The Woman Next Door: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a stunning twist

by Sue Watson

  ‘Oh it’s fine, I was only joking,’ she says. But we both know she wasn’t.

  ‘Anyway, she got the text while we were in JoJo’s,’ I say, to take her mind off her petty resentment and focus on the story. ‘So I called the police straight away, and then I called them again this morning when she got the… gift.’ I shiver at the memory of the poor little bird, all stiff and cold and bloody.

  ‘Shouldn’t have bothered with the police,’ she says. ‘They’re too busy dealing with real crimes.’

  ‘Well, they’re going to be at Amber’s Wednesday afternoon,’ I say, refusing to take on her comment. ‘I wish it was sooner, but they insisted they couldn’t come until Wednesday.’

  ‘Told you. They don’t do anything. She’ll be lucky if they turn up.’

  ‘I’ll make sure they do. I’m leaving class early and I’ll be with Amber to give them all the details and show them the bird too – they might be able to fingerprint the gift wrapping. I’ve kept that.’

  ‘You’ll be lucky – they won’t bother with fingerprints or DNA or whatever. It’s not like she’s been murdered.’

  I can’t believe Kirsty’s callousness. ‘No, but who knows what might happen? It might be just a text and a dead bird on the doorstep now… but it can lead to… really horrible stuff.’ I can’t bring myself to say it.

  ‘Lucy, you need to calm down. If it isn’t her ex it’s probably just some local oddball,’ she says. Then she suddenly realises what I said. ‘You can’t just leave your class on Wednesday. You won’t get permission, will you? I mean, it’s not like she’s family or anything. Surely she can speak to the police on her own?’

  ‘No, I need to be there, to be objective and give a rational account, and they won’t refuse me time off for something as important as this,’ I insist, a bit peeved that Kirsty isn’t embracing the drama as much as she was before. I suppose it’s all a bit too real for some people to handle. Kirsty loves hearing all about it like some people love watching detective dramas, but when the real police are called it becomes a little bit uncomfortable. Then again, it’s about Amber, and though she loves the stories I tell her, Kirsty always tries to put Amber or the situation down, and that’s not going to change anytime soon. It makes me think Kirsty doesn’t really care about Amber and the fact she’s in potential danger; she just wants all the juicy gossip. So it’s a good job Amber’s got me, because I’m a true friend and I’ll be there for her, however bad things get.

  Later that day, I call Amber from the school landline. I’m lost without my phone, especially at a time like this, and I’m relieved when she answers.

  ‘Oh, Lucy, I’m so glad you called. I just feel so scared,’ she says, when I ask if she’s okay.

  ‘There’s no need. Matt and I want you to stay as long as you want,’ I say, knowing I’m not really speaking for Matt. I haven’t been able to let him know Amber didn’t go home as planned this morning because of the ‘gift’. As I don’t have my phone, I can’t text him either. I could call his school on my school’s landline, but I’d have to ask someone to fetch him and I’m not sure of his timetable, and I don’t want him to be dragged out of a class – it’s too complicated to explain in a snatched conversation. Plus, it’s difficult for me to talk, especially if Kirsty’s earwigging. Anyway, Matt’s so busy with the Bugsy Malone production at the moment, he probably won’t even notice if she’s there or not tonight. Besides, even if he doesn’t like Amber, he wouldn’t begrudge a scared friend of mine staying over for her own safety.

  ‘I’ll be home soon. Shall we have one of our girls’ nights in?’ I suggest to Amber, in an attempt to cheer her up, but she just grunts on the other end of the phone. I know it sounds a bit trite, but I don’t know how else to make her happy, apart from turning up later with a big bloody cake and Ben leaping out of it.

  I put down the phone, having promised a great evening ahead, to which she mumbled something about being tired. I guess she thinks she doesn’t want to watch a romcom marathon accompanied by baked goodies and face masks and anything else I can think of. But I honestly can’t imagine a better way to spend an evening – I mean, a girls’ night in with beauty treatments, Jennifer Aniston and a dozen cupcakes? It doesn’t get better than that.

  When I arrive home I tell her to close her eyes and as she does this, I ‘unveil’ our outfits for the evening. They were selling off some unicorn onesies in the party shop down the road, and I couldn’t resist. They are cute and pretty, but quite ridiculous and her face when I take them out of the bag is a picture.

