Remember Me: The gripping psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist.

by Lynda Renham

She led Sharni to a table in the corner. They ordered a bottle of water and Helen said without preamble, ‘So, what’s happened between you and Clare?’

  Sharni gave her a look of surprise.

  ‘Has Clare said something?’ she asked, avoiding Helen’s eyes.

  Helen pulled her phone from her bag.

  ‘I had a text this morning. She seemed upset. I said I’d give her a ring at lunchtime but I don’t want to be all excited about you taking a teacher photo and stuff if things are not good between you.’

  Helen watched as Sharni sipped her water. She wasn’t quite as plain as Helen had once thought. In fact, if that hair was highlighted and contacts replaced those hideous glasses she imagined Sharni could be quite pretty. A frown flickers across Sharni’s forehead.

  ‘I’m not really sure what I’ve done but she’s got it in her head that I’m having an affair with Chris. It’s my fault. I should have known she was insecure. I thought I’d give her a portrait photo of Chris and Ben for her anniversary. Father and son portraits are very popular. Tom told me where Chris’s office was, and I popped in to see what Chris thought of the idea. He said he’d text me when he could come round and have the photos done.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘So that’s what we did. It was all very innocent.’

  Helen nodded and muttered, ‘Ah.’

  ‘But from the screaming that came from their place last night it sounded like she went through Chris’s phone and saw his text to me. It was harmless. It was just us arranging a time for the photo shoot.’

  ‘Oops,’ said Helen, handing the menu to the waiter.

  ‘I’m having a jacket potato.’

  Sharni nodded.

  ‘The same for me.’

  Helen pushed her chair back and stretched.

  ‘That seems a bit over the top,’ she said. ‘Mind you, she does get very anxious, especially over Ben.’

  ‘I think she was cross with me yesterday. I didn’t get Ben back until late. I had to go in to work. I didn’t text because I thought we’d be back in time, and Ben was fine but I got waylaid. We were in the basement and there’s no signal there and …’

  ‘She was pretty edgy. I tried to calm her,’ remembered Helen.

  ‘She takes a lot of medication doesn’t she?’

  Helen’s head snapped up.

  ‘She said it was aspirin.’

  ‘It’s Valium. I don’t think they’re good for her.’

  ‘Christ, she’s always popping the things.’

  ‘Last night Chris came round in a bit of state. Seemed Ben was screaming and Clare couldn’t find his comfort blanket. But I’d given it to Clare earlier. I remembered doing it.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Still …’

  ‘Look,’ said Helen. ‘I’ve got to phone her. Let me see if I can talk her around. Maybe you two can talk after the photo session.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll come.’

  ‘I think maybe those pills are affecting her. I’ll be honest with you, and I am a bit outspoken, I thought you were a bit odd at the beginning. You know that stuff with the vase and … anyway. I’m starting to think that maybe Clare’s not well and probably needs our help. I’ll call her now.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I check my phone again. Helen had texted that she would phone at lunchtime. But there’s still no message. It rings and I grab it gratefully.

  ‘Oh, Helen thanks for phoning. I didn’t know who to turn to.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’m not sure what’s going on but Sharni is doing an awful lot of things behind my back. She’s got Ben’s comfort blanket for a start and she’s got Ben calling her mama. It was really late when she got back yesterday and she’s been going to Chris’s office. I lost it last night with Chris and …’

  I burst into tears and fumble in my handbag for some paracetamol. I’d been crying on and off all morning and my head is thumping.

  ‘Christ, it sounds like you’ve got yourself into a right old state. Honestly Clare, are you sure you’re not getting everything out of proportion?’

  ‘I don’t know any more. I feel sure that Tom threatened me this morning too.’

  ‘What? In what way?’

  ‘He kind of hinted I wasn’t fit to take care of Ben.’

  ‘Well if you lost it with Chris I imagine they heard you.’

  ‘Oh God, Helen, I accused Chris of having an affair with Sharni. You don’t think he is, do you?’

  ‘No I don’t and look, don’t take this the wrong way, but Sharni has been here this morning taking the kids photos and, well she’s pretty upset and doesn’t seem to know what she’s done.’

