The Open House

by Sam Carrington

  ‘I’m looking for someone,’ he says. ‘A Nicholas Miller. I couldn’t get an answer.’ The man glances back at the house, then returns his gaze to me. ‘Is he still at work?’

  His words ring several alarms all at once.

  This man knows Nick’s name. And he knows his address. Or previous one, at least. I’d put him in the same age bracket as the man responsible for the alleged abductions in the Seventies. In my mind, all of these factors point to him being the one who sent the bracelet to Nick believing he still lived here. Which means I have some kind of a monster on my doorstep.

  My mind won’t work fast enough; I can’t think of any plausible lies I can fob him off with.

  ‘He doesn’t live here anymore, I’m afraid. And I’ve no forwarding address. What did you want him for?’

  I realise as soon as the words have left my mouth that he’ll know I’m not telling the entire truth here. Who would bother asking what he wants unless they knew the person of interest?

  ‘You’re his ex, then,’ the man says, flatly.

  My heart crashes against my ribcage. I don’t bother denying it; I’ve already messed up.

  ‘Do you want to speak to him in a professional capacity?’ I ask, pre-empting the reason for his visit. Does he want to give Nick further evidence – more of his trophies from people he abducted and murdered? Or give a full confession? He looks as though he’s got one foot in the grave – perhaps this is his attempt at making peace before he dies. But his questionable appearance doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.

  I want to get inside the house, get my mobile and call Nick immediately. I shouldn’t be dealing with this shit. I knew it would come to this; knew we were unsafe here. Why didn’t Nick listen to me? I’m contemplating the idea of bypassing Nick and dialling 999 as soon as I can. Thank God the boys are with Jo and Keeley.

  ‘Yes … and no,’ he says.

  ‘Can’t you call him? Turning up to where you think he lives is a little intrusive, don’t you think?’ My patience is already at its lowest after the conversation with Barb just now – this man isn’t doing anything to bolster it.

  ‘I wanted to do this in person. Face to face. I think he’ll appreciate that more than a phone call.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry but that seems like it’s going to be your only recourse,’ I say. I go to walk past him and to my front door, to show him the conversation is over, but his arm flies out in front of me, stopping me from going further. I freeze.

  ‘Don’t panic. I’m not going to hurt you,’ he says, releasing it again. ‘You can pass on a message to Nicholas for me, can’t you?’

  He knows I was lying about not knowing where he is. There’s no point me trying to make him believe otherwise. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Can you tell him I’ve got something I need to get off my chest. And I only want to talk to him, no other copper – you hear?’

  ‘Okaaay,’ I say, slowly. ‘How can he contact you?’

  ‘Tell him to find me at the back of the Old Church House Inn. I’ll be waiting.’

  ‘Fine. And when would you like me to tell him to meet you?’ It’s like pulling teeth – he’s giving information in tiny chunks. It certainly makes sense he’s the one who sent the bracelet now – he clearly enjoys eking everything out so it’s all painstakingly slow and he has everyone hanging on his every word, his every move.

  ‘You’re a caustic one, aren’t you! I’d watch that attitude if I were you. You’ve no idea what’s coming.’

  ‘I’m in no mood for games, Mr …?’ I ask.

  ‘Me neither, love. I’ve had a lifetime of those.’ He bends to pick up his bag and begins walking away from me. ‘Tell him to be there tonight, at eight. Alone,’ he shouts over his shoulder. I watch as he walks across the road, heading towards the entrance of Apple Grove. I wait until he disappears from view, then I dive inside my house and lock the door behind me. I grab my phone and dial Nick, not even caring in this moment whether I’m being listened to, or by whom.

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Amber

  His phone doesn’t even ring, it goes directly to voicemail. He’s probably got it turned off.

  ‘Damn, Nick. Where are you?’

