The Visitor: A psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist

by K. L. Slater

  The frisson of discomfort she’d been experiencing was to do with the two people around her: David and Holly. She’d been gratified when Holly told her they were going to the cinema together this afternoon.

  ‘Just as friends, obviously,’ she had said flippantly that morning, as if no one in their right mind could possibly want anything more from poor David.

  Cora often worried about him. Despite his age, there was something vulnerable about him that clutched at her heartstrings.

  When she looked at him, she still saw that awkward young lad dashing round to sit with her in the kitchen whilst Harold’s back was turned in the vegetable patch.

  David had always been protective of her. Loyal. Since Harold had died, he’d been so kind, popping round to do odd jobs for her despite his phobia of doing anything outside of his tried-and-tested routine.

  That was why she’d joined Pat in protecting him. That was why she kept Nick Brown on side.

  Cora had often thought that David was the closest thing she had to a son.

  So a new friendship with Holly was a good thing, in Cora’s opinion, and she would encourage it.

  But aside from this, she’d been sensing something out of kilter in the air. Holly had been very quiet of late. She hadn’t sat and chewed the fat with Cora for a while, and every time Cora had attempted to carry on with her life story, Holly always seemed to remember that she had some job to do that couldn’t wait, upstairs in her bedroom.

  Cora suspected that her visitor wasn’t sleeping too well. She’d heard bumps and shuffles from across the landing on a number of nights. But in the morning, when Cora had asked if she’d had a restful night, Holly had simply nodded.

  David also seemed to have what Cora could only describe as a strange energy about him. Pat had once explained that the medication he took kept him stable and calm.

  ‘The doctor said the worst thing he can do is get himself excitable,’ she’d told Cora over tea and a slice of carrot cake in the café after David had been discharged from the hospital. ‘It’s very important he finds himself a suitable routine so he can manage everyday life.’

  Very recently, Cora had noticed that David seemed a little jumpy, as if the acute nervousness might be returning.

  This could well be because that clod Brian Buckley had moved in with them. What on earth was Pat was thinking, allowing that to happen? It was bound to be disruptive to David’s routines.

  There was no accounting for some people’s taste, she thought disapprovingly.

  Brian could be quite cutting with David, and Cora had spotted him coming out of that disreputable betting shop on the high street. It had been packed full of men old enough to know better, she recalled. All of them frittering valuable bill money, no doubt, Brian included.

  It was difficult to explain even to herself, but Cora was also finding it hard to relax in her own bedroom.

  Goodness, she’d lived in this house nigh on forty years so there shouldn’t be an inch of it she didn’t know. Certainly nothing to make the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

  Yet the past couple of nights when she’d gone up to retire for the night and slipped into her nightgown, she’d felt uncomfortable to the point of convincing herself someone had been in there, even though nothing had been disturbed.

  As she thought about it now, she felt a little foolish. She was certain that Holly would never take it upon herself to nose around in her things.

  Besides, Cora seriously doubted that any young woman would ever see past the bottles of lavender water, the heated lower back pad and the collection of support pillows arranged just the way she liked them on the bed.

  There wasn’t a scrap of evidence Cora could find to support her feelings of discomfort. But if it was all in her imagination, why couldn’t she shake the feeling she was somehow being watched?

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Holly

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ Cora called from the living room the second Holly walked through the back door. Holly hung her jacket up in the hallway and slipped off her shoes. ‘You’re late tonight, dear. Did work ask you to stay a bit longer?’

  Holly glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly six o’clock, which was the exact same time she usually got back from work.

  ‘I’m not late.’ She forced a smile. ‘I left at the usual time.’

  Cora frowned and stared at the clock as if she were trying to make sense of it.

  ‘Should I make tea?’ Holly suggested, hoping to get her off the subject.

  Cora’s face brightened and Holly headed into the kitchen. She filled the kettle and took the biscuit barrel out of the cupboard, laying a few of Cora’s favourite custard creams on a small decorative china plate.

  While she waited for the water to boil, she stood by the window and stared down the long garden. The bushes and trees at the end that had looked so terrifying in the early hours seemed completely harmless now.

  The garden was surrounded by a fence, too, of a reasonable height. It wasn’t as if someone could just walk in off the street; they’d have to make a concerted effort to gain entry.

  Sometimes the memories could seem so real, it was like everything had just happened yesterday.

  Holly couldn’t help wondering if the stress at work over coping with Emily’s initial belligerent attitude and then all the trouble with the vase had caused her imagination to run riot, convincing her that Emily was out for revenge. Maybe she’d also been dreaming up things that weren’t really there.

  She reached for clean cups and the tea caddy and made the tea on automatic pilot while her thoughts jumped back to Cora’s obvious confusion.

  During the short time she’d been here, Holly had realised that some days Cora seemed to be more confused than others. She’d get something irrational in her head and run with it. Today, for instance, she’d convinced herself that Holly was late back from work when she wasn’t at all.

  Holly knew she’d keep hold of it like a terrier, going on and on, constantly turning it over in her mind. Even hours afterwards.

