‘How is he? Jimmy?’
‘Yeah, he’s good. Looking forward to the barbie next week.’
‘So he was there today, was he?’
‘Yeah, I just said, I helped him move some furniture.’
I want to ask Dom what piece of furniture he was moving, and why Jimmy’s van wasn’t parked outside their house. I want to know when Jimmy asked for Dom’s help, because I saw Dom drive straight over to the Cliffords’ house, so he couldn’t have just asked him – it must have been arranged beforehand. But I can’t think of a way to ask my husband without it sounding like I don’t believe him. And right at this moment, I don’t.
‘Hey,’ Dom says, ‘did something happen out the front earlier? I could’ve sworn I heard shouting while I was round at Jimmy’s place.’
I’d almost forgotten what I saw out of the window. ‘It was Parkfield throwing Callum out of their house.’
‘Really? Who’s Callum?’ Dom asks, picking invisible lint off his trousers.
‘Callum Carson. The builder’s son.’
‘Oh, yeah, I know him. What was he doing round there?’
‘According to Lorna, Callum’s got a crush on their eldest, Hannah.’
‘I bet Parkfield isn’t happy about that.’
‘Understatement. It looked like Parkfield physically threw him out of their house. How do you know Callum, anyway?’ I ask.
‘I don’t really know him, but I caught him leaning against my car a while back so I asked him to move. He flipped me the finger. Right little charmer. Moaning Myrtle came out of his house and told me his name.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Callum. He was always so well-behaved in class.’
‘Yeah, well, he’s obviously turned into a little shit. Wouldn’t be surprised it if was him who keyed my car.’
‘That’s a bit harsh.’
Dom shakes his head and scowls.
‘So anyway,’ I continue, ‘Callum’s dad came marching round and started jabbing Parkfield in the chest.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘I know. I thought there was going to be a proper fight, but Parkfield backed down and went back into his house.’
‘Where were you while all this was going on?’
‘In the bedroom. Saw it out of the window. Which is when I saw your car over at the Cliffords.’
Dom’s cheeks flush once more, and I definitely didn’t imagine it this time.
‘Want a cup of tea?’ he asks.
‘I’ll make it,’ I offer.
As I go to stand up, Dominic stops me, putting his hand on my arm. ‘Everything okay, Kirst? You seem a bit…’
‘A bit what?’
‘I dunno. A bit annoyed. Is it because I wanted you to go to the doctor’s? Because it’s only because I care about you. You know that, right?’
I shrug.
‘Or have I done something else to upset you?’
‘I don’t know, have you?’ I say it with a smile on my face, but my heart is aching a little at the thought of him over at Rosa Clifford’s.
‘That would be telling,’ he replies with a wink. ‘Seriously, though, are you all right?’
‘Apart from being a basket case, you mean?’
‘Oh, Kirst.’ He pulls me into his arms and I let myself be hugged, but I can’t help feeling like my husband is lying to me. That he’s holding something back.
Twenty-Four
Dom is at work, and Daisy is propped up in her inflatable ring with an assortment of toys ranged around the edge for her to grab at and explore. I’m sitting at the kitchen island with the laptop open in front of me, sipping iced water. I woke earlier, aching and uncomfortable on the futon, and I thought, Why am I sleeping in here, away from my husband? Why am I afraid to be more than a few steps away from my daughter when we’re already locked up tight inside our house? I don’t want to cower like a fox in a hole any more. I’m going to be proactive. Do something.
Dr Sloane said it would take a while to start feeling more myself, but I’m already feeling a lot better; my head is clearer, my outlook more hopeful, more determined. Maybe it’s psychosomatic – maybe the fact I’m feeling better in myself is because the doctor didn’t seem overly worried about me. I’m still convinced that being a new mother isn’t the sole cause of my anxiety. The main reason is my suspicion of Martin. So if I can find out more about his basement, then that will bring me a step closer to feeling safe in my own home once again.
