Finally, I reached the door and, after groping and fumbling, found the handle and yanked it open. To my horror, the way out was barred by a wraith in a long cloak. As the cloak swished, I thought I caught the glint of a knife and knew instinctively what was coming: a smothering hand to my mouth, a flick left, a slit right, a final upward stroke to split the ribs and penetrate the heart. I turned quickly, trying to go back the way I had come, but the door was no longer there. Desperate to escape, I stepped to the side, my arms outstretched in the darkness, trying to feel my way. My hands briefly made contact with something soft and warm and all at once, the air split open in a scream.
Suddenly, there was a flare of light. Everything around me seemed to be collapsing. The reality I had inhabited just a few seconds earlier began to shrivel and deflate. I turned towards the light and saw a woman standing in a doorway. Her skin appeared almost translucent in the half-light, as if she were beginning to dissolve from the inside out.
‘Chloe?’ the woman said. ‘Are you OK? I thought I heard someone scream.’
My head was spinning. My thoughts were in havoc, a jumble of images that made no sense. The woman came towards me and put her arm around my shoulders.
‘Megan?’ I said blearily, feeling myself break into full consciousness.
She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, hon; it was just a dream. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.’
Just then, something caught her eye. ‘What the . . .?’ she said, squinting into the darkness at the bottom of the stairs.
I followed the direction of her gaze. There was a shape on the hall floor, just behind the front door. I thought at first it was a heap of things that had fallen off the coat stand. For a moment or two, Megan and I just looked at each other in bewilderment. Then I turned back to the shape and realised that it was in fact a person – and they weren’t moving. Megan flicked the light switch on the landing and I saw to my horror that Sammi’s bedroom door was wide open, the bed beyond it empty.
I was seized by a numbing shock. I felt as if all the blood were draining out of me, to be replaced by an icy nausea.
‘Sammi?’ I shrieked. ‘Sammi, are you all right?’
Megan began bolting down the stairs, almost falling over in her haste. I followed her, but much more slowly, gripping the banister as I went.
By the time I reached the bottom, Megan was on her knees next to our unconscious flatmate. Sammi’s face was ghoulishly white and she was bleeding from a nasty head wound, her pyjama top already stained with crimson.
‘What did you do, Chloe?’ Megan asked hoarsely.
‘I d-d-don’t know,’ I stuttered. ‘Everything happened so quickly.’
Megan’s face was rigid as she held two fingers to the side of Sammi’s neck.
‘Is she going to be OK?’ I asked.
Megan turned towards me with a stricken expression. ‘Call an ambulance,’ she said. When I didn’t react immediately, she shouted at me: ‘CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE, CHLOE – NOW!’
Shocked into action, I hurried to the phone on the console table, my hand shaking as I punched in the numbers. My head felt like it was swelling, overheated, humming with cross-wired currents of panic and confusion. I could barely remember my own address when the operator asked me.
By the time I put down the handset, Megan had already begun CPR. I sank to the floor and began rocking back and forth on my haunches as I watched her pressing down on Sammi’s chest with surprising force. I could feel myself coming apart inside, growing ragged, bits flailing around.
‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ I said, and I began to cry, great choking tears of fear and guilt.
45
Megan
I could tell right away she was dead. The probability was she’d either fractured her skull or broken her neck. Even though I knew CPR was a waste of time, I felt I had to do something; I couldn’t just stand there. I’d only attempted resuscitation once before, when a patient went into cardiac arrest at the doctor’s surgery where I managed the dispensary. But it was quite different working on someone I actually knew. Meanwhile, Chloe was falling apart. She kept repeating that she hadn’t meant to hurt Sammi, insisting that she’d been acting in self-defence, convinced our housemate was some sort of assassin who’d come to hurt her.
Performing CPR for a prolonged period requires a considerable amount of stamina and I soon became exhausted. When Sammi’s lips began to turn purple, I stopped fighting a lost cause and slumped back against the bottom stair. Chloe began hyperventilating.
‘I’ve killed her, haven’t I?’ she wailed, tears running down her cheeks. ‘I pushed Sammi down the stairs and killed her.’
