The House Mate

by Nina Manning

  We plodded on and I felt a sense of pride at having discovered this spot for my family to enjoy. It felt like a safe haven away from the world. I was a curious soul, and I had inadvertently instilled that trait in my children. Tiny hands pushed past me and I watched little legs and a flash of wild, untamed hair rush past me. I turned and smiled into big brown eyes, eyes that held my own reflection, who had seen me change from girl to woman overnight as I gave birth to his children. But my smile slipped from my face as I heard the gut-wrenching sound that haunts every parent’s nightmares.

  My legs couldn’t get me there quick enough, but when they did, I wanted to run off the edge of the cliff. I felt a hand on my wrist, it was so tight, and I was being pulled backwards whilst I used every piece of my energy to run forwards. I couldn’t feel the pain in my wrists until afterwards when I was questioned and they asked me where I got the bruises. I couldn’t remember, I said. The sensation lingered for years after, surfacing as the horrors replayed over in my mind.

  ‘I did it,’ my husband, Lee, said. His voice for the first time in his life was small and weak. ‘I had to stop her from following our son over the cliff.’

  47

  Now

  The hospital was stark and hot. I spent one night in a ward with a woman who called for a Freida in her sleep every hour. I barely slept a wink.

  As I suspected, I had broken two ribs and fractured my wrist. I also had plenty of bruising from the fall down the basement stairs. When Lee came to collect me the next morning at eight, he had all the information I needed to satisfy my endless questions.

  ‘Her name is Hero Dante. Her mother was a Spanish immigrant, came over twenty years ago. Dead father. She is twenty-one years old. Moved in with Demetrius Angelos when she was nineteen. She was what we call a modern slave. She was put in that house to initially make them money as an Instagram influencer. There are about another twenty women who are all scattered around different venues around London, all working for them. About six months ago they started using the house as a drugs den. It was the perfect place to store them, they thought no one would bat an eyelid as there was plenty of stock arriving from the Instagram sponsors. They have one child between them, a boy, two years old, unnamed – his birth was never registered.’

  ‘Where is the baby boy?’ I interrupted.

  ‘With social services. He was picked up in the early hours of this morning in a house in Eastleigh with three Eastern European women.’

  ‘And Hero, how is she?’

  ‘Not well. She is pregnant, suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum and is severely malnourished. Couple of fractured ribs. It’s amazing the baby has survived this far.’

  ‘Is the baby okay then? How many weeks pregnant?’ My thoughts were only with her and the baby.

  Lee screwed his face up and shook his head. ‘Twenty-four weeks, maybe. I can’t remember that bit exactly. Megs, listen, I got to speak to her briefly, and she wants to see you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yep, once things calm down a bit and she’s feeling a bit more up to it, then yes, she wants to meet you. Properly. To thank you, I suppose for taking an interest in this alter ego of hers… Lucy something.’

  I paused and took in what Lee was telling me and the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. Mrs Clean was lucybest65.

  ‘How?’ I shook my head in disbelief.

  ‘She created a separate account as a way to reach out, she hoped that by posting regular comments that were not of the usual calibre that Mrs Clean was receiving, that someone might take notice. And you did. All those years living with a copper. I suppose it was worth something.’ He smiled.

  Tears pricked in my eyes. I looked at Lee and felt the weight of our past slowly sinking away. We had been estranged for years. It was time for us to finally find some closure for both of us.

  ‘It was worth everything.’ I sobbed as my throat swelled up with all the words I had been meaning to say for years. ‘You were my everything, my world, you, Jack and Toby. But I ruined it, and there was no getting it back again. I lived under a blanket of guilt whenever I was with you and the weight of it was crushing me.’

  ‘I know, Megs, you don’t have to explain to me. I was a pain in the arse to live with, and after Tobes, well… I must have been hell to live with.’

  The memories of arguments that began when Lee came home from work and had so easily carried on through the night into the next day. Our grief morphing into nothing more than exhaustion and resentment for one another.

  I shifted and winced at the pain.

  ‘Do you need more morphine?’ Lee asked.

  ‘No, I had some just before you got here.’

  ‘Okay then, we can get going.’

  ‘Okay.’ I swung my legs down from the bed.

  ‘Megs.’

  That tone, I knew it was coming.

  ‘Jack misses you. Do you think you are ready?’

  I looked at my feet. ‘Last night I woke with a terrible pain, the worst kind of pain I have ever experienced. It wasn’t my ribs or my wrist, it was my bloody heart. It felt as though it was breaking and it was a gut-wrenching pain that started down there and went through my whole body.’ I looked at Lee, my eyes welling with tears. ‘I miss him, Lee. I miss him so much it hurts. I didn’t think I did. I thought he was better off without me, but I felt his pain last night. It was like I was experiencing all our pain at once, yours, mine and Jack’s and Toby’s—’

  ‘Toby isn’t in pain. He’s at peace.’

  ‘I know. I know. I had Jack so young. We made such a good team in the beginning. I could never have imagined anyone taking Jack from me then, and yet I left him.’

