Her Last Secret: A gripping psychological thriller

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  If the scene were re-enacted today, it would descend into squabbles and screams of hatred within minutes. What had happened to her family?

  * * *

  Ruby hadn’t thanked Mouse for her drawing. That hurt. And was annoying. If that was her attitude, Mouse would take it back. She was starting to feel seriously grumpy. Mummy hadn’t listened to her about the party, and now Ruby was in Super Duper Trouble, a whole new category Mouse had been forced to create. Mouse had never seen Mummy or Ruby so mad before. No one was interested at all in seeing the prize she had won in pass the parcel. When Daddy got home there was bound to be fireworks – an expression Mouse was particularly fond of because she always thought it sounded pretty.

  She sneaked into Ruby’s room to see what her sister had done with the drawing, but couldn’t see it anywhere. Then she realised: it must have slid underneath the doormat Ruby had put down inside her room. The one with the naughty words on it that Mouse wasn’t allowed to say. Mouse had argued that ‘off’ wasn’t a bad word, so she could say one of them out loud, but Mummy had screwed her lips up like she was eating sours sweeties, so Mouse hadn’t said anything else. She wanted to make sure she got her presents, and she wasn’t going to miss out because Ruby had bought a rude mat – it wasn’t her fault her sister was bad. Everyone was so mean lately.

  Mouse was walking back to the mat when Ruby appeared.

  ‘What are you doing sneaking into my room?’

  ‘I was only—’

  ‘I don’t care, Mouse. Fuck off.’

  ‘You said the bad words.’ Mouse pointed down to the mat, to emphasise her point. ‘I’m telling Mummy and Daddy.’

  The sound of the front door opening and closing, and Daddy shouting ‘hello’ paused their furious words. They heard Mummy speaking soft and low, then the door of Daddy’s study close. Ruby’s eyes were big and round as a Pokémon’s, but not friendly like theirs. She looked fearful and tense, her fists balled by her sides, arms straight as a ruler, as she listened to the prickling silence.

  A huge bellow. Bigger than the one the rhino gave that time the family all went to a safari park.

  Mouse whipped around to look at Ruby, scared.

  Her sister didn’t look worried any more. Her hands unclenched. She grabbed Mouse by the hair and pulled her close. Mouse shrieked as pain shot across her scalp.

  ‘You bit me,’ she yelped.

  ‘Yep. That’s for coming in my room without permission. Bad people do bad things, squirt; it’s about time you realised and toughened up. Best of all, you can’t go snitching on me because no one can see the marks in your hair. Now get out.’

  Mouse grabbed her big sister’s hand and sank her teeth into it. Ruby’s shriek of pain and annoyance was deeply satisfying. Even better was seeing an imprint of her teeth in her sister’s flesh. Before Ruby could lash out, Mouse scurried out to her own room, picked up Ted, and climbed into the wardrobe. As soon as she closed the door, her anxiety lessened. Curled into a corner, in the darkness, she pulled clothes over her head by touch alone. It muffled the shouting from downstairs. The warm air under the clothes made her feel protected.

  ‘It’s safe here, Ted,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t have to be afraid any more.’

  She hugged him tight and that made him feel much better, too. If she concentrated hard on the sound of her own breathing she could pretend she and Ted were the only things in the world. Her scalp tingled and throbbed, and she rubbed at it, burying her face into Ted’s fur for comfort. Why had Ruby hurt her? What had she done this time that had made her sister so mad?

  Her parents’ arguing moved to Ruby’s room. Mouse made out the odd word, but not enough to understand what was really happening. Curiosity was making her fidgety. She jiffled under the clothes mountain, as the temperature beneath reached oven-hot. Cautious as her nickname implied, she crept out from under it and opened the door of her built-in wardrobe. Listened. The shouting was definitely coming from Ruby’s room. Creeping to her bedroom door, she opened it a crack. Darted into the bathroom. Locked the door behind her, then pulled everything out of the bottom of the airing cupboard and crawled inside, knees under chin, pressing her eye against the wall.

  There was a little crack right near the skirting board, which Ruby didn’t know about. Mouse knew all the hidey holes in the house, and all the best listening places, too. Despite people’s best efforts, there were never any secrets kept from her – apart from what Father Christmas was going to bring her. She hadn’t managed to find that out yet, but there wasn’t too long to go until the big day arrived. Only eight sleeps.

  But Daddy’s voice dragged her away from thoughts of piles of gifts in sparkling paper, and back to the present. To his tanned skin paling as he spoke, and the trembling of his finger as he pointed it centimetres from Ruby’s nose. Ruby glared past it, meeting his eyes without flinching.

  ‘Don’t answer back; I’m not interested. Your time for explaining is long gone. You will apologise to that girl’s family, otherwise they are going to press charges. And—’ he raised his voice over Ruby’s shriek of protest, ‘and you are grounded for the foreseeable.’

  ‘It’s Christmas.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before you were so irresponsible,’ Mummy said. ‘You can’t see Harry Porter again, either, Ruby. Even in the New Year. You’re too young to be in a relationship.’