‘You were asleep, you didn’t know what you were doing. You can’t be held responsible for your actions,’ I said.
‘They’re going to arrest me for murder, aren’t they?’ Chloe said, scrabbling at her throat as if she were suffocating.
‘Breathe, Chloe,’ I said. ‘Nice and deep . . . come on, do it with me.’ I began exhaling and inhaling, slowly and deeply, until Chloe got into my rhythm.
‘Now listen,’ I told her, gripping her wrists. ‘Any minute now, the emergency services are going to be here and we need to get our stories straight.’
‘I can’t go to prison, Meg, I can’t!’ she sobbed.
In the distance, I could hear sirens. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, trying to think. ‘You could always say you were in bed when it happened; I’d back you up.’
‘What?’ Chloe said, looking at me as if I was speaking another language.
‘You could tell them you were asleep in your room when you heard a loud noise. You thought it might be a burglar, so you came and woke me up. We went to investigate and that’s when we found Sammi at the bottom of the stairs. We have no idea how she got there, but we can only assume she tripped and fell.’
Chloe gave a convulsive gasp. ‘Do you really think they’d believe us?’
‘I don’t know, but look at it this way: what evidence is there to prove she was pushed?’ The sirens were getting nearer; the paramedics would be here any minute now, followed, no doubt, by the police.
‘It’s your call, Chloe; I can’t make the decision for you.’
She looked at me and there was such an expression of terror on her face that I felt my insides crumple.
46
I really thought Anouk was different. I did everything for her. I looked after her when she didn’t know anybody at school. I taught her how to play cat’s cradle and showed her where the best blackberry bushes were, behind the scout hut. I told her how pretty she was all the time and pretended not to be bored when she went on and on about her precious Papa and how much she missed him. I wish I hadn’t bothered now because unfortunately, she turned out to be mean and spiteful, just like all the other kids at school. Unfortunately for me, of course – but double unfortunately for Anouk.
I knew that teaching her a lesson wasn’t going to be easy. But if it was easy, it wouldn’t be so much fun, now would it? The tricky part was always going to be getting into her house, something that would take massive amounts of brains and bravery. Luckily, I’ve got both of those.
Anouk has been ignoring me for weeks, ever since I took her down to the allotments. It’s pretty unfair of her to take it out on me, when it wasn’t my fault our game with Barney was ruined; it was that stupid old man.
Nowadays, Anouk spends every breaktime with Eleanor and those cackling airheads she hangs around with. I have to watch them, prancing around the playground with their matching high ponytails, acting like they’re the Queens of St Swithun’s. Meanwhile, there’s me, eating my cheese and pickle sandwiches all alone like a total loser. Nobody wants to be my friend any more, not even Liam.
I don’t let it get to me, though. I stay focused, keeping my eyes sharp and my ears open. I’m in the changing rooms after PE when I hear Anouk and Eleanor talking on the other side of the wooden divide.
‘Do you want to come to my house on Saturday?’ Elean
or asks Anouk. ‘My mum says she’ll take us swimming.’
‘Sorry, I can’t. My dad’s coming back from Germany on Saturday,’ Anouk tells her. ‘He’s been away for ages this time, nearly three weeks. Mum’s picking him up from the airport.’
‘Will he bring you back a present?’
Anouk giggles. ‘Of course.’
‘Are you going to the airport as well?’
‘No, I wish I was, but Mum doesn’t want me missing my piano lesson on Saturday morning. I’m taking my Grade Two exam in a couple of weeks, so I need all the practice I can get.’
‘You’re so clever, Noukie, I wish I could play an instrument.’
I can hear the cat-who-got-the-cream tone in Anouk’s voice as she tells Eleanor: ‘My piano teacher says I’ve got real talent, and she knows what she’s talking about; Mum says she’s one of the best teachers in the whole county.’
After that, they start talking about which boy in our class has the coolest hair. That’s when I tune out; I already have all the information I need.