  My stomach churns. Helen has been talking to Sharni? Have they been talking about me?

  ‘You’ve spoken to her?’ I say numbly.

  ‘Yes, this morning. Look Clare we’re all having a staff photo taken. A Christmassy thing and it would be great if you could be in it. Geoff is waiting until this afternoon to see if we can get all the staff in. Please say you’ll come.’

  I feel like I’m suffocating. I thought Helen would be on my side. I struggle to breath.

  ‘I …’

  ‘You could chat to Sharni with me there. Surely it would be better to get things sorted.’

  I grip the phone tightly and glance at Ben. He is playing with the bunny rabbit that Sharni bought him.

  ‘It’ll be such a shame if you’re the only one not in the picture,’ Helen continues.

  I feel like everyone is manipulating me. Helen, who was supposed to be a friend has now been brainwashed by Sharni. How could she be so weak? How can all of them be so weak as to fall under her spell?

  ‘I’ll try,’ I say. ‘I’d better go. Ben’s getting fidgety.’

  ‘Great, see you at three.’

  I hang up and struggle to breathe. I know I have no choice but to go to school and join in the photo. I know what everyone will say if I don’t. I feel trapped. I’d spent the morning searching for a nursery until my neck went stiff. The only one that could take Ben was in Knightsbridge and cost the earth. I just can’t imagine Chris agreeing to that. It occurred to me that the only way I could keep Ben with me was to take the rest of the year off sick. There was no way Geoff would put up with that. I drop my head into my hands and sob.

  *

  I stare at the vase on the dresser. Chris had tried to buy it secretly. I’d giggled like a schoolgirl when he’d said,

  ‘Wait here. I’ll just be a minute.’

  I knew he was going to buy the vase. I’d pointed it out the day before. The small shop sat on a hill overlooking our hotel and we passed it every day. I’d looked longingly at the vase knowing we could never afford it. Our priority was our first home and not hand-painted vases. But Chris had managed to get a second and I couldn’t have been more thrilled. I’d hugged him tightly. He was apologetic that it was not perfect but I said it was as perfect as it could ever get.

  I held the vase in my hands and turned it around. I’m not sure what I expect to find. I stupidly tip it upside down, but nothing falls out. I don’t know what I was hoping for; a little note to fall out perhaps, or a sign of some sort. I sigh in irritation and am about to put it back when something catches my eye.

  I rummage through the kitchen drawers. Damn it. I’d seen the stupid magnifying glass numerous times when I hadn’t needed it and now that I did it was nowhere to be found. I grab the vase again and hold it up against the light from the window. The vase had a ring of tulips around the base, but my vase had one imperfect tulip. I had always loved that slightly imperfect tulip because it reminded me of myself, imperfect and delicate.

  I scrabble through Chris’s toolkit and find the magnifying glass and study the vase carefully. There isn’t one imperfect tulip. This is not my vase. Sharni hadn’t returned my vase at all.

  I place it carefully on the hall table and calmly wrap Ben in his coat before throwing mine over my shoulders.

 
*

  The driveway is empty. I know that Tom won’t be back until this evening and Sharni is at the school until three. I let myself in with the key from under the paint pot, struggling with Ben’s playpen as I do. The smell of fresh paint lingers in the air from the kitchen that looks more than ever like my own. I make my way to Sharni’s office. The door is open and scattered around her printer are photos of Ben. I open the playpen and lift Ben in. I pick up a photo and gasp at the others that lie beneath. They’re of Ben and Sharni together. Some have been taken on her bed, while others have been shot on the couch. I feel tears prick my eyelids. I pull myself away from the photos and turn to the wardrobe. Ben whoops and throws his rabbit into the air.

  I touch the baby clothes which are neatly piled on the shelf. They’re all neatly folded and smell of conditioner. My hand rests on the box marked Nathan. My heart is beating so hard that I can hear it in my ears. It blocks out everything. To the side of the box is another pile of photos and I pull them towards me carefully. I reel backwards in shock. They’re black and white shots of Chris, and behind the photos is Ben’s comfort blanket.

