Forget Her Name: A gripping thriller with a twist you won't see coming

by Jane Holland

  Icy water is trickling down my lips, my chin, onto my chest.

  ‘What the . . . ?’

  I’m slumped in the passenger seat of a car. Dominic is sitting next to me.

  We’re parked in a suburban street with a plane tree growing beside us, its branches stark and wintry. The side window is misted up with condensation but I catch glimpses of sky out there. A grey pre-dawn.

  ‘Good, you’re awake.’ Dominic leans on the steering wheel, studying my face. ‘But is it Cat or Rachel I’m talking to?’

  I don’t answer.

  He sighs, then reaches for my face. I jerk away, realising in that instant why my arms and shoulders feel so heavy. He’s tied my hands behind my back. But he’s not going to hit me. He’s just wiping my chin with a handkerchief.

  ‘I got bored waiting for you to wake up, so I gave you a little splash of water. Sorry about that.’ His smile does not look apologetic. ‘How are you feeling? Dry mouth? Headache? Bit nauseous?’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He puts away the handkerchief and sits back. His fingertips drum on the steering wheel. ‘After-effects of chloroform. Not my finest hour. Sorry about tying you up too. But I could tell you weren’t planning to cooperate.’

  ‘Did you ever think I would?’

  ‘No,’ he concedes. ‘Hence the need to drug you.’

  I nod. ‘You came prepared.’

  ‘It was important to get you out of there before you were seen.’ He shakes his head at me. ‘Breaking and entering. Not very clever. Especially given your relationship with Wainwright.’

  ‘I didn’t have a relationship with Wainwright.’

  ‘The man was a private detective, investigating your husband. Then he died next to you in suspicious circumstances, soon after which you were caught breaking into his offices.’ Dominic half smiles. ‘Even Robert would have had trouble hushing that up if it had got out.’

  He sounds bitter.

  ‘What makes you think it won’t get out?’ I say. ‘When the police walk in there—’

  ‘They won’t find anything.’

  ‘But all those photos, the files . . .’

  ‘Gone, destroyed.’

  ‘Wainwright’s computer.’

  ‘Also gone.’ He’s serious. ‘It’ll look like a break-in. Thieves. Pure and simple.’

  ‘I don’t believe a word of this. All on your own, you cleared that office out and carried me down all those stairs?’

  ‘There was a lift,’ he says drily.

  I look at him, unable to believe what I’m hearing. ‘Okay, maybe you can make the computer and all those files vanish. But he must have had back-ups.’

  ‘I’ve got that covered.’

  I stare, incredulous. ‘What the fuck, Dominic? What’s all this about? Wainwright must have had something really big on you. Otherwise why kill him?’

  ‘I told you. That wasn’t me.’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ My laughter is hollow. ‘I forgot it was an accident. But then, lots of the bad shit I do is accidental. Like tying up Jasmine yesterday. That was a complete accident. I don’t know how it happened.’

  His face hardens.

  ‘Poor Dom. You really like her, don’t you?’ I ignore the stab of jealousy. That’s Cat’s emotion, not mine. ‘Where is Cousin Jasmine, anyway?’

  ‘On her way back to Birmingham by now, I should imagine. Cursing your name to the heavens.’

  ‘She had it coming. She tried to pretend not to know anything. But she couldn’t fool me. Jasmine was in on the big lie, same as the rest of you. Thinking you could keep Rachel under wraps forever.’ I laugh. ‘You should have seen her face when I tied her up. She looked so shocked.’ I purse my lips and roll my eyes in mock horror. ‘Like that.’

  ‘You selfish bitch. Don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself?’

  ‘Of course I don’t.’ I look at him in surprise. ‘I’m a psychopath.’

  He becomes serious at that word, his face pale. ‘Well, at least you can admit it. That’s something I never expected to hear from you.’

  We sit in silence for a few minutes.

  I watch through the misted-up windscreen as a milk float trundles slowly past. It will be dawn soon, the sky is lightening by the minute. People will start to stir in the houses on either side of the street, most of which are still dark and quiet, their curtains drawn. I wonder if my parents are awake yet. And if they know that Dominic has me. Or even care.

