The Other Side Of The Wall: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by Andrea Mara

  “Who?”

  “Kate’s brother. Why does he keep turning up? If he doesn’t back off, I’ll have to do something about it.”

  Oh God, Miller, why do you keep doing this? “Miller’s harmless,” he tells Michael. “He’s just lonely. You don’t need to worry about him. Seriously.”

  “Say what you want, if this keeps up, or if he manages to come at the wrong time, I don’t care whose brother he is – I’ll take care of it.” Michael walks back out of the room and closes the door.

  Sam lets out a long breath. Miller better be gone – Jesus, he wouldn’t stand a chance if Michael got near him – he’s twice the size of him. And Miller has no sense at all – in a million years, he’d never see it coming.

  Chapter 67

  Kate – June 1984

  Kate knew the picnic would be like this. Her mum chattering away to any other mum who looks sideways at her, while she and Miller plod along on their own. The boys from third class are all racing ahead, chasing each other with sticks, and none of them have even glanced at Miller. There’s no way he’ll join in without being pushed into it. Looking further up the hill, she can see the three girls from her class, arms linked, heads together. They look back and one says something. The other two double over laughing. Idiots.

  Kate kicks a stick and it skitters across the dusty path. How much further is this picnic spot? It’s so bloody hot too. And of course her mum is keeping all the food and drink till they reach the top, the carrot to get them there. A very uninspiring carrot. Soggy ham-and-tomato sandwiches and a warm bottle of orange are hardly worth all this dust and sweat.

  The path twists around a corner and all of a sudden, they’re there – the white railing clear against the open sky, and the burst of yellow gorse, unfolding on all sides, creeping down the hill to the rocks and the sea below. In spite of herself, Kate stops to take in the view. Carnross wouldn’t be such a bad place if it wasn’t for the people. The others have seen it all before, and continue upwards to the grassy peak, setting down rugs and cool-boxes and opening cans of fizzy drinks. Within minutes, the boys are up again and running around, playing some kind of ninja game with big sticks.

  Laura nudges Miller. “Go on – join in, love. You’ll enjoy it.” He doesn’t move. “I have a packet of custard creams in here somewhere,” she says, pointing at the picnic bag. “I bet if you go off and play with them for ten minutes, I’ll have found them by the time you come back.”

  Miller pushes his glasses up and fixes his eyes on his mother. “Promise?”

  “Promise. Now go on.”

  Kate watches as her brother walks slowly – so slowly – over to the boys in his class. He looks so out of place in his shorts and sandals – all of his classmates are in tracksuit bottoms and football jerseys. His long hair, hanging down over his eyes, contrasts with the buzz-cuts of the others. He’s a square peg in a round hole. Or maybe a hexagonal peg, thinks Kate. She keeps watching as he approaches. Two of the boys spot him, and one says something to the group. Kate’s heart sinks. But then she sees smiles – they beckon Miller over. She can’t hear every word, but it sounds like they’re inviting him to join the game.

  Kate turns to Laura, who is transfixed by the scene, beaming like she’s won the lottery. Just then a toddler runs across their rug, his flustered mother chasing just behind. In his haste, he knocks over a bottle and orange liquid spreads all over the blanket. Laura throws a tea towel on it and waves away the embarrassed mother’s apologies. Her name is Barbara, she says, and the little boy is Dónal. His big brother Fergal is in Miller’s class. Barbara sits down, bribing Dónal with a packet of Tayto to sit with her. The PTA is the hot topic Laura and Barbara choose, and Kate is bored before Barbara even starts to talk Laura into joining (of course she’ll join, Kate wants to say – she’s desperate to fit in). She gets up to stretch her legs and walks over to where the ninja game has progressed up the steps of an odd stone structure at the top of the hill. Shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, she tries to work out what exactly the steps are.

  “It’s a stepped pyramid – a folly built in 1852,” says a voice behind her.

