The Other Side Of The Wall: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by Andrea Mara

  Chapter 3

  Sylvia – Friday, August 5th

  Be careful what you wish for, thinks Sylvia, reading Jane’s apologetic early-morning message. Feck. Work will have a field day with this. She groans and buries her head in the pillow, then nudges Tom.

  “Jane’s still sick. I’ll stay home again. I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”

  “Okay, grand – at least it’s Friday,” Tom says, getting up to go downstairs.

  “You’d think he’d at least have offered to stay home instead,” Sylvia whispers to Zack, watching his small chest rise and fall in sleep. “Maybe he’s writing me off too.” She starts to get out of bed, then stops. A tiny act of rebellion is taking shape – she’ll keep Megan at home from Montessori as well. There’s no point in getting everyone up and out for the sake of three hours of childcare, and how much work will she get done in that time anyway? Feck it! Decision made – they’re all staying in bed.

  Three hours later, she’s calling her decision-making ability into question when Megan throws a toy car at her head while she’s trying to change a wriggling Zack on the sitting-room floor. Sylvia gets down to her level to calmly explain why it’s not all right to throw toys at people, and Megan launches herself onto the floor, sobbing like her heart is breaking. Zack joins in for good measure, and Sylvia thinks she might cry too. Work is definitely easier than this. And actually, she should be doing some work – it seems like a very good time to put on the TV and break out snacks. And no guilt, because it’s work. Well, not too much guilt. She’ll bring them out for air in the afternoon to make up for it.

  When they finally get out of the house, it’s already three o’clock, and cranky levels are at fever pitch. But the fresh air works its magic and, by the time they get down to the green, Megan is chasing Bailey and laughing like a child from a TV ad for washing powder or baby food. The sun is blazing down, lighting everything in green and gold – doing its best to convince her that life is always like this. Could she do this every day? Both kids are in league with the sun now – smiling and giggling and lulling her into a false sense of stay-at-home motherhood.

  Laying out the rug she’s brought, she gives crackers to Megan and banana to Zack. Bailey is busy running from one end of the green to the other. Now if she just had a coffee for herself, all would be well in the world. The tantrum-filled morning is almost forgotten. Stretching out, she closes her eyes, just for a minute.

  A voice breaks the spell. “Hi there!”

  She jumps – was she asleep? In a panic, she looks for Zack and Megan. They’re still on the rug, eating crackers and banana. Jesus, had she really fallen asleep? Surely not for more than two or three seconds? But oh God, that unknowing moment – she wouldn’t close her eyes again. Still disoriented, she looks up, squinting in the sunlight, and it takes another moment to work out that the owner of the voice is her new neighbour.

  “Enjoying the sun?” Sam asks, smiling down.

  He’s hovering right over her now, his shadow covering her body. Rolling onto her side, she pulls herself up to standing. They’re just inches apart, and Sam doesn’t move. Sylvia picks up Zack, and in the same movement takes two steps back.

  “Yeah, the childminder is sick so I’m on the mitch from work with these two – don’t tell anyone I was out sunbathing instead of working from home!” She feels her cheeks go red. “Are you off work too?”

  “I’m actually off for a few weeks to fix up the house,” Sam says, picking up Bailey’s tennis ball from the rug and throwing it for the dog. “There’s a lot to do, and it’s handy while Kate and the boys are away.”

  “Oh, I can only imagine. Poor Mrs Osborne, who lived there before you – she wasn’t up to doing much with the house, and her kids were horrible, never visited, never helped out. Awful.”

  “That’s actually how I ended up buying the house – I’m best friends with Mrs Osborne’s son.”

  Shit! When would she learn to think first, speak later. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say they were awful, I shouldn’t judge – who knows what goes on behind the scenes?”

  Sam looks pissed off. Then suddenly he bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding. I didn’t know them at all – it was all done through solicitors. Sorry, bad joke. But your face!”

  “Ha, you had me worried for a minute,” Sylvia says. “Well, I’d better start gathering things up here to head home . . .”

  “Yeah, I’ll head on and get back to the house repairs. Enjoy the sun. See you soon, Sylvia.” He pats her on the shoulder as he goes past.

  Sylvia watches him walk away, her face still red. He must think she’s an awful eejit. Then again, is it slightly odd to joke with someone you barely know? Megan is tugging at her sleeve. “Mummy, can we make daisy chains? I want to make a pretty necklace for you!” She’s taking the angelic TV-commercial-kid thing to a whole new level.

  Home is trumping work again.

  Walking into her own driveway, many daisy chains later, she glances over at Sam’s house. Will he paint the front of the house, she wonders – if he does, they’ll have to too, to match up. Or what if he changes the windows, like Number 14 did – going for something completely different to their semi-detached neighbours’ and everyone else on the road? God, it was easier when Mrs Osborne was there – quiet, unobtrusive Mrs Osborne, who needed nothing more than some groceries dropped in and a chat over a cup of tea.

  The swishing of a broom from the house on the other side pulls her from her thoughts. Rosemary is sweeping again, though there couldn’t possibly be anything left to clean in that driveway. Sylvia keeps walking, hoping she won’t be in the mood for a chat, but it’s too late. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the white-haired head bobbing up.

