The Woman at 46 Heath Street: A twisty and absolutely gripping psychological thriller

by Lesley Sanderson

  I nod again, but my mind is elsewhere, wondering why my husband is thinking about selling his precious car.

  How many more secrets has he been keeping from me?

  Eleven

  ALICE

  I moved in early on a Thursday. Ella had offered to take the morning off work to be there but I insisted I’d be fine. I wanted some time alone in the house. She told me that she’d planned to turn the room she’d given me into a nursery – it was here that her mother-in-law lived and died. Nancy. I’ve never liked that name.

  Standing in the room for the first time made my head spin, but I unpacked the few possessions I’d brought and reminded myself to think positive. The room had a perfect view over the back garden, which pleased me. The quick glance I’d had the other evening had given me the impression that it had been neglected. It was dark, of course, but I thought it would be a nice surprise for Ella if I offered to sort it out. It would be a great project for me too, a way to help me get my new business off the ground. An old man was pottering about in the garden next door but I made sure he didn’t see me. I don’t like people knowing my business.

  That first day I had a good old nosy around the house. Ella’s bedroom was a right mess, such a contrast to the immaculate rest of the house: clothes lying all over the place and piles of books on the floor, mostly thrillers, the kind you can pick up from the supermarket. I like a good murder story too, as long as there’s nothing about kids in there – I can’t be doing with anything like that. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick.

  When I opened the back door and stood in the garden for the first time a sense of calm descended on me. The sound of traffic from the nearby road was muffled and the overgrown bushes rustled gently in the wind.

  Directly outside the kitchen window there was a table and four chairs set on a square of paving stones, the surrounding borders sporting foot-high bamboo shoots. It was secluded and accessible, the only part of the garden that could be used. I pictured Ella out there reading, the sun dancing over her arms and face, a large hat shading her blonde hair. I played around with this image in my head. Something about Ella captivated me, her vulnerability, her fierce desire to hang onto her home and her husband at whatever cost. I hated him on her behalf. I knew too well the pain of betrayal, and how it can drive a person mad. Unwanted memories rose into my mind and I wandered away from the shed down to the end of the garden.

  I recalled the elderly man I’d seen in the garden next door as I wondered if the garden had always been like this. Old people loved talking about earlier, better times, when their memories fooled them into only remembering the good bits, unwanted images censored out. I won’t let that ever happen to me. I make sure I remember everything. Speaking to the man was obviously out of the question. I like to keep people at a distance.

  My feet trampled through an area which was once a lawn, now completely overgrown. Rustling from the bushes alerted me to what sounded like mice and suddenly a large tabby cat jumped to the top of the fence, fur on edge and tail wavering like a snake about to pounce. I tensed, waiting for her to attack, and she flew down to the grass and hurtled towards the house, her invisible prey attempting a hasty exit. An idea formed in my mind.

  A rusty old sign was propped against the shed. The lettering was faded but I could make out Fred’s Bakery; it was the sort of thing that goes for extortionate prices at antique fairs. The wood on the shed bore a dark rectangular mark where the sign had previously been attached before sliding down into a bed of weeds. A padlock secured the door and dirt covered the windows and obscured the view. A bicycle, some tins of paint and a lawnmower were all I could make out inside. A large wheelbarrow stood in the long grass outside. I thought it might come in useful when I sorted out the shed.

  Back in the house, behind the kitchen there was a locked door leading down to the cellar. I looked all around the kitchen but couldn’t find a key. Dust gathered in the wooden grooves on the door and it didn’t look like anyone went down there much. The garage was empty and there weren’t any keys in there, either. The cellar had to wait. Ella’s kitchen cupboards were rammed full of ingredients but she hadn’t been using them – she wasn’t looking after herself, so I decided to make myself useful by taking care of her. I’d promised to cook, so I went off in search of a shop. I walked through a string of pretty streets and it wasn’t long before I came across a lovely deli, so I popped in to pick up some fresh vegetables and spices.

