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

by Shalini Boland

  I stare at my geeky neighbour, still wondering how I managed to get things so wrong.

  ‘Now, Kirstie,’ he continues, ‘I’m disappointed in your quite frankly antisocial behaviour today. You shoved me out of the way a minute ago and you quite frightened poor Priddy. But, more importantly, my model is nowhere near finished yet. I’ve only completed my house and yours, so you must promise me you won’t breathe a word of this to the neighbours. Like I said, I’m going to have an unveiling ceremony once it’s complete. I think the local paper might be interested, too.’ His eyes bore into mine and I realise he’s waiting for me to agree.

  ‘No, I mean, yes. Of course, I promise I won’t say a thing.’

  ‘Would you like to see your house?’ Martin’s eyes glitter.

  ‘Um…’

  He walks over to the opposite end of the table and I reluctantly follow.

  ‘Now this,’ he begins, ‘is number four, your house. You can see, I’ve faithfully copied the interior as well as the exterior. Here’s Dominic in the lounge…’

  I look through the front window and spy a tiny Lego figure that looks uncannily like Dom sitting on the sofa. The layout of the room is spot on, down to the positioning of the coffee table and footstool. I wonder how he managed to make everything so accurate. ‘How did you…’

  ‘… and this is you upstairs with Daisy in her room,’ he continues, pointing through an upstairs window.

  Pinpricks of unease dot my back as I peer through the miniature window to see a Lego version of me sitting on the futon in what appears to be an exact replica of Daisy’s room. In my Lego arms, I’m holding a Lego version of Daisy. How does Martin know what Daisy’s room looks like? I should ask him, but I’m scared to hear the answer.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ he says, his eyes narrowing, ‘didn’t you say you saw an intruder? We must go upstairs and check.’

  I can’t admit my reasons for breaking in here. I can hardly tell him I suspected him of being a child-snatcher. ‘Yes,’ I lie, ‘I thought I saw someone go around the back of your house. But, well, I haven’t been feeling myself lately so I suppose I could have been mistaken. I just thought I’d better come and investigate. I know you would have done the same for me if you’d seen someone hanging around my house. All part of the Neighbourhood Watch service, right?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. We must all look out for one another. After all, that’s why I set up the Neighbourhood Watch in the first place. Look, Kirstie, why don’t you go back home and I’ll have a check around, make sure it’s all clear?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, yes. You don’t look well at all. You’ve gone quite green around the gills. Go back home, I insist. Thank you for coming to investigate, dear. Thank you.’

  ‘Okay.’ I let my shoulders slump. Suddenly I feel quite weak, as though the slightest gust of wind could blow me over.

  ‘Well,’ he says, his face brightening, ‘there is a silver lining to all this, of course.’

  ‘There is?’

  ‘Yes. I now have someone to discuss my model with! It’s been a terrible strain trying to keep it all a secret.’

  That’s all I need – hours spent listening to Martin bombard me with details about his creepy model. But in light of what I thought him capable of, I guess listening to him talk about Lego is the least I can do. Something else occurs to me. ‘Where’s your car, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Ah, yes, my car. I was in a traffic collision last week – not my fault, I hasten to add.’

  ‘That’s awful, are you okay?’ I ask, trying and failing to forget that Martin is creating tiny models of all the neighbours.

  ‘Mild whiplash. Would you believe the insurers wrote off my car? Apparently it’s cheaper to get a new vehicle than to fix the old one. Terrible state of affairs, very wasteful. Nevertheless, I’m waiting for the cheque to come through from them before I can purchase a new one.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Yes, well. Nothing I can do about it. Luckily, I have my Lego model to take my mind off the stress of it all. You know, this project is the reason I’ve been so concerned with the building works next door – the vibrations from their drilling have resulted in some of my buildings destabilising. It’s extremely frustrating.’

  I nod and give a sympathetic murmur as I turn to leave the basement, running my eyes one last time over the table with the Lego, and the strange doll lying in the cot. It’s then that I notice a large mirror at the end of the room, and next to the mirror, set into the wall, is another door, painted white to match the walls, its silver handle glinting.