  It was most unsettling. Holly thought it couldn’t be normal, but it wasn’t her place to suggest Cora visit her doctor, and besides, the last thing she wanted to do was upset her.

  She took the tea and biscuits through on a tray. When she got back into the living room, Cora was smiling and holding a white envelope in her hand.

  ‘I quite forgot, dear. This came for you earlier.’ She waved the letter in the air. ‘Somebody pushed it through the letter box, didn’t knock or anything. And curiously, when I opened the door and looked up and down the crescent, there was no one to be seen.’

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  David

  I’m about to begin my evening monitoring duties at my bedroom window when my phone buzzes.

  I set aside the tray of food I’ve just carried upstairs and stare at the screen. It’s a text, from Holly.

  Can you come over asap? Need some advice. H

  A warm swell fills my chest. Holly needs some advice and I’m the person she has chosen to ask to provide it.

  All I’ve ever wanted, really, is to help.

  That was the sole reason I followed Della on the final morning she visited Mr Brown. I tracked her to a coffee shop on the high street. When I walked in a few minutes later, she was crying, mopping at her face with a tissue.

  I sat down opposite her, expecting her to tell me to get lost, but when I explained I was Nick Brown’s neighbour and had seen what he’d been up to, stuff just came tumbling out of her pretty rosebud mouth.

  She told me everything. How they’d met, how she loved him… which had stung. Imagine loving a buffoon like that!

  We met up several times a week after that. There was nothing in it romantically – for her, anyway. But I loved her with all my heart.

  I used to sit staring out of my bedroom window, imagining what life might be like, married to Della. Making her happy enough that she might start love me back.

 
But Nicholas Brown put paid to it all. He had her like a puppet on a string.

  One minute it was over between them, the next he’d charmed her back again.

  It was very hard to see him giving Della the runaround like that, promising her that he’d leave his wife but clearly having not the slightest intention of doing so.

  It all seemed so hopeless. Her emotions were up and down; she didn’t know which way to turn.

  So I asked her if she’d like me to try and help her, and she said in what way, and I said I’d have a think about it and let her know.

  In the summer, I’d see him fetching and carrying for Mrs Brown, who’d sit morosely in the garden for hours on end. He was so good at assuming the role of the perfect husband.

  My rage blossomed like a cherry tree, and over the weeks, it eventually bore fruit.

  Mrs Brown was astonished when I turned up at the dental surgery. She stood behind reception, mouth open and eyes wide as I told her everything.

  ‘They’re at it right now in your bedroom,’ I told her. ‘While you’re here, working your socks off.’

  In my fervour to get the facts over to her, I’d quite forgotten about the people in reception and the other staff behind the desk.

  Mrs Brown burst into tears, grabbed her coat and bag and ran out there and then.

  I sat around for a bit in the reception area like a patient, everyone staring. I didn’t really know what else to do. I felt quite dazed.

  Then the practice manager came over and said, ‘I think you’d better leave, sir.’

  By the time I caught up with Mrs Brown, she’d already got to Della and they were out on the street with Mr Brown trying to get in between them.

  Della was screaming loudly as Mrs Brown attacked her; she was a mere wisp of a thing compared to the older woman. And then Della slapped Mr Brown across the face, calling him a liar and a love rat and he thumped her back. Right in her beautiful face.

  And that’s when I couldn’t stop myself… I waded in amongst them, I couldn’t stop punching and kicking, and even when my knuckles were skinned and he collapsed on the floor, I still couldn’t stop hitting him.

  The police were called and I ran and it was just a big fat mess.

  A couple of days later, Della jumped from the seventh-floor balcony of her new apartment block by the canal. They found a letter to Nick Brown on the kitchen table telling him she couldn’t live without him.

  I didn’t go to the funeral. Mother said it would be too unsettling.

  I lean forward now in my chair and peer down into Mrs Barrett’s yard, but no one is out there.

  People are starting to arrive home from work, using the back door like we do. This is usually my busiest time, recording and monitoring that nothing is amiss, that nobody is acting strangely or out of the ordinary.

  But Holly needs me and I decide that this must take priority.

  I go back downstairs, plucking my jacket from the hook in the hallway on the way out.

  ‘David?’ Mother looks up, startled, from stirring a pan as I walk through the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong? Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m just popping out for a bit,’ I say calmly. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘But…’ She puts down her wooden spoon and turns, her eyes wide. ‘Is everything all right? I mean, you’re not in any trouble, are you?’

  ‘No. I’m not in any trouble.’ My stomach contracts. ‘Why do you always assume the worst, Mother?’

  ‘Because you’ve been acting very oddly recently. You keep going out and… Are you going to see that girl next door?’ She spits out the words as if they’re responsible for a nasty taste in her mouth.

  If I am, it’s nothing to do with her. I’ve let her control my life for far too long.

  ‘Your mother asked you where you’re going.’ Brian swaggers towards me as if he’s still a fit thirty-year-old builder instead of a fat mess. ‘You live off your mother like you’re still a ten-year-old, so you’ll be treated like one.’

