The Housemate

by Pattison C. L.

  It’s funny, because even though everything else about that day is burned on my brain, I can’t remember what it was that made me take my eyes off Emmie. It might have been something on the telly, or maybe I was looking at my new Tamagotchi. I turned my back, only for a moment, but that was enough.

  I didn’t realise Emmie wasn’t there until I heard a horrible clonk. It was loud enough for me to get a sick feeling in my tummy and go running outside. That’s when I saw my little sister lying on the drive, underneath Mum’s car. There was blood coming out of her ear. And just like that I was an only child again.

  It took me a long time to understand what death meant. Emmie’s toys were still on the shelves in her bedroom, her pillow still had a dip where her head had been, and her photo still smiled down from the windowsill in the living room, but Emmie had gone. And then it hit me: death is forever. A hole in the ground; a small body clutching her favourite stuffed elephant, the one she never left home without, lying like Sleeping Beauty inside a tiny white coffin. Except this Sleeping Beauty was never going to wake up.

  After that, I just had to carry on the best way I could. Mum and Dad were too busy making arrangements and going to dead kid support groups to pay any attention to me. I remember the long, achey silences around the table at dinnertime; the way Mum stared over the top of my head as if I wasn’t even there. Then there were the whispers behind my back at school and the scared looks from the teachers who didn’t know what to say to me. From that moment on, I felt as if I was on a different wavelength, out of radio contact with the rest of the world and waving at it from another galaxy.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but if things could have stayed that way, it would have been so much better for me. But they didn’t, because after a little while, Mum started to pay too much attention to me. It started with the odd smack on the back of the legs (not because I’d been naughty or anything, just because Mum felt like it). The smacks soon turned to shoves and slaps. There was other stuff too, like twisting my arm behind my back and pulling my hair; once she held my arm over the spout of the kettle while it boiled. There was name-calling as well – she started to use nasty swear words, words that mums aren’t even supposed to know.

  But the worst thing by far was the endless waiting . . . trying to read Mum’s face to see what sort of mood she was in. I’d look for clues in the sound she made as she walked upstairs; I’d watch every muscle of her body to try and work out if she was about to take a swing at me. I know it’s a funny thing to say, but even when I was expecting it, it always came as a shock.

  In the beginning Dad would tell her off for doing stuff to me, but it happened so many times that after a while he gave up. He used to be so big and strong, but after Emmie’s accident he became a thin grey shadow and stopped bothering – about everything. He didn’t care about Mum hurting me, or if she shouted at him, or drank wine every night, or let the house turn into a pigsty, or lost her job at the bank. As time went on and things at home got worse and worse, I felt everything inside me shrinking and shrivelling until my heart felt as small and dead as a dried pea.

  I had nightmares too. Nightmares about falling down a well and not being able to get back out. Nightmares about wolves with foam around their mouths chasing me through the woods. I’d wake up in the middle of the night with my heart going a hundred miles an hour and the sheets in a tangle, not knowing where I was. Sometimes I’d even wet the bed.

  I know Mum blames me for The Bad Thing. I bet Dad does too, even though he makes out he doesn’t. They’re right to blame me as well, because it was All My Fault (even if Mum should have looked in her mirror before she reversed out of the garage).

  I only took my eye off Emmie for a second, I swear. Or maybe it was ten seconds. OK then, two minutes . . . absolute tops.

  42

  Megan

  Chloe was waiting for me when I got home. She looked anxious; it was an expression she seemed to be wearing more and more these days. She claimed to be sleeping much better since upping the dosage on the tablets I’d given her. But I couldn’t help noticing that one of her eyelids was twitching and her face had a greyish pallor. She’d gone back to work on Monday and, while things seemed to be going OK, I did worry that she might have returned too soon. To my mind, she was still in a very delicate state and her ashen appearance only lent weight to that view.

  It had been a long, tough day for me too. My ICU patient, the cyclist who’d been hit by a lorry, had died that afternoon without ever regaining consciousness. Thankfully, the police had managed to ID her, and her family had been at her bedside as she slipped away. As I watched them clinging to each other in the relatives’ room afterwards, it was yet another painful reminder that life was such a flimsy thing and could be snatched away when we least expect it.