It’s Saturday now and here I am, in Anouk’s front garden, hiding behind a big green bush, whose leaves are so shiny they look as if they’re made out of plastic. It was easy enough to slip in through the electric gates when Lucy drove out, on her way to the airport. There’s a small blue car on the driveway, which I’m guessing belongs to Anouk’s piano teacher. I’ll have to wait for her to leave before I can put my plan into action.
Forty-five minutes go by and I’ve got pins and needles in both my feet. I stand up and start stamping them on the ground, but then Anouk’s front door opens and I have to duck back down behind the bush. I watch through the leaves as a tall lady comes out and gets into the blue car. She spends a few minutes flipping through a notebook on her lap, then she drives off.
As soon as the electric gates close behind her, I leave my hiding place, walk up to the front door and ring the bell.
‘Did you forget something?’ Anouk says as she opens the door. As soon as she realises it’s me, not her piano teacher, her face closes like a clam shell. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she says. ‘What do you want?’
‘My friendship bracelet,’ I tell her.
‘Your what?’ she says snootily.
‘The friendship bracelet I made you; I want it back.’
She flicks her eyes to the side and looks fed up. ‘I don’t know where it is.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you look for it,’ I say, stepping through the door and pushing right past her.
‘Hey, you can’t just come in my house without being invited,’ she yaps like an annoying little Chihuahua.
‘I already did,’ I say, as I head for the staircase. ‘Come on, the sooner we find it, the sooner I’ll be outta here.’
She makes a huffing noise, then she shuts the front door and follows me upstairs.
‘So where do you think it’s likely to be?’ I ask her, rubbing my hands together as I look around the prissy pink bedroom I know so well.
She shrugs. ‘Could be anywhere.’
I go over to the big storage unit that’s stacked with white-painted wooden boxes filled with toys, most of which Anouk is far too old to be playing with. ‘I’ll start here, then. Why don’t you have a look in your drawers?’
I can tell she’s not happy, but she does it anyway.
After just a couple of minutes, I start fanning my face with my hand. ‘Phew, it’s stuffy in here,’ I say. ‘Is it OK if we let some air in?’
Anouk is smart enough to do what I tell her and pushes the bottom half of the window up. The edge of her pink curtains moves in the breeze.
‘So, how are things with you?’ I ask her as I turn a box full of stuffed animals upside down.
‘Fine,’ she says lamely.
‘Are you having fun with Eleanor?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’
‘I bet you two had a lovely time at Tara’s party the other week, didn’t you?’
Anouk stops what she’s doing and turns round to face me. ‘Look, I’m sorry if you feel left out,’ she says. ‘But you did some really weird stuff and I don’t want to hang around with you any more.’
‘What stuff?’ I say, wondering what she’s talking about.
She gives me a dirty look. ‘You know . . . breaking Liam’s arm and trying to set that dog on fire.’
‘Oh, that stuff.’ I pick a Bugs Bunny up off the floor and begin spinning him round by one of his legs. ‘Did you say something to your mum? Is that why she was so rude to me when I called round to see you the other week?’
Anouk shakes her head. ‘I didn’t say anything, I promise. I think she just picked up on a vibe.’
I cock my head to one side. ‘What sort of vibe?’
She sighs. ‘Let’s just forget it, OK?’
‘Perhaps you mean a psycho girl vibe.’ As I say the word ‘psycho’, a spray of spit comes flying out of my mouth. ‘That is what you and your New Best Friend Eleanor call me, isn’t it?’
Anouk’s face goes heart attack red. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she says, lying through her straight white teeth.
‘Oh, I think you do.’ I toss Bugs over my shoulder and start moving slowly towards her. She backs away towards the window, her eyes bulging with fear.
‘You need to go now,’ she says in a strange voice as if she’s swallowed a sharp object and can’t get it all the way down. ‘Mum will be back any minute.’
‘I doubt it,’ I say. ‘It’s a long drive to the airport.’