  ‘No, Mum. No, please.’ Ruby’s voice sounded different. Shocked, wounded, small… and more like her old self before she got so grumpy.

  ‘Your mother’s right. He’s a no-good, got no future ahead of him but signing on like the rest of his family. I’ve seen his kind a hundred times before, and he’ll drag you down with him.’

  ‘What? Because his family is skint? Because he’s black? You racist, Dad.’

  Daddy pulled at his tie viciously, like it was strangling him. ‘It’s not his colour, it’s his type. And I’m not arguing about this – this is the way things are, end of story.’

  ‘This is stupid. I can’t NOT see him, can I – not when we go to the same school.’

  ‘You will not spend time with Harry; you will not speak to him. Are we clear?’ said Daddy.

  ‘I love him.’

  ‘You’ve only been with him a few months, Ruby. I know it probably feels as though you love him but you don’t.’

  Mouse couldn’t see Mummy, but her voice sounded much calmer than Daddy’s.

  ‘What do you know about love? You and Dad can’t stand each other. You don’t even speak when you’re in the same room. What I’ve got with Harry is real.’

  ‘Well, real or not, you’re not seeing him anymore. The fact is… well, we didn’t want to say, but we’ve heard things about Harry. He has a certain reputation for dabbling with drugs, and his mother is a drunkard, by all accounts.’

  ‘Oh God, Mother, are you going to listen to a load of crap rather than your own daughter? Harry does not do drugs.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake – you are not having any more to do with that lad. End of conversation,’ Daddy bellowed.

  ‘I wish you were dead. I hate you. I hate you both.’

  Daddy took no notice, just left the room, ushering Mummy in front of him, and closed the door. But before the door shut completely, Mouse was sure she heard him mutter under his breath: ‘Yeah? Well, sometimes I hate you, too.’

  Sixteen

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  Chief Inspector Ogundele knew it was decision time. No one had answered repeated phone calls to the house, so the next move was to go in. The lives of his officers as well as the people inside the property depended on him making the right call.

  On his orders, ten members of an armed response unit slipped into place, ducking out of sight of anyone who might be looking from 15 Burgh Road. They wore black protective clothing: body armour, crash helmets, safety goggles. Gloved hands held sidearms, or the occasional automatic rifle. They were ready for whoever had fired the shotgun inside that quiet family home.

 
; An eerie, rattling cry came from above. Ogundele looked up. A magpie, its black, blue, and white feathers a mimicry of the uniforms below it, peered down from the roof of the besieged suburban house, from which light blazed in one bedroom, and a single ground floor room at the side of the property. It cocked its head on one side, and crackled its call again, as if asking him what he was waiting for.

  It had a point. Situations such as this were a delicate balance between moving quickly, in order to save lives, and taking the time to assess the situation and ensure it was safe for the team to go into the building. Bystanders filming everything would be quick enough to go to the press to criticise if civilian lives were lost due to waiting too long – but rushing in and potentially triggering a gun battle was a possibility. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

  But all was quiet inside the family home. No one shouting or shooting. No one to benefit from the negotiation training Ogundele had. And there may well be people inside the house who needed immediate medical care. Every second of delay could be a life lost

  ‘We move now,’ he decided. The magpie bobbed up and down in excitement.

  Sergeant Hussain nodded, causing a deluge from her hat, and added: ‘The dog unit will be arriving any minute, sir. They’re still a few minutes away.’

  ‘No time to wait. We’re going in now.’

  A moment to confirm everyone was ready, then: ‘Go, go, go,’ Ogundele ordered.

  Thump.

  An expert swing of the Enforcer battering ram on the red front door. It burst open, sending to the floor the holly wreath that had been pinned to it.

  The chief inspector held his breath and prayed for his team as they raised their weapons and swarmed into the darkness of the house.

  Seventeen

  SATURDAY 18 DECEMBER

  SEVEN DAYS TO GO

  Dominique blinked in confusion. Swayed slightly. Blinked again. Screwed her eyes shut for a count of three before opening them.

  She was in the hall. How had she got here?

  She lifted her bare feet then stamped them down again. They made a gentle slapping sound against the wooden parquet flooring in which she was reflected. This was real then. Not a dream.

  Okay, okay, okay. Her heart ratcheted up a few more beats per minute, even as she tried to talk herself down.

  It was happening again. It had been years. She had thought she was over it.

  Maybe if she kept quiet and made herself calm down she would be all right. This time no one would get hurt.

  Could she really risk it?

  She looked guiltily around to make sure there were no witnesses to her shame, then scurried up the stairs, silk nightdress billowing around her ankles. She concentrated on feeling the material. On the sensation of her toes sinking into the deep pile of the carpet, reminding herself of the weeks of intensive searching it had taken to find the exact shade of golden cream she required. How important it had been to her to get something thick and luxurious so that the children could wander around barefoot without being cold or uncomfortable. It had cost a lot but it had been worth it. Losing herself in those details grounded Dominique.

  She took comfort in the material things of life because they were real and solid, and would never let someone down. Because when she had gone through a terrible experience before, all those years ago, it had taken a lot to make her separate the dream from reality – and there had been terrible consequences.