  I was in the middle of cooking when she got home from work and she seemed really grateful. She looked knackered, so I made her a cup of tea. We chatted about nothing much while I cooked but as soon as we sat down to eat I couldn’t ignore the way her hands trembled. I waited until we’d eaten as she looked as if she needed food inside her. I was right to wait because as soon as I asked her if she was OK, her lip wobbled and she crumbled.

  ‘You look like you need a drink,’ I said. ‘Let’s sit in the garden.’

  ‘Are you sure? It’s a bit of a mess—’

  ‘You’ve got a table and chairs. What more do we need? It’s not too cold. I’m an outdoors person, I hate being cooped up inside.’

  Ella didn’t seem to mind me taking over and I poured us two glasses of lemonade and added ice, while she went upstairs to get a jumper. By the time she came back I was sitting outside with a candle on the table. Being out there felt strange. The light was on in the kitchen but the moonlit heath, stretching out beyond the garden, looked like a forest. The bamboo shoots stood like a fence along the path, swaying and swishing in the gentle breeze. Ella switched a light on, illuminating the table. The white cotton jumper she’d put on glowed against the lamplight, making her look otherworldly.

  ‘Oh, that’s so nice,’ she said, looking at the candle, which flickered when the wind blew, but her expression betrayed her sadness.

  ‘You sure?’

  She gave a rueful smile. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, only that Chris used to do stuff like that when I first moved in.’

  I pulled a chair out for her. ‘Sit, drink, talk to me. Talking helps.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied, looking grateful.

  ‘Oh, you won’t believe what happened to me,’ I said. ‘On the day I moved in, the moment I turned into Heath Street, a magpie swooped down. I said that magpie thing before you make a wish.’

  Ella looked puzzled.

  ‘And what I wished for was that the marvellous house I saw when I turned the corner into Heath Street would turn out to be number 46. And it was! I was so excited. It’s such a gorgeous house.’

  She smiled and it lit up her face. ‘What’s the magpie thing?’

  ‘It’s an old wives’ tale. If you see a magpie on its own you have to do this.’ I stood up, pretended to doff my hat and made a sweeping bow. ‘Good morning Mr Magpie, first letter in the post to you.’

  Ella laughed again and it reached her grey eyes this time.

  ‘Now I know what you mean. Nancy used to say that.’

  A gust of wind swept through the garden and the candle went out. The moment was ruined. I lit another match.

  ‘Forget magpies, I want to hear all about the house. Have you lived here long? Tell me everything.’

  And so Ella told me the story of 46 Heath Street. The house had belonged to Chris’s parents – the Rutherfords – and had been in the family for some time, but she didn’t know how long. Chris’s father had died in 2005 and he had a sister who ran away after some kind of teenage trauma. Chris had left home for a few years, but had to come back to live with his mother as he was out of work for a while. Enter Ella. From the way she talked it sounded as if she’d fallen in love with both Chris and his mother, who she’d cared for until she died.

  ‘Maybe it is my fault,’ Ella explained. ‘Chris said something earlier – we had a row – about how I doted on his mother. Maybe I excluded him; I didn’t realise.’

  ‘None of this is your fault,’ I put on my stern voice, ‘don’t go there. Never let a man turn you into a vic
tim. Or a woman, for that matter. I can see how you adored Nancy – you talk about her as if she’d been your own mother.’

  Ella’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘What have I said?’

  It turned out she was adopted, never knew her mother and could remember very little about her early years. I went and fetched her a glass of gin at that point – she looked like she needed one. More stuff came pouring out. How she’d requested her adoption file, tracked down her mother, only to be told she wasn’t interested in getting to know her.

  ‘She made it quite clear she didn’t want me in her life. Ever. She rejected me twice.’ Ella drank some gin and burst into tears, which trickled over her delicate features. ‘What must you think of me?’ she said, blowing her nose with the tissue I’d fetched from the kitchen. ‘I’m supposed to be welcoming you. Going on about myself like this. It’s just that Chris means everything to me. Every time I remember he’s gone, my heart breaks all over again.’