  I’d been looking forward to a quiet evening in with a ready meal and some mindless reality TV, but Chloe clearly had something on her mind and wanted to talk.

  ‘I think Sammi’s planning to move out,’ she announced breathlessly, before I had even closed the front door behind me. On hearing her news, my mood instantly brightened.

  ‘I didn’t see that one coming,’ I said, as I dumped my bag at the bottom of the stairs. ‘What’s she said, then?’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything,’ Chloe replied, tailing me into the sitting room. ‘But I’ve got the evidence right here.’

  She waved a sheaf of papers at me, most of them torn and teabag-stained. I recognised them straight away – estate agents’ details of properties to let.

  ‘They were in the kitchen bin,’ she explained. ‘I only found them because the bin bag split while I was emptying it. God knows when she was planning on telling us. If she isn’t happy living here you’d think she’d at least have the decency to let us know.’

  I sat down on the sofa. ‘Would you really be that upset if Sammi moved out?’

  ‘It would certainly be inconvenient,’ Chloe admitted, sitting down next to me. ‘We’d have to re-advertise the room and set up loads of interviews and all the rest of it, but do you know what? I don’t think I’d really miss Sammi that much.’

  ‘I thought you two were friends.’

  Chloe rubbed her bare arms as if she had a sudden case of goosebumps. ‘I know, but to be honest with you she’s starting to give me the creeps.’

  Had Chloe finally twigged that Sammi wasn’t quite who she appeared to be? I gave her a searching look. ‘Why, what’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing really, it’s more of a feeling. She’s just so intense and she’s always giving me advice, even when I haven’t asked for it. I didn’t mind at first, but now it’s starting to get on my nerves. It’s almost as if she sees herself as some sort of big sister, which is a bit bloody much when she’s only one year older than me and we hardly know each other. Then there’s my stuff that keeps going missing. I know I’ve got no proof, but it has crossed my mind that Sammi might have something to do with it.’

  She crooked one side of her mouth into an embarrassed smile. ‘I know you’ve had reservations about her for a while; maybe I should have listened to you sooner.’

  Then it was my turn to look awkward. ‘Look, hon, there’s something I need to tell you.’ I pointed to the property details on her lap. ‘It isn’t Sammi who’s looking to move out, it’s me.’ As Chloe opened her mouth to protest, I held up my hand. ‘But it’s not what you think. I’m wondering if maybe we should both move out, because Sammi does more than give me the creeps; she’s actually starting to scare me.’

  Chloe stared at me, her eyes huge and horrified. ‘Are you serious, Megan? Why didn’t you say something before?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to worry you for no good reason. In the beginning, I thought it was just a case of me not really clicking with Sammi, which hardly makes her a bad person. I could see how well you two were getting on and I didn’t want to start slagging her off to you when I didn’t have any real justification.’

  ‘But now you do?’

>   There was a muscle ticking in Chloe’s jaw. I deliberated for a few seconds, unsure if I should be sharing my concerns when she was clearly under strain. But what if I kept quiet and then something bad happened? Surely it was better for Chloe to be prepared.

  I opened my mouth and the words came tumbling out, all the odd things I’d noticed about Sammi since she moved in – her emotional flatness, her superficial charm, the effortless way she switched from one personality to another in the space of a few seconds – worries and doubts that had been cemented when she confronted me so shockingly at the fashion launch.

  Chloe stayed silent throughout my monologue and when I had finished, she put a hand to her forehead. I felt a rush of protectiveness towards her. She looked so small and helpless, bundled up in her oversized jumper.

  ‘I’m really shocked she said that stuff to you about not moving out,’ Chloe said, looking slightly dazed.

  I nodded. ‘And it was the way she said it that was so disturbing; it almost sounded like she was laying down the gauntlet. Now you know why I decided to take a look around and see what other rentals were available.’