  I wait for a few minutes, my eyes on my mobile. Will coincidence strike again, and will he call me back like last time? But the phone remains stubbornly silent. I don’t want to risk leaving it, so I ring again, this time leaving a message. I try to be vague – not giving too much away, eluding to our conversation at his flat so he knows who I’m referring to when I tell him about the old man and the fact he wants to meet him – that he must go alone.

  Surely, he won’t actually risk going on his own though. He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with, so I’d hope his police training would ensure he goes prepared, with back-up close by. I’ll call again in an hour in the hope of being able to speak with him. In the meantime, I’ve my own mission to conduct. I walk into the lounge, flicking on the light, and stand by the window. It’s getting dark, the streetlights are on; their soft orange glow casting shadows on the pavements. Barb might’ve already left during the time I’ve taken speaking with the man, then leaving the message for Nick. I peer up and down the road anyway. It’s been at least fifteen minutes now since I was at Davina’s.

  Why hasn’t she called me?

  I catch movement up on the left. Someone is walking this way from Davina’s direction. Please be her. I rush to the front door – if it is Davina, I want to catch her before I let her in the house.

  ‘Thank God!’ I whisper as Davina turns up the path. I walk to meet her halfway. ‘What the hell is going on with Barb? Why was she at yours?’ I want to continue firing questions – I have so many – but her face makes me stop. She’s pale, all bar a blue-black mark the size of a fist on her right cheek. ‘Shit. Who did that?’ I gasp.

  ‘Let’s not focus on me right now, Amber.’ Davina lowers her head, but at the same time grasps my arm and squeezes it. ‘I shouldn’t be here, really …’

  ‘Why not? Is it Wayne? Did he do that to you? Or is this to do with Barb?’

  Davina looks cautiously around her. ‘Can I come in for a bit? I don’t want to talk out here.’

  ‘It’s not a good idea to talk in there, either,’ I say. ‘We don’t know who’s listening.’

  For a moment Davina looks confused. Has she forgotten our suspicions about Carl already? Is she concussed? But then she comes out with it.

  ‘Actually, I think I know exactly who’s listening.’

  Before I can put up any further argument, Davina pushes past me and walks inside.

  Chapter Eighty

  When someone’s desperate enough, it’s surprising what lengths they’ll go to. Some people want revenge, some absolution. Some will do anything they possibly can to cover up what they’ve done. Others want to unearth what’s been buried.

  Some want to hand out their own kind of justice.

  Others simply want the legal kind.

  I know people who fall into each of these categories.

  Which one would I put myself in?

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Barb

  My visit to Davina’s was a success, I think. I managed to get my intended message across in a way that showed I was serious; I conveyed the point I shouldn’t be messed with. It’s funny, watching someone who thinks they know everyone’s business crumble under the weight of the knowledge they weren’t the one holding all the cards. She doesn’t have the monopoly on Stockwood’s gossip. She mostly only knows snippets. Half-truths.

  But one of the half-truths she does know is a dangerous one. I can’t allow her to stay on the path she’s begun to carve out with my daughter-in-law. They must veer off-course, or there will be a crash. I’m not worried for me. I’m worried for Nick and my grandsons.

  It’s not a legacy I wish to leave them.

  I’ve left it so late to make my way back to the complex. I was going to see if I could get a lift from Eric, but he doesn’t
like driving in the dark – and the evening is drawing in already. I’ll have to call for a taxi. As I stop on the corner of Apple Grove, I sense a presence. The base of my neck prickles. I can’t see anyone close by. Is someone lurking in the shadows? Watching? I walk on further, rounding the corner to the main road that eventually leads out of the village. It’s a straight stretch here. If anyone’s behind me, they’ll come into view any moment now.

  No one’s there.

  I let out a puff of air and carry on walking. I get my phone out and dial as I walk.

  The collision almost knocks me off my feet. All the air’s expelled from my lungs as I fall backwards, and I gasp to refill them at the same time as pawing my hands at the air in a vain attempt to regain my balance. Someone else’s hands pull me back upright. I’m relieved I’m no longer falling.