Besides, it will take my mind off the unsettling thoughts I’m having about my husband. There’s no reason for me to think that anything illicit is going on between him and Rosa Clifford. Yes, Dom has cheated on me in the past, but we were younger then, and he was genuinely devastated at what he’d done. He swore he would never ever betray me again. And I believed him. I still believe him. We have to trust one another. Otherwise, what kind of relationship have we got?
Dom has been as kind and loving as ever. But he was definitely acting shifty when I asked him why he went round to the Cliffords. If I see him going over to their house again, I won’t hide behind the curtains and watch, I’ll go and knock on the door.
I tap Martin’s address into Google, and it doesn’t take me long to find out what I’ve been looking for; the local planning website shows applications going as far back as 1946. At some point in the recent past, an admin assistant must have spent a meticulous few months transferring all the old paper records to digital. The record I’m interested in is from almost ten years ago.
The page opens and I skim the application, which confirms that the house next door did not originally have a basement. Chills slide down my back. Martin Lynham applied for planning permission to build a basement in his house on 2 March 2008. That’s two years after his wife died. The application was refused twice, went to appeal, and was finally approved in 2009.
Why did he wait until after his wife died to build it? He’s one man living alone in a three-bedroom house. What would he need the extra space for? What if something sinister is going on in the basement? What if there really is a child locked away down there?
* * *
I decide to spend the rest of the day heeding Dr Sloane’s advice – going for a brisk walk with Daisy in her pram and clearing my mind of negative thoughts at the same time. We walk to a park that’s fifteen minutes away, a woodchip-covered rectangle filled with brightly coloured play equipment, set at the edge of a large playing field. It’s busy enough that I don’t feel vulnerable, yet empty enough that I won’t feel hemmed in and panicky. The fields at the back of our house where I always used to go are now out of the question for me; I’d feel too vulnerable since I saw someone lurking out there.
I end up doing brisk laps of the park. Daisy faces me and I chat and sing to her as she coos and smiles back. Dr Sloane was right – this is good for me. Getting away from the house is therapeutic. Away from Magnolia Close. From the proximity of my neighbour. The sun on my face and fresh air in my lungs. By the sparkle in her eyes, Daisy seems to appreciate it too.
But my attempts to tune out my worries aren’t completely successful. After a couple of laps of the field, images of the long-limbed Rosa talking to my husband flash into my mind, along with creeping thoughts of dark basements and Martin’s yellow-toothed smile, blighting the sunny afternoon. He built that basement almost a decade ago. What’s down there? Why can’t I stop thinking about it?
The sun has been getting hotter all afternoon, like a laser boring into the top of my head, and makes me close my eyes momentarily against the silver glare. Why didn’t I bring sunglasses and a hat? At least Daisy has a stick-on parasol on her pram, keeping her nice and protected. A thought pops into my head that I could wait until Martin goes out and snoop around the side of his house – check again to see if there are any vents or windows in his basement. I could check the online plans first. I would have to make doubly sure he was out though, as the thought of him catching me on his property isn’t appealing at all. I shudder.
A
strange feeling sweeps over me – nausea and a wave of dizziness. I should stop thinking about Martin, and try to focus on happier thoughts like the doctor said – clear my mind, meditate. But, I can’t seem to focus. Black spots appear at the edge of my vision and I stop walking for a moment, taking a moment to rest beneath a leafy oak on the edge of the field as a respite from the heat. I pull a bottle of water out from the basket beneath Daisy’s pram, unscrew the cap and chug down the cool liquid. I should have stayed in the shade. But I know the heat isn’t what has caused my breath to shorten and my vision to blur. I’m having a panic attack.
I angle Daisy’s pram out of the sun and sit on the dry grass next to her, slowing my breathing and stretching out my fingers to try to get rid of the pins and needles. Don’t cry, I tell myself, feeling the tears behind my eyes. You’ll be fine in a minute. Nothing is going to happen. No one is here. It’s just you and Daisy. I can’t allow myself to pass out. The play park is right at the other side of the field. No one can see me here beneath the trees, no one will come to my aid. Daisy will be alone. I sit cross-legged and put my head between my knees, my hands splayed out on the grass.
The pins and needles spread along my arms and up my legs.