  Chloe looked utterly forlorn. ‘I’ve been so stupid,’ she said. ‘I should have known Sammi was too good to be true.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. She’s a smooth operator. You should’ve seen how she worked the room at that fashion launch; she had everyone there eating out of her hand.’ I reached across the sofa and squeezed Chloe’s arm. ‘There’s something else you should know. I have to stress that it’s just a theory; I might be barking up the wrong tree completely.’

  ‘Go on,’ Chloe said.

  I faltered, feeling as if I was about to breach a massive confidence, even though I wasn’t, because Sammi had never confided in me about anything, except of course her determination to remain at Bellevue Rise until the landlord evicted her, or hell froze over, whichever one came first.

  I took a shallow breath. ‘I think Sammi might have tried to commit suicide at some point in the past.’

  Chloe’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘What makes you say that?’ she asked.

  ‘Have you noticed that she always wears long sleeves, and I mean always, even during that stinking hot weather we had last month?’

  Chloe nodded. ‘Now you come to mention it – yes, I have, actually.’

  ‘Well, when we used the ladies’ loos together at this party the other week, one of Sammi’s sleeves rode up while she was washing her hands and I couldn’t help noticing that there was a great big scar, right across her wrist, just here.’ I pointed to my own arm, indicating the position. The scar had been pale and puckered and impossible to miss. As soon as Sammi realised I’d seen it, she’d tugged her sleeve down quickly and turned towards the hand driers. ‘Of course, it’s perfectly possible Sammi got the scar by some innocent means,’ I said, trying to reassure Chloe. ‘But if she’s mentally unstable, we need to tread very carefully around her. I’ve dealt with enough psych patients to know they can be unpredictable.’

  ‘Sammi did say she suffered from anxiety attacks, not that I’ve seen any evidence of that so far,’ Chloe murmured. ‘Do you think she could have been playing them down and that her condition’s more serious than she’s been letting on?’

  I shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s possible.’

  ‘Jesus, Megan, you don’t think she would try to harm us physically, do you?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ I said, sounding more confident than I felt. ‘I’m just saying we should be on our guard, that’s all.’

  Chloe shuddered. ‘It’s going to be hard acting normal with Sammi, knowing what I know now.’ She glanced at the pile of estate agents’ details. ‘Did you get as far as arranging a viewing on any of these?’

  I shook my head. ‘There was no point; it’s all way out of our price range. Everything seems much more expensive compared to the last time we looked. And even if we could afford them, nothing I saw was a patch on Bellevue Rise.’

  ‘Bugger,’ Chloe muttered. ‘Maybe this has been Sammi’s plan all along – convincing us to move out, so she can have the house all to herself.’

  I gave a dry laugh. ‘I’m sure Sammi would be more than happy to see the back of me, but I’m not so sure about you . . . in case you hadn’t noticed, she seems to have formed quite an attachment.’

  Chloe scrunched up her face. ‘You know what, Meg, I really don’t see why we should be the ones to move. We found this place and as far as I’m concerned it’s our house, not hers.’

  ‘I agree with you completely.’

  ‘So what are we going to do about it?’

  Before I could answer, the doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be Tom,’ Chloe said, springing to her feet. ‘His train was due in half an hour ago; he said he was going to come straight here from the station.’

  She disappeared from the room and a few seconds later I heard a squeal of excitement as she and Tom were reunited. After that there was a long silence, during which I imagined they were falling into each other’s arms. I felt a twinge of envy. I’d only been truly in love once in my life – with a graphic designer I met during the six months I spent in Southeast Asia, the year after I finished my Masters. Once we both returned to our respective homes, the relationship quickly fell apart; he lived in Toronto, so it would have taken a superhuman effort to keep it going. I could still remember the way I felt when he touched me – like a sunflower turning towards the light. And when we kissed, only my mouth existed in that moment, only my hands on his skin were real. I’d give anything to feel that way again; if only Pete hadn’t turned out to be such a shit. I tried not to think about him too much, but it was hard when I kept seeing him around the hospital.

  My thoughts were interrupted by Chloe’s reappearance. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were flushed as she came into the room with Tom.