  But the person I knocked into doesn’t let me go again. I’m being pulled sideways. Dragged. My feet are scrambling, trying to gain traction, but they leave the ground.

  A gloved hand across my mouth prevents my scream. Pain shoots through my right temple.

  My vision blurs and fades to black.

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Amber

  Davina sits on the edge of the sofa, her back impossibly straight, as though her spine’s a steel rod. She manically twists the corners of her cardigan, her fingers white. The same way she did when we were in the car together and I was asking her questions about Wayne. Is this about Wayne now? Guilt surges through me. I had practically concluded he wasn’t even real – a figment of Davina’s overactive imagination; someone she’d made up to feel better about herself. To fit in. Now, it seems I was wrong. And worse than that, it appears Davina may well be in an abusive marriage. I’ve let her down.

  I pull the curtains; I don’t want anyone – Wayne – looking in and seeing her. ‘Davina,’ I say, softly, crouching down on the floor in front of her. ‘What happened?’

  She looks at me. Her hazel eyes look dark and strangely blank; devoid of emotion. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says.

  ‘Nothing to be sorry for. I should’ve …’ I should’ve what? Been a better friend? I can’t in all honesty say those words because I’ve never been a friend to Davina. We’ve spent time together during the past couple of weeks – and my opinion of her has altered over that period – but I still can’t call it a friendship. But now, seeing her bruised up, quiet and vulnerable in front of me, I feel sadness. Shame. I blocked her out, ignored her where possible. Before I needed her. And all the time she’s obviously needed me.

  I can still make up for it now.

  ‘I didn’t see this coming,’ Davina says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Me liking you,’ she says, a sad smile playing on her lips.

  ‘I … I’m not sure I’m following.’ There’s something strange about the way she utters the words. The words themselves. Me liking you. I’d always assumed she’d been desperate to be my friend.

  ‘You were always so aloof. Standoffish. I thought you were a snob. I thought you were like Barbara. Unreachable. Purposely keeping people out.’ Davina slouches now, and sticks her head forwards, her eyes inches from mine. ‘I didn’t think it would matter,’ she says. A tear slides down over the darkening bruise. She moves her fingertips from her cardigan to her face, gently dabbing at the tear.

  I back away from her towards the chair, sitting down heavily.

  This is sounding like it’s going to be some sort of confession. I get the feeling I’ll need to sit down for whatever is coming. ‘Right, I see.’ But I don’t see, not yet.

  ‘Then you asked me for coffee.’ She smiles now. ‘Let me into your house. Into your life. And things were different than I imagined.’

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘You trusted me. Enough to tell me some of your worries, anyway – I knew you didn’t fully trust me. But after a little while I began to believe you might. It was the closest I’d come to having a friend.’

  I drag my fingers through my hair and sigh. Jesus. If she’s trying to make me feel guilty, she’s succeeding. I’m a terrible person. Seeing only the shell, never willing to chip away and get to the woman underneath.

  ‘Wayne is controlling, then? Someone you fear? Is that why you never wanted me to meet him?’

  ‘That’s one reason, yes. After almost thirty years of being married to him, he’s dragged me down so far I can’t claw my way back up. I’ve no energy left to fight him. I don’t mean physically – I was never strong enough for that – I mean mentally. Bit by bit I lost who I was, and I became what he wanted me to be. Did what he wanted me to do.’

  ‘I’m so very sorry, Davina. I had no idea.’ Although I had, hadn’t I? I’d just chosen not to act on my suspicions in fear of coming across as nosy and interfering. Like Davina.

  ‘I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend. I tried … I really, really tried. I promise.’

  ‘God, no. Please, Davina, you shouldn’t be the one apologising. I’m the one who let you down—’

  ‘Don’t,’ Davina says loudly, pushing her hand out in front of her, palm towards me. ‘Don’t interrupt me now. I’m not finished.’

