by Dawn Goodwin
Also by Dawn Goodwin
The Accident
The Pupil
Best Friends Forever
THE PACT
Dawn Goodwin
AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS
www.ariafiction.com
Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Dawn Goodwin, 2020
The moral right of Dawn Goodwin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 9781788549356
Cover design: Leah Jacobs Gordon
Aria
c/o Head of Zeus
First Floor East
5–8 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.ariafiction.com
Contents
Welcome Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Then
Chapter 4
Then
Chapter 5
Then
Chapter 6
Then
Chapter 6
Then
Chapter 7
Then
Chapter 8
Then
Chapter 9
Then
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Three Days Ago
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Seven Months Later
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Become an Aria Addict
For my parents, who bought me my first typewriter.
Little did they know…
or maybe they did….
1
The box was heavy in her arms as Maddie Lowe slid the key into the front door and pushed it open. The door swung back hard against the wall, leaving a dirty mark on the crisp white paint that she would only notice later. A bruise on the wall marking the day she moved in. She could hear Greg huffing and puffing behind her as he struggled into the main entrance hall of the small block of flats with more boxes.
Maddie hesitated in front of the open door, despite the weighty box in her arms.
‘Are you waiting for me to carry you over the threshold or something?’ Greg said behind her with a chuckle.
She flinched at the inappropriate joke.
Maddie stepped into the flat and dropped the box at her feet, her back aching as she straightened up.
‘Thank God it’s not on the next floor up. Looks like the lift is broken.’ Sweat had broken out on Greg’s forehead. ‘Where do you want this?’
‘Um…’ Maddie looked around the empty open-plan living space. It looked deceptively spacious with very little furniture in it. Everything clean and sparse, a blank canvas on which to start anew.
‘Anywhere, I guess,’ she replied around the stone lodged in her throat.
Greg headed towards the kitchen area and thumped the box down in the corner. ‘Look, Maddie, I…’ He rubbed at his hair and she wanted to reach out and still his hand, tell him not to do that, that it was thinning there and he would only make it worse.
Instead, she said nothing. His thinning hair was Gemma’s problem now.
An awkwardness filled the space between them, hanging off the end of his unfinished sentence as he pained over what to say next. In the end, she bailed him out again, saying, ‘It’ll be lovely with some plants and bright curtains. Some furniture is being delivered on Monday. A few nice cushions…’ She looked around at her new home. The first place she would have lived in entirely on her own.
‘I hate bloody cushions, but you can have as many as you like now.’ This time he didn’t laugh at his own joke.
‘Right. Well, the next time you come, it will be much more homely, I’m sure.’
He chewed at the inside of his lip. ‘That little garden out there is nice,’ he said, nodding towards the sliding doors on the far side of the room. ‘Could be a bit of a sun trap. You could grow herbs or vegetables maybe.’
Maddie remained rooted to the spot.
‘Right, well, let me get the rest of these boxes in.’ He scurried out and she sighed, looking at the postage stamp of grass outside, so different to the large, landscaped garden she had left behind.
She followed Greg back into the corridor.
A few more trips to the van Greg had hired and Maddie’s meagre belongings and bags of clothes were stashed in the flat, taking up a depressingly small amount of space.
Greg looked around, hands on hips and his legs firmly planted. ‘There we go, all done. Do you need a hand moving these boxes around?’ His eyes darted to the door.
‘No, thanks. I’ve got it from here.’
‘Right, well, I’d better— oh, I nearly forgot!’ He disappeared out to the van again and returned with a glittery gold gift bag, which he held out to Maddie awkwardly. ‘Um, Gemma sent you a housewarming gift, something for your first night in your new home.’ His eyes didn’t quite meet hers as he handed it over.
‘That’s… very kind of her, thank you. I’ll, er, open it later, I think.’ His phone chirped a text alert in his pocket and he looked at it briefly before putting it away again.
‘You should get going. Gemma will be wondering where you’ve got to.’
‘Yes, right, that’s her now. Well, enjoy your evening and call me if you need anything. Anything at all.’ He leant forward as if to kiss her, then hesitated awkwardly, before retreating backwards towards the door while waving at Maddie with both hands, like a politician on a meet and greet.
She watched him go, suddenly not wanting him to leave her there alone. Despite everything, she’d rather he stayed.
She closed the door and turned to survey the room. The air smelled like fresh paint and new carpets. Greg had dragged some mud in on his shoes and it sat on the new beige carpet, taunting her in its filth. He had never been any good at wiping his feet.
The silence was imperfect, peppered with the noise of cars from outside and the hum of the fridge in the small kitchen. But her pulse beating in her ears drowned much of it out. She swallowed around the stone still wedged in her throat, hoping to dislodge it before it brought the inevitable flood of tears. She didn’t want to cry today.
