No Place Like Home_a gripping psychological thriller

by Rebecca Muddiman

  ‘So, you’re the one I should come to if I get stuck, then? You must know every trick in the book,’ he said.

  ‘I do,’ I said.

  ‘I’m saving to go to Thailand,’ he said. ‘Six months with my mates. It’s going to be mint.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ I said, and then listened to his drivel until our break was over and had to sit through the same spiel the next day at lunch. The third day, I asked him if he could get me something, and he looked surprised but agreed anyway.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Perfect,’ I said.

  The next day, AJ walked past my desk and winked, sliding something under my phone. It was Halloween, and the whole office was covered in ghosts and ghouls and people were handing out sweets left, right and centre. No one suspected a thing.

  AJ walked away, and I sneaked a look when no one was watching. The little squares had strawberries printed on them, and my heart raced a little as I stuffed them into my bag.

  I avoided AJ as much as possible after that, and by the end of the week, he was gone. I wondered if he was in Thailand and if he’d get arrested on his way back six months down the line, a load of drugs smuggled into his suitcase. He’d deserve it.

  I had no idea how much it would take to have an effect on Jacob, where the line was between making him feel he was losing his mind and it actually being dangerous. So, I started him off with half a tab. I watched him carefully as he ate the dinner I’d prepared for him. But forty-five minutes later, nothing had happened, and I wondered if the effects of LSD were diluted when ingested with mashed potato. Or maybe AJ had sold me duds.

  An hour later, I noticed he’d been staring at the wall for some time, but it wasn’t clear if this was normal behaviour for Jacob or the effects of the drug. I was about to ask when he started giggling.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked.

  Jacob didn’t answer, he just sat there laughing at whatever it was he was seeing on the wall. He didn’t seem concerned by it, didn’t seem to think anything was wrong, and after a while, it became too annoying to listen to, so I went to bed and left him there enjoying himself.

  In the morning I found him asleep on the settee where I’d left him. When he woke up, I asked about his night, what he’d been laughing at so hard, but he just shrugged. If he thought anything was wrong, he was keeping it to himself. So, over the following week, I upped his dosage day by day until he finally started to behave correctly. At night, he’d be on edge, twitchy and distracted, even gasping and shouting once or twice, and then the next day, he’d be quiet, nervous, confusion etched on his face. I could tell he wanted to say something, but he always held back.

  I upped the dose further. I needed him to confide in me, for him to admit that he was losing it. Finally, Jacob asked me if I saw it too, reaching out to touch something or someone before snatching his hand back, shaking and muttering.

  ‘Don’t you see her?’ he asked me over and over until it started to grate.

  ‘There’s no one there,’ I said. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  Jacob kept pacing, talking nonsense, speaking to the walls, and all the while, I held up my phone and made a record of his latest episode, trying not to laugh until finally, it wasn’t funny anymore. Jacob clawed at the wall, screaming, smashing things up – even his precious trains - begging me to tell him what was going on.

  Three hours later, I was almost climbing the walls myself, desperate to calm him down, wondering if I’d gone too far.

  ‘It’s okay, Jacob,’ I said, over and over, stroking his cheek, trying to stop what was happening.

  The next morning, Jacob was quiet. He knew something was wrong but refused to talk about it. ‘Maybe we should go back to Doctor Turner,’ I suggested.

  ‘No!’ he snapped. ‘Just leave me alone.’

  I grabbed hold of his arm, and he flinched, pulling away from me. ‘You can’t just ignore this, Jacob. Something’s wrong. Really wrong.’

  ‘I’m not going back to the doctor. I’m not mental.’

  ‘No one’s saying you’re mental but this…this isn’t normal. You need help.’ I took my phone out and found the video footage of the night before. ‘Look.’

  Jacob turned away from me until he heard the sound of his voice, screaming. He looked over his shoulder, and I held up the phone for him. His face dropped. He looked like he might start to cry.

  ‘I don’t know what happened–’

  ‘Exactly. You’ve been like this for weeks. I can’t stand it anymore. It’s not just losing things, forgetting everything. You’re getting worse. You don’t even remember hitting me.’

  ‘What? No,’ he said, and tried to touch me, but I pulled away. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’ He shook his head. ‘Have I hurt you?’ His voice was tinged with tears.

  I shook my head. ‘You don’t remember, do you? You don’t even remember talking about it.’ I sat down. ‘I don’t think I can take this anymore. I really don’t.’

  ‘Polly, you have to believe me. I don’t know what’s going on,’ he said. ‘And I don’t remember hitting you. But I wouldn’t do that. I know I wouldn’t.’

  ‘You did, though.’

  ‘But–’

  ‘What would your mum think? What would she say if she knew about all this? She’d want you to get help.’

  He looked like he wanted to cry. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘I know. But you need help.’

  Jacob turned away from me again, and I sighed. ‘Maybe you should just go, Jacob,’ I said.

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘I don’t know. A friend, maybe? Just not here.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’m scared, Jacob. I know it’s not your fault, but we can’t go on like this. I can’t go on like this. If you won’t get help, you need to leave.’