  “Oh, I haven’t seen you in ages, Sylvia! How are you and how are these two? Isn’t it well for you to have the day off on this lovely sunny afternoon? Offices today are great places – back when my Bob was alive, he worked all the hours God sent him. Never saw the kids!” She steps towards them, taking off her little silver-rimmed glasses and shaking her head at Megan and Zack. “But sure that’s the way it was and it was grand.”

  “Well, it’s not time off really – my childminder is sick so I had to work from home,” Sylvia says.

  Rosemary nods, eying the daisy chain around Sylvia’s neck and the picnic rug tucked under the buggy.

  “What I mean is, I’m keeping an eye on email and minding the kids.” She takes out her BlackBerry and waves it at Rosemary. What is she doing, explaining herself like this?

  “Of course. Sure it’s probably all different these days. I’m sure your boss doesn’t mind at all.”

  “Oh yes, he’s great about it, totally understands. So, I met the new neighbour from the other side – Sam is his name,” Sylvia says, moving away from the subject of her fictional benevolent boss.

  “Oh, Sam! Oh, sure I know Sam, lovely man,” Rosemary says, leaning her sweeping brush against the wall and folding her arms.

  “Ah okay, I only met him yesterday. He seems quite nice, doesn’t he?”

  “A very nice man. You know, Sylvia, there’s lots around here wouldn’t pass the time of day with an old woman like me, but this fella Sam always stops to chat.”

  Sylvia thinks this does a disservice to all the neighbours who are regularly caught for chats with Rosemary and too polite to move on, but she just nods. “And did you meet the wife – Kate, I think?”

  “No, I didn’t meet her,” Rosemary says. “She was already gone down to Galway or somewhere, he said. Isn’t it great today the way people can just go off on holidays for two months? Back when our kids were small, we were lucky to get a week in a caravan in Courtown.”

  “Well, I think he said they’re staying with the wife’s mother, and it’s mostly so he can fix up the house – so it’s not really a holiday,” Sylvia says, pushing the buggy forward and back on autopilot.

  Rosemary purses her lips. She’s not for turning. “Well, it’s certainly not a ho
liday for poor Sam, stuck doing all the work while they’re away at the beach. I’d say there’s a fair amount to do there – Mrs Osborne wasn’t one for keeping her house in good shape.”

  “In fairness, she wasn’t well for her last few years, and her kids didn’t help at all – there probably wasn’t much she could do.” Where is all this defensiveness coming from? She really needs to say goodbye to Rosemary and get the kids in.

  But Rosemary is settling in for a chat. “Anyway, your man Sam’s great. He’s so busy with his own house, but still offered to take a look at my burglar alarm when it kept going off all the time at the weekend. He fixed it too. Not a bother. Would have cost me eighty euro if I got someone in to do it. And no rushing off either – sat down for a cup of tea and a chat for ages after. You just don’t get that any more, you know, Sylvia.”

  “Ah, that’s lovely, he sounds great. It’s hard, isn’t it, when we’re all so busy all the time? Speaking of which, I’d better get these two in. Megan, love, say goodbye to Rosemary.”

  Rosemary goes back to her sweeping, and Sylvia steps into the cool darkness of her hallway, turning to pull the buggy in behind her.

  Sunlight spreads across the walnut floor, down as far as the open kitchen door. Bailey rushes past, straight to his water bowl, while Megan trails behind, inspecting the flowers at the front door.

  “Mummy, the pink ones are dying a bit – will I pick them?”

  “No, honey, just come on in now and shut the door behind you,” she tells her daughter and the sunlight is snapped away to the sound of the heavy front door closing.

  Chapter 4

  Sylvia – Saturday, August 6th

  In a fraction of a second, the scream pulls her from sleep to breathless panic and before she registers time or place she’s out of bed and running downstairs to Megan’s bedroom. Bursting through the door she runs to her daughter’s bedside, pulling her into a hug. Megan collapses against her mother, shaking but no longer screaming, and they rock together.

  Moments later, Tom’s tall shape appears in the doorway, the hallway light creating a halo effect around his head.

  “What was it – a nightmare? Is she okay?” he asks.

  Sylvia keeps rocking and purses her lips in a silent shush. Tom slips into the room and hunkers down beside the bed. Teary blue eyes stare back at him, under wet brown curls plastered against a pale forehead. He takes Megan’s hand but she pulls it back and retreats into Sylvia’s arms.

  “What is it, love, did you have a bad dream?” Sylvia asks, smoothing back Megan’s damp hair.

  “There was a monster in my room,” comes the small voice.

  “It was just a dream, love – there are no monsters in real life.”

  “No, Mummy, he was here in my room – right here!” she says, pointing to the middle of her bedroom. “He was huge and black and scary, and he smelled like Daddy does when he goes to watch football matches with his friends.”

  Sylvia pulls her daughter into a tighter hug. “Love, I know dreams can seem very real, but I promise you there’s no monster. Tell you what, why don’t you come upstairs with me and sleep in our bed? And Daddy will check the room from top to bottom. Does that sound okay?”