  Remembering the past made her shiver in fear. A conviction grew, making her heart pound. Something had happened to her children. She needed to see them – now.

  Worried, she quietly opened Ruby’s bedroom door first. She was fast asleep, her face squashed into the pillow, lips pushed to one side, allowing her to breathe. She looked as if her face had been put on sideways. She wrinkled her nose in her dream and turned over, making Dominique retreat hurriedly in fear she might wake.

  She crept into Mouse’s room. The little girl lay on her back, her slender face pale and angular like a medieval knight’s effigy on a tomb.

  Her babies were safe.

  Taking in every detail of her surroundings, Dominique climbed into her own empty bed. Crisp cotton sheets beneath her, the slight warmth still emanating from where she had lain previously; the soft pillow, comfortingly cool. All of it helped bring her back to reality and calm her.

  But no sign of her husband.

  She was grateful Benjamin wasn’t there to see what she had been reduced to. Almost. Despite everything, part of her longed for him to hold her tight and whisper that everything would be okay.

  He was probably with his mistress, though.

  Ice crystals formed on her heart, stabbing her painfully. Too scared to go back to sleep, in case she went walkabout again, all she could do was lie awake and accept the torment.

  * * *

  Finally, at around four, the bedroom door gave a guilty creak. Dominique kept her eyes closed and her breathing steady as Benjamin eased into bed beside her.

  Out with his mistress, cuddling up to her, before slipping home like a guilty dog, to keep up appearances.

  All Benjamin really cared about was the look of the thing, and she knew how perfect their lives looked from the outside. He would probably be happy to go on living a double life. But she wouldn’t let him. Despite what Ruby thought, Dom was no hypocrite.

  But she kept the anger balled up inside. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation. Not yet. Almost, but not quite. Instead, she concentrated on the feeling of the light duvet over her body, the smell of the fabric conditioner on the fresh pillow cases.

  I’m here. I’m awake. This is real, she told herself, silently, again and again. She fought the heaviness of exhaustion, scared of sleep – and what horror waking might bring. But in the end, it smothered her.

  * * *

  Kendra tapped on her teeth, as she always did when deep in thought.

  It was three a.m. and there had been no calls, no texts, nothing from Benjamin. She hadn’t been able to settle all evening. Had eaten her body weight in chocolate to try to distract herself, flicked through television channels trying to find something to watch, jumped on Facebook. She couldn’t stand doing anything more than a few minutes before checking her phone again.

  No messages. Full service.

  Ben must have chosen his wife and kids. Fresh tears followed the tracks of old ones. She should walk away, start a new life. Perhaps move back to Edinburgh. That would show him.

  Kendra missed her family, and her home city with its clean air, stunning architecture, and friendly residents. She had moved five years earlier, feeling she simply had to get away and have a change of scene. She had thought it would be for a year or so, tops, doing a spot of waitressing, bar work, whatever she could pick up. She had only been at that awards ceremony because her friend, Kim, was working behind the bar that night and had said it would be fun. She and Kim had arranged to go out on the pull after, but Kendra hadn’t made it that far. Because that night she had met the love of her life. The fact Kim no longer spoke to her because she felt ‘dumped’ by her friend didn’t bother Kendra at all – it showed how petty Kim was not to understand.

  She couldn’t go home, though, and couldn’t give up on Ben. She would show him that she was a winner, exactly like him. That she would do whatever it took to get what she wanted, because she wasn’t a quitter. Only that way could she prove she was worthy of being his partner.

  And she had to be. Because every time she considered life without him she felt panicky, as though someone was suffocating her with a pillow.

  She might lose this gamble, though. The thought made her wrap her arms around herself, rubbing at the goosebumps blooming on her skin. Pushing things had been a long shot – she’d known it would be – but part of her had wanted to press the self-destruct button, because at least then something would change and she would finally know where she stood.

  It had become increasingly clear, after four long years together, that Ben would never choose her unless g
iven a nudge. That was all she was doing, she reasoned, as she once again had a moment’s panic over her actions. Nothing she was doing was that big a deal. It wasn’t evil. It was just a nudge.

  A nudge for the greater good, she reminded herself.

  Ben would be happy once he was with her. He was miserable at home, which meant he was also making his family miserable. They would be hurt, at first, when he moved out, but they would recover – it was like ripping a plaster off, they would gasp when the moment came but then it would all be over.

  She had thought that moment would have come by now though. She had thought telling Dominique about them would tear their marriage to pieces.

  A noise sounded outside her door. She jumped up. Was that Ben, turning up with his bags, ready to move in? No, it was her neighbour, Dawn Seward, by the sound of it, going into her own flat. She must have finished her nursing shift. Kendra considered nipping across the landing and seeing if she fancied a chat, but what if Ben tried her landline and she wasn’t in? Better if she waited here for news, even if it was killing her.

  Was the landline still working? She picked the receiver up. Yes. Of course, it was.

  Okay, okay, she just had to calm down and think rationally. Dominique wouldn’t confront Ben until he came home. Say six p.m.? There would be one hell of a row. Hours of shouting and recriminations. That would take them up to right about now, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad sign she hadn’t heard anything yet.