  ‘But this is my house,’ he said.

  I tilted my head again and touched his face. ‘Oh, Jacob,’ I said. ‘You really don’t remember, do you?’

  ‘Remember what?’

  ‘That you gave the house to me. You wanted me to buy it from you.’

  47

  I showed Jacob the letter he’d composed declaring he was signing the house over to me for a large sum to be paid off monthly for as long as it took. I was aware when I wrote it, carefully rewording it over and over to make it sound less formal, less educated, more like something Jacob would say himself, that it wouldn’t hold up in a court of law. But it was something, and if things went as I’d hoped, there would be no need for a court of law.

  Jacob looked at the sheet of paper, the short paragraph explaining the situation, the scrawled signature at the bottom. The signature was perfect. I couldn’t count the amount of times I’d practised it.

  His forehead creased again, and I could hear the cogs turning as he desperately tried to remember doing it. But like so many other things recently, he had no memory at all. ‘I don’t…’ he started, his fingers brushing the words on the page. ‘I can’t remember doing this.’

  ‘Does this mean you don’t want to go through with it anymore?’ I asked. ‘Because if you don’t, that’s okay,’ I said, keeping my voice calm and neutral, ‘but I’ll have to get my money back.’

  ‘What money?’ he asked.

  ‘The money I’ve started paying you for the house.’

  Jacob put the contract down and rested his head in his hands, rocking gently. I left the paper where it was, not afraid that he’d destroy it as I had plenty of copies elsewhere. ‘You still have it, don’t you?’ I said, and he looked up.

  ‘I don’t know, Polly,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember. I don’t even remember you giving me any. Where did I put it?’

  ‘It went into your bank account,’ I said. ‘I’m supposed to pay you every month.’

  He shook his head violently, maybe trying to shake some sense into himself. ‘I don’t think I’d do this,’ he said. ‘This was Mam’s house. I wouldn’t give it up. I wouldn’t.’

  ‘You’re n
ot really giving it up though, are you? You’re selling it to me. You said you wanted me to have it, that I could look after it better than you. You said you needed money.’

  ‘No!’ he said. His eyes snapped open and he stared at me. There was anger in his glare. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, his voice low and taut.

  ‘What don’t you believe?’

  ‘Any of this. The house, the money. None of its real.’

  ‘But it is real, Jacob. It’s right here in front of you.’ I nodded to the sheet of paper with his signature. I could see his hands turning into fists and momentarily thought I should stop and just walk away. But I couldn’t. I’d got this far. I’d put so much into it, worked so hard, I couldn’t give up now. I was owed.

  ‘Look, I think you need to go back to the doctor–’

  ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’m not going. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘Go back and see Doctor Turner. Go and get the scan,’ I said.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Jacob, there’s something wrong with you. You keep doing things and then forgetting them. It’s not normal.’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘There’s something really wrong.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re blacking out, you’re forgetting things, you’re doing things and don’t know why.’ I pointed to the mess from the night before. ‘You did that and don’t even know why.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Maybe there’s something really wrong with your brain. You need help.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me!’ he screamed and launched himself at me, pushing me to the floor. He stood over me, shaking with rage, his fists clenched, and I cowered and waited for the rest, but he just stood there doing nothing and all I could think was, At least I wasn’t lying about him hitting me.

  ‘I just want to help you,’ I said, and reached up to his hand. He pulled away and walked over to the window.

  ‘No, you don’t. You’re like all the rest. You think I’m stupid. You’re lying to me.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m worried about you. But if you won’t let me help you, then maybe I should go. But I need my money back.’

  ‘There is no money. You’re lying.’

  I walked out, returning a minute later with my laptop. ‘I’ll show you,’ I said, and opened up my online banking. ‘Here,’ I said, and pointed to the screen. ‘I paid you £150 last month, I didn’t have much to spare, then. But here, two days ago I sent you £500 when I got paid. See?’

  Jacob stared at the screen, at the two payments I’d pointed at. He took the laptop from me and stared closely. ‘How do I know where it went?’ he asked.

  ‘Because that’s your account number. There, look.’

  ‘I don’t know my account number.’

  I went and found some paperwork in the dresser, rifling through for a bank statement. I pointed to the information on the letter. ‘That’s you.’ He sat there looking from the statement to the computer screen for a long time, uncomprehending. After a while, I was losing patience. ‘Get your coat,’ I said, and stood up. ‘And your bank card.’

  I dragged him down the street to the cash point and made him check his balance. He hadn’t spent the money I’d sent him, probably because he hadn’t known it was there. I nudged him over and pressed the buttons so the machine spat out a mini statement.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘Here’s the £150 and here’s the £500. You believe me now?’

  Jacob took the flimsy piece of paper from me, and his face dropped. He couldn’t deny it now. It was all there in front of him. Same as it would be for anyone who started asking questions.

  ‘So, what’s it going to be?’ I said. ‘Are you going to change your mind? Because if so, you’d better withdraw the money now, and I’ll get my things and go.’