  I’m taken aback at her aggressively spoken words. I do as she says.

  She pulls her hand back and lays it on her lap. ‘Barb is the one who’s trying to keep you here.’

  ‘Yes, I know—’

  ‘Please! Just listen, okay?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘She’s trying to keep you here, and she has her reasons for that. Reasons she’s keen no one finds out about. She’s pissed off with me – and she can join the queue there – and she threatened me tonight. That’s why she was at mine. To warn me away.’

  I have to bite my lip to stop myself asking ‘Away from what?’ but it’s clear Davina needs to do this in her own time and without me interrupting her. I did want her to stay the night, so I guess I’m getting what I wanted.

  ‘She’s no idea what else is going on though. She thinks this is all about her,’ Davina scoffs. ‘Typical of Barbara. Self-centred and vain to the last.’

  ‘To the last?’ I can’t help myself; the words come out.

  ‘Turn of phrase.’ Davina smiles. ‘Anyway, as I say, it’s not all about Barbara. I need to tell you something …’ Davina is crying now, tears tracking down her face in rivulets. This is it. She’s about to tell me something huge; the air in the room is charged with anticipation.

  The room goes dark.

  For a split second I’m disoriented, unsure what’s even happened.

  ‘We need to get out of here.’ I hear Davina’s whispered words close to my ear. ‘Now!’

  Panic surges through me but I can’t move. I thought the fight-or-flight response would mean I’d either immediately spring into action and feel my way to the front door to escape – or quickly grab the nearest thing I could use as a weapon to fight off the perceived threat.

  Neither of those things happen. I just freeze.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Barb

  It’s like being underwater, only I can breathe. It hurts, though; I can only take short, shallow breaths. I can hear sounds, but can’t decipher them; they’re muffled, distant. My body sways as though rocked by waves.

  Am I on a boat?

  My last meal churns and lurches violently, threatening to expel itself. My skin is cold, clammy. I try to shift position, but I’m prevented from moving my arms; they’re stuck behind me. They ache so much I want to cry out in pain.

  Instinct stops me from making a sound, though. I’ve been tied up, trapped. I don’t want to alert my abductor to the fact I’ve regained consciousness.

  I must stay still and quiet. My life depends on it.

  But maybe I should just let go. Slip back into oblivion. Leave my worries behind once and for all.

  Let them win.

  I’m old. I’m so very tired.

  Dying would be easier.

  Nick.

  Tim.

/>   No.

  I can’t leave them with this mess.

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  She was jammed in the footwell between the front and back seats of the car. Bound. Not gagged, though. No one would hear her cries, so it was safe.

  Waiting for death.

  Waiting for absolution.

  Waiting to be saved.

  While I was waiting for the truth.

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Amber

  ‘Aren’t you afraid? Why aren’t you moving? We have to get out of here, Amber,’ Davina yells. Finally, I find my feet. I’m moving. It’s slow going – even the most familiar places seem so different in the dark. I push my hands out in front of me, feeling for obstacles, trying to find the wall. Where’s my mobile phone? I must’ve put it down – or is it in my handbag? My mind goes blank. Just get to the wall. If I find the wall, I’ll be guided towards the hallway and door. Our means of escape.

  ‘Who’s doing this?’ I shout into the darkness. ‘What the fuck do you want from me?’

  ‘Keep going, Amber, quickly.’ Davina’s voice is ahead of me now. She must already be at the lounge door. My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness – the streetlights are casting a small amount of light through the closed curtains – but not enough. I continue to fumble, hoping and praying my fingers don’t make contact with flesh – don’t touch whoever is doing this.

  They could be here in the room with us now.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. I should’ve gone to Jo and Keeley’s with the boys, like Jo wanted me to. Or gone to Richard’s like I told the boys I was doing.

  But could this be Richard?

  I don’t believe he’d go this far to make me want to move more quickly. It’s absurd.