Our Little Secret: The most gripping debut psychological thriller you’ll read this year

by Darren O’Sullivan

  But he didn’t.

  Chapter 15

  11.24 a.m. – Queensgate Shopping Centre, Peterborough

  As Nat drove on the long, sweeping dual carriageway that lined Peterborough, I suggested we get a coffee before trying to find out where his house was on London Road. Google maps told us it was only a fifteen-minute walk away from the city centre so we thought we could park at the multi-storey and walk.

  Natalie said we should just drive to his house, drop the stone, and leave but I said I wasn’t ready; I needed some time. It was happening too fast. I needed to calm down and prepare myself. I dug my nails into my sweaty palms to try and keep my nerves under control. I didn’t want Natalie seeing how terrified I was feeling. She was still pissed off at me for asking her to perform her clandestine visit to work but begrudgingly agreed, so we parked and walked through the shopping centre to the first coffee shop we could find. Needless to say I paid for the drinks.

  Since leaving Cambridge I’d had the growing feeling that I was going to throw up. A latte would hopefully calm my nerves a little, nothing like a cigarette would, but I decided not to smoke. I didn’t want him to smell it on me if I saw him. I knew it was stupid. It wasn’t like there was actually any guarantee we would find him and even if we did there was no guarantee he would speak to me. But still I wanted to make a better impression than I had that night.

  After queuing for an impossibly long time in Costa I ordered our drinks and we found a small table to sit at. We sat in silence, watching people toing and froing, carrying shopping bags. I knew that my sister was wishing she could do something to make me feel happy. My sister always meant well, even if sometimes she was a little pushy. I could see Natalie was about to say something but before she could I saw someone over her shoulder, walking towards us, and I felt the colour wash from my face as shock set in.

  It was like I had seen a ghost. For a second I thought it couldn’t be real. But then he walked straight past where we were sitting, without seeing me. Without seeing anyone. His eyes only focusing on the patch of ground a pace away from his shoes. He looked tired, more so than he did two weeks before. He looked thinner. He looked older somehow, but still very much alive.

  The fact that Chris walked past without seeing me upset me more than I thought it would/should. He was the man who had been on my mind every day since that night. I’d hoped for something similar, that he wouldn’t be able to forget me. Rationally, though, I knew that would never be the case.

  He passed so close I could have reached out and touched him, drawing his attention. But I couldn’t. I was paralysed by my own fear of what would happen as a result. I wondered, would he be pleased to see me or would he hate me for stopping him that night? Or would he look blankly at me with no idea who I was? Without daring to look behind I knew he was gone, among the crowds of people.

  ‘Sarah, who did you see?’

  I couldn’t respond. A tear began to form in my eye.

  ‘Sarah, was it him? Did you just see him?’

  All I could do was nod yes, my ability to form words imprisoned beneath my diaphragm, trapped alongside my despair and shock.

  ‘Did he see you?’ she asked, looking beyond me to see if she could make him out among the crowd of bobbing heads. I shook my head, allowing the tear to escape, quickly brushing it away. Looking at my sister I could see her weighing up the options.

  ‘Well come on,’ she said reluctantly, finishing her now-cold coffee and grabbing her bags. ‘Let’s go talk to him.’

  I was shocked by Natalie’s readiness to confront him after being so reserved about us being in Peterborough, but I suppose she wanted to get the whole thing over with, so we could return home and be done with it. She looked at me, waiting to get up. But I couldn’t. I was too frightened to move.

  ‘I can’t talk to him.’

  ‘Fine, let’s follow him then.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sarah, you think I don’t know that you’ll regret it if you don’t? We cannot have another few months of you thinking only about him. Finish your coffee. We’re doing this.’

  Natalie began to leave. I just looked at her, astonished.

  ‘Sarah, come on, we don’t want to lose him.’

  As he moved cautiously through the city we followed far enough behind to not be seen but close enough to not lose him. It was difficult work. Every now and then he would stop and look back where he had walked, almost like he knew he was being followed. As we left the shopping centre and stepped onto the main square, the Guildhall looking impressive in the sunlight, fountains built into the footpath shooting water high into the air with children jumping in them, he looked around him constantly, searching for someone.

  He walked into people without apologizing. Keeping his head low he moved faster so Nat and I had to jog to keep up. It wasn’t until the city centre was behind him that he slowed down. When he did he looked behind him, straight at Nat and I, but he didn’t see us. Whoever it was he was looking for wasn’t me. He looked fearful, like someone was after him. Once he’d turned away from us, we both looked behind to see if we could see anyone who might be after him. There were lots of people, none of whom looked suspicious.

  The busy city centre streets were replaced with the quieter, cleaner ones and he didn’t stop walking until he got to the river where he watched it moving gently as it relaxed in the summer sun. We had to hide when he did, next to the city’s old police station. Obscured partly behind a wall, I watched him look out over the water.

  I wished I could know what he was thinking. I tried to see him properly from where I stood but could only see his left side, his dirty white shirt and contrasting clean bandage on his hand. It was a fresh dressing. He had hurt himself recently. I pictured him cutting his wrists to bleed to death, or hurting himself as penance for his failure, the failure I had caused. But of course it couldn’t be that; I couldn’t let myself think that. If he had he wouldn’t be stood so close, looking so alive.

