No Place Like Home_a gripping psychological thriller

by Rebecca Muddiman

  As I took a seat on the bus, I thought about what Janet had said and realised I could take the whole day off, maybe even the next day, too, if I wanted to. If I had a couple of days to myself, I could really make inroads with the house. Maybe it was wrong, especially using Mum as an excuse, but I decided work would have to learn to cope without me sooner or later. I’d already applied for a couple of better positions, and besides, I was always doing them favours, working extra shifts, staying late to mop up other people’s mistakes. I guessed they owed me one.

  As the bus passed through the town, past the shops – those that were still in business, anyway – I tried to decide what to do with the rest of my day. I started making a list in my head. I’d get a blind for the kitchen window. I didn’t want anyone, least of all Jacob, looking in at me, especially at night. Plus, I had my eye on a fabric that would perfectly match the paint I’d picked out in my head. I’d finally do some proper shopping for some proper food and maybe even make that casserole I’d planned the night before. But mostly, I’d have some time alone, just relaxing. It’d been a stressful few weeks with the move and everything. And it wasn’t as if the months before had been easy. All the stuff with Mum and then Jacob – I was surprised I hadn’t gone mad too.

  The bus stopped by the home, and I hopped off, feeling lighter than I had in days, despite my disturbed sleep. I didn’t even feel like turning back as I got to the doors. As I walked through, waiting to be buzzed in, I could see Cathy lurking by the nurses’ station. I wondered if I could get by without her seeing me. I always got the feeling she didn’t like me no matter what I did. I’d brought boxes of cakes and chocolates for the staff when Mum was first brought in, but it did nothing to endear me to Cathy. It always seemed as though she thought of us, the relatives, as the enemy. That we were somehow lacking by letting our parents be dumped in such a place. It didn’t seem to occur to her that if we hadn’t brought our loved ones there, she wouldn’t have a job. I guess it’s impossible to understand some people.

  ‘Ms Cooke,’ Cathy said as I walked along the corridor. ‘I informed the doctor you were coming, but she had an appointment elsewhere so couldn’t stay. But she said your mum is fine, and if you want to speak to her, you can call her secretary to arrange a time.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. Thank you.’

  ‘Oh,’ Cathy said, looking put out. ‘Well, I’m sure your mum will be pleased to see you, anyway. You left in such a hurry the other day.’

  ‘What happened? How did she fall?’ I asked.

  Cathy looked down at her sensible shoes, and I wondered if she was responsible for what’d happened, if she’d been negligent. ‘She was trying to get to the phone,’ she said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘She wanted to call the police.’

  ‘The police? Why?’ I said, an unsettled feeling coming over me. ‘I told you something was wrong,’ I said, angry they’d allowed this. ‘She’s done it before, you know. Called the police because she’s gotten something in her head.’

  ‘I think it might’ve been the man who came to visit her.’

  ‘What man?’ I said, but I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. I tried to tell myself it couldn’t have been him. He wouldn’t come here. He wouldn’t do that. ‘Who was it?’ I asked.

  ‘I didn’t let him in,’ she said, quickly. ‘But I put my head round the door and saw him talking to your mum. She seemed worked up about something, so I asked if everything was okay, and he took off. I couldn’t catch him. I tried to ask your mum who he was, but she was in a right state. I couldn’t work out what she was saying at all. She was so upset, I thought she was going to have another turn. I couldn’t calm her down, so I came out to call for the doctor. Next thing, she’s dragged herself out of bed, crawling across the floor. Comes out here, trying to get to the phone. Shouting for the police. Took three of us to get her back into bed.’ She shook her head. ‘She was upset all night. Something really got to her. She kept saying a name. Jake. Jacob, maybe. Does that ring a bell?’

  I thought I was going to be sick. Of course it was him. Who else would it be? No one. There was no one else.

  ‘Polly?’ Cathy said, coming towards me and putting her hand on my arm. ‘She kept saying your name too. Is he someone you know? I know something happened to you last week. I saw the bruises. Should we have called the police?’