  ‘I know, I know, they are CRAZY.’ I laugh. ‘But they were dirt cheap, only slight seconds, and it would have been rude not to – anyway, we could do with a laugh,’ I giggle. One is bright pink, and the other is a lovely shade of lavender, and as she screams in mock horror she grabs the lavender one, despite me holding the pink one up against her.

  ‘But this one’s oozing sophistication, don’t you think?’ I say, because I don’t really like the pink one, and I think it’s going to be too tight for me, but I want to make her happy.

  ‘Don’t you dare say a thing,’ she warns, her eyes laughing as she climbs into the lavender unicorn, pulls the hood over her head. I can’t stop giggling as I attempt to squeeze myself into the bright pink unicorn that’s at least a size too small for me, and I wonder at how she can look so good. In a unicorn outfit.

  ‘I’m in the middle of hell,’ she says, taking the Prosecco from the fridge. ‘A crazy person is texting vile threats, sending me dead creatures covered in blood and wrapped in pink paper… and what does my best friend do? She makes me dress like a unicorn.’ She laughs.

  ‘Oh stop complaining, let’s get our face packs on and start the film,’ I say ushering her into the living room.

  ‘Not Jennifer Aniston. Again,’ she says as I press play.

  ‘What? But you loved Just Go with It last time we watched it.’

  ‘Exactly. I’ve already seen it. I know what happens,’ she says. I help her with her face mask, but it keeps falling off because she insists on drinking continuously, which causes the wet paper mask to drop each time she takes a sip, and makes us both break down with laughter. It’s going to be a great night. I bought a ‘fine dining’ pizza from the supermarket, two bottles of Prosecco – Amber’s favourite – and a box of cupcakes from the bakery department – my favourite.

  ‘Well, there’s one thing this costume will be useful for. This can be a test – if he gets in touch and mentions my outfit, I’ll know that he’s been watching me tonight,’ she says, wobbling the unicorn’s horn up and down, her face mask slipping again.

  I’m just taking a sip of Prosecco, and at the sight of her wobbling horn and drooping mask I laugh, causing bubbles to hit the back of my nose and the fizzy wine to come gushing out. This in turn makes Amber laugh and we are hysterical. Amber then throws herself across the sofa and starts posing model-like, her horn now drooping, and I think I’ll never stop laughing. It’s only when Matt walks in that we manage to compose ourselves. He’ll be late all this week as he’s doing extra rehearsals – it’s the school play next week.

  ‘Hi, babe.’ I smile as he wanders in.

  ‘What the hell?’ he says, laughing, incredulous at the sight of two grown women dressed as unicorns in his living room.

  ‘We’re having a girls’ night – trying to cheer Amber up,’ I add, so he knows this is all for a good cause and I haven’t gone mad. But after a day with thirty noisy six-year-olds, who could blame me for turning into a unicorn by home time?

  Matt wanders over. He’s shaking his head and, as I’m still wearing my sticky mask, kisses me on the ear and nods at Amber. He’s smiling, but not exactly being welcoming, and I’ve still got to break it to him that she’s probably staying for at least one more night, but I’ll explain later. I don’t want to mention the dead bird at this juncture; I’m trying to make everything pleasant for her. Unsurprisingly, it’s really freaked her out – she doesn’t need Matt questioni
ng her forensically like she’s the bloody guilty party. Last night Matt forced himself to be nice to Amber, but they aren’t friends and I can’t make him like her. Actually, it feels like both Kirsty and Matt have a real problem with Amber, and I just don’t understand it – why can’t my friends and my husband all like each other? It would certainly make my life easier and I wouldn’t feel I had to constantly defend Amber every time she comes up in conversation.

  Matt disappears into the kitchen and I follow him to ask if he’s seen my phone anywhere, but he hasn’t.

  ‘Perhaps you left it at school?’ he says, turning on the kettle and gathering the ingredients to make himself a cheese sandwich.

  ‘No, that’s why I asked. I couldn’t find it this morning so didn’t take it to school.’