  Thinking it made me want to run out and shout his name. But I stopped myself and continued to watch. I could only see the side of his face. His jaw muscles flexed and I wondered if he was enjoying the serenity. Or was he thinking that the water might just be deep enough for him to be dragged to the bottom and drown? But then, something caught his eye. Something that physically lifted him.

  I looked down to the river to see a family on the bank. A mother, father, and a boy of about two throwing bread to a gaggle of geese. The boy giggling as one pecked some from his hands. Looking back at Chris I could see him smiling. Just for a split second before he took a deep breath and rebuilt his walls. Becoming hard and iron-like. It was the same thing he did on the platform after I got through to him. There was a good man fighting to be freed under that hardness; I just knew it.

  I was about to ask if Nat had seen what I had but he was on the move again. His thoughts collected, composed. Ensuring that we kept our distance we continued to follow. After another few minutes of gentle walking he abruptly stopped and we hastily had to hide behind a tree.

  He was stood next to a postbox. At first I thought he was posting a letter. Foolishly I thought for a moment that it might be a letter for me, but I knew that was impossible. He knew nothing about me. Instead he fought to take his keys out of his left pocket, the bandage on his hand making it difficult to do so, before he stepped off of the main footpath and towards a front door.

  He didn’t look for anyone inside. He didn’t call out a hello. Just looked down the street, towards us and the other way, before shutting the door.

  A new fear pulled at me, smothering my thoughts and making it impossible to process what I could do about the new information I had just learnt. I turned to Natalie. She looked back in a way that made me feel safe and understood.

  ‘Do you want to go knock?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you worried he won’t remember you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘
I don’t know. You’re good at this sort of stuff. What would you do?’

  ‘If it was me, I’d go and knock.’

  ‘But what if he really doesn’t remember me?’

  ‘Then he doesn’t, and you pretend you have the wrong door, say sorry, and leave. When he shuts the door, post the stone. Then you get on with your life and he stays out of it.’

  ‘I can’t just forget I’ve seen him again.’

  ‘Listen, Sarah, I watched you with John and I saw you change and lose all of your confidence. I watched everything about you wither. I watched the adventurous sister I grew up with disappear, and it was all because you didn’t speak when you should have. You stayed quiet and hoped things would be better or different all by themselves, and you wasted years of your life doing it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to seem like an interfering little sister; besides, would you have listened to me?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘So I’m saying now, you should knock. If he remembers you then you have a conversation. If he doesn’t then you leave him behind.’

  It was only for a second but a real sadness overcame me at the thought of actually leaving him behind. Natalie saw it.

  ‘Sarah, what exactly are your feelings towards him? It is just about you wanting to help, isn’t it?’

  I couldn’t respond. I just looked down at my feet, hoping my inability to speak didn’t tell her too much. I didn’t know what I was thinking. Yes, I wanted to help. I was desperate to help. But the way he saw me that night on the platform, the way he offered to buy me a coffee, didn’t want me to see what was about to happen to him – I couldn’t ignore that.

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’

  ‘No, it’s okay.’

  Taking a deep breath I walked the few steps, leaving Natalie behind. From the tree to the postbox and then to his front door.

  ***

  In his kitchen Chris took off his bandage and looked at the stitches: five in all. They pulled his skin together, allowing it to begin to heal. He pulled at one of them, curious as to whether it would hurt. It didn’t. He pulled a little harder until fresh droplets of blood formed and dripped onto the floor. He stopped himself from doing any more damage. He couldn’t afford another trip to the hospital.

  Using a cloth he cleaned up. Dropping it in the sink he looked into the back garden. While the inside of his home looked dead and sterile his garden looked the opposite. It was wild, dangerous, and unkempt. The grass was knee-high and weeds had attacked what once was a beautiful buddleia.

  He couldn’t help think that his home was the reverse of what he now was. His house, chaotic outside, calm within. And he, the opposite.

  It saddened him to see the garden as it was. It had been hers. The bushes were regularly pruned, the weeds dealt with. The flowers cut and brought into the house to add fragrance and life. All he did was mow the lawn. The rest of their garden Julia did with as she pleased. Seeing it unloved highlighted how unfair life was. He remembered her in it on an early October day. Warm enough to be outside with just a jumper on.

  ***

  She was on her hands and knees tirelessly working, a content expression on her face, deep in concentration as she planted daffodil bulbs for the following spring. It allowed him to walk right up behind her without being noticed and tickle her, making her jump. She swore at him and mock hit him for scaring her and he said sorry, then asked if he could give her a kiss to make it better.

  She refused at first but then as he pretended to be upset she kissed him before telling him to go away. She turned to carry on planting and he placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging them. She sighed in pleasure. Leaning down to kiss her ear he whispered that he would give her a proper massage later. She told him she would love that.

  ***

  Sitting down, his back resting against the cupboard, Chris took three deep breaths. His memory felt so real he could smell the cut grass from that autumn three years ago. He could taste her kiss. He could feel her warmth. Closing his eyes Chris forced the memory out. He was too tired to see it.

