The Other Side Of The Wall: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by Andrea Mara

  “God forbid you’d spend some time away from your kids, eh? Who died and made her the parent police?”

  Sylvia laughs. “Yeah, you wouldn’t want to be sensitive. Well, actually, I am pretty sensitive a lot of the time. And prone to giving too much information – as you can see.”

  “I’ve only met her once and it was hard going. Is she like that all the time?”

  Sylvia walks closer and lowers her voice. “Always. Like, I’m here five years – since before we had kids – and she always finds a way to make a point. Back then it was about us having more than one holiday a year. Then it was about me going back to work after my eldest was born. Now it’s about work and the kids and my husband and being a good wife and just generally the horrors of modern life and the utter depravity of the internet.”

  The woman laughs. “That sounds utterly exhausting – you were much nicer to her than I would have been. I’m Kate, by the way.”

  “I’m Sylvia. I live here,” she says, pointing at her house. “Well, obviously, or it would be weird to be drinking a coffee in the garden. And yeah, I find no matter how annoying Rosemary is, I haven’t the heart to be mean to her. Her husband died about ten years ago and she’s lonely.”

  “Well, hats off to you – I think I’d just avoid her if it was me,” Kate says, shifting the weight of the box from one side to the other.

  “Yeah, I need to get better at that – my New Year’s Resolution every year is to learn to say no – I’m terrible at saying no. If you want something done, ask me, because I’ll probably say yes, even if it’s something I can’t actually do at all, like teach your child Spanish or revive your dead rhododendrons. Not that your rhododendrons are dead or anything . . .” Sylvia looks around the front garden, wondering why she’s still babbling. “So I met your husband and he said you were away for the summer – I guess you’re back now?”

  “Kind of. It’s a long story. As you can see, I’m packing more than unpacking.”

  “Well, if you need a break, mine was just cut short by Rosemary, so I’m making another coffee . . . you’re welcome to join me if you like?” As soon as the words are out, Sylvia knows she’s going red. This is exactly the kind of thing Rosemary does. Oh dear God, she is the new Rosemary.

  But Kate doesn’t seem fazed. “You know what, this is the last box, and there’s no coffee in my house. I will actually, if you don’t mind. Thank you.”

  The kitchen is bright with midday sun and Kate is impressed, bemoaning the ancient cupboards and lino she has next door. There haven’t been any new visitors here for a while and Sylvia has forgotten how good the place looks to fresh eyes. They sit on the high stools at the breakfast bar and drink coffee and eat the scones that Sylvia picked up that morning from the fancy bakery – not the supermarket – and start the ritual of swapping their stories.

  Kate says she has two kids, Seth who has just turned eight, and Jamie who is five. They’re with her mother today – she has a B&B in Galway. Not in the city – a few miles out, on the coast. Sylvia tells her about Megan and Zack and their trip to Enniskerry, and it feels both freeing and decadent to be drinking coffee with this elegant stranger instead of poring over her laptop.

  Kate tells her with a sigh that she used to work in digital marketing and that, although she loves the boys to bits, she really misses work. Sylvia totally gets that, she says – she’s back and wishing she wasn’t, but doesn’t think she could stay at home full-time.

  “Stick it out,” Kate advises. “If the problems can’t be fixed, go somewhere new. But don’t give up without being really, really sure.”

  Sylvia is nodding – it all makes sense. She tells her a bit about Craig and Justin – not the whole story – it’s probably a breach of confidentiality if she does – but some of it. Kate rolls her eyes and says she’s worked with people like Justin before.

  “Why not go to his house and get pictures of him – show he’s not really sick?” she says.

  This sounds a bit extreme, though a little part of Sylvia starts to think why not? She has his address – how hard could it be? Kate looks like she wouldn’t put up with this kind of shit from anyone. Kate would totally catch Justin in the act and tell Craig where to go.

  Sylvia makes more coffee as they move on to the “where did you to go school” conversation. It turns out that they were both in UCD at the same time – Kate doing History and English, and Sylvia doing Pure Maths.

  “We probably passed in the hallways,” says Sylvia.

  “Or more likely the bar,” says Kate. She was in UCD when she met Sam, she tells her. “Well, not actually in UCD, but I was a student there at the time,” she clarifies.

  “Wow,” says Sylvia, “that’s a long time. I only met Tom six years ago. Straight from dates to engagement to marriage to baby – no waiting around when you’re already in your mid-thirties.”

  Kate shrugs. “There’s a lot to be said for waiting till you’re older than twenty.”

  She looks sad for a minute, Sylvia thinks, wondering about the boxes she’d been carrying to the car.

  “Yes, we’re splitting up,” Kate tells her, reading her mind.

  Sylvia is bewildered to find she’s close to tears for this relative stranger and her soon-to-be-broken marriage.

  “It’s such a cliché,” Kate continues. “Oldest story in the book. Husband has affair with work colleague. See, it doesn’t even make a good headline, it’s so bloody boring.”

  They sit in silence for a minute, Kate staring at her coffee, Sylvia staring at her neighbour, trying to find the right words. None of Sylvia’s friends have split up – though it’s bound to happen some time in the future.

