face was defiant. ‘Shouldn’t a doctor be making those sorts of decisions?’

  I sighed. ‘Well, yes, in an ideal world they would. But I am a fully qualified and highly experienced pharmacist, Sammi. I do know what I’m doing – and anyway, I took advice from one of the consultants at work, who specialises in sleep disorders.’ I picked up the amber bottle on the kitchen table and gave it a little shake. ‘This is only a short-term measure, just until Chloe can get an appointment with her GP.’

  Sammi stared at me, unblinking. I got the impression she didn’t believe me, as if she could see it in the air around me, like a spider spinning a web. ‘Well, let’s hope you’re right, because I’m just as worried about Chloe as you are.’ She gave me a noxious smile. ‘I think it’s great that you can use your medical knowledge to help her; Chloe’s very lucky to have a friend like you.’ She was about to say something else, but she was interrupted by the sound of a horn beeping outside.

  ‘Shit, that’s my taxi,’ I said, grabbing my handbag off the kitchen table. I gestured to the note and the tablets. ‘Do me a favour, will you, and put those outside Chloe’s bedroom door? That way, she’ll see them if she gets home late and goes straight to bed.’

  Sammi gave a small nod. ‘No problem at all.’

  As the taxi made its way through the rapidly darkening streets of South London, there was no doubt in my mind that Sammi would deliver the medication safely to Chloe. After all, in doing so she would be able to claim some credit for providing her with the best night’s sleep she’d had in weeks. I didn’t blame Sammi for wanting to be friends with Chloe, for she was certainly a friend worth having. What I couldn’t understand was how she had managed to pull the wool over Chloe’s eyes quite so effectively. Chloe liked to see the best in people, but she was no fool – so why then had she swallowed wholesale Sammi’s claim that the reason she’d met Tom in secret was purely out of concern for her wellbeing? It was certainly a plausible defence but, if I were Chloe, I would be asking a lot more questions, rather than simply accepting Sammi’s explanation at face value. Why not confront Tom as well, I suggested when Chloe told me what Sammi had said; that way she could identify any possible discrepancies between the pair’s accounts. Chloe, however, who was always sensitive to other people’s feelings, insisted she wasn’t going to say anything to Tom because she didn’t want him to feel bad about going behind her back. What’s more, Sammi had apparently agreed not to tell Tom that Chloe knew about their meeting. It seemed like a messy, over-complicated resolution to me – but perhaps, in her vulnerable, sleep-deprived state, Chloe simply didn’t have the emotional strength to call Tom out on it. Whatever the reason, it was her decision and I had to respect that. At least she hadn’t told Sammi that I was the one who’d seen her with Tom at London Bridge. Things were difficult enough between Sammi and me already, and this would only make things worse.

  Ever since the incident with the fountain pen, I’d done my best to avoid Sammi – no easy task when we were living under the same roof. Try as I might, I couldn’t work her out. Even with my medical background, I had never come across anyone quite like her before. She seemed strangely detached a lot of the time, although she was perfectly capable of turning on the charm when she wanted to. Another thing I’d noticed was her growing sense of entitlement around the house. When she first moved in, she spent most evenings in her bedroom, tiny as it was. And when she did her freelance writing at the kitchen table during the day, she always took care to clear her work things away before Chloe and I came home. But just lately her behaviour had changed. It was little things at first – she’d forget to buy loo roll when it was her turn, or leave her breakfast dishes in the sink unwashed, instead of putting them straight in the dishwasher. But then she grew bolder. She’d start work at the kitchen table, sometimes even before I’d left the house, and leave her things there at the end of the day, so it would be up to me to push her notebook and her laptop and all her other shit out of the way. Later on, in the evening, she’d often commandeer the TV in the sitting room, not even offering to change the channel when someone else came in. It was almost as if it was her house, and we were just the lodgers. I wanted to say something, but I knew I’d sound childish and, even though I didn’t like to admit it, I was a little bit scared of Sammi, of how she might react. My overriding instinct was that she was up to something; I just didn’t know what.

  But right now, I told myself as the cab pulled up outside the hotel where my friends were staying, I wasn’t going to worry about Sammi. Tonight, I was going to relax and enjoy myself.

  33

  Chloe

  I could have cried with relief when I saw the small amber pill bottle sitting outside my bedroom door. Megan had come through for me, just like I knew she would. Despite my shitty mood, I couldn’t help smiling as I read her note:

  Hey Hon,

  These should do the trick. Take one at bedtime and avoid alcohol! Sweet dreams

  M x

 
I knew what a risk Megan had taken getting the tablets for me, and as soon as the fog that was smothering my brain had lifted, I would find a way to show her how grateful I was. But, after another challenging (and that was putting it politely) day at work, all I wanted to do right now was sleep. Not the scrappy, fussy, burrowing in the dark I’d endured for weeks, but deep, dreamless sleep – the kind that left me feeling refreshed and ready to tackle whatever the day threw at me. I swallowed one of the pills, changed into my night things and fell into bed.

  I remembered nothing more until I heard the distant, continual buzzing of what sounded like an angry insect. It sounded impossibly far away and it seemed to take me forever to reach it. Finally, I surfaced into consciousness and realised that it wasn’t an insect after all, but the sound of my alarm clock going off. I silenced it, then lay there for a minute or two, gathering my thoughts. I didn’t feel tired, just a little spaced out. I couldn’t remember having any dreams – good or bad – in the night, and when I raised myself up on to my elbows and looked around, nothing in my room appeared to have been disturbed. My bedroom door, meanwhile, was firmly shut, just the way I had left it. The pills, it seemed, had done their job.

  I’d set my alarm rather earlier than usual. I had some work to do before I left for the theatre and it was easier to concentrate at home where there were fewer distractions. To my immense frustration, another problem had arisen with the Neurosis set – this one relating to the trap door I had designed. Known as a ‘vampire’ trap, it consisted of two sprung leaves that parted under pressure and immediately reclosed. Placed in the stage wall, it was supposed to give the impression that a figure was passing through solid matter. The problem was that since my initial specification, the costume department had made significant alterations to an elaborate headdress, worn by the principal actress in the final scene. The upshot was that the headdress was now too big to pass through the trap doors without snagging. With dress rehearsals less than two weeks away, it was down to me to find a solution.