The Child Next Door: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a brilliant twist

by Shalini Boland

  ‘Okay, great.’ He stands and starts unbuttoning his shirt. ‘I’ll get changed. Going to go training in a bit if that’s okay? But I’ll make you a cup of tea first.’

  Five minutes later, I’m sitting on the sofa in the back room, while Dom paces around the kitchen with Daisy propped over his shoulder, rubbing her back in the hope that she will give a nice, big, satisfying burp.

  ‘I found out something interesting today.’ I dunk half a digestive biscuit into my tea, and wonder how Dom will take my news.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘I had a look online and saw that Martin did build that basement. It wasn’t built with the house. He applied for planning permission in 2008.’

  ‘Kirst, you went online to look for that? You really think Martin is some dodgy sex fiend?’

  ‘Ugh, no. I don’t know. But it’s a strange thing to build, don’t you think?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. It could be a wine cellar. To be honest, I really don’t care what he gets up to, as long as it doesn’t affect us.’

  ‘But what if it does affect us? What if he’s after Daisy? Don’t forget, I saw those Toy Shack bags at the top of the cellar stairs.’

  ‘I thought you were over all this, Kirstie?’ Dom stops walking around and gives me a long stare. ‘Moaning Myrtle is not after Daisy. That’s just… ridiculous.’

  ‘How do you know?’ I feel my blood pressure rising at Dom’s dismissal of my fears. ‘You’re not the one home alone all day with our daughter. I feel… I feel like he’s always watching us.’

  ‘Watching you?’ Dom’s expression darkens. ‘Have you seen him out there? Looking at the house.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s just a feeling I get.’

  ‘Have you thought that maybe it’s just that you’re overtired, like the doctor said?’

  I roll my eyes.

  ‘What?’ Dom says. ‘It could be, couldn’t it? The anxiety and lack of sleep.’

  ‘Is this going to be like the thing where men blame everything on our periods?’

  ‘No! Course not. I just wondered if, maybe…’

  ‘Maybe what?’

  ‘Maybe you might be a little paranoid – but don’t take that the wrong way. I’m just trying to reassure you about Martin.’

  ‘Well, telling me I’m paranoid is not reassuring.’

  ‘I don’t mean paranoid, I mean…’

  ‘… paranoid.’ I finish his sentence for him.

  ‘Kirstie.’

  ‘What?’ I snap.

  ‘I don’t want to argue about Moaning bloody Myrtle. Can’t we just have an evening without talking about the neighbours?’

  ‘I wish we could,’ I say, getting to my feet, ‘but I can’t help it if I’m worried for our daughter’s safety.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’ Now it’s his turn to snap.

  ‘I don’t know… maybe just take me seriously for a moment, instead of making me feel like a crackpot!’ My voice has risen to a cry, but I know that last comment was unfair. It’s more likely that I’m doubting my own sanity. My head pounds, whether a hangover from the sunstroke or in reaction to our argument I’m not sure. Either way, I feel like shit.

  ‘Look, Kirst, if you really are worried about Martin and his basement, how about I go over there right now and ask to see what’s down there?’

  I let out a long, slow breath and try to absorb what he’s just said. ‘You can’t do that,’ I finally say. ‘He’ll know we’ve been snooping.’

  Dom clears his throat theatrically. ‘He’ll know you’ve been snooping. But seriously, I’ll go over there now if it will get you to relax.’

  My heart misses a beat as I consider the possibility for a second. ‘It could be risky to go asking him questions. If there’s something strange going on, he might try to hurt you. To shut you up. I’ve already had a threatening phone call, remember?’

  ‘You’ve been watching too many of your Scandi crime thrillers,’ Dom says. ‘It’s Moaning Myrtle; I’m pretty sure I could take him if it came to it. Look, do you want me to go over there or not? If yes, I can go now before my bike ride.’

  ‘No,’ I say, panicking at the thought. ‘Don’t go over there. Promise me you won’t.’

  ‘I won’t go if you don’t want me to. Just thought it might help put your mind at rest.’