  Lee took my hand and squeezed it. We both knew we could never be together, the pain and loss we had suffered was bigger than both of us.

  ‘He’s had me. We’ve haven’t done too bad. But I think it’s time for you to see him now, don’t you?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. I’m ready.’

  Epilogue

  Three months later

  I raised my head to the sky and felt the warmth of the late-summer sun on my face. I looked down at the picnic I had laid out ready. Sandwiches, melon, crisps and fresh homemade lemonade. I hoped when everyone arrived they would enjoy my offerings. I wasn’t much of a hostess, but I was learning how to be better at it. The same way I was learning how to be better at other things: like being a mother. Something I had thought I had forgotten how to be, or maybe thought I no longer needed to be. My phone pinged. And I opened the messages. It was from Karen.

  Tell Jack happy birthday from me. Sorry I can’t be there today. I hope you understand. It’s a bit too soon.

  I smiled and texted back that I understood. Sophia was now almost five months pregnant and living with Steve and her parents. They were both on their way, and Karen could not be around them just yet. It could take Karen some time to come round to the idea of them together. The same way it would take some time for my neighbour, who I now knew as Natalia from Bulgaria, to come around to me and my mistake and no longer see me as a threat. Her son, Raff, had a primary immunodeficiency disorder. I had bought some toys for him and flowers for Natalia and dropped them off. I still felt a little hostility. But I wouldn’t give up. I felt eventually it could be a friendship worthy of the investment.

  I had met with Hero twice and met her son, Baby Boy as she referred to him, but who was now officially named Noah. She started up the account of lucybest65 as another outlet to the world, and it had quickly spiralled into another alter ego. The comments she posted as lucybest65 on the Mrs Clean’s account were mirroring her own disgust at what she was being forced to do. When she received a few comments back she realised it could be a way to get a message to the world. My obsession with both women had brought me to the house.

  This morning, Hero had given birth, three weeks early, to a baby girl and so, quite rightly, had to cancel at the last minute. I said it was perfectly okay under the circumstances and I was honoured
to share my own son’s birthday with such a special little girl.

  I have just one question for you

  She had texted back.

  How would you feel if I called her Meghan?

  I had taken a moment to think before I had replied.

  It will suit her perfectly.

  She sent an emoji heart back.

  I knew I was leaving behind that chapter of my life; Meghan was the woman I was then. I didn’t feel it at the time, but I had been strong. I had been stronger than I had known. But Regi was who I was now. Now I worked as a barista at the trendy artisan café that Will and I had our Sunday brunch date in. I work there by day and will start university in the evenings from September. I discovered I prefer studying by night. I have also discovered a new love for latte art. I won Barista of the Month several times in a row. Having a job has left me with less time to think. Less time to spend on Instagram.

  Mini, who was still living with Karen and I at the house, was running late as some sort of disastrous date last night had set her back. I had arrived half an hour earlier than everyone else so that I could have the picnic set up. I had bought white paper plates with a floral design and matching napkins. I had made my own bunting at college on the sewing machines and erected a few short poles to which I attached it to.

  I looked up towards the sun again and closed my eyes. As I did, something immediately blocked out the rays I had been enjoying. I opened my eyes expecting to see that the sun had gone behind a cloud and instead I saw the warm and familiar smile of the face that I had been seeing a lot more of these days.

  ‘Hello, Regi.’ Will beamed down at me.

  ‘Hello, Will,’ I said politely back, even though we had gone way beyond such formalities.

  Will kissed me softly on my lips, then sat down and tucked straight into an egg-and-cress sandwich. I watched the way he ate the triangle in two bites, dusted down his jeans and grinned at me.

  I thought about how far I had come in a few short months and how a lot of it had to do with Will. When I had explained everything to him, he was so understanding, more so than I thought any person could be.

  I looked up and another tall figure loomed over me. I saw a man in the boy I once knew. It hadn’t yet sunk in and every time I saw Jack, my heart skipped a beat over how much he had grown. He was so handsome, yet he was also a good soul. Kind and thoughtful. Lee had done a good job with him these last few years.

  ‘Hello, Mum.’ His voice squeaked where it was still trying to deepen.

  I jumped to my feet and embraced him as hard as I had been doing for the last four months, knowing there was still another part of me that was living and breathing and that was worth sticking around for.

  Will and Jack gave each other a friendly slap on the arm and Jack sat down and looked at the food in front of him.

  ‘You can start,’ I said to him and my heart swelled at his patience and manners. ‘It is your birthday. Sweet sixteen.’ I ruffled his hair, an act that still felt awkward for me, but I still craved it. Jack smiled not showing any signs of embarrassment.

  Will pulled out some paraphernalia from his front pocket that was obviously causing him discomfort: his phone, keys and some loose change. He put it all on his paper plate in front of him and lay down on his side. I looked at the pile of loose change, and spotted several pound coins strewn around. I edged my way closer to the plate.