  As I turn to him, the air around me explodes into colours of the rainbow.

  I register that Mother is wailing, but that’s fine. I am focused.

  I grab Brian by the shoulders and push him as hard as I can. He slips on the kitchen tiles in his sock feet and keels over like a great hog. His head smashes into the wall and I watch, fascinated, as his cracked skull leaves a trail of red down the paintwork.

  He doesn’t move. His coarse dirty mouth stays closed and silent. But Mother is screeching in the background like Maria Callas.

  I don’t look at her. I just say, ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  I step outside into the cool, cleansing air and close the door behind me.

  I might be acting fairly calm but my heart is racing and I feel a bit nauseous. But Holly needs my help.

  I walk up the side path between the two houses and look directly up at her room. She has the wrong idea about me, thinking I can help her.

  I feel disingenuous. Pretending to be something I’m not.

  I knock, and Holly comes to the door.

  ‘Thanks for popping over, David,’ she says, her face pale.

  ‘Who is it, dear?’ I hear Mrs Barrett call.

  Holly rolls her eyes and speaks in a low voice. ‘She’s been a bit confused today. I need to talk to you, in private. Shall we go for a walk or something?’

  My chest suddenly feels tight. Perhaps the incident with Brian has unnerved me more than I thought.

  ‘It’s quite cool out here, and there are a lot of people out and about, so…’

  She nods slowly. ‘OK, well you’d better come upstairs then.’

  ‘Upstairs?’

  ‘We can’t talk down here. Cora will be interrupting us every few seconds.’ She hesitates and her eyes glisten. ‘And I really need to speak to you, David.’

  ‘Fine.’ I step inside. ‘Lead the way.’

  En route, I pop my head round the living room door.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Barrett.’

  ‘David! Come in, sit down, dear. I wanted to ask you if—’

  ‘David is just going up to measure my room for some shelves, Cora,’ Holly says kindly. ‘We’ll be down soon and then you two can chat.’

  Mrs Barrett begins to object, but Holly pulls my arm and guides me towards the stairs.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  David

  In Holly’s bedroom, the heat channels up the middle of my body and into my face and neck with a vengeance.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, noticing my high colour. ‘The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say quickly. ‘What seems to be the problem?’

  She walks into the room and snatches something up from her bedside table.

  ‘This.’ She holds up a white envelope. ‘This is the problem, David.’

  She hands me the envelope. On the front, written in neat block capitals and underlined, is her name: HOLLY NEWMAN.

  I turn it over and look at the unsealed flap.

  ‘Go ahead,’ she says. ‘Open it.’

  I slip out a single sheet of folded paper.

  ‘Read it out loud,’ Holly directs. She sits on the bed and fixes her gaze on me.

  I clear my throat.

  ‘“I am watching you. And when you least expect it, I will come for you.”’

  The words aren’t particularly threatening or violent in themselves, but together they add up to something more. A very sinister intention.

  I read through the message silently again. Something about it sounds familiar, and I push thoughts of Mr Brown from my mind.

  Silence descends on the room for a few moments, and then a rushing noise starts in my ears. Holly shifts and a bed spring creaks, and the sounds inside my head fade.

  I turn over the paper to check that it’s blank on the other side. ‘Do you know who sent this?’

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘But I’ve got a good idea. There’s someone in Manchester who hates me. She’d do anything
to hurt me. I think… I think she might even send someone after me.’

  I look at her tense face. ‘Is this the first note you’ve had?’

  She sighs. ‘Yes, but I think someone was in the garden the other night. I woke up because there was a strange noise. I looked out of the window and there was a man… I think it was a man. Standing at the bottom of the garden, staring up here.’

  The CCTV image of Brian at the bottom of our garden, staring towards the houses, flashes into my mind, and I shiver.

  Holly’s narrow chest rises and falls like a small, dazed bird that has flown into glass and is trying to recover before next door’s cat comes along. She looks very afraid, vulnerable. Just like Della did.

  I wonder if she wishes I could protect her somehow. Perhaps she’d like us to be more than friends.

  ‘David… are you feeling OK?’

  ‘I think I might have killed Brian,’ I tell her.

  She laughs without mirth. ‘This is no time for jokes. I’m scared that someone is watching me.’

  ‘I have a good view of your garden from my bedroom window,’ I say faintly, thinking about Brian’s blood running down the kitchen wall. ‘I could keep an eye on things if you wanted me to.’

  ‘But what if someone comes in the middle of the night again?’ Her breath catches in her throat and she coughs. ‘You can’t help me then, can you?’

  I can’t tell her about my monitoring equipment, the cameras. Without a lengthy explanation, it could make me look a little odd.

  ‘I don’t mind getting up a few times during the night for the next couple of days,’ I tell her. ‘To make sure nobody is out there messing about, I mean.’

  ‘Would you honestly do that for me?’ She shakes her head slightly as if she can’t believe my offer. It makes me wonder how much actual kindness she’s had in her life.

  ‘It’s no trouble.’

  She makes me feel strong, capable.