  Kate looks up again. “It’s fine,” she says. “We’ll get through it, like millions of other families.” She tells Sylvia that her little boys don’t know yet, and she keeps going over and over different versions of the conversation but she can’t find the right words. No matter how she puts it, it translates to ‘Dad doesn’t live with us any more’.

  Sylvia feels tears coming again. This woman is going to think she’s a lunatic, crying for children she’s never met. But it’s so sad. What an asshole Sam is. She knew all along he wasn’t as nice as he was pretending to be. And it looks like Noel was right after all – well, except about the pole-dancer bit. In spite of herself, she smiles. She thinks about telling Kate, but stops – she may be her new best friend, but she doesn’t know her well enough for that bit of gossip just yet.

  The phone beeps on the counter, making a rumbling noise that startles both of them. It’s Tom again, checking in to see how work is going. The giant clock on the wall says it’s almost two. Oh dear. Apologising to Kate as she types, she tells Tom work is fine, and sends kisses to the kids, then puts the phone back down on the counter.

  Kate pushes her stool out and stands up. She’s a good head taller than Sylvia, even in her impeccably of-the-moment trainers. Stretching, and running her hands through her hair, she thanks Sylvia for the chat and says she should get going. She wants to be back in Galway before the kids go to bed – and out of the house before Sam comes home. He agreed to go into town for a few hours, she explains – to give her space. She stops at the door and turns back to Sylvia.

  “Actually,” she says, “he’s probably with her. What a fucker!”

  Sylvia nods. “Will we do this again?” she asks. The words are out before she can stop them. It feels like asking someone on a date.

  But Kate says yes – she’ll be back in Dublin to get schoolbooks and uniforms next week – they’ll do coffee then. They swap numbers, and off she goes, like an exotic cloud of pale gold.

  And just like that, it’s back to spreadsheets and reports and the missing two million.

  Chapter 34

  September 1987

  “It’s all back to the books now, isn’t it, love – September doesn’t be long coming around,” says the librarian, smiling up at him, her teeth stained yellow from coffee or cigarettes or both.

&n
bsp; “Oh, it is, and it’s an exam year for me.”

  “Goodness, you look very young for exams – well done for getting stuck in so soon. There are desks over there in the corner – that’s the quietest part. Easier than studying at home, is it, love?”

  He nods. “I’ve four younger brothers and sisters – there’s never a moment’s peace in the house. If I’m going to do law, I need to get to study in one way or another. Actually, we’re doing a project and I need to look at old newspaper articles. Is there a way to do that here?”

  The librarian gets up and moves around the desk, beckoning for him to follow her to the microfiche room. “Do you know what year you want?” she asks.

  “I think I’ll need to look at the early seventies – I’m not sure of the specific year. It’s a project about the courts system.”

  She shows him how to search, and how to view the microfiche, then leaves him to it, patting him on the arm as she leaves. “It’s great to see young people taking an interest in history,” she says, closing the door.

  He sits down and takes off his jacket. This is going to take hours and hours. But it will be worth it when he sees the look on the lying bitch’s face.

  Chapter 35

  Sylvia – Tuesday, August 23rd

  The lift doors close, and the only sound is the serene robotic voice announcing “Going down.” Going down indeed – that sums it up, thinks Sylvia. Senior management need a scapegoat, and she fits the bill beautifully.

  And of course, not one single person from this morning’s meeting is still in the office – once they’d finished firing questions at her, they’d gone for a liquid lunch in Elliot’s across the way. Craig’s breath smelled of a stomach-turning wine-and-garlic combination when she bumped into him in the kitchen later on – though at least he came back to the office. There was no sign of the others – someone said something about Temple Bar. They were due to fly back to the UK early tomorrow morning, and no doubt keen to make the most of the jaunt. Whereas this morning apparently nothing mattered more than the money and the cover-up. Why didn’t they roll up their sleeves and bloody help her then?

  The doors glide open and she looks out into pitch darkness. Putting her hands out in front of her, she steps into the basement lobby, wondering why the lights aren’t coming on. Don’t they operate on a sensor? She’s not sure now – she’s never seen them off before. Keeping her hands in front of her, she moves towards the exit door, feeling around on the wall for the card-reader. Her hand finds the light switch, but when she presses it nothing happens. She takes out her phone to shine some light on the wall, wishing she’d downloaded that torch app Tom was always going on about. Now she can make out the reader. But when her card slides through, there’s no familiar click. She tries again. Still nothing. Oh, for goodness’ sake! She pushes the door and it opens. There must be a fuse gone in the basement.

  The car park is in darkness too. She feels for the light switches and tries them, but she already knows they’re not going to work. Shit.

  There’s a musty smell down here that she’s never noticed before, and it’s deathly silent at this time of night. With her arms outstretched, she steps forward tentatively. How is she going to find her car? Her phone screen gives a small amount of light but not enough to see anything ahead. Inching forward, then left, she searches for a concrete pillar to get her bearings. Is there a pillar between each parking bay? Or every three maybe? It’s hard to remember now. There’s the first one. If there’s one for every three spaces, then there are only two more to go, and she should be at her car. She starts forward again, then freezes. There’s someone else here. She can feel it. Or maybe she heard a breath – she can’t tell. She stands paralysed, her skin tingling. Everything seems terribly loud and utterly still all at once. The noise is all in her head – beyond it she can hear nothing. If she can just get to her car, it will be okay, but she’s afraid to reach out her hands now, in case she touches something that’s not concrete or air.