  It’s Clara – literally the only half-decent person in Carnross.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you know what a folly is?”

  Kate shakes her head.

  “The owners of the land built it for no reason other than to create work for unemployed peasants. So basically, a pyramid-shaped set of steps that lead nowhere. The views are good from the top – you can see right out over the water.”

  Kate shakes her head a second time. “Nah, I’m not good with heights – that’s way too high for me.”

  The boys are climbing now, some of them are near the top. Kate feels dizzy just looking at them. Is Miller there too? She can just about make him out, on the second last step from the top. Her stomach lurches. But he’ll be fine. Things like this don’t faze Miller. And painful though he is, the nerdy little weirdo, she’s happy he’s finally making friends.

  The game recommences on the steps – the boys are poking at one another with sticks and jumping out of the way. Kate’s stomach lurches again. How are they not afraid of falling? She looks back at the mothers – they’re all busy chatting, but even the few who glance over don’t seem worried. Maybe this is how they play in Carnross.

  The noise from the steps is louder now and she can make out what they’re saying. “What kind of name is Miller anyway? It’s so gay. Is that why you wear such ugly clothes? Does your mam get them for free from the tinkers?”

  Oh shit! “Miller – come down – Mum wants you!” she calls up.

  He’s on the second step from the top and doesn’t seem to hear her. Though you never know with Miller.

  “Hey, four-eyes, why don’t you go back to where you came from?” It’s a different boy talking now. Still Miller says nothing.

  Kate waves and calls him again, but he doesn’t move. Her heart is pounding. She needs to get him out of there. She eyes up the steps and takes a deep breath. Bloody brothers. She pulls herself up onto the first step as the taunting continues.

  “The retard doesn’t talk.”

  Kate looks up. It’s a third boy this time. He steps forward, pushing his face right up to Miller’s, except he has a good four inches in height on him. He pokes him in the chest.

  “You don’t talk, do you? Retard!” He pokes him again.

  Kate watches as Miller’s eyes narrow and he raises his hands. When she thinks back, she knows it can’t have taken more than a second but, in the moment, everything is in slow motion. Miller pushes his hands against the boy’s chest, and the boy stumbles backwards. He loses his footing and topples off the edge of the second last step from the top. Down he goes, tumbling backwards, head over heels. Kate watches in horror as his head smashes against the corner of the bottom step. Years later, she can still hear the sickening sound of skull hitting stone. He rolls over and lies still, as blood pools in the dust at the bottom of the steps.

  Kate is closest to the boy, but she’s frozen to the spot. She stares at the blood, and the crumpled shape. People are running towards her. Screaming. Children are crying. One woman turns the boy over and slaps his cheek, again and again. She puts her head on his chest and then her mouth on his mouth. Someone is shouting to call an ambulance, but they’re a mile from town. The woman is crying hysterically now, cradling the boy’s broken head in her arms. At some point Kate realises it’s Barbara. This must be her other son. Oh God, oh God. Where’s Miller? She looks up. He’s sitting on the top step of the pyramid, swinging his legs, looking down at them all scurrying and screaming below. And she’s not sure, but she thinks she can see a ghost of a smile.

  Chapter 68

  Kate – August 1984

  This morning, she doesn’t bother to look outside before getting the scrubbing brush and the basin of hot water. She already knows what will be there. The colours change, and the words change, but there’s always something.
“Child Killer” or “Get Out, Murderers” or sometimes just an unimaginative “Die”. Her mother won’t let Miller help – she can see why really. He hasn’t left the house since the day it happened – not even for the inquest. They taped him and played a video in the court instead, because he’s only eight. Accidental death is what they said it was in the end, and sure what else would it be? Her parents had both gone to the courthouse for the inquest but she wasn’t allowed to go. Mrs Daly from next door had minded them. Well, she’d put on the TV for them in the sitting room while she sat in the kitchen knitting. When her parents arrived home, Laura had burst into tears, hugging Miller. Kate couldn’t tell if this was a good sign or a bad sign – with her mum, you never knew. Her dad just went into his study and shut the door. Then Mrs Daly got up to leave, patting Kate on the shoulder as she let herself out. Laura didn’t notice her go – she was still rocking and sobbing, with Miller sitting motionless in her arms.