  I’d never forgive myself if Dom got hurt. I know he thinks this threat is all in my head, but I can’t take the chance that it’s real. I’ll have to get proof of what’s going on next door without tipping Martin off. Which means going round there while he’s out. And I can’t tell Dom about what I’m planning. He’s already starting to worry about my mental health, this would just confirm things. No, I’ll sort this out on my own. It’s the safest way.

  Twenty-Six

  I’m making up batches of pre-prepared meals for Daisy, blending them into a smooth mush and freezing them for when weaning starts in earnest. At the moment we’re still on the banana and avocado stage – introducing different foods slowly. I spoon the gloopy mixture into the multicoloured ice-cube trays. I’ve also done some baking. The act of following a recipe always has a calming effect, and I need things to calm me after the events of last week.

  I’ve been keeping myself locked up in the house with Daisy for the past couple of days. Dom was training most of the weekend and now he’s on a two-day course in Bristol, so he won’t be back until tomorrow.

  The oven timer beeps, signalling that the cakes are ready, although I already knew that by the warm vanilla aroma wafting through the kitchen. Daisy is strapped into her high chair sucking on a rice cake and watching my every move. I stick my tongue out at her and she gurgles at me as I don the oven gloves and lift out the tray of cupcakes. I’m going to ice them and take them over to Mel as a peace offering.

  She tried calling round here a couple of times over the weekend, but I wasn’t up to seeing anyone, so I either ignored the doorbell or asked Dom to tell her I was asleep. I heard them whispering together downstairs. I hate the thought of them talking about me, discussing how over-protective I’ve become and how paranoid and forgetful. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dom has told her about my trip to the doctor and they’re feeling sorry for poor nutty-as-a-fruitcake Kirstie. I know that’s uncharitable – they’ll have my best interests at heart, but it still makes me feel crappy. I don’t want to be the subject of people’s gossip and sympathy, even if it is my husband and my best friend. Especially if it’s my husband and my best friend.

  So, I’ll go over there and clear the air. Make sure there’s no bad feeling between us about money, or about Tamsin. Make a joke about myself if I have to. Mel always responds well to humour. We’ll have a laugh about my crazy baby-brain, and all will be forgotten.

  Once the cakes are cooled and iced, I change Daisy into a pretty blue and white polka-dot dress and walk across the road. Mel’s car is in the drive, so I’m assuming she’s home.

  ‘Hey.’ I give a sheepish smile as she opens the door.

  She looks at me for a second, before pulling me and Daisy into a squishy hug. ‘I’ve been worried about you, Kirst. Come in.’

  I follow her through to the kitchen and hand her the Tupperware container of cupcakes. ‘A peace offering for ignoring you over the weekend.’

  ‘You didn’t need to do that,’ she says. ‘But I’m bloody glad you did. Tea and cakes, yum.’ Mel sets the cakes on the counter, puts the kettle on and takes Daisy from my arms.

  ‘I’m so glad I came over. Definitely need a bit of normality.’ I plonk myself on a stool and peel the lid off the cake tub.

  ‘I’m touched you think I’m normal.’ Mel raises an eyebrow and pulls a face, making me laugh.

  The kettle boils, but Mel is still holding Daisy so I offer to make the tea.

  ‘Go on then,’ Mel replies, making baby noises at a giggling Daisy. ‘Oh, Kirstie, you know last week when Tamsin came over? I think you were right.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Yeah, she was rea
lly over-friendly, asking me round to her place, saying to bring the kids over for a playdate. And when I suggested inviting you along, she made an excuse that Daisy was younger than our kids and that it would be annoying having a baby crying and fussing. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Charming!’ The woman’s unbelievable.

  ‘I know, right. Think she realised she’d gone too far. She backtracked and said she just meant we wouldn’t be able to relax and talk. Not sure how relaxing she thinks it would be with four young children running around anyway.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, though,’ I say, taking a couple of mugs out of the cupboard. ‘She hates my guts.’

  ‘I think she’s just resentful,’ Mel replies. ‘Because Dom realised he made a mistake with her. That’s why she pretended to be pregnant. To try and get him to stay with her.’

  I nod. ‘But that was years ago. Why would she hold on to such ancient history… unless she still has feelings for Dom?’

  ‘No,’ Mel says. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’

  ‘She’s divorced though.’