Maddie looked down at the gift bag dangling from her hand. She realised she was holding it away from herself, like it was malodorous, tainted in some way. She sank to her knees on the soft carpet and slowly opened the bag. Buried in layers of absurdly pink tissue paper was a small bottle of champagne, a box of expensive-looking chocolates, a rose-scented candle and a white hand towel monogrammed in gold with the initial ‘M’. She gripped the towel to her face and breathed deeply, then shoved it back into the gift bag.
For a moment, her chest felt tight, like a held breath just before you break the surface of the water, lungs aching as your brain shouts at you to inhale. She pushed to her feet and stashed the champagne and chocolates into the almost empty fridge next to the bottle of milk she
had bought on their way here. The rest of the groceries – cereal, bread, biscuits, grapefruit – stood on the countertop, still in bags.
Maddie felt rooted to the spot, unsure what to do or where to start.
A cup of tea would help. A cup of tea could fix anything.
*
Tea and a chocolate digestive later and Maddie felt moderately more stable, albeit still with a tight band around her chest. The boxes were littered around the room haphazardly and she knew that if she stared at them for any longer, she would give up before she had even started, so she forced herself to her feet and opened the nearest box, marked ‘Kitchen’ in scrawled green Sharpie. New plates and cutlery, still with the labels stuck to them; cheap and cheerful mugs from the supermarket; her baking trays and cake tins, because apparently Gemma wasn’t much of a baker, so wouldn’t need them. Maddie had left her slow cooker behind after Greg suggested Gemma would use it to cook family meals. Maddie used to love cooking for him. But it was hard to make a dinner for one in it, so it made sense that Gemma should keep it.
Once the kitchen was arranged, Maddie moved into the bedroom, hanging the new curtains, putting the fresh sheets on the bed that was delivered yesterday. The sheets were bright and floral, completely at odds with the masculine, navy blue patterns that Greg had always favoured in their old bedroom.
Once done, she stepped back and looked around her again. God, it was all so pathetic. From her bedroom window, she could see the parking spaces for the flats, her white Fiat 500 sitting in its designated space next to a motorbike, and beyond that the busy road, cars flying past, people going about their weekend chores, runners sweating into the pavement and dogs pissing on lampposts. All so normal and yet so alien, like she was seeing it all for the first time. This being on her own would take some getting used to. For now, she closed the curtains, blocking everything out.
*
Hours later, Maddie had showered the move off her skin, donned clean pyjamas and was propped up in her new bed with the box of chocolates and bottle of champagne. She had no champagne glasses, so would make do with a mug.
She started making a list in her head of everything she still needed to get. Lists always made her feel better, more in control. Kitchen scissors; doormat; bedside lamp; champagne glasses… Then she laughed out loud, the noise obscene and intrusive. How many parties was she planning to throw that she thought she needed champagne glasses any time soon?
The cork shot from the bottle without much persuasion. Maddie stared into the bubbles, then set the mug down on her new bedside table without tasting it.
She used to like a drink now and again, but she’d stopped when advised to and hadn’t had much since. Surprising, considering everything she had been through. You would’ve thought she’d have been driven back to it.
She had no television yet or broadband, so she stared at the blank wall in front of her.
Wall art. Another thing for the list.
It was too quiet. The air sat heavy around her, expectant, like it was waiting for her to do something. Then a siren wailed in the distance, building in crescendo before fading. She sipped unenthusiastically at the champagne and took a bite from one of the chocolates. Turkish Delight. It tasted like soap in her mouth. She spat the half-eaten chocolate back into the box, washed the taste down with the champagne and picked the next chocolate along.
Before long, she had taken just one bite from every chocolate in the box.
Maddie snatched up the box and threw it hard across the room where it hit the bare white wall with a slap.
She stared at the spilled chocolates, willing herself to leave them, let them squish into the carpet. She didn’t care. But in the end, she got up, cleaned up the mess and climbed back into bed.
Her phone chirruped next to her, making her jump. A text from Greg.
Hope you settled in ok. Enjoy your first evening in your new home. Let me know if you need anything. Greg x
If his girlfriend thought it strange that he was still so much a part of Maddie’s life, she had never let on to Maddie in so many words, but Maddie could imagine the conversations that went on behind closed doors. It wasn’t that Gemma resented Maddie or felt threatened as such. After all, what was there to feel threatened by exactly? No, it was pity Maddie saw in Gemma’s face when she looked at her. And annoyance – like she was the stubborn five pounds in weight you couldn’t shake after the summer holidays. There for now, but you were hopeful it would eventually disappear without too much of a struggle.