  Suddenly I heard the words: ‘Don’t do it,’ spoken in unison. I looked at both Will and then Jack, who I both adored and respected. I looked at the messy coins and felt the familiar yearning rear itself and then I looked back at the gentle kind faces next to me. ‘I won’t,’ I said.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a book is a hard task at the best of times, but when the world has shut down, jobs are being lost, children have lost out on education and aren’t socialising with their friends; when the world is paralysed with fear, then it became really difficult to write a book. Despite the hurdles, the emotional stress and the constant distractions of having three children at home asking for a snack every 17 seconds, I managed to formulate 90 or so thousand words into a story, which I hope you enjoyed.

  There are the usual few to thank for helping me get my third book to publication, but during these exceptional times, the team at Boldwood did a fantastic job at keeping us writers employed! During a time when many were (and still are at time of writing) losing jobs, homes and businesses, Boldwood were taking huge strides to keep our books on shelves and Kindles across the world. I am extremely grateful to Amanda Ridout for keeping in touch regularly over the lockdown months and to Nia Beynon for doing all that she does (which is a lot) but particularly for working tirelessly with the designers to achieve that striking front cover. My favourite one yet.

  When I decided I would write about a character with OCD I asked around on social media for anyone who could offer any personal experiences that would help shape the character, Regi. I am extremely grateful to Joanne Askew for stepping forward from the world of Twitter to give me an insight into the daily mindset of someone living alongside compulsive behaviours.

  I’d like to thank Claire Duffy for her invaluable insight into trauma, PTSD and hyper-vigilance.

  Thank you to Ella Proctor for passing on her knowledge on child protection.

  I like to save the best to last. Thanks to my lovely family: Chris, Savannah, Bodhi and Huxley, plus the furballs: Ferris and Willow, for bringing all the lols amongst the chaos.

  Finally, thanks to you, the reader, for picking up my third book and supporting my writing journey.

  Book Club Questions

  What did you think of Regi’s neighbour and what did you think the outcome was going to be?

  Instagram and social media overuse is a strong theme in the book. Discuss your experiences of ‘overusing’ social media in a way that may have had a negative impact.

  There are several other themes running through the book, how many did you recognise?

  Who was your favourite house mate and why?

  Have you ever been a house mate, if yes, what kind were you?

  For the majority of the book, was Regi’s husband’s presence real or purely in her imagination?

  Why do you think cleanstagrammers are as popular as they are on Instagram right now?

  Why do you think the unnamed narrator in the ‘then’ chapters stays with D and won’t leave him?

  By the end of the novel, did you feel Regi was on some sort of path to recovery? Or do you think she will always carry her tics and behaviours with her?

  More from Nina Manning

  We hope you enjoyed reading The House Mate. If you did, please leave a review.

  If you’d like to gift a copy, this book is also available as a paperback, digital audio download and audiobook CD.

  Sign up to Nina Manning’s mailing list here for news, competitions and updates on future books.

  Read on for an exclusive extract from Nina Manning’s first novel, The Daughter In Law:

  Prologue

  I sat very still and felt the fear wash through me as the reality of the situation became clear. Little shots of pain pulsated around my body; my abdomen contracted. I felt dizzy and realised that at any point I could lose consciousness. I never thought it would be so easy to surrender myself but teetering on the edge here, I was faced with a choice: carry on or give up.

  I tried to cast my mind back to a time when everything made sense, but I couldn’t remember when that was. He was supposed to save me. Now I was lost and another part of me was missing. What was the point in fighting any more? Where could I go from here? I knew I deserved this. It had been inevitable. I had got away with it for too many years already. This was my comeuppance.

  Yet somewhere deep within me, a spark was still ignited. If I concentrated hard enough, I could feel it whirring quietly, like a small vibration. An instinct was pushing me forward, forcing me to fight and recover what was mine. It was a desire that was becoming more urgent. I kne
w what I needed to do and somehow, I would try to push past the weight of despair to find my way to the light again. To find my way to my love. And to the beautiful gift that was stolen from me.

  Chapter 1

  Annie

  My favourite room is the spare bedroom at the front of the house. It gets all the light in the morning and looks so inviting. I’ve done it up like a picture I saw in a lifestyle magazine: a checked throw across the end of the bed, floral sheets and hooked back curtains, a little wicker chair in the corner with a few well-read paperbacks stacked on top of it, and a white vase on the bedside table. It really is the most comforting place to be. Of course, no one ever uses it. I like to keep the house looking nice. But it was only ever going to be me and my son.

  Getting out of bed was particularly hard this morning. It has been every morning since Ben left. I keep thinking, what is the point? I’ve been feeling that empty hopelessness for several months now. Since Ben deserted me.

  For her.

  I’d heard all about empty nest syndrome but I never imagined for a moment it would happen to me. I never actually thought he would leave. I thought we would just keep existing together. Forever.

  He kept so much of his stuff here initially, that I felt sure he would return – but just last month, he came and took the lot.

  It’s so quiet here now. It was quiet anyway, that’s why I took the house. It’s the house I grew up alone in with my father, but fled from as soon as I was able to support myself.