  Then it happens. Something touches her face. She screams and adrenaline kicks in – she runs to where the car might be, praying her instincts are right. Her hands touch a wall, but the car should be beside it. Panicking, breathing fast, she feels her way along the wall, crying now. Putting her hand back behind her, she touches the car door. Where are her keys? She hunkers down and sticks her hands in her bag, pulling out everything that’s not a key and throwing it on the ground. She hears footsteps. At the very bottom of the bag, her fingers make contact with her keys. She takes them out but drops them on the ground. Still she can hear footsteps, slow and deliberate. Frantically, on her hands and knees, she feels around the stone ground for her keys. There they are. She pushes the button and the orange lights flash. Pulling open the door she climbs inside and sticks the key in the ignition. Her handbag and phone and wallet are still on the ground but it doesn’t matter. Slamming the door, she lurches forward and out of her car space. The headlights aren’t on. She doesn’t want to see who’s there, but she can’t make it out of the car park in pitch darkness either. Forcing herself to do it, she clicks on the headlights. They light up the car park in front of her as she swerves towards the exit, and there’s nothing there but stone grey walls and empty spots. She lets out a cry of relief.

  At the top of the ramp, the barrier is up, and part of her knows that if it wasn’t she might have driven through it rather than go back down for her swipe card.

  The card is still there the following morning, lying on the ground beside her wallet and her handbag, but her phone is gone. The lights are back working – a blown fuse, says the security guard – it knocked out everything at basement level for the night. From her desk, Sylvia tries to ring her mobile but it just rings out. She tries once more then contacts IT – they say they’ll cancel her old phone and organise a new phone by tomorrow. Next stop is an email to Tom to let him know she still has no phone. He thought she imagined it all, of course – too little sleep and too much stress making her hear things that aren’t there. The hand that touched her face was probably her own hair, he reckoned, pointing out that it wouldn’t be the first time she had taken a strand of hair for a spider.

  She couldn’t have imagined the footsteps though. There was someone in the car park and now that someone has her phone.

  Chapter 36

  Sylvia – Saturday, August 27th

  The clatter of Saturday morning cups fills the air as Sylvia bounces Zack up and down on her knee, and cuts off little bits of scone for him. It’s a brown scone, so probably not too bad for a baby. Probably. She looks again towards the entrance, then at her watch. Maybe Kate won’t show. But there she is, pushing open the swinging door, scanning the coffee shop. Sylvia waves but she’s too far away in the corner – Kate can’t see her. Standing up, she waves again. Kate spots her and makes her way between the tables.

  Sylvia immediately regrets her Saturday-morning combo of old jeans and even older trainers. Kate’s in a biker jacket and impossibly skinny black jeans, and her I’m-not-wearing-make-up make-up is perfect with her shimmering hair. It looks more silver than blonde today – did she colour it since last week? Sylvia pulls at her own mid-brown curls and wonders if she should try something new. Shifting Zack to her other hip, she leans forward to accept Kate’s hug, and they sit.

  Kate orders black coffee and relaxes back into the banquette, dropping her shopping bags to the floor. “So how are you? I’ve just spent all morning queuing for uniforms – how do they need new uniforms every year?” She shakes her head. “All ahead of you, Sylvia. So this must be Zack?” She takes his hand and says hi.

  Zack stares at her, and goes back to the scone.

  Sylvia says she doesn’t know how long Zack will last before tears take hold – he was up again last night and he’s wrecked. She doesn’t tell Kate that she lay awake long after Zack went back to sleep, trying to ignore the noises – the little creaks and lifts the house makes at night, wondering if she’ll come downstairs to find something else has been m
oved. And she doesn’t tell her about the scare in the car park and her stolen phone.

  “And how is work?” Kate asks. “How’s that asshole boss of yours?”

  “Work is horrible, to be honest,” Sylvia says. “I’m trying to focus on getting the money back, but they keep calling me into meetings to explain it. And of course everyone has completely forgotten I wasn’t there when it happened. The blame game is strong in our place.”

  Kate picks up her coffee cup and hugs it with both hands. She has beautifully manicured nails, covered in blue-black polish. A diamond the size of a marble sits on her ring-finger. Well, it’s not quite a marble, it just looks like that compared to Sylvia’s engagement ring.

  “So why don’t you do what I suggested,” Kate says. “Go find Justin and catch him in the act – tell them he’s faking, and get some of the negative attention where it should be?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know . . . I think it would look like I’m trying to deflect – which of course I would be. I’d be in trouble then for doing that instead of focusing on the investigation. Also I’m pretty sure it’s completely illegal.” She kisses Zack’s head and looks back at Kate. “I think I just have to suck it up and hope it’s not a lifelong black mark against me.”