  ‘What’s through there?’ I ask, pointing at the door, a strange ringing starting up in my ears.

  ‘Boiler room,’ Martin says, his face going blank. At that moment, the room plunges back into darkness as he switches off the light.

  I gasp and head for the exit, at the same time wishing I had the courage to go and try that boiler-room door to see if Martin is telling the truth. But my nerves won’t take it. I need to get out of here, back into the fresh air, before I pass out.

  I rush past Martin out of the Lego room, trying to quell the resurging panic in my chest, telling myself that Martin is probably telling the truth. He’s building a Lego model, nothing more sinister than that. That other door is probably nothing but a boiler room, like he said. I need to stop imagining things where there is nothing. I need to keep my runaway thoughts in check.

  As I race up the stairs, away from my neighbour, a million things fly through my head. I must go home and try to put my thoughts in some kind of order. Because something else is also occurring to me – if it wasn’t Martin’s voice in the baby monitor, and if he wasn’t responsible for that threatening phone call, then who was?

  * * *

  At last, I’m back in my own quiet garden, slightly shell-shocked and somewhat chastened, with nothing but the sound of birdsong in my ears and the sigh of a warm breeze on my skin. It feels like hours since I was last here, but it can’t have been more than twenty minutes ago. My legs are trembling and my dress is sticking to my back and to my legs. I need to go inside and sit down where it’s cool and quiet. To process everything. I can’t be sure if Martin was telling me the truth when he said the other door leads to the boiler room. He could be lying. The Lego room could be a cover for something more sinister. But, no, I should stop this. I’m doing it again – making wild assumptions without any proof.

  I realise I left my back door open – not a smart move. I must really be out of sorts. Now I’ve discovered that Martin may not be responsible for whatever’s going on, I need to be even more on my guard. It could be someone else out there who threatened me on the phone. Someone else who attempted to snatch a baby. After all, didn’t I hear two voices in the monitor that night?

  I quickly head inside and turn to close the doors, but as I do so, I feel a prickling sensation snake its way down my back.

  I’m not alone. Someone else is in my house.

  Thirty-Three

  ‘Don’t freak out.’

  A male voice. He sounds almost as scared as I feel.

  I remain where I am, facing the bifold doors, afraid to turn around. ‘What do you want?’ I ask, a tremor in my voice.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s only me, miss.’

  ‘Callum?’ I turn around and let out a huge sigh of relief when I see the boy standing by the kitchen table, his hands raised as though in surrender, his puppy-dog eyes brimming with worry. ‘You scared the life out of me,’ I snap. ‘What are you doing in here? You shouldn’t be inside my house.’ I know how ironic that sounds considering my recent actions, but Callum doesn’t know that.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, lowering his hands. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you.’

  ‘So?’ I ask. ‘Have you got an explanation for what you’re doing here? And don’t tell me you’re looking for your football.’

  ‘No. I was in the fields out the back, trying to get hold of Hannah – she hasn’t replied to
my texts – and I saw your back door was open…’

  ‘So you thought you’d wander in?’ I need Callum to leave. My mind is still churning from my encounter with Martin.

  ‘No,’ he replies. ‘I rang your doorbell first. But you didn’t answer, so I came round the back again to see if you were okay.’

  ‘And what made you think you could just come inside?’ I ask in my most serious teacher voice.

  He shifts from one foot to the other. ‘I was worried, miss.’

  ‘Worried?’

  ‘I heard what happened at the barbecue yesterday.’

  My face heats up at the thought of it. A breath of wind blows in from the garden, ruffling my dress, my hair. I smooth my dress and push the curls off my face.

  ‘I know your husband took your daughter away this morning.’

  My heart begins to beat faster. ‘Are you spying on me, Callum?’

  Now it’s his turn to flush. ‘No. I just heard about it. You know what it’s like, people talk. I wanted to say I’m sorry about what went on.’

  ‘You didn’t just break in here to say you’re sorry.’ A myriad of possible reasons why he could be here race across my mind, but none of them make any sense.