  I could tell she was trying to work out if she was in trouble. If I was going to sue or something. But I had more on my mind. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her not to let him in again, but I was frozen. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Why would he come here? What was he trying to do? Was he threatening me? Or Mum?

  I could feel anger surging through me now. How dare he come here? How dare he try and get to me through my mum? I thought about telling Cathy to call the police on him, but I knew I had to deal with it myself.

  ‘He’s my ex. There’s no need to call anyone, he’s not dangerous. But Mum doesn’t like him, so just don’t let him in again.’ Cathy stood there, wringing her hands. ‘There was nothing you could’ve done,’ I muttered and left Cathy standing in the hall, mouth gaping like a fish let off the hook.

  I found Mum in bed, her eyes on the TV in the corner. Some cooking show was on, and even though Mum had never been into cooking, had never once made anything other than ready-made meals, she was engrossed, barely glancing at me as I went in.

  ‘Mum? Cathy said you had a fall. Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ Mum mumbled, keeping her eyes on the TV. I could see bruises snaking down her arm to her wrist.

  ‘Have they given you anything? Painkillers or something?’ A tiny shake of the head. ‘Do you want me to go and ask someone?’ No response.

  We sat there in silence for a little while, watching the chef on the TV create something that looked pretentious and inedible. There was a time when Mum and I would’ve laughed at it together, she’d have made some comment such as ‘what’s wrong with egg and chips?’, and I would’ve reminded her about the time she was offered oysters at a dinner party, and she’d vomited onto the host’s lap. But now, we just sat in silence, keeping our thoughts to ourselves.

  ‘I’m sorry I ran out the other day,’ I said and bit my lip. ‘I was just upset. You know I don’t like you talking about the fire.’

  Mum’s eyes met mine, and I turned the TV off. The room was too quiet without the TV, or maybe it was that it was no longer drowning out the noises from other rooms. I could hear voices shouting out, eighty-year-olds calling for their mothers.

  ‘What happened, Mum? What happened with Jacob?’

  Her eyes widened, her mouth opened slightly.

  ‘He came to see you, didn’t he?’ I looked behind me, towards the door. ‘Cathy told me. Said he upset you.’

  I could hear her breath, heavy and ragged.

  ‘I know you never liked him,’ I said. ‘And I should’ve listened to you. He’s not a nice person.’

  She still didn’t even attempt to speak, and I could feel myself getting angry. If she was so upset about it, why wasn’t she saying anything? Cathy said she was getting better. Was she just punishing me for Jacob coming to see her?

  ‘I’m sorry he came here,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry if he upset you. But I’ve told them not to let him in. You won’t see him again.’

  I could see tears in her eyes, and she tried to lift her hand. She closed her eyes, out of tiredness or frustration. Maybe both.

  ‘Cathy said you tried to call the police. That’s when you fell. Why were you calling the police? Because of Jacob?’

  Mum wouldn’t look at me, her hands twisted at the blanket on her lap. I put my hand on hers, and she jerked away. ‘Why were you calling the police?’ I asked, shaking her now. ‘Mum?’

  ‘Everything all right?’ Cathy said, poking her head around the door. I stood up, and Cathy smiled at Mum. ‘Polly was telling me that man was her ex-boyfriend. That you don’t like him so much. Is that why you were upset, Margaret? We
ll, don’t worry, pet, we won’t let him in again if you don’t want to see him.’

  I waited for Mum to look at me again or to say something, but she just stared at the wall, not even acknowledging Cathy. Cathy looked at me, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘He won’t come again, Mum. I promise,’ I said, although I knew I couldn’t stop him trying. I should’ve realised he’d try dirty tricks to get to me.

  ‘Margaret?’ I looked from Cathy to Mum and saw that she was crying. She shook her head as Cathy offered her a tissue. ‘I think your Mum’s tired,’ Cathy said, and I nodded and stood, gathering my things. I leaned down and kissed the top of her head before walking to the door, Cathy right behind me.