  He looked at me, tears settled on his eyes. He didn’t want me to go, I knew that. He needed me. He couldn’t cope without me. He had no control of anything anymore.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to go.’

  ‘All right then,’ I said, and retrieved his card from the machine.

  We headed back in silence, and I knew it was going to be okay. Jacob believed it. I could tell him anything now, and he’d believe it. And so would everyone else. I had the contract, which wasn’t legally binding, but it would cover me in case anything happened, proving I hadn’t really done anything wrong. I wasn’t taking advantage of him, I was trying to help an old friend. A man who couldn’t bear to live in a house haunted by memories of his mother.

  I’d tell them that I was allowing Jacob to stay there as long as he wanted, but his behaviour had got out of control. He’d leave for days at a time, and when he returned, he’d be angry and violent.

  I’d tell them that, yes, we had been in a relationship for a while, and I’d have witnesses who could verify that – Sasha and Kimberley, Doctor Turner – and wouldn’t they think I was a good person for being with him, for taking a chance on a man like Jacob? A woman like me, a responsible, hardworking, respectable woman, risking it all to be with Jacob.

  I’d tell them he sucked me in, got me to agree to buy his house and – due to desperation and my love for him – I agreed. I’d started paying him my hard-earned money in good faith and look what happened. Who wouldn’t take my side?

  I had things under control. And when the time was right, I’d tell Jacob to leave and he’d go and that would be that. Because who was he going to turn to for help?

  48

  The next few days were calmer, more like the early days of our relationship. There were no arguments, no fights. Jacob was quiet and even let me choose the films we watched. He didn’t ask for sex, he didn’t seem to care about anything at all. He just ate what I gave him and helped with the dishes. I considered confronting him with the drugs, having something else to dangle over him, to make him do as he was told. If he was caught with drugs, he would likely go back to prison, and I knew he feared that more than anything. But I held on to that as a last resort, knowing the mind games were enough for now. I hadn’t wanted to drug him again, not after the last time. But I realised that in order to keep up appearances, he’d have to have a little episode now and then.

  In a lot of ways, it was like he wasn’t there. He certainly wasn’t in mind, even if his useless body was still taking up space on the settee, stinking because he’d stopped washing again. Part of me wondered if it could work like this, the two of us co-existing. I could move into his mum’s room. I’d got rid of most of the junk, and it was almost aired out now. There wasn’t so much as a trace of the old woman or her slow death.

  The house was big enough that if I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have to see Jacob much at all. I could get a TV for my room so I’d no longer have to sit through a Bruce Willis triple bill or sit and listen to him witter on about trains. I could make my own dinners and leave Jacob to his ready meals and takeaways. I could even redecorate things around him. Let him keep his revolting bedroom but change the rest.

  But it wouldn’t be the same. I wanted my own place. It was all I’d ever wanted. And that couldn’t happen with Jacob there. There was nothing for it. I was forced into a corner, I had to stick with the plan.

  So, after a few days of playing nice, I made my last attempt. I knew he was broken enough to go for it, it was just a matter of doing it well, doing it properly to make sure he was gone for good.

  I knew he was asleep in front of the TV, I’d heard him snoring when I went down for a cup of tea. It was as good an opportunity as I’d ever get.

  The first time didn’t hurt so much, and I knew it hadn’t worked. But hitting yourself in the face is extremely difficult. There must be some sort of defence mechanism built into your brain to stop yourself from doing real damage. I checked in the mirror and couldn’t even see a mark. It was pathetic.

  I looked around the room for something to use, something that would do real damage without trying too hard. I picked up the big mug that Jac
ob liked to drink soup out of, the one that annoyed me because of the slurping, that he’d leave somewhere for days so that bits stuck to the side and were impossible to get off. I knew I’d be killing two birds with one stone as I swung it at my face. I caught my nose and it hurt like hell, but I did it again just in case, and this time, the handle broke off and the mug fell to the floor, shattering into enough pieces to make it impossible to glue back together.

  I could feel blood trickling from my nose, and my cheek throbbed. I ran through to the hallway and checked in the mirror where I could see the damage. It was perfect. I ran back to the kitchen, sliding down to the floor amongst the broken ceramic and waited for Jacob to wake up.

  I was starting to lose the will to continue when Jacob finally came wandering in. He looked at me sitting there, his face confused from sleep, not really taking in what was happening, until something clicked in his little brain. He moved quickly and bent in front of me, reaching for my broken face. I jerked away from him.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ I said, and he pulled back.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  I scowled at him and clutched my cheek, which was burning beneath my hand. ‘You happened!’ I struggled to my feet and moved away from him. ‘You need to leave. Now,’ I said.

  ‘But–’

  ‘Get out!’

  ‘Polly, what’s going on?’

  ‘You fucking hit me. You threw that at me,’ I said, pointing to the mess on the floor.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I was asleep.’

  I forced a laugh. ‘This has to stop,’ I said. ‘I’m not taking it anymore. You think you can do this to me and then pretend you don’t remember? You’re a fucking psychopath. I wish I’d never met you.’