The Other Side Of The Wall: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by Andrea Mara

  “Oh yes, I wasn’t really paying attention, I was looking for my keys. I’m just back from work. I’d better go inside.”

  Rosemary’s face falls. Poor old thing. She can spare two minutes.

  “Though I’m a bit early, they won’t be expecting me yet – how are you anyway?”

  Rosemary beams. “Not bad now, though the arthritis is playing up with all the rain. Did you hear anything new about Noel?”

  Sylvia shakes her head. If anyone on the road is likely to know the latest on Noel, it’s Rosemary. And indeed, she does have news.

  “The Guards were at their house again today,” she says, nodding towards the house across the road. “Called in early this morning – two of them. What do you think that means?”

  Sylvia looks over. Georgia and Noel’s cars are in the driveway, and there’s another car parked outside too, but no police. “I guess they were giving her an update on the search?”

  “I wonder . . .” Rosemary says, going back to a whisper although there’s nobody else around, “do you think he ran off with another woman?”

  “Ah listen, I’m not even sure what Georgia sees in him,” Sylvia says, also whispering. “I can’t see him finding a mistress too!”

  Rosemary’s eyes light up and a smile twitches at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, we’re terrible, we shouldn’t be saying that!”

  But she’s delighted. Sylvia’s job is done.

  Sylvia looks over again. Maybe she should call in to Georgia to see if she can do anything – or would that be intruding? She looks at her watch – there won’t be time this evening anyway – she’s meeting Kate at eight, and there’s something important she needs to do first.

  Tom checks again on the kids and closes the sitting-room door.

  Sylvia’s stomach is in knots as she picks up Tom’s phone and tests the call-recorder app one final time. What if he doesn’t answer? What if he guesses what she’s doing? What if the recorder doesn’t work? But Tom insists it’s worth a try.

  She dials Justin’s number and waits. The little red light on the top left-hand corner of the phone tells her that the recorder has switched on.

  After four rings, he answers.

  “Justin, it’s Sylvia. Look, don’t hang up – I just wanted to clear the air after the last time. I hate falling out with people – especially key members of the management team like you.”

  Thumbs up from Tom, silence from Justin.

  “So, how about we forget everything – forget what happened when I called – and get back on track. You come in on Monday and help me with the audit, and the rest is water under the bridge.”

  More silence.

  “Justin?”

  “Sylvia, I’m a little surprised to be honest – do HR know you’re harassing me like this?”

  Oh, for goodness’ sake! She closes her eyes and presses the phone against her temple. “No, I thought we could just sort it out between ourselves.”

  “You seem to be under the illusion that I can just get up and come back to work – I’m ill in case you’ve forgotten, and I have a sick cert to prove it. So no, sorry, you’ll have to handle things on your own for another while.”

  “Please, Justin, you’re a lot better at going through the accounts than I am – you were always strong on problem-solving. The team are lost without you, to be honest. And so am I. I’m still finding my feet after being off.” She waits.

  “Nice try, Sylvia, but no go. I’m not coming back until I’m ready. Actually, I’m feeling a bit stressed now because of this call – I might need to go back to the doctor. I’ve a feeling she’s going to sign me off for even longer.”

  She can hear the sneer. The smug prick.

  When she speaks again, her voice is a taut wire. “Justin, I thought we could sort this out like grown-ups but clearly not. You and I both know you’re faking this illness. I saw you going to play rugby less than a week ago. I took photos of you for God’s sake!”

  “And where are those photos now, Sylvia?”

  “You know well where they are – you deleted them just before you threw my phone at me.”

  “Exactly, you have no photos any more. So fuck off, Sylvia, and don’t phone me again.”

  He hangs up.

  No, you fuck off, she thinks, then quickly opens the call-recorder app to see if it worked. She puts it on speaker and Justin’s voice fills the kitchen.

  Tom is smiling.

  “Do you think it’s enough?” she asks him.

  “Definitely. You mention the rugby and the deleted photos and throwing the phone at you and he doesn’t deny any of it – Craig’s eyes will be well and truly opened.”

  “Should I send it to Craig now?”

  “Do. Give him the weekend to sit on it, rather than ambushing him on Monday morning and forcing him into a corner.”

  She hits the share button and types in Craig’s email address.

  “I think I’ve earned my night out now,” she says, putting down the phone and kissing Tom.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot you’re out tonight – who are you meeting?”

  “Kate.”

  “Again? You don’t even see your real friends that often.”

  “Well, she is a real friend. I think. And she’s trying to adjust to a broken marriage and being a lone parent, and she could do with someone to talk to.”

  “She could do with someone who’ll jump every time she whistles,” Tom says, but Sylvia doesn’t care – she’s running upstairs to get changed, feeling lighter than she has done in weeks.