  ‘Of course you feel like that. And living here in this house must make it harder, being reminded of him and Nancy all the time.’

  She shook her head, a fierce expression on her face. ‘You don’t understand. I’ve never had a home before, not even as a kid. Foster homes don’t count, I was never wanted. Chris only came back here because he had to care for his mother and she refused to sell up. I loved this house from the moment I first saw it, and I helped him to love it again. This is our home, mine and Chris’s. And yours, for the moment, of course. What you said earlier, you understand its magic. I want you to love the house as much as I do.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I will. It’s beautiful.’ I didn’t mention the garden – not yet. I needed to think about how I was going to approach that. I did ask her about the cellar though.

  ‘I haven’t been down there in ages. I thought it would be good as a wine cellar, but it’s full of Chris’s parents’ old junk and he wanted to go through it himself. Another thing he hadn’t got round to.’ She looked downcast again as a woman’s laughter burst through the garden, making us both jump.

  ‘It spooks me that the heath is always open,’ I said. ‘That great expanse of land, waiting in the darkness.’

  Ella looked at her watch. ‘We’ve been out here ages. Sorry for going on about myself for so long… I bet you regret moving in already.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said, patting her hand. ‘Talk as much as you like, that’s what I’m here for.’ I had no intention of spilling my guts. The focus needed to be on Ella. And on 46 Heath Street.

  Diary

  3 APRIL 1996

  Kit told us his news today. He said he’s not going back to school; he wants to train to work with his father. Edward smirked: this is his doing. My heart ached, my dreams for my clever boy crashing down around me. I’d hoped Kit would be the first in the family to go to university; Edward used to want the same for him. How he’s changed.

  We were eating steak and kidney pie. At Edward’s insistence, I’d spent the afternoon in the kitchen making it, with the oven on and the early sun beating down on the windows. Edward was in that old shirt he refuses to throw away, asleep in his deckchair, kicking at next door’s cat when it dared to rub against his legs. It flew back next door with a yelping sound. Sweat ran down my face and into the pastry. Good. These little acts of revenge satisfy me. But I am careful. The slightest thing sets him off these days.

  Melissa said nothing when Kit broke his news. Like me, she’s learned to hide her feelings. She chopped her food into tiny pieces and kept her gaze on her plate as she ate. Her thoughts are more important to her these days than interacting with us. I don’t want to lose her to him, too. Edward kept asking her to fetch things for him during the meal; up and down she got with an expressionless face. He didn’t even try to hide his sneer. His preoccupation with tormenting his daughter meant I was able to exert control in the only way I know. I dropped chunks of my dinner into the pocket on my apron and mashed the potatoes into the gravy. Once Edward had left the table to watch television, I scraped my food into the bin and welcomed the dull pangs of hunger.

  I tried to talk to Kit later, when Edward went off on his nightly visit to the pub, but he wouldn’t listen to me. His father has changed him already. Rarely do I get a glimpse of the cautious little boy who used to hang onto my skirt whenever another person came in sight. He rudely cut off my pleas to rethink his intention to give up school, and ice cut into my soul when I caught a glimpse of his likeness to his father, his use of the same dismissive hand gesture. Who am I, a mere woman, daring to question him? I know I’m too late.

  One blessing I took this evening was that Melissa wasn’t in the room to witness Kit’s harsh words, his eyes full of scorn. As soon as the meal was over, she went up to her room as she does every night, preferring her own company to that of her family, broken as we are, separate strands struggling to weave together. But Melissa’s eyes are furtive and won’t meet mine. I know she harbours secrets. The only time I see her old spark, her old enthusiasm, is when she goes off to school in the morning, and I wonder what attraction it holds for her now. For my daughter has always hated school, and this sudden change brings me no relief. Oh, if only I could write some good news here. But that feels impossible.

  Twelve

  ELLA

  The phone is ringing downstairs in the hall. The red carpet is soft under my bare feet as I run down to get it. It might be the bank.