Just breathe.
* * *
‘Are you okay?’ A male voice floats through my brain, like in a dream. Where am I? The scent of grass, the distant sound of children playing – I’m at the park.
‘Is she alive, do you think?’ A female voice this time.
‘Think so,’ he replies. ‘I should probably check her pulse.’
I flutter into consciousness once more. ‘I’m all right,’ I croak.
‘We saw you from across the field,’ he says. ‘And then, when you didn’t move for ages, we came to check if you were okay.’
I crack open my eyes and squint. A man’s face peers over me, blurry and pale. I vaguely recognise him. The woman behind him looks familiar too, but I can’t place either of them. My mind is still silted up with darkness.
‘Can you move?’ he asks, his voice soft and concerned, almost crooning.
I’m lying at an awkward angle on my side, my neck twisted and aching. Daisy! I force my eyes to focus, but I can’t see her anywhere. ‘My daughter, where is she?’ I try to sit up, but everything swims so I’m forced to lie back down, heart racing, palms clammy.
‘She’s fine,’ he says.
‘But where is she? Just tell me where my daughter is!’ I cry, my breathing getting heavier.
‘She’s freaking out,’ the woman says to him.
Too bloody right I’m freaking out. Who are these people?
‘Here.’ The woman pushes Daisy’s pram into my line of sight, but I still can’t actually see my daughter. Everything looks indistinct and wavy, like it could all disappear in the blink of an eye. Like I’m in a nightmare.
Twenty-Five
‘Miss?’ he asks. ‘Are you okay, miss?’
I turn my head slightly to look at him again, willing my eyes to focus, and for the fog in my brain to clear. He’s calling me ‘miss’. Must be one of my students. And then it comes to me where I’ve seen him before. This man isn’t a man, he’s still a boy really. It’s Callum. Callum Carson. I take a breath and sit up, ignoring the sensation that my brain has come detached and is floating freely inside my skull.
I also realise that the woman standing by Daisy’s pram is actually a teenage girl – it’s Hannah Slater. These two wouldn’t harm my baby, would they? I haul myself up onto my knees and reach up to grasp the handle of Daisy’s pram, sighing with relief as I see my daughter, sound asleep.
‘We’ll call an ambulance,’ Callum says.
‘No, please,’ I say. ‘Don’t want any fuss. I’ll be fine in a sec. How long was I out for? Do you know?’
Callum looks at Hannah, who shrugs. ‘Only a few minutes, I think,’ he replies.
‘Was she okay when you got here? My baby?’
‘She seemed okay,’ Hannah says.
‘But was she upset?’ I ask, suddenly terrified at what could have happened if Callum and Hannah hadn’t been around. Someone could easily have taken her.
‘No, she’s been fine,’ Callum says. ‘Hasn’t cried once. Been sound asleep.’
‘Thank goodness,’ I reply, my heart rate finally slowing. How could I have thought these kids could have meant us any harm? ‘And thank you. Thank you for coming over and making sure we were okay. I’m grateful.’
‘It’s no problem, miss,’ he says, blowing a dark curl out of one eye. ‘We’ll walk you home if you like.’
My water bottle is at my feet. With an unsteady hand, I pick it up and drain the last few drops. The liquid revives me a little. ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay now.’ I put the empty bottle to my forehead to try and cool myself down, but the plastic is disappointingly warm.
‘What if you pass out again on the way home?’ Callum says.
I don’t want to rely on Callum and Hannah to look after me like I’m some kind of invalid, but actually, I don’t think there’s any way I can walk home alone in this state. I really do feel wobbly.
‘You already know Hannah, don’t you?’ Callum says. ‘Seeing as you live next door.’
‘Yes.’ I smile up at my beautiful young neighbour and she gives a grudging smile back. I never really warmed to this girl, either as a neighbour or as one of my pupils, but here she is, helping me, so I have to be friendly.
‘Don’t tell my mum and stepdad, will you?’ she says, tucking a strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear. ‘About me being here with Cal, I mean. They’d go mad, even though we’re just friends.’ She rolls her china-blue eyes.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘It’s none of my business.’