  ‘Oh God,’ I moan. She did lie. I wasn’t wrong.

  I flick through the photos. Chris is naked and smiling at the camera. Smiling at her, at Sharni, oh God, was she naked too? Is Chris having an affair with her? Oh God, why?

  I push them back with trembling hands and roughly swipe away the tears. I won’t cry. I won’t. Any sympathy I may have felt for Sharni losing her baby has gone now and I pull the lid off the box and stare in disbelief at the items inside. A lock of hair lies on a pair of tiny bootees, and I feel tears run down my cheeks. The box is full of memento’s belonging to a child. Did Sharni lose a baby in tragic circumstances? Perhaps she is out of her mind with grief. Is that why she wants to be so close to Ben? On the other side of the box is a photo album. It’s titled Nathan. I open it and let out a strangled cry. The photos inside are all of Ben.

  *

  ‘I almost didn’t come,’ she said.

  ‘Why did you?’ asked Leah.

  ‘I’ve nowhere else to go,’ she said with a sardonic smile.

  ‘How have things been?’

  ‘Better. I’m feeling more positive.’

  ‘Do you feel more accepting?’

  She picked up the box of tissues.

  ‘Do you buy them?’

  Leah looked confused.

  ‘The tissues? No the association does.’

  ‘People should bring their own.’

  ‘Let’s talk about you?’ said Leah. ‘In what way are you being more positive?’

  ‘I’ve decided to take action.’

  Leah stifled a sigh and sat back in her chair.

  ‘Is that a good idea?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Have you discussed this with your doctor, and with your husband?’

  She laughed.

  ‘They wouldn’t agree with me.’

  ‘Do you still think you’re right?’

  ‘I know what I saw.’

  ‘It’s not just easier for you to have someone else to blame.’

  She shook her head and took a tissue from the box and slowly began to fold it.

  ‘No, I know the accident was my fault. But I know what happened after.’

  Leah sat forward in her seat.

  ‘This doesn’t help your grief, you know that?’

  ‘What I don’t understand is why no one believes me …’

  ‘Because they didn’t find anything. The mind can do strange things in grief. I want to help you work through this. Everyone did their best. The police were thorough. You have to stop doing this to yourself.’

  She stands up and pulls a box of tissues from a carrier bag. It has a floral design, the design she liked.

  ‘This is my gift. To say thank you. You helped me see I wasn’t mad. Everyone thinks I am, even you, but I know I’m not, and you’ve shown me the way forward. You’ve shown me that I will not get anywhere with talk, because no one will believe me. I know that I can’t rely on anyone for help. I know I will have to do this on my own.’

  She looked at the clock. It was two minutes to two. She put on her coat and stepped out of the room, forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sharni

  I feel my legs tremble beneath me. I’ve prepared so long for this and now I’m about to do it, I feel I can’t. I should have worn my coat but I want to look vulnerable. I push my finger on the doorbell. There’s silence and I’m about to turn away when I hear her footsteps. I shiver with nervousness. The door opens and I’m face to face with her. The moment isn’t what I expected. It feels too normal. She looks down at my breasts. She seems uncomfortable and I pull my cardigan around me. I swallow and say,

  ‘Hello, it’s freezing isn’t it?’

  I can’t stop looking at her. She’s wearing jeans and a thick jumper and studies me for a moment. That’s fine. If she’s going to recognise me it will be now, but she doesn’t. There isn’t even a flicker of recognition.

  ‘I’m Sharni,’ I say. ‘We’ve just moved into number 24, next door.’

  I point to the removal van.

  ‘I’m Clare,’ she says. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’

  I feign embarrassment.

  ‘I’m sorry to be a pain, already,’ I smile. ‘But I’ve been sent some flowers and I can’t seem to find a vase anywhere. There are just so many boxes and …’

  ‘Oh, of course, come in.’

  She opens the door wider.

  ‘It’s lovely and warm in here,’ I say as the heat hits me.

  ‘Do you not have heating?’