  So many burnt bridges behind me, I’ve lost count. A shiver runs through me. It feels cold enough to snow.

  ‘Why are we here?’ I ask.

  ‘To pay someone a visit.’ Dominic sounds strained, no longer sure of himself. He studies the houses on the right as though in sudden doubt.

  For a moment I watch him hopefully. I think he feels sorry for me. Whatever he’s got planned, maybe he’s about to change his mind and let me go.

  Then he shifts, snatching the key from the ignition. ‘Right, it’s time. Come on.’

  I cough, leaning forward. ‘Untie me?’

  He hesitates, then uses a pocket knife to cut my hands loose. Some kind of black plastic tie, like the kind of thing my mother uses in the garden to support roses. I wince and stretch out my aching arms, then rub my sore wrists, trying to get the circulation going again. There are red marks on the skin.

  Dominic watches me with a wary expression, as if he’s not quite sure he has done the right thing by freeing my hands. ‘Don’t bother trying to run, okay?’ he says. ‘There’s nowhere to go. Besides,’ he adds grimly, ‘this is something you can’t avoid facing.’

  ‘I can do what the hell I like.’

  ‘No one can outrun their past.’ Dominic gets out, slamming his door. He comes round to let me out of the passenger side. ‘Not even you, Rachel.’

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Dominic leads me to the front door of one of the semi-detached houses, holding me tightly by the elbow, his face unreadable. The garden path has crazy paving, a few slabs missing, weeds growing in the sandy gaps, and a sad-looking rosemary shrub in a pot beside the front step. There’s a silver Renault hatchback parked on the drive, with a Green Party sticker in the rear window.

  Dominic presses the doorbell. A long, hard press, as though designed to wake anyone who might have been considering a lie-in.

  ‘Who lives here?’ I demand, but he doesn’t answer.

  I take a step back, Dominic still gripping my arm, and look up at the window above us. Have we been invited or is this a surprise visit?

  The curtains upstairs are still drawn.

  ‘Did they know we were coming?’ I ask. ‘Maybe we should come back another time. Let’s go somewhere for breakfast instead. There must be an early-opening café somewhere round here.’ I yawn and stretch again, though secretly I’m worried. What the fuck is all this about? ‘I could murder a fry-up.’

  He drags me back to his side, his face tight. ‘Behave.’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  His gaze flicks to me, but he says nothing.

  ‘You’re a tough audience,’ I say.

  ‘Shut up.’

  I set my teeth at his tone, wishing I could make a run for it. But I know he would only catch me and drag me back.

  The downstairs window is covered with thick net curtains, a dingy grey colour. Who the hell lives here and why does Dominic want me to meet them? The house looks ordinary enough, even a little run-down, paint peeling from the door frame, a faded sticker on the glass door panel: NO SALESMEN, COLD CALLERS OR CANVASSERS.

  I feel sick again.

  ‘Bacon and eggs,’ I say, struggling to hide my nausea. ‘With fried bread and mushrooms and tomatoes and black pudding. And a hot, sweet cup of tea.’

  Then the door opens.

  A large black woman with dreadlocks looks out at us, a weary look on her face like she’s been awake all night. She’s wearing a pale-blue uniform with some kind of flower logo on the collar, and a badge that says Nurse Trudi
.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’ She clearly recognises Dominic and is not surprised to see him, despite a hint of irritation in her tone. Her gaze locks on me with interest though. ‘You didn’t say you’d be bringing someone new with you.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘Of course not, sir.’ Her lips purse as she continues to study me. ‘Though it’s a little early for visitors.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. But like I said on the phone, it can’t be helped. When does your shift end?’

  ‘Nine o’clock.’

  There’s a clock on the wall inside. The time is coming up to half past seven. He glances at it. ‘We’ll be gone by then.’

  She shrugs, and steps aside for us.

  ‘Right, you first.’ Dominic pushes me past the nurse into the hallway. ‘And don’t try anything stupid,’ he tells me.