  Chapter 47

  Sylvia – Friday, September 9th

  Traffic is crawling through the rain-soaked streets like Dublin has decided to dress up as New York for the night. Some football game with loads of American tourists, says the taxi driver. Sylvia doesn’t mind. The falling dusk glows above the streetlights, and the Friday night feeling is seeping into the cab – everything has upped its game to match her mood. She should have made the call weeks ago. She smiles.

  Kate’s already sitting at the bar, scrolling through her phone, and two white wines appear as Sylvia pulls out a stool. As they clink, Kate asks what they should toast.

  “Justin,” Sylvia says, “and the grave he’s just dug for himself!”

  Kate wants to hear everything.

  Sylvia is only halfway through the story when the wine is gone and they order more. They clink again, and she continues her play-by-play account. Kate claps when she hears about the call recorder, and Sylvia takes out her phone and ear-buds to let Kate hear the confession for herself.

  “Oh God, he’s so pleased with himself! What a dick!” she says when the call comes to an end.

  “Yeah, he’s so smug. But not for long, I hope. I doubt Craig can do anything formal with it – like with HR, I mean – it’s probably not quite legal to trap someone into admitting they’re faking sickness, but at least it takes the focus off me.”

  Kate nods. “Yeah, they probably can’t go down the disciplinary route but perhaps he’ll be quietly managed out. I’m pretty sure no matter where you work, it’s seen as fairly serious to fake an illness to get six weeks off work, especially if it’s to cover up a mistake. Brilliant – well done for doing it!” She raises her glass. “Actually, I have news too. A really odd thing happened today – kind of life-changing really, or it would have been before my husband screwed up our marriage. I was sitting in the car at the school – ”

  Sylvia’s phone vibrates on the bar and she glances down. “Oh sorry, Kate, it’s from Craig – I need to see what he says.”

  She looks up a moment later, beaming.

  “Okay, listen to this. He says the recording made for very interesting listening, and he thinks it may need to go to the board because of the seriousness of the audit situation. He says we’ll discuss it further on Monday morning, and – wait for this – he says ‘Sorry you’ve been left to deal with all of this due to Justin’s incompetency.’ Ha!”

  “I notice he doesn’t take r
esponsibility himself though – kind of brushing it under the carpet, no?”

  “I’ll take it. It’s a hell of a lot better than sitting there being blamed for everything.”

  “You’re right. It’s a good result. Here’s to a long and successful career with Stanbridge Brown.” Kate holds up her glass again.

  “No chance – I’ll stay until the audit is closed, then I’m going.”

  “Will you take time out with the kids?”

  “Maybe for a while. But then I’ll find a job I actually like. Or at the very least, one that doesn’t make me miserable every day.”

  Kate smiles. “Well, fair play to you! We should have ordered champagne.”

  Sylvia raises her glass but her smile has slipped away.

  “Are you okay?” Kate asks.

  “Yeah, I just feel a bit bad to be celebrating. This is going to sound silly, but our dog died this week.” And just as she knew would happen, her eyes well up. God, she could be such a wuss sometimes.

  “Ah, I’m sorry. Did you have him long?”

  “Five years – since we got married. I know it’s not like a human dying – of course it’s not, but he was part of the family. Even if he was really annoying sometimes.” She wipes away a tear with the back of her hand, trying not to smudge her mascara. “God, what am I like!”

  “I always wanted a dog – we couldn’t have one when we were kids because my dad didn’t like them. Then, when my parents split, my mum said it was too much work for her on her own. I was absolutely certain I’d get my own dog when I grew up, then I only went and married the one guy in Ireland who is petrified of dogs.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realise – how did he get over it?”

  “He didn’t – he’s still shit-scared of them – he’ll literally cross the road if he sees a tiny puppy. I used to think it was cute. Now it’s just pathetic.”

  Sylvia shakes her head. “But Sam’s not scared of dogs – he was always great with Bailey whenever we bumped into him.”

  Kate looks surprised. “Maybe he’s managing to hide it better now and I just haven’t noticed. I bet if you think back now, you’ll realise he kept his distance and scarpered as quickly as he could. What kind of dog was Bailey?”

  “A Lab. But no – Sam played with Bailey every time he saw him – it was one thing I liked about him from the start. He would rub his ears and tickle him and give him loads of attention.”

  Kate stares at her. “No – you must be mistaken – Sam is honestly petrified of dogs. There’s no way he’d rub one.”

  “No, he did. He was mad about Bailey,” says Sylvia and sips her wine. How well does Kate actually know her husband?

  Kate is shaking her head. “No chance. He was attacked by a Doberman when he was a kid – he went into the field behind their house, and a Doberman chased him from one end to the other. The dog caught him and bit him in the face. The owner pulled the dog off, but Sam needed stitches – that’s where the scar came from. And he’s never gone near a dog since – which you can understand. I feel a bit mean now saying he’s pathetic.”

  “What scar?”

  “The scar on his cheek! There’s no need to be polite – he’s well used to it.”

  “God, I’ve never noticed it at all.”

  Kate smiles. “Seriously, it’s okay. He’s not sensitive.”