  “Yes, I’ll sleep with you and Daddy, like Zack does – except I’ll be in the big bed and he’ll stay in the cot – isn’t that right?” When she climbs down from the bed, her bare feet slip a little on the wooden floor. “Mummy, the floor is wet. I think it was the monster.”

  Sylvia switches on the fairy lights that twist around the canopy above the bed, and puts her hand on the floor. Megan’s right – it’s wet. “Did you spill your water, love?”

  “No, Mummy, I didn’t have any water – you forgot to bring it.”

  Again she’s right, there’s no beaker of water on the night-stand.

  “All right, pet, you head up the stairs. Do you want Teddy?” Sylvia picks up the brown bear and passes it to her daughter. “Tom, will you grab some kitchen roll for that water? And check the back door is locked, will you?”

  “You’re not starting to believe in monsters too, are you?” Tom asks.

  She can’t see his face but she can hear the smile.

  “Nope, but the water thing is weird, isn’t it?” she replies, checking the patio doors in Megan’s room. They’re locked.

  “It could be anything – it might have been there all day,” Tom says.

  “No, I’m sure there was nothing wet on the floor when I did her story earlier. Just check the door anyway, okay?”

  He heads for the kitchen.

  The patio doors don’t budge when Sylvia checks them a second time – they’re definitely locked, and the key is where it always is, on a hook behind the curtain. Outside, trees shake in the breeze, black against the navy moonlit sky, and the garden path that leads to Bailey’s kennel is indistinguishable from the grass that surrounds it. Beyond the kennel, there’s nothing to see at all – the end of the garden is swallowed by darkness. And, suddenly, her craving for the whimsical childhood bedroom she never had is utterly foolish – Megan should be sleeping upstairs near her parents. What if there was a break-in and Megan was downstairs on her own? And the patio doors were hardly secure – one simple lock, and otherwise glass. She shivers.

  Kitchen towel in hand, Tom comes back into the room and wipes the floor.

  “Did you check the back door?”

  “Yeah – actually it wasn’t locked – I’ve locked it now.”

  “Are you serious? Oh my God, maybe someone was in here?”

  “No, no way – it was just a bad dream. Why would someone come into our house, and how would anyone know the back door was open?”

  “Well, it’s not the first time it’s been left unlocked at night either . . .”

  “Okay, point taken, but you could lock up sometimes too, you know.”

  “Sorry, I’m not blaming you,” Sylvia says, giving him a quick hug. “We should just both be more careful. This has really freaked me out tonight. I think we should move Megan upstairs.”

  “She’s up there now, isn’t she – in our bed?”

  “No, I mean permanently. When you think about it, it’s madness having a child sleep downstairs on her own. She should be near us.”

  Tom is rolling his eyes.

  “Yes, I know it was my idea to do up this room for her, but now the whole thing is giving me the creeps. Especially with that story on the news about the missing child – she’s only a year younger than Megan and her hair is so similar – every time I see a picture in the paper it freaks me out. And then there was the thing with the pond.”

  “Sylvia, I totally get it that the missing-child story is on your mind, but the thing with the pond was all in your head. And I suspect there might be a bit of exaggeration going on with Megan tonight – she seemed fairly delighted about getting to sleep in our bed. This could just be a jealousy thing, because Zack’s in our room.”

  This time Sylvia does the eyerolling. Megan might be a handful since Zack was born, but she had been genuinely upset tonight.

  “Anyway, where would Megan go if we moved her upstairs?” Tom asks.

  “Well, she could take the guest room – it’s not like we have visitors. And we can turn this room into a home office for all these unexpected work-from-home days!” She knows she’s making light of it to talk him round and she knows he knows that.

  “That’s a bit of an overreaction to a bad dream, isn’t it?”

  She tries again. “I know, but it’s not just about tonight – it makes more sense overall. Most people have their kids upstairs. This was all just a notion I took, and in hindsight it was a mistake. Come on, let’s try to get some sleep – we can talk about it tomorrow.”

  Upstairs, Megan is already asleep in the middle of their bed, curled around her teddy, but Zack is stirring in his cot. Great, this is the last thing they need now.

  “I’ll go down and sleep in Megan’s bed,” whispers Tom. “More room for you here then.”
r />   “There’s loads of space, just stay here,” yawns Sylvia.

  “No, we’ll all sleep better if I go – and then I can deal with any monsters who come back,” he says, kissing her on the top of her head before he pulls the door softly behind him.

  Zack starts to cry and Sylvia picks him up as the first shards of morning light slip through the window.

  Chapter 5

  Sylvia –Tuesday, August 9th

  The grey early-morning light makes a feeble attempt to brighten the kitchen but fails. Yawning, Sylvia switches on the coffee machine, and reaches up to get a capsule from the cupboard. But there’s only empty space where the coffee jar usually sits. She feels her way along the shelf, squinting in the half-light. It’s definitely not there. Her eyes scan the countertop – maybe she took it out yesterday and forgot to put it back. No. She tries the other cupboards, then the fridge. It would hardly be in the fridge but then again, autopilot can be glitchy, especially early in the morning and late at night. But the jar of coffee capsules is nowhere. And now she really, really wants coffee.