The Quiet Ones: A gripping psychological thriller (20 page)

‘Yeah, I mean, if you’d known, you’d have something to feel bad about, but you didn’t and neither did he, so,’ he pauses, ‘it was just a mistake.’

‘I cannot believe what I am hearing,’ I say shaking all over and moving away from him.

‘I’m not meaning to belittle it or anything but, you know, maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.’ He explains it the way a child might.

Just then, the bathroom door opens and a cloud of steam erupts out revealing Sophie wrapped in a towel smiling.

‘Everything OK?’ The smile disappears from her face as she looks at me. ‘What on earth’s wrong?’

‘That man,’ I am so angry I might burst, ‘that man doesn’t see why I might be upset that Charlie is my father.’

‘Rory!’ Shocked, Sophie’s unable to hide her dismay. ‘What have you said?’

‘Nothing.’ Rory holds his hands up in protest as Sophie approaches me with caution.

‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,’ she says trying to keep her towel from slipping down and revealing her naked body.

‘All I said was that she shouldn’t feel so upset and guilty because she didn’t know. I was just trying to help.’ Rory looks sheepishly in Sophie’s direction.

‘Josie, sit down. You are still in shock. I am going to dry myself off and put some clothes on. Just sit here. I’ll be back in a minute and then we can talk about it. Forget the stupid blinis and drink. That was a rubbish idea.’

‘No, it wasn’t.’ I say, feeling guilty enough already. ‘Please, let’s get on with Christmas. Just because mine is a disaster, it mustn’t let me spoil yours.’ I picture the ring burning a hole in Rory’s pocket. Looking at him, I even manage a smile for her sake.

‘But Doll, it’s too much for you,’

‘No,’ I interrupt, ‘it’s not. This problem isn’t going anywhere. It’ll be the same tomorrow and the day after that. Let’s just pretend, just for today that the world isn’t a totally fucked up place.’

Sophie almost laughs and then remembers herself. ‘Please?’

The couple study me together then nod in unison. It dawns on me that I am looking into the future.

28th December

Christmas day passed, as did the following two days. I had a few missed calls from Charlie but didn’t get back to him. I wasn’t sure what there was to say.

Rory proposed with the gold ring and she said yes. I feigned happiness for them. It was a good day for Soph.

I stayed with them until the 28th. I couldn’t face returning to London until I’d got my thoughts in order. We did a lot of talking, Sophie and I. She was great and as always, so supportive. She told me I would have to go back at some point and face this. Clearly, my marriage was over, there was no other choice, but she said that Charlie and I should grieve the loss of it together. We were both victims, she said. And, of course, she was right. Neither of us knew when we met that we were related. How could we?

We also talked about Ailene. I admitted that the revelation had left me feeling as though I had lost two more parents all over again. How would I ever face her again? How could she ever face me? The whole thing was such a sordid mess that I didn’t see any of us ever being able to have a relationship again. We would all have to go our separate ways, in order to leave the mess behind us.

Sophie agreed it was unlikely I would ever be able to see Charlie as my father and that it was probably right if he and I agreed to say goodbye, but her optimistic nature insisted that Ailene and I had a chance of rebuilding a relationship. But I couldn’t see the point.

The one good thing that had come as a result of my adoptive parents’ deaths was that I had been finally able to move on from the bad things in my past that had so haunted me. I couldn’t see a way that I would ever be able to look at Ailene and not see a reflection of my horrible mistake.

I leave in the morning, thanking them both for taking me in and allowing me to gate-crash their Christmas.

‘Don’t be silly, Doll, you can come back any time.” Sophie fiddles with the new ring on her engagement finger. ‘I hope it’s not too heavy with Charlie. Call me, will you? Let me know you are alright?’

‘Of course.’ I hug her and for a moment don’t want to let go.

‘Drive safe.’ Rory chips in sliding his arm around Sophie’s shoulder.

I get into the car and put the keys in the ignition, waiting to find the courage to start it. Sophie knocks on the passenger window and I roll it down.

‘One last thing,’ she says biting her gloss-covered lip. ‘I know you are going through hell, and I know that’s all you can think about at the moment, but I’d love you to be my maid of honour.’