  ‘Hello, is that Ella?’ An unfamiliar male voice, gruff-sounding.

  ‘Ella speaking.’

  ‘Hi Ella, this is Geoff from the swimming club.’

  ‘Oh, hello Geoff. I didn’t recognise your voice. Chris isn’t here, I’m afraid.’

  Geoff sighs. ‘He’s proving very elusive, your husband.’

  ‘Haven’t you seen him at the club?’ Chris goes religiously to his swimming club, two evenings a week, plus Saturdays.

  ‘I haven’t seen him in weeks.’

  I hold the receiver away from my mouth as I catch my breath, letting news of another of Chris’s lies sink in.

  ‘He’s been very busy at work lately. Is it anything I can help with?’

  Geoff’s breath sounds in and out down the line, sighing once again.

  ‘It’s a bit awkward. Actually, no, it’s not. He owes me some money that I lent him weeks ago and I need it back. He’s not answering his phone, either. Is he alright?’

  I decide I’m done protecting Chris. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Geoff. To be honest, I don’t know what he’s up to. Things are difficult at the moment, and he’s moved out. I don’t know where to, and I hadn’t realised he’d stopped swimming. That’s so unlike him.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. Look, I’m sorry to bother you.’

  ‘It’s fine. I wish I could do more. But I will be speaking to him and I’ll ask him to get in touch.’

  After the call ends, I sit in the hall for a while looking at Nancy’s portrait.

  ‘What’s going on with your son, Nancy?’ I say out loud. The mortgage, the car, now this. I haven’t had a chance to ask him about the chair in the window display – he could have had keys cut to the shop. It seems unlikely, but after everything that’s come to light, I don’t know what to believe any more.

  Normally Chris is addicted to exercise; his nights at swimming club were non-negotiable, he’d made that clear when we first started dating. And owing people money was so out of character for him. I think about my visit to his office, Tanya on reception, the way she looked at me and lowered her voice.

  I make myself some tea and curl up on the sofa with my laptop. I open Tanya’s Facebook page. Her puffy pout is all over her photos. Is this really the kind of woman Chris would go for? Based on my stake-out of the office the other day, there was nothing to make me suspicious. And yet. I still don’t understand where Chris and I have gone wrong. We were dealing with grief, yes, but… round and round my thoughts go as I scroll through Tanya’s pictures wondering how I can find out for sure. I hear
the front door open and for a second I think it’s Chris. Alice appears in the room. She’s wearing smart cropped trousers with a high waist and a boxy jacket. She carries herself with a confidence that has always eluded me. I glance at my phone. It’s late afternoon. The day has flown by and I’ve spent most of it thinking about Chris.

  ‘Hi,’ she says, placing her leather bag on the table.

  ‘Hi. Good day?’

  She nods. ‘I’ve had an interview. Got myself a few hours’ work at a garden centre. The money will help while I’m setting up my gardening business.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘What’s up?’ she asks, picking up on the tone in my voice. Alice kneels down beside me; she’s so close that I inhale the musky smell of her perfume. She looks at the screen. ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘Her name’s Tanya, she works with Chris. I think they might be having an affair.’

  ‘Based on…?’

  I shrug. ‘The note I found. She works with him. I called in at the office and she was definitely looking at me strangely. I have to know who this other woman is. I’m terrified he wants to move her into the house.’

  Alice closes the laptop. ‘Stop,’ she says. ‘You’re torturing yourself.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. The evening he left I was upset because I’d started my period. We were planning a family. The room you’re in was going to be for our baby. It would have helped me get over Nancy’s death, converting her room into a nursery. It’s what she wanted too, she told me. She even knitted me a baby blanket.’ Tears well up as I think about the pale yellow blanket she so carefully crafted for our future baby.

  Alice makes us both some camomile tea and we sit together on the sofa. ‘I’m doing it again, aren’t I? All I’ve done since you arrived is cry.’ I dig my knuckles into my eyes.