  He couldn’t help think that both parts of his home reflected who he was now: part silent, lifeless, and ashen; and part angry, chaotic, and unrecognizable. Neither part being alive; neither part having a future.

  His thoughts shifted to the tool box in the shed. He wanted to check the items inside it, read some of her diary. He needed to hear her and talk back to her. He needed to tell her he missed her and hated that she was alone. But he had no choice. Looking out towards the shed, knowing he needed to wait for the blanket of darkness, he noticed the long grass was downtrodden where he made his frequent walks to it. He knew he needed to cut it, make it seem normal. He was just about to put it on his list of things to do when he heard three taps on his front door.

  At first he thought it was his imagination playing tricks on him, as it often did. But he heard it again and his body tensed, alert, not knowing what to do. There were three more taps. Whoever it was they were persistent. He wondered if Steve had come to see him. Maybe Ben from work? Or perhaps someone from Julia’s life? Although he didn’t know who. She had become solitary in recent years.

  He could see someone stood there. Whoever it was cupped their hands and pressed them against the glass. He hid behind his doorframe. After a few moments it went quiet. Knowing he was being paranoid as it was probably just some door-to-door salesperson he stood. As he did he noticed his hands were shaking.

  He opened his fridge and stuck his hand into the small top freezer section to pull out its one inhabitant: a bottle of cheap vodka, half of which was gone from the night before. With hands still shaking he swigged half of the contents to steady himself. As the liquid burnt his throat and stomach he heard a woman’s voice coming through his letter box, freezing him to the spot where he stood, a sickness rising in his stomach as he placed the voice. There was no mistake. He knew that voice and he wondered how she had found him. It wasn’t the man who had killed his wife at his door but the woman who had saved his.

  ‘Chris? Are you there?’

  Not daring to breathe Chris stared towards his front door and letter box, hoping it was all a trick his mind was playing on him.

  ‘It’s Sarah. I was there that night. You know, at the station?’

  He didn’t know what to do, so he continued to listen, feeling adrenaline course through his veins.

  ‘I know you were going to … I didn’t say it, but I knew.’

  Fear gripped him, so much so he couldn’t blink. He couldn’t move, and despite every muscle in his body burning to run and hide he didn’t flinch. Like something unseen was holding him in place. A fear similar to an animal in headlights. He didn’t want to hear her voice ever again, but he couldn’t focus on anything else.

  ‘And, I want to thank you for not going through with it. I’m not sure I would have ever been okay. Chris? Are you there? I know I shouldn’t be here, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’

  If he stayed quiet she would think he wasn’t there and she’d leave, but perhaps she would come back and try to talk to him again, and that would no doubt put her life at risk. Weighing up the options he took a deep breath.

  ‘Fuck off!’ he said in a stern unwavering tone, a tone that suggested the prospect of conversation was terminated.

  ***

  Kneeling outside with my face pressed to his letter box, I was taken aback at the sound of his voice. I’d hoped he was there and yet knowing he was made me feel sick. I had a hundred things I’d planned to say to him, nice things, supportive things that I hoped would make a difference to him and help him find peace. Yet, standing there and hearing him dismiss me caused the anger I had been holding on to for all this time, anger I didn’t even realize I had been supressing until it was there, to rise to the surface. It temporarily robbed me of my words.

  He offered up a sorry, afterwards, said in a softer tone. But that was it. I could tell
he wasn’t by the door any more, that he had left the conversation, if you could even call it that.

  Those two words felt more like a break-up than when I left John. I’d been waiting for this moment for weeks, and this was all I got? I looked back to see Natalie, but she was just out of sight, giving me the space I needed. As I walked away I wondered what I’d been expecting to happen. In the back of my mind I’d hoped he would be glad to see me, but that was me being stupid.

  In fact, him saying fuck off was what I should have expected. Fuck off. Those two words hurt me more than I thought they could. Joining up with Natalie we both walked towards the city, neither of us saying a word for a while. When I was sure I wasn’t going to cry I told Nat I needed some time on my own and that she should go home without me. I could see she wanted to protest, but thought better of it. I told her I would be okay and that I was going to walk for a while and then get a train home later.

  ***

  With his ear pressed to the door he heard her quiet footsteps walking away. He was still in shock that she was there in the first place. Questioning how she had managed to find him. With a sickening feeling Chris wondered how much she knew. It was clear she had found his note … and therefore knew his name.

  Somehow she had managed to find his address. But what else? Did she know about Julia? He racked his brain to try and remember every word he had written on his note, the one he’d left with the stone. Was there any mention of her name? He was confident there wasn’t, but still, he needed to be sure. He was so close to being at his end the last thing he wanted was to be found out.

  Chris couldn’t have anyone else stopping him from joining Julia. But, knowing nothing about the girl at his door, he knew he wouldn’t be able to find her and assess what she did and didn’t know. All he could do was hope she didn’t know enough to have the police come knocking, not now, not so close. He walked back into the kitchen and looked at his wall calendar.