  ‘Hey, stranger, great to see you,’ I said, standing up and giving Tom a hug. ‘How was Newcastle?’

  ‘Good, thanks,’ he said, slipping off his bulging rucksack and letting it drop to the floor. ‘I was ready to come home, though.’ He glanced at Chloe and she smiled back at him.

  ‘Can I get you a tea or coffee?’

  ‘I got a cappuccino from the kiosk at the station, so I’m OK for the minute, thanks, Megan. Anyway, how are things with you?’

  I sat back down again. ‘Not bad; we are having a few issues with Sammi, but I won’t bore you with all that.’

  Tom looked surprised. ‘Really?’

  Chloe nodded. ‘We were just talking about it before you arrived.’

  ‘I thought everything was working out really well with Sammi.’

  ‘It was, but lately weird things keep happening, like stuff going missing, and we don’t feel comfortable around her any more.’

  Now Tom looked faintly amused. ‘You’re not still going on about that necklace, are you, Chloe? You were careless and you lost it. Why can’t you just accept that?’

  ‘Because that’s not what happened,’ Chloe said in a low voice. ‘Anyway, it’s not just the necklace – quite a few things have disappeared or been moved – and Megan thinks Sammi deliberately ruined a dress of hers the other week.’

  ‘She was very rude to me the other evening as well,’ I added.

  ‘There’s other stuff too,’ Chloe went on. ‘Like the fact Sammi doesn’t seem to have a single friend, and every time I ask about her family, she always brushes me off without ever actually answering the question.’

  Tom drew his hand over his face. ‘I seriously think you two are over-reacting. I appreciate that I don’t know Sammi as well as you do, but I’ve spent quite a bit of time with her and nothing I’ve seen so far makes me think that she’s anything other than a nice, honest, decent person.’

  ‘The fact is, Tom, none of us really knows anything about her at all,’ I said. ‘Other than what she’s chosen to tell us.’

  ‘I bet that scrapbook you found would give us some useful background information,’ said Chloe, tur
ning to me. ‘How about we go upstairs right now and see if we can find it? At least then we’ll know who we’re dealing with.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Chloe? What scrapbook?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Megan saw a photo album full of documents and old newspaper cuttings in Sammi’s room when she first moved in. Sammi completely freaked out when she saw Megan looking through it.’

  ‘I’m not surprised; I’d be pissed off if I found my housemate looking through my personal stuff,’ Tom retaliated. ‘The poor woman is entitled to a bit of privacy, you know.’

  ‘Not if she poses a threat to us,’ Chloe shot back.

  Tom laughed. ‘Just listen to yourself, Chloe. Are you completely paranoid or what? You haven’t got a shred of evidence that Sammi’s a threat in any way, shape or form. I think you two both need to get a grip and grow up a bit.’

  ‘Just because you’ve had a few dinners with Sammi and cosy chats over cups of coffee, you think you know her,’ Chloe snapped. ‘But let me tell you something, you haven’t got the faintest idea what she’s really like.’

  Tom took a step back, clearly startled by the severity of Chloe’s tone. ‘Cosy chats over cups of coffee? What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Chloe snared her bottom lip in her teeth. I got the impression she hadn’t meant to let the cat out of the bag like that. ‘I know you and Sammi met up behind my back a couple of weeks ago,’ she said, blinking hard.

  Tom opened his mouth to reply, but the words seemed to shrivel in his throat because no sound came out.

  ‘And don’t even think about denying it, because Megan saw you at London Bridge station,’ Chloe spat.

  Tom glared at me. I glared right back; there was no way he was going to make me feel guilty for sharing that with my best friend.

  ‘We met up to talk about you, Chloe,’ he said, spreading his arms wide. ‘I thought you were behaving in a way that was out of character and I was worried about you.’

  ‘Did you honestly think that Sammi would have more knowledge of the inner workings of my mind than my best friend of the past twelve years?’ Chloe said in a clipped voice. ‘I suppose the fact she’s rather easy on the eye didn’t hurt, did it?’