  ‘Okay, it’ll be here somewhere. I’ll help you look tomorrow.’ He picks up the plate with the sandwich on and a mug of tea. ‘I’m so tired, babe. I’m going to take this to bed.’

  ‘I’ll be a bit longer,’ I say, gesturing with my eyes towards the living room where Amber’s sitting. He nods and heads upstairs, saying he’ll see me later in bed.

  I go back into the living room, where Amber and I continue to watch the slow burn as Jennifer Aniston and Adam Sandler’s characters fall madly in love in Hawaii.

  ‘It’s so romantic, isn’t it?’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’ She’s already downed most of the first bottle of Prosecco, so I go to the fridge for the other one, open it and fill her glass. I’m still on my first glass – I don’t like to drink too much on a school night, and besides, I’m more interested in the cupcakes, which are quite delicious. ‘To be honest,’ she continues, as I go back into the sitting room with her glass, ‘I’m not really a romcom girl.’

  I’m disappointed at this – she told me she ‘adored’ romcoms last time we had a girls’ night, and I realise she probably only said that to please me.

  ‘What would you like then? A horror? A thriller?’

  ‘No thanks. I’m having enough of that in my real life.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it? It must be really scary for you.’

  ‘Lucy, it’s so bloody scary.’ Her eyes fill with tears and she pulls off the sticky paper mask she’s wearing, dropping it on the sofa next to her. I think about how the moisture will soak in and leave a greasy mark for ever and ever, but she’s talking and crying and it would seem insensitive to say anything, or try and move it. ‘I haven’t felt scared like this since I was a kid – a teenager.’

  ‘Why were you scared then?’ I ask, moving to sit next to her and discreetly picking up the sticky mask, holding it in my hand.

  ‘Oh, my stepdad, he was vile. He was one of mum’s boyfriends, not even my stepdad, but I hated him. He was with her for a few years. The others mostly only hung around a few nights.’ She sighs.

  I understood. I didn’t exactly have a happy childhood either.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  ‘He met Mum when I was about ten. He hated me, used to hit me, but on my thirteenth birthday… he started… touching me.’ She seems to recoil at the memory.

  ‘Oh God, Amber, that’s terrible.’

  ‘It was horrible. I still have nightmares – his face leering over me, his breath on me… just horrible.’

  ‘Did your mum help? Did she stop him?’

  ‘She didn’t know. She was a mess and I knew if I told her she might not believe me anyway, and if she did he’d leave – and he paid the bills.’

  ‘You’ve never told me any of this before…’

  ‘I worried you’d think I was disgusting.’

  ‘No, no, of course I don’t! You were a child. God knows I blame myself for things that happened when I was younger – I had a difficult childhood too. But we have to remember we were kids.’

  ‘But it made me what I was, it made me…’ She looks up at me, and I get this feeling that for the first time ever I’m seeing the real Amber. ‘Mum got a job. She did shifts and we were left at home with him. Things got worse for me, but I don’t remember much of it. I learned how to fly away, pretend I was somewhere else in my head. I put up with it for a long time, but in the end I just could handle it. I told my mum, and there were horrible fights and eventually he left. But Mum couldn’t cope on her own, so I ended up in care.’

  ‘Did you ever have any therapy?’ I ask.

  ‘You’re kidding? I fought my way through the next few years and when I was sixteen I was spat out of care and had to find a life.’

  We talk some more and I feel like I’m beginning to finally understand her, like she’s lifting a curtain, showing me a little of who she is, and why.

  ‘Thanks for listening, Lucy,’ she says later. ‘I never really had a best friend before, and I know I’m not the easiest, cuddliest person. I guess all those men traipsing through my mother’s life left their footprints on mine. I’ve never really been easy with people, especially strangers, and I don’t invite them in, because I know they can hurt me.’

  ‘I know that too.’

  ‘But you reached out to me. You were persistent… bloody persistent, with your cakes and your texts and your calls asking if I’d like to meet up for coffee. But I needed that. If you hadn’t reached out, I would never have become your friend.’ She smiles, and then she says, ‘You know, I think you’ve found the other side of me.’

  My heart melts a little. I sometimes think she can be a little thoughtless (the wet paper mask carelessly dropped on my sofa is still in my hand), but perhaps it isn’t thoughtlessness. She’s just got a head full of hurt and worry and she doesn’t have space consider the small things. But she does have a heart, and she’s finally opening up to me.