  I halt inside, uncomfortable and a little scared now. What is this place? A flight of stairs reaches into darkness to the right. Ahead of me is what looks like a kitchen, its door partly open, electric light spilling out into the hall. The carpet under my feet is worn almost to nothing, only a few dark blue stripes remaining along each edge from its original colour. The whole place reeks mustily of tomatoes, which I can see growing on a windowsill in the kitchen.

  Everything smells damp and neglected.

  It’s a little early for visitors.

  Who are we visiting?

  ‘I don’t want to stay,’ I say, turning around. ‘I don’t like it here.’

  Dominic says nothing, but spins me back round by the shoulders and gives me another shove, pushing me further inside.

  ‘Bastard,’ I mutter.

  ‘Should I put the kettle on, sir?’ Nurse Trudi asks, watching us.

  ‘Yes,’ Dominic says at once, as if eager to be rid of the woman. ‘Tea would be nice, thank you, Trudi. Give us some time first though. Say, half an hour?’

  She looks at me curiously, seeming almost as bemused by this visit as I am, then nods and disappears into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

  It’s dark in the hallway once the kitchen door shuts.

  ‘Dom,’ I whisper, suddenly panicked. ‘What are we doing here? Whose house is this?’

  He does not answer but feels for the light switch, and I sag against the wall in relief as it comes on, my heart thumping under my ribs. I’ve always hated the dark. It’s like death.

  ‘I want to leave,’ I say raggedly. ‘I hate this place. It smells like an old people’s home.’

  He points silently down the hall. When I don’t move, he puts a hand on the small of my back and pushes me. I stumble, hands out, nearly falling.

  ‘For God’s sake . . .’

  ‘First door on the left,’ he says coldly.

  I come to a halt outside the door. The once-cream-painted wood is grimy with age.

  It’s closed.

  He stands behind me, his face tense. ‘Open the door,’ he says.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Open it, Rachel.’

  I pout, turning away towards the kitchen. ‘I said, I’m not going in there. I hate you. And I don’t want tea anymore. I want a coffee. Strong black coffee.’

  ‘You are going in there, and I don’t care if you hate me or not.’ Seizing me by the arm, he jerks me back to the door so hard I almost smack my head on the wood. ‘It’s time to face up to what you did.’

  ‘Fuck you!’

  He takes my hand and forces it down on the handle. ‘Open the door, Rachel.’

  I stare back at him, the two of us struggling in silence, our gazes locked. But he’s stronger. The handle gives, and the door opens a little.

  At first, all I can see is that the front room of the house is small and dim. There are net curtains at a window, filtering the dawn to a milky light that dapples the plain white wallpaper like a pattern. I can hear the steady pump of a machine somewhere out of sight, and high-pitched electronic beeps at regular intervals. There’s a green armchair near the door, and a half-finished jigsaw puzzle on a table beside it. An oval mirror on the wall.

  I catch my face in the mirror, my eyes wide with fear, and Dominic’s dark head behind me, like an avenging angel.

  Then he pushes the door open wider, and I get a proper look inside. I shake my head at what I see and try to back out of the room, but Dominic stands firmly behind me, pushing me forward.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to look. I don’t feel well.’ My voice sounds scared, but I’m not, of course. I’m just pissed off at him for putting me through this. ‘Take me home, Dom.’

  ‘Get inside,’ he says harshly, thrusting me back into the room. There’s no love or humour left in his face, not a spark of the Dominic I thought I knew. ‘Not nice, is it?’ he says. ‘Take a good look. A good, hard look. This is your doing, Rachel. This is all your fault.’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Dominic closes the door and points to a large bed near the window. It is standing on a thick plastic sheet. The bed has raised metal sides, the whole frame on wheels like a hospital bed. Next to it is a tall standard lamp.

  A woman in a white gown is lying on the bed, apparently asleep, under a white sheet that covers her body from the chest down. Her bare arms rest by her sides. Two soft white pillows are under her head. Her eyes are closed. She looks peaceful in the half-light, like a fairy-tale princess resting on a bed of feathers or snow.

  There’s a vase of flowers and a book lying face down on the cabinet beside her bed. I glance at the title on the spine.

  Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There.

  Dominic treads softly as he goes to one side of the bed. He looks down at the woman for a moment, his expression unreadable, then switches on the lamp.