‘It would be my absolute pleasure.’ I give her the warmest smile I can muster.

‘Great. You just take your time to get your life back in order. The wedding can wait a while. There’s no real rush.’

‘We both know you are going to buy a stack of wedding magazines, the minute you can,’ I say grinning, ‘and so you should. Be happy. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

‘You’re the best.’ She steps away from the car as the engine roars into life.

‘No, you are.’ I blow her a kiss and pull out of the parking space. The happy couple stand on the pavement waving me off and I watch them in my rear view mirror until they are out of sight.

The drive back to London is long. Heavy rain slows the traffic to a crawl. I put the radio on hoping to drown out the voices in my head.

Earlier this morning, I had sent Charlie a text letting him know I was on my way back and that I thought we should talk. He hadn’t responded but then I suppose I hadn’t expected him to. I had ignored his calls after all.

On the drive back, I decide to tell Charlie that he should keep the house and that I will find somewhere else to live. Sophie has a flat in London that she sometimes uses in the week. She offered it to me as a temporary solution and it seems like the sensible thing for me to do. In the back of my mind, I know a large inheritance is waiting for me. At least, I won’t have to worry about money. Charlie can keep everything. I don’t want a single thing. It would only remind me of what has happened.

As I drive through the busy London streets, watching shoppers rushing from shop sales to shop sales, I play the conversation I plan to have with Charlie over and over in my head. I know I need to keep a calm head. Getting
emotional will not help either of us.

I pull onto our street and my stomach does a flip. Coming home used to make me feel so happy. Now, I dread stepping into that house. The place where Charlie and I lived, so happily married. The memory of having sex with him flashes across my mind and my head swims.

I park the car as close to the house as I can, to ensure a quick get away. I turn the engine off. Sitting in the driver’s seat, I look out at the small house I used to call home. It looks so normal. If you passed by, it you wouldn’t give it a second look. Now, to me it seems like a house of horrors.

Taking a deep breath, I get out of the car and go up to the front door. My keys are in my coat pocket but I feel I should knock. Letting myself in wouldn’t feel right, somehow.

I knock loudly once and wait for the sound of approaching footsteps on the other side or the door. There is no answer. I knock again. Don’t make me stand out here like this, I think: it’s killing me. Again, there is no answer. After trying for a third time and I let myself in.

As I step into the house, I am greeted by a heavy silence.

‘Hello?’ I call out. No one answers. I push the door closed behind me, shutting out the cold. I hug myself. The house is cold and empty.

I go into the sitting room to find the broken jam jar and its contents still all over the floor. The room looks the same as when I left. I call out again. Nothing.

Where is he? Why isn’t he here?

If we aren’t going to talk, then I need to collect my things and leave. I look around the strangely silent room, my stare lingering on the knocked over Christmas tree. Then I realise I cannot be in this house a moment longer. I turn and bolt up the stairs, planning to strip our bedroom of everything I need.

As I reach the landing, I stop. A pair of legs dangles from the ceiling. I recognise those shoes immediately. I stand staring at the feet for some time trying to process the sight before me. The feet do not move.

I do not cry out or fall to the ground.

With an unearthly calmness, I tilt my head up to see the rest of the body.

Hanging out of the trap door into the attic is Charlie’s lifeless body. His face is in shadow, for which I am grateful, but I know it’s him. I turn around and walk down the stairs slowly, watching myself do so.

In the hallway, I pick up the house phone and dial 999.

‘What is your emergency?’ A nasal voice travels down the line.

‘I’ve just found the body of my dead husband.’ I wonder if I am speaking English.

‘Your husband has had an accident?’ The voice remains steady.

‘He’s dead.’ I feel my mind fracture. ‘He’s dead.’

When the ambulance and police arrive, I am sitting on the stairs staring into space.

‘Are you the lady that called 999?’ A pudgy, faced officer asks. He smells like fast food.

‘He’s up there.’ I gesture upstairs and look to the concerned ambulance attendant. ‘You’re too late.’

The huge man in the racing green uniform clings onto a large medical bag. He pushes awkwardly past me, taking large running strides up the stairs.

‘Come on,’ the policeman puts his hand on my shoulder,

‘Let’s go in there.’