  Kate got up to turn up the volume on the TV then sat on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest, wondering if it was all over.

  Of course it wasn’t all over. If anything, it was just beginning. She’d been woken early the following morning by the sound of something smashing against her window. Pulling back the curtain, she found the glass covered in yellow goo. She jerked back as another egg hit the window, then ran in to tell her parents. Her mum jumped up and grabbed her dressing gown, ready to take on the culprits, but her dad pulled Laura back.

  “Leave it. You’re only fuelling it if you go out there,” he said.

  “But it was accidental – that’s what the inquest said. They’ve no right to do this.”

  “Laura, for God’s sake, leave it! We still have to live here and I have to run my practice here.”

  Kate backed out of the room at that, but waited just behind the door.

  “Is that it, Richard? Is that why you’ve been so distant with Miller? You’re worried about your precious practice and how it will look for the town’s most eminent solicitor to be in a spot of bother himself?” She spat the words at him.

  Kate had never heard her mother talk like this.

  “That’s not fair. I’m doing everything I can. This is hard on all of us, but I have to think of the practice too – I can’t afford to lose clients over this. My father spent fifty years building it up, and now this – in one afternoon, everything’s in jeopardy.”

  Then silence. Kate stepped forward and peered around the door. Her dad was sitting on the side of the bed and her mum was standing a few feet away from him, with her face in her hands.

  Eventually Laura lifted her head again.

  “Richard, he’s your son. He’s in pain. He needs both of us.”

  “In pain? Don’t fool yourself, Laura. He hasn’t shown the slightest bit of remorse. There’s something not right with him.”

  The slap was loud and Kate jumped. She watched as her dad rubbed his cheek, then got up from the bed and walked out of the room, paying no attention to Kate as he passed.

  When she thought back, while it certainly wasn’t the start of the end, it was one of the many nails that kept the coffin shut. Her dad stayed late in the office, then shut himself away in the study when he got home. Sometimes he slept in the room above the office. He barely registered Kate when she was in the room, and completely ignored Miller.

  The night it came to a head started out just like any other night. The front door opened and shut around ten, and her dad’s keys landed in the bowl on the hall table. The closet creaked as he opened it to hang up his coat, then silence. She pictured him standing in the hall, briefcase in hand, deciding whether to join her mother in the sitting room or go straight up to bed. She waited for the next sound, holding her breath. When it came, it was the familiar sound of the sitting-room door handle. Everything would be okay, she knew it would.

  Kate crept out of bed and down the stairs, kneeling on the hall floor with her ear to the sitting-room door.

  Her dad’s voice was low, but she could hear every word. “Laura, this can’t go on. The graffiti, the stone-throwing, the punctured tyres, and now one of my biggest clients has left me. He’s a neighbour of Barbara and Colm Quinn, and says his conscience won’t let him keep doing business with – and I quote – ‘the family responsible for the murder of an innocent child’. He actually wrote that in a letter. As though we are somehow responsible too.”

  Laura sighed. “But don’t you see – we are responsible. He’s our child – he is us. Nature and nurture. And no matter what, we have to stick by him and stand up for him.”

  Richard’s voice went up a notch. “You act as though it was just a school-yard prank or a silly argument. He pushed a child off a ledge and now the child is dead. And our precious son hasn’t given me the slightest hint that he knows it was wrong or feels bad about it!”

  “But that’s why he needs us. To get him through this.”

  “I don’t think we’re qualified for this, Laura. I think he needs professional help. I spoke to a guy I was in college with this morning and he said we’d get a place in St Enda’s if he pulls some strings.”