  ‘I didn’t break in!’ He thrusts out his jaw. ‘When you didn’t answer the door, I was worried. I knew your husband had gone and I thought you might have…’ He tails off.

  ‘You thought I might have what? Hurt myself? Come on, Callum, you’ll have to do better than that.’

  ‘It’s true, miss. I was really worried. You were my favourite teacher at school. I knew you wouldn’t have got shitfaced at the party and dropped your baby like they said you did. Thing is… I know something.’

  ‘What! What do you know?’ The look on his face is scaring me. He seems uncomfortable, like he knows something bad. Something I won’t want to hear. The trees and bushes are rustling outside. A dog barks in the distance.

  ‘For starters, your husband shouldn’t have taken your little ’un away,’ Callum says with a scowl. ‘You should get her back off him.’

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ I say, wondering why I’m discussing my personal life with an eighteen-year-old boy. ‘I haven’t been myself recently,’ I continue. ‘Dom’s taken Daisy to his parents to give me a break. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave. I appreciate your concern, though,’ I add.

  ‘Don’t you wanna hear what I’ve got to say?’ he asks.

  I’m not sure I do. But he obviously has something he wants to get off his chest. ‘Go on then, Callum. But make it quick. I’m not feeling too great.’ The events of the party are catching up with me. I really think I need to go and lie down.

  Callum tilts his head. ‘I know something about your husband.’

  A chill settles on my shoulders. I walk over to the kitchen table, pull out a chair and take a seat, crossing my legs and then my arms. ‘What? What do you know about him?’ I’m telling myself to stay calm. This boy can’t possibly know anything about my family. He’s just a kid who believes whatever ridiculous gossip he’s heard.

  ‘Well, for starters, he’s getting juice from Jimmy Clifford.’ Callum grips the back of a chair and tips it towards him.

  ‘Juice? What are you talking about?’ I don’t like the sound of this.

  ‘Steroids, miss.’

  ‘What?’ As shocking as this sounds, I’m almost relieved. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was something far worse than steroids. ‘You think Dom’s taking steroids? Who told you that? You can’t come round here and start accusing…’ But suddenly it all starts to make sense – Dom’s brief visits to the Cliffords after work, his obsession with training.

  ‘Everyone knows about Jimmy,’ Callum says. ‘I’ve scored there myself from time to time.’

  I raise my eyebrows.

  ‘Nothing heavy, miss. Just dope.’

  ‘So? You buy dope. So what. What makes you think Dom’s taking steroids? Jimmy’s a friend, that’s all. He goes round there for the occasional beer sometimes.’

  Callum pulls the chair out and sits down, starts drumming his fingertips on the table. ‘I saw Dom there once with the gear in his hand. Told him his secret was safe with me, but he hates me now. Thinks I’m going to tell someone.’

  ‘Well, Callum. You have told someone. You’ve just told me.’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s different. You’re his wife. You deserve better than that scumbag.’

  ‘Excuse me!’

  ‘Sorry, miss, but Dom’s a tosser.’

  I rise to my feet and take a step towards the open back door. ‘Okay, Callum, I’d like you to leave now.’ I grit my teeth, tiring of this conversation, of this boy and his talk of drugs and steroids. I’ve got more important things to worry about, like who’s threatening me and my baby and how I’m going to get Dom and Daisy to come back home.

  ‘Sorry,’ Callum says, sounding anything but, ‘I know he’s your husband and you probably love him and everything, but you shouldn’t. I haven’t told you the rest.’ His drumming fingertips are getting faster, louder.

  ‘Do you think you could stop that?’ I ask, nodding at his hands.

  Callum splays his fingers flat on the table, then looks back up at me, his dark eyes full of something – pity? I can’t tell. ‘It’s a bit awkward,’ he says. ‘This thing I’ve got to tell you.’

  I shake my head, impatient. ‘Go on. Spit it out.’ I notice a damp patch up on the corner of the ceiling, right below the bathroom. We must have a leak somewhere. I’ll have to get Dom to check it out when he comes home… If he comes home.

  ‘You know you called the cops about that baby-monitor thing?’ Callum says, jolting me back to the present.