‘Thanks.’ This time her smile is more genuine, and so is mine.
Lorna won’t be happy if she finds out they’re seeing each other, even if it is just as friends. She made her feelings about Callum pretty clear. But I won’t be the one to snitch on Hannah. Anyway, it’ll be hard for the two of them to carry on their friendship once the Parkfields move away from the area.
Callum holds out his hand to help me up, and I accept, struggling from my knees to my feet like an old person. ‘Thank you,’ I say, panting a little. ‘I feel like a bit of an idiot, fainting like that.’
‘You couldn’t help it, could you, miss? Probably got dehydrated or something.’
‘Yes. Stupid of me to be out in this hot sun without a hat.’ I begin to walk unsteadily alongside the two of them while Hannah pushes Daisy in her pram.
‘I can take her,’ I say.
‘I don’t mind,’ Hannah replies, ‘if you still feel ill.’
‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ I say, itching to get to my daughter. ‘I can use the handle to lean on.’
Hannah stops pushing and I take back my daughter’s pram. We all seem to have run out of conversation and the journey is becoming slightly awkward.
‘Do you know,’ I say, ‘I’m actually feeling loads better. I think I’m okay to go on by myself.’
‘Are you sure?’ Callum says. ‘You still look really pale, miss.’
‘Honestly,’ I reply. ‘I’m fine.’
‘But—’
‘She said she’s fine, Cal.’ Hannah nudges him in the ribs and he flicks her cheek with his finger. They have a mini play fight, laughing, eyes flashing, and I think that even if they aren’t romantically involved now, they soon will be. I wonder if Dom and I were ever like that – unable to tear our eyes off one another.
‘So, thanks again,’ I say. ‘Take care.’ I walk away before Callum has the chance to protest further. By my calculation, it will take me at least twenty minutes to get home. I’m not even sure how I’m managing to stay upright at the moment, but I don’t want to intrude on Callum and Hannah’s afternoon. I’m relieved that they took the time to check on me but I just want to get home now.
I continue walking, leaning heavily on the pram handle to keep my balance. As long as I don’t pass
out, everything will be fine.
* * *
By the time I eventually get to my house, the sun has dipped in the sky. I go straight through to the kitchen and have a long, cold glass of water and two paracetamol. Daisy is still asleep so I check the locks before taking a cool shower. Feeling a shade better, I bring Daisy into my room and lie on the bed in my cotton dressing gown while she nurses. As she feeds, I stare out of the window at the distant tree tops and the azure sky, my mind pulsing with everything that’s happened today, softening at the memory of Callum and Hannah’s concern over my wellbeing.
The click of the front door brings me back to the present.
‘Hey, it’s me!’ Dom’s home.
‘Up here!’ I call back, my voice weak. I wonder if he heard me, but then I hear his footsteps on the stairs.
‘Hi.’ He comes into the bedroom bringing a welcome dose of normality with him. I instantly feel less strange and woozy.
‘Hi. Good day?’ I ask.
‘Not bad. You?’
I tell him about my funny turn at the park, and also about my two unlikely rescuers.
‘Hannah and Callum? What was she doing there with that waste of space? You sure he wasn’t helping you so he could get a reward?’ Dom asks, his expression darkening.
I frown. ‘You really don’t like him, do you? I know he was rude to you, but he’s just a young lad, that’s all.’
Dom sighs. ‘He’s not my favourite person, but I’m glad he was there to help you.’
‘Me too. It was pretty surreal, passing out like that.’
‘Must have been scary.’ He sits on the edge of the bed and kisses my cheek. ‘Maybe you should go back to the doctor’s. Are you still feeling dizzy?’
‘To be honest, I think it was a just mild case of sunstroke. Stupid really. I shouldn’t have gone out for so long in that heat.’
‘Well, as long as you’re okay now. Can I get you anything?’
‘Thanks, but no, I’m fine. Daisy’s almost finished, we’ll come downstairs with you.’
The Child Next Door: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a brilliant twist Page 16