  ‘Cathy,’ Mum said quietly, and I stopped, wondering why she wanted this stranger and not me.

  Cathy went back to her, leaning down and listening as Mum said something. Cathy looked up at me, worry creasing her face. She patted Mum’s hand and came back to the door.

  ‘See you soon, Polly,’ Cathy said and closed the door on me, leaving me alone on the outside.

  I stood there a while, trying to hear what was going on inside, but all I could hear was the sound of the TV again, so finally I walked away, fighting back the tears. I could feel tension building up inside me, like elastic bands were tied tight around my guts. I walked quickly, almost running, out of the building. I could see the other nurses following me with their eyes, but I didn’t look back. I needed to get out, and I didn’t want to come back.

  13

  I made my way off the bus and ran across the street, barely pausing to see if he was there, part of me thinking, If I can’t see you, then you can’t see me. I was still wound up and wishing I’d never gone to see Mum. Wishing I’d never done a lot of things.

  As I unlocked the door, I noticed an old woman at the house next door. I couldn’t decide if she was coming out or going in, whether she lived there or was just visiting. Either way, she glared at me as I struggled to get the key in the lock. I could tell she wanted to say something. Once I’d opened the door, I chanced a look, and the woman opened her mouth, just as I closed the front door. She probably wanted to complain about the racket the night before.

  I stood with my back against the door and closed my eyes. This was so much harder than I thought it would be. All of this. There was a part of me that wished I’d never left the flat, that I hadn’t taken a chance on making things better.

  The knock startled me, and I jumped away from the door. Was it him? Had he been waiting for me to come home? I leaned in and checked the peep hole. The old woman from next door. I stood back from the door and waited for her to leave. I didn’t want to have to explain Jacob and what had happened.

  I waited a minute longer and looked out again. She was still there, standing back, looking up at the windows. She came back to the door and knocked a second time. Let her think what she wants. Who cares?

  I walked away from the door, into the kitchen and threw down the blind I’d bought for the window. I thought about calling Janet at work and telling her I’d be in the next day, maybe even that afternoon. At least then I’d be out of the house. I slumped down on one of the wobbly chairs and rested my head on the table. How had it come to this? I loved this house. I’d been so excited to get it. I’d put myself through so much to get it. But now…

  I could feel tears burning the backs of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wasn’t going to let them win. This was my house now. This was my life now. I wasn’t going to let anyone ruin it. Not Jacob. Not Mum. Not anyone.

  Pushing myself up from the chair, I decided to put up the blind, taking out my frustrations with a hammer, before tearing up a threadbare carpet, sweating with the effort. I stood back and looked at the room. It suddenly looked unlived-in without the carpet, but it didn’t matter. It hadn’t been my life that’d lived on it.

  Tired and achy, I decided to take a bath, to try and relax a bit before deciding what to do next. As I walked down the hall, towards the stairs, I noticed there was some post on the mat. I was going to leave it, doubting it was for me. I was still getting the previous occupier’s mail, and I was yet to organise re-directing mine. Another thing on my to-do list. But something about the envelope on top of the pile stopped me.

  My stomach tightened as I realised it had no full address, just my name. It was from him. I stood there for a moment, trying to decide whether I should read it or put it straight in the bin. Before I knew it, I was striding forward and scooping up the pile of letters. I walked back to the kitchen and threw the pile, save the one on the top, into the bin. I was sick of getting their stuff, and it was all junk anyway.

  I took Jacob’s letter to the table and sat down. The writing looked even worse than it had the day before. Tearing into the envelope, a small piece of paper ripped at the edges came out, and I thought I’d done it with my carelessness. But as I tipped it up, several pieces of paper fell out of the envelope, and I realised what they were.

  On the table in front of me, I started to put it together like the world’s worst jigsaw. The drawing of me started to reappear in front of my eyes, a few pieces missing here and there. The rest must have blown away, but Jacob had somehow managed to collect most of it. I pushed it aside and took the other bit of paper from the envelope. This one was complete.