  The illusion of beauty falls away under that harsh light. She is painfully thin, almost skeletal. Her cheeks are gaunt and her eye sockets hollow and dark. Her head has been shaved. There are plastic tubes taped to her mouth and nostrils. She is completely unmoving. Her face is so pale that she looks dead.

  I draw back in horror, wondering why the hell I have been brought here, why I’m being shown this dead woman.

  But then I see her chest gently rising and falling. She isn’t dead. Merely asleep.

  Not a natural sleep, however. I study the machines ranged on either side of the bed, connected to her body via various tubes and wires. A ventilator, I think, and a heart monitor, and other machines I don’t recognise.

  ‘They keep her alive,’ Dominic says, watching me inscrutably. ‘Until I decide this charade has gone on long enough. That it’s time to let her go.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  He draws a slow breath, then lets it out. Controlling himself.

  ‘Don’t you, Rachel?’

  I hate the way he says my name with such deliberate emphasis. As if he’s contrasting me with Cat. My pale shadow. The person I no longer want to be, according to Dr Holbern’s philosophy.

  ‘I don’t have a clue,’ I say. For once, I don’t know how to play this. I want to scream at him to take me home, but I don’t quite dare. Not when he’s looking at me with such an accusing expression, as if I’ve done something dreadful. Only I have no idea what. ‘Why don’t you tell me what this is about, Dom? Who is she?’

  He strokes a finger down the woman’s cheek, gazing at her with real tenderness. ‘This,’ he says, ‘is Felicity.’

  I frown. ‘Felicity? Sorry, is that name supposed to mean something to me? Because it’s not ringing any bells.’ I stare at the woman. ‘Who exactly is Felicity?’

  ‘My half-sister.’

  ‘Your half-sister.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘Same mum, different dads.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I say again, frowning. ‘You told me you didn’t have any close family still living.’

  ‘I lied.’

  I’m nauseous again. My head buzzes oddly, like there’s a wasp in there, beating against the inside of my head
, desperate to be free.

  ‘Look at her, Rachel,’ he says, and studies his half-sister. ‘Felicity wasn’t just my half-sister. She was my best friend too. We were so close growing up, she always knew what I was thinking. Like she was inside my head. And her laugh . . . God, it was so bubbly, so infectious, you couldn’t hear it and not laugh too. We all loved her madly. I can’t tell you how much I miss her.’ His voice chokes. ‘How much I’ll always miss her.’

  I stare at my feet. My high heels are pinching, so I kick them off. The plastic sheet is cool under my feet.

  ‘Look at her,’ he says through gritted teeth.

  ‘I’ve looked.’ I shrug. ‘So she’s your half-sister. So what?’

  ‘Do you recognise her?’

  ‘No.’ I chew at my fingernail, pretending to be bored now, impatient to leave this vile place. ‘I’m hungry. Can’t we eat yet?’ I bite off a jagged sliver of nail and spit it out like a ten-year-old. ‘Come on, let’s go. I hate the smell of this place.’

  ‘Don’t you even want to know what happened to her? Why Felicity is here?’ Dominic grabs my wrist and yanks me closer to the bed, his voice angry. ‘Why these machines are the only thing keeping her alive?’

  The wasp in my head buzzes violently. Suddenly, I feel like retching.

  ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘Liar!’

  I don’t see his hand come up until it’s too late. He knocks me backwards with one blow, a slap across my face that leaves me breathless and shocked, staring up at him from the floor.

  ‘You should want to know,’ he yells, ‘because you did this to her!’

  Stunned, I cup my throbbing cheek.

  ‘Years ago, you lied your way out of taking responsibility for what happened to her. But this is where the lies stop.’ He stands over me, his face dark with emotion. ‘Fuck! I thought that once you were Rachel again, you’d remember for sure.’

  ‘Remember what?’

  ‘A wet night. Your dad’s car. He’d left his keys on the kitchen table.’ His eyes are like slits. ‘You took them. Stole the car. Even though you were only a kid, even though you had no idea how to drive.’ His voice thickens, furious. ‘The car was a classic Jaguar. Big, sleek, powerful. Automatic transmission. A lethal weapon in the wrong hands.’