  ‘How do you know about that?’ I ask, tensing.

  ‘That doesn’t matter, miss. The thing I need to tell you is that there is another baby in your road.’

  ‘What?’ I take another step back. This boy is in my house. Only he’s not a boy, he’s a man. And he’s just admitted that he knows about another baby. Maybe he’s not the sweet person I thought he was.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ he says quickly, his eyes wide, realising he’s frightening me.

  ‘You better tell me what the hell’s going on, Callum.’

  ‘It’s Hannah’s baby.’

  ‘Hannah? But she’s only fifteen!’ I realise that was a naive thing to say. Hannah has been flirting with boys at school since she was twelve.

  ‘She’s sixteen now,’ Callum replies. ‘Anyway, her family’s trying to keep it quiet. Trying to stop it turning into a scandal. Parky’ll probably lose his job if the school finds out his daughter got pregnant when she was fifteen – got to keep a squeaky-clean reputation and all that crap. That’s why they’re moving house. Parky’s got a new job up north. Hannah’s pissed off – she said her parents are going to pretend the baby’s theirs.’

  ‘Is it your baby?’ I ask. ‘Is that why you’ve been hanging around next door? I thought you said you two were just friends.’ Something else occurs to me – I bet it was Parkfield behind that anonymous call, trying to warn me off. Trying to stop any gossip from flying around school. My blood heats up as the realisation begins to dawn. All that stress and fear caused by a pompous man trying to save his reputation.

  ‘No,’ Callum says, ‘the baby’s not mine, even though her parents think I’m the dad. That’s why they hate me. Me and Han, we’re just friends. We’ve never slept together. Never even kissed. She was a virgin until…’ Callum’s hands curl into fists and his face turns red.

  ‘Callum?’ I prompt.

  ‘I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t want to tell you this.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ The room begins to close in as I wait for him to go on. My heart drums in my ears and pulses in my fingertips. I don’t want him to finish his sentence. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. The air stills as if holding its breath.

  ‘Hannah was a virgin,’ Callum says, ‘until she slept with your husband.’<
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  Thirty-Four

  The air leaves my lungs and it feels like an eternity until I take my next breath. He can’t possibly be telling the truth. ‘Why would you even say something like that?’

  ‘Because it’s true. I’m sorry, miss, but it is.’

  ‘Dom was right about you,’ I cry. ‘You’re a troublemaker.’

  ‘Yeah, well he would say that, wouldn’t he? He knows I’m on to him.’

  ‘Get out!’ I cry. ‘Go on, just get out!’ I cross the room and pull at the shoulder of his T-shirt, attempting to haul him to his feet. ‘Maybe you’re right about the steroids, Callum. Maybe. But what you’re accusing Dom of – cheating on me, sleeping with an underage girl – no, I don’t believe it. We’ve been together for years. I know him, and he wouldn’t do that. He just wouldn’t.’

  ‘I know it must be a crap thing to hear,’ he says, getting to his feet, cringing against my rough treatment of him, despite the fact he’s bigger than me, ‘but I’m not lying, miss. I promise. Hannah told me herself. I thought you deserved to know the truth, especially after he’s gone off with your little ’un. It’s not right. He shouldn’t have her. Your baby should be with you, not that paedo.’

  ‘Don’t call him that!’ I propel him in the direction of the back door, trying to get him out of my house. ‘And I don’t suppose you’ve considered that it’s Hannah who’s lying?’ That must be it, I think, relieved. She’s always been a little madam. She’s lying through her teeth. She has to be.

  ‘Hannah’s not like that,’ he says, shaking his head vigorously. ‘She wouldn’t lie to me. We’re friends. She tells me everything. Look, miss, before I go, there’s something else—’

  ‘Something else? What else can there possibly be?’

  ‘It was my voice you heard in the monitor that night. I’m sorry I scared you.’

  ‘Your voice?’ I take my hand off him and take a step back. What exactly is he telling me here?

  ‘Yeah. I was in Hannah’s room that night when the cops came round asking if there was another baby in Magnolia Close.’