  “I’m not just being nice – I’ve genuinely never seen a scar.”

  “The white line that goes from just under his left eye all the way down?” Kate traces a line on her own face.

  Sylvia shakes her head.

  “Look, I’ll show you,” Kate says, picking up her phone from the bar. She scrolls for a moment then holds it up to Sylvia. “See – even without zooming in it’s obvious. That’s from earlier on this summer when he had a bit of a tan, which always makes it stand out more.”

  Sylvia takes the phone and stares at the picture, then looks up at Kate. “But that’s not Sam.”

  “Of course it’s Sam. Jeez, he can’t have changed that much over the summer. Here, I’ll get another one.” She scrolls again and zooms in on another picture.

  Sylvia takes the phone. The man is similar to Sam – tall, tanned, brown eyes, brown hair, but it’s not Sam. She shakes her head.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but that’s not Sam.”

  “Um, in fairness, I think I know my own husband. Maybe there’s someone else new in another house in Willow Valley and you’re mixing them up?”

  “I’m not. Honestly. Sure we’ve been in his house – your house. We had tea with him. He helped me dig a grave for poor Bailey on Monday, and told me all about burying his dog Max.”

  Kate stares at her. “Sam never had a dog. Max was Michael’s dog. His cousin Michael.”

  Chapter 48

  Sam – Monday, July 11th 2016

  Everything hurts. His mouth feels like someone filled it with sand and shook him. He tries opening his eyes but even that makes his stomach lurch. Feeling his way to the bathroom, he gets there just before throwing up. The bathroom tiles are blessedly cool when he slides down onto the floor afterwards, panting and sweating. What time is it? Oh God, work. How is he going to go into work like this? A shower might help. He turns the water down cold and forces himself to stand under the icy needles, imagining the vodka washing out of his pores. And the tequila. What the hell was he thinking? Blurred memories of shot glasses and slices of lemon filter back as he dries himself – and blaring the Stone Roses at full blast. On a Sunday night – Jesus, what would the neighbours say? Kate would kill him if she knew. And all because he tried to give Michael money for the work he’d done over the weekend. He should have known better. If Kate was here, she’d have known it would embarrass Michael, but at the time it seemed like the right thing to do. If you did it for any other customer they’d pay you, he’d said to Michael. And his cousin just shrugged and said family is different. Then he’d taken the money to buy drink and a takeaway for both of them – way, way too much drink. Sam’s stomach lurches again.

  Downstairs, Michael is already up and dressed and looking far chirpier than Sam feels. He’s cooking something on the grill and Sam needs to open a window to avoid throwing up again.

  “Morning. Sausages and pudding?” Michael asks.

  Sam just shakes his head and pours a drink of water. “What time did we finish up at?”

  “Near two, I reckon. You look a bit shook today – are you all right?”

  Sam shakes his head again. “I don’t know if I can cope with work today. I need to find the paracetamol.”

  On his way to the bathroom, he peeks into the sitting room to assess the damage. Two empty vodka bottles, an open bottle of tequila, and too many beer cans to count. Remnants of Tikka Masala congeal on plates, and empty cartons sit on the floor. An overflowing ashtray is perched on the windowsill, evidence of the plan to only smoke out the window. Kate would go nuts if she saw this. There’s no way he can stomach the clean-up now – literally – it’ll have to wait until tonight.

  “Don’t worry, you head on to work, I’ll clear it up,” Michael says, coming up behind him.

  “Ah no, I can do it later – sure you’ve been working non-stop all weekend on the house.”

  “Not at all – it’s my fault we overdid it and you’re going into work in that state. I’ll do it – I’ve no jobs on this morning.”

  “Okay, cheers for that. I’ll give you a key so you can lock the door after.”

  Sam finds the spare key and passes it over to his cousin then leaves for work, wondering how on earth he’s going to get through the day.

  Turning into the driveway that evening, the only thing on Sam’s mind is hitting the couch, and maybe, just maybe, summoning up the energy to make toast for dinner. Michael’s car is gone – it’ll be just himself and the remote control for the evening.

  The first thing to hit him when he walks into the hall is the smell of steak and onions. In the kitchen, Michael is standing over the hob, shaking salt o
n the pan. He turns when he hears Sam come in.

  “Hiya – I thought you could do with something like this after the day you’ve no doubt just had,” he says, nodding at the steak.

  “Oh right – I didn’t realise you were here – where’s your car?”

  “I moved it into the garage – it’s easier to get equipment in and out of the house that way,” Michael says. “Look – I’ve chips in the oven too – homemade ones now, not chipper chips.”

  “You’re very good but there was no need – I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

  “Well, I had two jobs to do after I cleaned up here this morning,” he says, gesturing towards the sitting room, “but I came back then to take a look at the wiring in the spare room. Pretty bad state overall – there’s a lot of work in it still.”

  Great. And now it’s going to be awkward if Michael does the work and won’t take money. Maybe he should just pay someone else and be done with it.