He leads me, like a dog, into the sitting room and guides me to the sofa. I notice a large clump of sticky red jam on my shoes. The policeman is speaking into his walkie-talkie, but I cannot process what he is saying.

A moment later, the large ambulance driver appears again. He looks at the police officer and shakes his head quickly, his eyes on the floor, before ducking out.

I sit staring at my hands. They do not tremble. Calmly, I remove my mobile from my pocket and start to search my contacts. Sophie. Call Sophie. It is all I can think.

‘Sorry, Ma’am,’ the fat faced officer wraps his hand around my phone, ‘I’m afraid that will have to wait. Unfortunately, we need to ask you some questions.’

I look up into his chubby face. His shirt is buttoned up to the top, his large neck threatening to burst through at any moment.

He sits down beside me and removes a pad from his pocket.

‘Can you tell me your relationship to the deceased, please?’ A bead of sweat collects on his brow before rolling down his temple. He doesn’t appear to notice that he is sweating.

‘I’m his wife.’ I stop realising that that isn’t the whole truth. ‘I mean he’s my father.’ The policeman snaps his notebook closed and eyes me.

‘Sorry, Madam. I think you are a bit confused. Are you his wife or his daughter?’

‘I’m both.’ I look blankly into his grey blue eyes.

‘I didn’t know,’ I continue unable to stop the flow of words, ‘I didn’t know when I married him. I was adopted. He didn’t know he had a child. We fell in love. I didn’t know. Then my parents died. Someone killed them. And I didn’t know and then Ailene came into my life. She didn’t know, until she met him. She was horrified. She told us what we were to each other. I didn’t know.’

I am losing control of the speed of my speech and can hear each syllable growing louder. The policeman tilts his round head to one side and examines me.

‘OK. You are in shock. That’s obvious. I’m going to start again. I want you to take a deep breath and answer my next question, as clearly as you can, OK?’ His cockney accent is thick and soothing. ‘Can you please tell me the name of the deceased?’

‘Charlie Brewers.’ The words leave my mouth slowly.

‘OK,’ the Bobby opens up his pad again and jots that down, ‘that’s good. Now can you tell me the age of the deceased?’

‘He was fifty-five in May.’ Now, my hands are beginning to shake and I can feel the blood draining from my face. The policeman stops for a minute, noticing the change in my expression.

‘OK. Can you tell me when you discovered the body?’

‘Just before I called 999.’ This line of questioning seems so pointless. ‘I didn’t see his face. I couldn’t look. But I know it’s him. I know it’s Charlie. I recognise his shoes.’ My voice trembles.

‘Right. I’m going to get you a glass of water. I want you to wait here. Don’t move all right? I’ll be back in a tick.’

I don’t respond but remain seated. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.

He picks himself up, his large frame resisting and walks out into the hallway. That’s not the way to the kitchen I think but remain silent. From the hallway, I can hear whispered voices. The ambulance man pops his head around the corner to take a quick look at me before disappearing again and the whispers continue.

The policeman comes back into the room accompanied by the ambulance driver.

‘He’s going to fetch you some water, OK?’ He smiles, gesturing in the direction of his companion who follows his instruction and heads off towards the kitchen. I hear another car pull up outside. Two more officers walk into the house and take themselves upstairs.

Moments later, I am handed a tall glass of water. I drink it all in one go.

The policeman says,

‘I’m terribly sorry but I’m afraid we need to ask you to view the body.’ He scratches his chubby, sweaty neck with his pen. ‘Since you told me you did not actually see his face, we do need a formal identification. I know this is going to be difficult for you. You can take your time. He’s been laid out on the bed. Just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll come up with you.’

The room starts to spin. Faster and faster. His face looms closer as darkness begins to absorb the light.

‘Madam?’ I can feel his hand on my shoulder again but am unable to respond.

‘In here!’ he calls out. Two uniformed officers appear along with the ambulance man who was first on the scene. ‘I think she’s going to faint.’ The officer sounds weary.

The large ambulance driver gets down on one knee and shines a torch in my eyes. I don’t blink.

‘Miss?’ he speaks softly, ‘Miss?’