  ‘Oh yes, but with the door open all the time it’s impossible to stay warm.’

  ‘I’ll get you a vase,’ she says and beckons me to follow her into the living room. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

  I see him and tears rush unbidden to my eyes. I quickly turn away and rub my eyes on my sleeve.

  ‘I’m steamed up,’ I say. ‘A coffee would be great.’

  She leaves the room and I hear her fumbling about in the kitchen. I bend down to Ben and stroke his hair.

  ‘Hello my lovely. Aren’t you gorgeous? Are you making rabbits?’

  He smiles in response. I fight the urge to pick him up and hold him close to me. My hand trembles in his and I swallow the lump in my throat. I kiss his tiny hand and wipe my eyes.

  ‘I’ll help too,’ I say.

  Clare comes back with the coffee and a vase. It’s pretentious and garish, a heavy ceramic thing with no style.

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ I say.

  Ben guides my hand to the rabbit he wants me to colour.

  ‘My husband bought it for me when we were honeymooning in Ireland.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’ I ask, ‘I’ll bring it back tomorrow. It’s just I don’t want the flowers to die.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ she says.

  She pushes some papers off the coffee table and places a mug in front of me.

  ‘He’s adorable,’ I say.

  ‘He is.’

  I stroke the top of his head and then reluctantly pull my hand away. She sips her coffee.

  ‘You have a lovely home,’ I add.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m keen to get ideas. I want our house to look really nice. You’ve done a great job here.’

  She’s done a fucking lousy job and it’s all I can do not to tell her so. I touch the art deco lamp on the side table and smile.

  ‘Do you mind if I ask where you bought this?’

  ‘John Lewis if I remember. They have lovely things there.’

  Ben lets out a burp and we both laugh.

  ‘How old is he?’ I ask.

  ‘Almost two.’

  He struggles from her arms and attempts to walk towards me.

  ‘He’s just discovered his legs,’ laughs Clare.

  I quickly catch him before he falls.

  ‘Do you have children?’ she asks.

&
nbsp; She may as well have kicked me in the stomach. Why am I not surprised she is so thoughtless? She sits in her motherhood smugness without a thought for anyone else.

  ‘No,’ I say.

  She’s uncomfortable and fidgets in her seat.

  ‘Are you in interior design?’ I ask to change the subject.

  She laughs. She has white even teeth.

  ‘Me? No, I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m a teacher, well, only part-time now that we have Ben.’

  ‘But this room is gorgeous, you have excellent taste. I’ll have to pick your brains when I start decorating ours.’

  ‘It’ll be nice to have neighbours of our own age,’ she says.

  This is my opportunity.

  ‘I’ve got a great idea, why don’t you and your husband come over Saturday evening for house-warming drinks. We can get to know each other better.’

  ‘But you’ll be up to your eyes won’t you?’ she says looking surprised.

  ‘We’ll need a break. Do say you’ll come.’

  ‘I’ll need to check with Chris my husband, but I’m sure it will be okay.’

  ‘Great,’ I say getting up from the couch. ‘Shall we say about eight? If you can’t get a sitter then bring the toddler with you.’

  She looks uncertain. She wants to ask if she can bring him but doesn’t want to look too clingy. I need to get out before I do something I’ll regret.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says finally. ‘Enjoy your flowers.’

  ‘Flowers?’ I repeat and then I remember. Shit.

  ‘The ones you needed the vase for.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I say, picking up the garish vase. ‘My mum sent them. Thanks Clare. See you on Saturday.’

  Chapter Thirty

  ‘Just taking a break,’ the removal man shouts from the van. The men sit in the cab with steaming mugs of tea. I nod as I pass, enter the house and close the door firmly behind me, my hand gripping the vase. I’m shaking.

  ‘Fucking bitch,’ I hiss before throwing the vase with all my strength on to the kitchen floor. The vase smashes sending pieces of colourful ceramic scattering across the room. I grip the sink as my stomach heaves and wait for the nausea to pass. From the corner of my eye I see my phone flashing on the kitchen counter. I force my trembling legs over to it. There’s a message from Tom.