  ‘So am I; doesn’t mean I’m going to ravage your husband.’ Mel raises an eyebrow at me.

  ‘Sorry, I just meant—’

  ‘I’m just messing with you.’ Mel gives a throaty laugh. ‘Now can we stop talking about Tamsin, and start talking about how fabulous my new haircut is? You haven’t even mentioned it yet. So rude!’

  I laugh, feeling so pleased that I decided to come over here. Whenever things get tough, I know Mel will always be there for me, cheering me up with her silly banter, and vice versa. In fact, we’re more like sisters than friends. We share everything. As I reach up to get the sugar bowl out of the cupboard – Mel takes three sugars – I notice a pair of white wraparound sunglasses in her fruit bowl.

  ‘Are these Dom’s?’ I ask, picking them up.

  Mel follows my eye line and I see her expression falter for a moment, her mouth falling open. She stutters, ‘Nope, don’t think so. Must be Chris’s.’

  I know she’s lying. Her ex isn’t sporty and there’s no way he would wear a pair of non-branded glasses like these. ‘Yes, they are. They’re Dom’s. He wears them for cycling. He’s been looking all over the place for these. What are they doing here?’

  ‘Uh, no idea.’ She turns away and reaches up to get a couple of flowery plates from her duck-egg-blue Welsh dresser. When she turns back around, her face is more composed. ‘Maybe he dropped them out the front, and one of the kids picked them up, brought them home. They’re like a couple of magpies, those two. Always bringing back random crap – stones, leaves, ring-pulls. Syringes – joke.’ She rolls her eyes – an attempt at nonchalance.

  But I’m not buying it. I’m not laughing either. Dom’s been round here, and it wasn’t at the weekend, because he lost his sunglasses last week. ‘Don’t lie, Mel. Just tell me, are these Dom’s glasses?’

  She drops the act and nods.

  ‘So why did you lie? Was Dom round here last week?’ All my earlier good humour is disappearing fast.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kirstie, I can’t tell you.’

  For a second, I think she’s joking, until I realise she isn’t. My pulse quickens. ‘What do you mean you can’t tell me? Of course you can. You just open your mouth and the words come out.’

  ‘It’s… It’s not my place to say,’ she says, her face reddening. ‘You’ll have to ask Dom. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re sorry?’ Heat floods my face. Why is she refusing to say any more? ‘Just tell me what the big secret is.’

  Mel shakes her head. ‘I can’t.’

  My throat tightens as I remember how Mel and Dom were whispering in the hallway over the weekend, and also how Dom defended Mel when I told him about her borrowing money. ‘Are you having an affair with my husband?’ the question pops out before I can stop it. Silence hangs between us for a moment. Daisy babbles happily in Mel’s arms, unaware that her mummy’s heart is being twisted.

  ‘No!’ Mel cries, a look of outrage on her face. But of course she would deny it. ‘Speak to Dom,’ she repeats.

  I grip the counter top as my head begins to swim. Not this again. I can’t faint. Not here, not now.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Mel asks.

  I’m far from okay, but I shake her off, unable to even look at her. I take a steadying breath, stride over and retrieve Daisy from her arms. ‘I thought you were supposed to be my best friend! I’ll let myself out.’

  ‘Kirstie! Please. It’s not what you think. Just stay and have some tea.’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ I stomp down her hallway and out of the front door, slamming it behind me, hoping the vibrations rattle her bones. I let out a growl of frustration.

  Why wouldn’t Mel tell me why Dom’s sunglasses are in her kitchen? What reason would he have to be at her house? Yes, they’re friends, but Dom’s never gone over there on his own to hang out and chat. I mean, I don’t suppose I would mind if he did, but why would they keep it secret? That’s the part I can’t understand. There’s no explanation I can think of other than the obvious one – Dom and Mel must be having an affair. But he wouldn’t do that to me, would he? Not after last time. Not now we’ve got a daughter together. Would he? Would she? If they have, I’ll kill them both. I’ll… Truth is, I don’t know what I’d do.