  I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME. BITCH.

  He hadn’t signed it, but he didn’t need to. I dropped the note on the table and sat back. I could go to the police, he was harassing me, after all, and it wouldn’t look good for him after everything else that’d happened. But I didn’t really want to do that. Not until it was absolutely necessary. I almost laughed. When, I wondered, would it be absolutely necessary to call the police? How far would it have to go before I thought that was a good idea?

  Pushing the scraps of paper back into the envelope, I screwed the whole thing up and shoved it into the bin with the other junk mail. He’d have to do more than that to scare me.

  14

  I came out of the bath feeling relaxed. There’d been no more people at the door, no more malicious notes, just me and some candles and bubbles. I hadn’t called Janet back, deciding to wait until morning. I was sure she’d forgive me not calling back. I just couldn’t think about that now. Not about Mum or work or Jacob or anything. I just wanted to be alone.

  I was in my pyjamas, even though it was just gone four p.m., and it was still light, just. There was maybe a couple of hours daylight left. But I wasn’t planning going anywhere else, so why couldn’t I dress however I liked in my own house? My house, my rules.

  I wished I had some wine in the fridge so I could start drinking early, too, really show them I didn’t care, but the best I could rustle up was a half empty bottle of port in the back of the cupboard that’d been left when I moved in. I decided things hadn’t got that bad yet, and I didn’t want to make my point that much. So, I opted for a cup of tea instead and took it through to the living room and stretched out in front of the TV for the night.

  It was after nine when I woke, knocking the cushion onto the floor, which spilled the cold cup of tea I’d left there. I had no idea how long I’d been asleep, but I felt woozy, disoriented.

  I sat up slowly and tried to get my head around what day it was, what I should be doing. The TV was talking to itself in the corner, and the curtains were wide open. I stood up quickly and went to the window, panicking in case he’d been looking in. I felt vulnerable all of a sudden.

  As I crossed to the window, I let out a cry. He was staring right at me. He wasn’t across the street this time, he was right in front of the house. He’d probably been watching me sleep, and the thought made me feel sick. He caught my eye and something passed over his face, something I couldn’t quite make out. It looked as though he was speaking, but I wasn’t sure.

  We stared at each other, and it felt intimate, somehow, the memories of things we’d done flashed through my mind. I felt the shudder of nausea rise in me again. I guessed this was what he was count
ing on. Either to make me sick or to try and win me back. But it wasn’t going to work.

  I felt the anger rush through me, about how he was trying to get to me, about how he’d used my mum to do so, and I ran to the door, the faster I moved, the more the anger grew. I struggled with the lock, but once I was outside, it all came rushing out.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ I screamed at him, running up to him, my face just inches from his. He looked perplexed, as if he never expected me to come out.

  ‘Polly,’ he said, stuttering over my name and reaching for my hand. I pulled back, his touch felt like creepy crawlies on my skin.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ I said, stepping back so it wouldn’t happen again. ‘How dare you go and see my mum? You’ve no right. And if you go there again, I’ll call the police. If you come here again, I’ll call the police.’

  Jacob looked unsure now, as if he hadn’t thought it through. I watched as he looked around the street, nervous in case the police were already on their way. We were both gambling on what we thought we knew about each other. Jacob thought he had a right to do this to me and hoped I wouldn’t call the police, hoped that I wouldn’t be brave enough to do it. And maybe he was right. I didn’t really want to. I didn’t want to see him carted off, didn’t want him locked up and ground down by some copper. But he couldn’t know that, it was all I had to cling to. Besides, if it really came to it, I would do it. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  ‘You can’t keep coming to my house. I’ll have to call the police if you don’t stop. You know that, don’t you?’ I said, my voice gentler now.

  ‘But…’ he said and stepped closer to me again. I was being too nice. I was encouraging him. Showing sympathy, letting guilt get to me. It was dangerous. It would lead me somewhere I didn’t want to go again.

  ‘You sent that nasty letter. I can take it to the police. I will take it to the police if you come here anymore.’