  But then it happens again, that shift. The curtain’s back and I can’t see her any more. ‘This is all too depressing, and it’s supposed to be a fun night – will you paint my nails?’ she asks, and I know there will be no more revelations tonight.

  The next morning I knock on the spare bedroom door with a cup of tea for Amber. I have to get off to work and can’t be late again, but just want to make sure she’s okay before I leave. She calls me into the room and after only two nights it doesn’t feel like mine any more – her clothes are strewn over the back of a chair, her make-up in chaos on the dressing table, brushes and bottles exploding from her toilet bag. The room smells of her, warm musk battling with sharp citrus – a total contradiction, and very Amber. She has made this room her own, and I feel like I’m the guest, in a good way. I’m glad she’s settled in. I gaze over at the bed where she’s still half-asleep, last night’s eye make-up blurred, her hair tousled.

  ‘Thanks, lovely Lucy,’ she murmurs, when I tell her I’ve brought tea. She wafts her hand at the bedside table, and I place it there, knowing by the time she comes round it’ll be cold.

  ‘I’m just off to work,’ I say. ‘Make yourself comfortable. There’s food in the fridge. See you tonight.’

  ‘I won’t see you later – I’m working.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise. You can come back here after work – you don’t want to go back to an empty house late at night.’

  ‘I won’t…’ She emerges slightly from under the covers. ‘I have a sleepover.’ She smiles.

  ‘You mean, with a man?’ I feel a little put out that she hasn’t mentioned this before.

  She nods slowly, her eyes still closed.

  I try to fight the waspy sting of irritation. I know it’s unreasonable of me, but I can’t help it.

  ‘You never said.’

  ‘I know, babe. He only got in touch late last night.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘If you must know, it’s Ben,’ she mumbles from the pillow.

  ‘Oh. Do you think that’s wise?’

  ‘I’ll find out when I’m in his bed.’ She giggles.

  I don’t giggle back. ‘It could be him, you know?’

  ‘Oh my God, Lucy. It isn’t Ben,’ she says, and pulls the covers over her head so she
doesn’t have to engage with me any more.

  ‘I just hope you’re right,’ I say, unable to hide my disapproval. I can’t help thinking she’s playing with fire and that she’d be better off here with me and Matt. Ben will just lead her on until she’s at another dead end and then he’ll break her heart again. Then again, what do I know? I don’t know him at all, but sometimes I don’t think I know Amber either.

  ***

  I made my own fun. I’d talk to myself, make a sandwich from whatever was lying around the kitchen, then, when it got dark or I was scared, I’d take myself to bed. I wasn’t given hot milk and a goodnight story, because Mum worked late, then stopped by the pub for a few on her way home. Sometimes she’d bring ‘a friend’ with her and he’d stay over. I thought that’s what everyone’s mother did.

  Chapter Nine

  Lucy

  The next day at work, I ask my classroom assistant Diane to take over for the last ten minutes so I can leave early.

  ‘This has to be kept secret.’ I speak in a low voice. ‘My friend Amber, you know Amber Young, who does the weather on TV?’ At this she nods. ‘She has this situation… well, it’s a stalker and I have to be there with her to see the police. He keeps texting her and on Monday he even left a dead bird on her doorstep.’

  I stand back and wait for the gasp, but there isn’t one.

  ‘Oh yeah, Kirsty told me about that,’ she says. ‘Of course I’ll stand in. You get off whenever you like.’

  I can’t believe Kirsty opened her mouth, that was supposed to be confidential and I only told Diane myself because I wanted her to do me the favour. I thought I could trust Kirsty but I’m not sure any more – and judging by Diane’s reaction to my revelation, I reckon Kirsty implied to her that I’m exaggerating the whole stalker thing. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but it feels like Kirsty is almost making people take sides, I sense the cold shoulder these days from quite a few of the other staff. These are people who once seemed to like me but I’m convinced Kirsty’s been telling everyone I’ve upset her. But Kirsty’s real problem lies with Amber - only yesterday she accused me of leaving the book club and abandoning my friends just because Amber had decided she didn’t want to go.