She’s shaking now and judging by the way she’s panting, she’s having difficulty breathing too. The backs of her legs are right up against the window seat; she’s got nowhere else to go. I reach out an arm and Anouk steps backwards, up on to the window seat, so now she’s standing above me. The only trouble is, poor Anouk doesn’t know what’s coming next. No idea, that is, until I lunge towards her, pushing her in the stomach as hard as I can. A ripple of shock passes over her rosebud face as she topples backwards, straight through the open window. One minute she’s there, the next minute she’s gone. Then, a second or two later, I hear the satisfying crunch of her body smacking into the paving slabs below. And just like that the bitter taste in my mouth is replaced by a sudden, soaring rush of joy.
As I turn to go, I spot the friendship bracelet, nestling in a jumble of bangles and hair accessories that are scattered across the top of a chest of drawers. ‘Best friends forever,’ I whisper, as I pick up the friendship bracelet and push it into my jeans pocket.
I like to write things down. It makes me feel good, seeing how much I’ve achieved. I’m going to keep this notebook in the biscuit tin under my bed with all my other treasures until I’m old enough to leave home. After that, well, who knows? Maybe I’ll take the notebook with me. Or maybe I’ll dig a hole in the ground and bury it where no one will ever find it. Maybe I’ll forget all about it, get on with my life, find a good job, buy a beautiful house, get married and have children of my own. Let’s face it, with brains like mine, I can do anything I want.
47
Chloe
It was three months since Sammi died and the events of that night still seemed horribly surreal. I’d been trying to get on with my life, but it hadn’t been easy. There were days when I felt overwhelmed by the knowledge of what I’d done, cornered, as if I was trapped inside the boot of a speeding car that was heading straight for a brick wall.
Sammi’s death had impacted my life in so many ways. I’d given up my job at the theatre; I just couldn’t cope with the stress of it all on top of everything else that was going on. Richard generously offered me a month-long sabbatical so I could sort my head out. It was a nice gesture, but I knew that no matter how long he gave me, I would never be the person I was before. I work for a graphic design company now. The job’s a lot less pressurised – but also a lot less rewarding. The people seem nice enough, though, and it will certainly do for now.
My relationship with Tom was another casualty. We limped along for a little whi
le after Sammi’s death, but the strain of keeping such a huge secret from him was too much and eventually I ended it. I think it will be a long while before I’m ready for another relationship; I’m too busy trying to take care of myself. Sammi’s funeral was our last public outing as a couple. I’d been dreading that day, especially the thought of coming face-to-face with Sammi’s family. As it happened, none of her family attended, which I found odd and also incredibly sad. But I did meet a woman called Alison, who introduced herself as Sammi’s foster mother. We only spoke for a few moments and she didn’t stay very long at the wake; I could see how upset she was.
Obviously, I had no idea that Sammi had grown up in foster care. But then, I suppose, there was so little I did know about her. Nor did I learn much from the other funeral guests, who seemed to consist mainly of people Sammi knew through work. At the wake, I got chatting to a couple of women who had been on the same journalism course as her at college. However, they admitted that they’d lost touch with her years ago and had only come to the funeral after reading about her death on Facebook.
But there had been one positive change in my life. I was having cognitive behavioural therapy for my night terrors. It was Megan’s idea; she did some research and found a therapist in Putney who specialised in sleep disorders. I decided to go private because Megan said it would take forever to get a referral from my GP and I wanted to get myself fixed as soon as possible; God forbid that history ever had a chance to repeat itself. I’d had half a dozen sessions so far and fingers crossed, it seemed to be working. There was no doubt the therapy had dredged up some painful memories, but it had been really interesting too – talking about my childhood and trying to pinpoint where it all began.
Megan and I were still at Bellevue Rise. Initially, neither of us thought we’d have the heart to go on living there, but then the landlord offered us a sizeable rent reduction. I think he knew he’d struggle to find new tenants, after the Evening Standard ran a piece about the accident. Megan and I realised we’d be fools to turn his offer down and actually, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. I didn’t go in Sammi’s old room any more than necessary, but I was sure it would be better once all her stuff was gone. I was in there the other day, shooing a wasp out of the window, and I could have sworn I heard those whale noises she used to listen to on her iPod. It was probably just my imagination playing tricks, but it was unsettling all the same.
The Housemate Page 22