  Tears of hurt and anger burn behind my eyes as I march back towards to my house, Daisy wriggling in my arms. So much for going over to Mel’s and clearing the air – it’s more toxic now than it’s ever been. I want to call Dom this minute and demand answers, but I also want to see the expression on his face when I ask him if he’s sleeping with my best friend. That’s the only way I’ll know if he’s telling the truth and I can’t do that over the phone. Why does he have to be away on a bloody course today of all days? How am I going to wait until tomorrow? I stand in the hallway of our house, panting, a space opening up inside me like a vast black hole.

  Twenty-Seven

  A night and a day of waiting and stewing and pacing and biting my nails and jumping out of my skin at every creak of the house and cry from Daisy. A night and a day of ignoring my husband’s text messages and phone calls. A night and a day of not eating, of rolling tears and black thoughts.

  And now, finally, the wait is almost over. It’s Tuesday night and Dom will be driving back from his course.

  Daisy is asleep upstairs while I sit downstairs, curled up on the lounge sofa like a cat who appears relaxed but could spring up at any moment. Could fight or flee with a wail and a screech. But for now, I wait in the dark with TV on and the sound turned off. I wait, anticipating the conversation to come, but also dreading it. Dreading it so much it makes me feel physically sick.

  My body tenses as I hear Dom’s car pull into the driveway.

  My stomach turns in time with my husband’s key in the lock.

  Click.

  The hall light comes on and I take a breath. Try to work out what I’m going to say. Try to anticipate what his response will be. Is my marriage over? Will I be a single mum? Maybe it really is nothing. Maybe Dom and Mel aren’t involved and it’s my brain making unwanted connections. But if it’s nothing bad, then why wouldn’t Mel tell me what was going on? Why did she tell me to speak to Dom? Why didn’t she come over to see how I was doing?

  ‘Hey, Kirst!’ The lounge door swings open and I see him standing there, illuminated in the doorway. He already looks different, already distant. Not the Dom I’ve known for most of my life. My husband, the stranger.

  ‘Hi,’ I reply, the word almost jams in my throat.

  ‘Why are you sitting in here with the light off?’ he asks. ‘I missed you guys. How’ve you been?’ He puts his keys on the hall table and steps into the lounge. ‘Is there something wrong with your phone? I’ve been texting and calling.’ He switches on the light.

  I squint and look down at my fingers twisting in my lap.

  ‘Kirstie?’ he says, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.

  ‘Ho
w was the course?’ I ask, sure that Dom will notice my voice is too high, too bright.

  He gives me a quizzical look before answering. ‘Yeah, it was okay. Learnt a couple of new sales techniques, but nothing earth shattering. You know, the usual. They could probably have condensed it into two hours. Dying for a beer. Want one?’

  ‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘Breastfeeding, remember?’ I get up and let myself be kissed, follow him into the kitchen.

  ‘You haven’t said how you and Daisy have been?’ he says, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of Peroni.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Feeling any better… you know, since going to the doctor’s?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m okay.’ I shrug.

  ‘Oh. Good. Well, how’s our little girl?’

  ‘She’s fine.’ Dom can’t fail to notice that my voice is becoming sharper.

  He takes a bottle opener from the drawer, pops the cap and takes a long slug from the bottle. ‘Look, Kirst, I wanted to say I’m really sorry. About… you know, the whole taking Daisy out shopping while you were asleep thing. I should’ve made sure you heard me explain. I knew you were half asleep when I was talking to you. I really am sorry that I worried you like that. But it was a genuine mistake.’

  I nod, my lips tight. He thinks I’m angry about that. But he’s wrong.

  ‘So, am I forgiven?’ Dom stares at me, with a hesitant smile, clearly thinking he’s won me over.

  ‘I found your sunglasses,’ I say, stony faced, watching for his reaction.

  ‘My sunglasses?’ He breaks into a proper smile. ‘Oh, amazing. I’d thought I’d lost them for good. It’s not that they were expensive or anything, but they’re my favourites. Where did you find them, anyway?’

  ‘They’re at Melinda’s house,’ I say. ‘I went over there to clear the air and saw your sunglasses in her fruit bowl, of all places.’

  ‘What are they doing over th—’ He stops for a moment and clears his throat. ‘What are they doing over there?’

  ‘You tell me,’ I say, folding my arms across my chest.