  Silence.

  Richard started again. “It’s a residential facility for children with mental health issues.”

  “I bloody know what it is, Richard,” Laura said, her voice low and cold. “And there’s no way in hell my son is going there. You can forget that idea. And I’m disgusted that you’d even think of it.”

  “Jesus, Laura, you give out to me for not helping him but you won’t accept professional help when it’s on offer!” He was shouting now.

  “He needs us – not straitjackets and shrinks, for God’s sake. He’s staying here, and that’s it.”

  “Then I’m not.” The door was yanked open, and her dad stormed past her. He grabbed his keys and his coat, left down such a very short time ago, and walked out of the house. He never stayed there another night again.

  And now this morning she’s cleaning graffiti and keeping her head down, like she does every morning, wondering when and how it will come to an end.

  Her mum comes outside, cradling a cup of tea in her hands. Gently she takes the brush from Kate. And as though she’s reading her daughter’s mind, she tells her it’s enough. They’re going. They’re moving back to Dublin. To somewhere nobody knows them, to start over. Just the three of them. They’ll go back to Laura’s maiden name, and leave everything Jordan and everything Carnross behind.

  For the first time since the picnic at Whitecross Hill, Kate cries – her small body shuddering with horrific pain and shocking, beautiful relief.

  Chapter 69

  Sam – Saturday, August 20th 2016

  Midday. Kate will be here any minute now.

  Michael looks at his watch and gets up to turn the key to lock the spare-room door. He puts his finger to his lips. “Remember, if you make a sound, I’ll get to her before she gets anywhere near the front door. And by the time I’m finished, her blood won’t just be on your hands – it’ll be everywhere.” Michael grins at his choice of words. “It’s your decision to be awake for this, bud – I could have sedated you – still could. It might be easier?”

  Sam locks eyes with Michael and shakes his head. “I won’t do anything to put her at risk,” he says in a whisper. “I promise.”

  And just like that, there she is. Or at least her sound. The turning of the key, the opening of the door – always the same but somehow different now, knowing it’s Kate. Sam trembles at the nearness and the impossibility of it all. Mundane movements – keys hitting table, kettle boiling, fridge opening – she wants to see what he’s been eating. Or perhaps what Nina eats. He cringes. Now the back door opening – she’s looking out at the garden. Will she step outside? He stays still and waits. The back door closes: she’s inside again. Cupboard doors open and shut – is she looking or packing? She’ll probably take her favourite mug, and the espresso cups they got in France two years ago. The boys might want the ones with their names on them – will
she notice that his is missing, up here on the bedside locker? Probably not. Then footsteps in the hall again, and finally the stairs. He’s not breathing now, just waiting. Wanting with every bone in his body to see her, but praying she doesn’t come near the door. She goes into their bedroom – she’s only six feet away now on the other side of the wall. The sound of wardrobe doors, locker drawers and shoeboxes. Will she look again for signs of the other woman – probably. But maybe Michael didn’t leave anything there this time. It’s not possible to say which is better any more – that she thinks he’s still having an affair or that it’s all over. Which one makes her seek him out? That’s a bigger question than he can manage after a month of regular sedation and no perspective. She’s in Jamie’s room now, or maybe Seth’s, filling suitcases to take to her mother’s rented house. Michael had enjoyed passing that piece of news to him. “That’s the nail in the coffin, Sam,” he’d said – but Sam didn’t care. As long as she’s living there, she’s not trying to get back in here. The bathroom next; the plop of the medicine cabinet door. It closes again – nothing of interest. Please go downstairs now, he wills her, closing his eyes. Just go – leave this house, and never come back. Send someone – send anyone, but don’t you come here and don’t bring the boys here. Please, Kate. He’s nearly sure she can hear him – she’s at the top of the stairs. It’s working. Then she turns back. Her steps draw closer. She’s coming to the spare-room door.