Maddie couldn’t blame Gemma really. She’d be annoyed too. For her part, Maddie was well aware that a lot of the attention from Greg was firmly rooted in guilt.
Maddie sighed into the quiet, drained what little was left in the mug, then reached over and turned out the light, even though it was only eight-thirty.
She tossed and turned but must’ve eventually fallen asleep because she woke with a start and sat bolt upright in bed. She started to say to Greg in the dark, ‘Did you hear that?’, then remembered she was alone, the other side of the bed still neat and cold.
A door slammed. Voices were raised. A woman, shrill and piercing, shouting at a man, who replied in low rumbles like thunder.
Maddie’s heart hammered in her chest. Did she lock the front door? Put the chain on?
The woman was swearing loud, crass words. Maddie crept out of bed and along the hallway towards the front door. The light from the entrance hall outside shone through the gap below her front door and she could see shadows cutting into the light as someone danced around. She approached timidly, could feel the draft of cold air blowing under the door onto her bare toes as she peered through the peephole. She could make out bodies, hands waving, a man’s broad shoulders. She reached over to check the chain was on, then put her eye back to the peephole.
A woman was standing with her back to Maddie’s door, her peroxide-blonde ponytail swinging as she accused the man mountain of being a ‘lying, dickless lowlife’. His response was muffled before he stormed from the building, the walls reverberating as the door to the outside slammed behind him. The woman stood still, her back stiff.
The woman then moved over to the door opposite Maddie’s, almost out of sight of the peephole, and began to hammer on it with closed fists. ‘Did you hear all that, Peggy? You nosy bitch! Did you get every word?’ She kicked at the door with heavy black boots, leaving dark scuff marks on the paintwork. ‘You can go back to bed now, Peggy!’ Her voice was noxious.
Maddie felt like she had stopped breathing as she watched. The kicking stopped and the woman looked like she was going to leave. Then, quick as a flash, she spun around and launched at Maddie’s door. A glassy blue eye filled the peephole as she peered in from the outside.
Maddie gasped and ducked, keeping perfectly still and silent. After a moment, she felt foolish. Surely no one could see in from the other side. Maddie took a breath and peeked again, but the corridor was now empty.
She double-checked the lock and chain, then padded quietly into the kitchen, her hand trembling as she filled a mug with water and gulped it down.
She headed back to bed, then retraced her steps and turned the hallway light on. She crept back into her still warm bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, feeling small and childish as she sank down into the warmth and watched the shadows in the bedroom dancing in the light from the hallway.
Her heart was still hammering and she didn’t expect to fall back asleep. A check of her phone showed that it was 3.30 a.m. She lay on her back so that she could see the whole room in front of her, her eyes flitting around with every creak and groan of the unfamiliar building.
Was this what it was going to be like every night?
Surprisingly, before long, her eyes felt heavy again and began to droop.
Then music started upstairs, thumping and insistent through the ceiling, the bass thick and weighted, and Maddie was fully awake once more.
2
Despite the lack of sleep, Maddie’s body clock
had her up and in the shower by 7 a.m. She turned on the radio in the kitchen, made tea and sat on a box containing unpacked recipe books to eat half a grapefruit with a sprinkling of sweetener. The politely interested voice of the newsreader on the radio was telling her that a woman who had fallen in front of a train at Clapham Junction last week had been identified as Vicky Dean and that the police were still unsure whether it was an accident or something more sinister. Maddie sipped at her tea, thinking about how desperately unhappy you must have to feel in order to reach the point of standing on the edge of a platform, the fog of trains and dullness of commuters around you, contemplating ending it all by throwing yourself in front of a train.
The idea made her feel inexplicably sad.
She got up and turned the radio off before she could acknowledge that she might know what that sort of despair actually felt like. Then she grabbed a couple of chocolate biscuits to make herself feel better.
So, Maddie, how are you going to entertain yourself today? What will you do with all this newfound independence? The voice in her head sounded like Davina McCall for some reason.
She had to tackle the list of things she still needed for the flat, so by 9 a.m. she was throwing on her coat and heading out the door.
The shared entrance foyer for the four flats in the building was quiet. A door numbered 1 faced directly opposite hers and the black scuff marks on the bottom of the grey paint were evidence that last night’s disruption had been real and not a weird dream. I should introduce myself to my neighbours sometime, Maddie thought, while wondering who Peggy was and what she had done to annoy the peroxide woman.
She peered up the stairs to the first floor, but it all looked the same as the ground floor. Clearly, whoever had been arguing and playing music into the early hours lived upstairs, probably directly above Maddie in Flat 4. There was a small lift tucked away in the corner, which was indeed out of order according to the handwritten note taped to it.
