The Open House

by Sam Carrington

  I wince and am about to shout out, but Patrick quickly steps between them, both arms outstretched pressing against their chests to keep them apart. ‘Don’t do it, Nicholas,’ he yells. ‘There’ll be time enough for that. We have other things to discuss. Leave it for now. Come on, we have to go somewhere else.’

  ‘Fine,’ Nick spits, backing away from his brother. My heart breaks. Will Nick ever forgive him? Me? ‘Well, my flat isn’t feasible, and neither is your apartment in the complex, Mum,’ Nick says, caustically. He starts to pace again. ‘So, if we can’t go home, where can we go?’

  No one speaks for the moment. I watch Amber; she’s barely uttered a word since finding out Richard is Tim, her husband’s brother. Shell-shocked is all I can describe her as right now. What on earth was Tim playing at seeking her out? I knew there was something wrong with this Richard – the whole “meeting on the internet” thing rang alarm bells right off the bat. And then his reluctance to meet me or Nick added to my mistrust. But I didn’t expect this. To risk coming back to Stockwood is ridiculous. As wonderful as it is to see my son again – to finally be able to acknowledge he’s alive and well – turning up like this is falling right into their hands. It’s the most dangerous move he could make.

  ‘No,’ Patrick says, shaking his head. ‘It has to be the house at Apple Grove. I need to see it.’

  ‘It’s just a house,’ Nick says. ‘What are you expecting to see, exactly?’

  Patrick looks to Tim, then sighs. He doesn’t add anything further. It’s Tim who speaks now.

  ‘He wants to see where it all started,’ he says quietly.

  All heads turn to Tim.

  ‘Tim. No,’ I say, moving towards him. He lays a hand on my shoulder and gives me a look which I read as “it’s time”. I close my eyes. I can’t control this anymore. Tim and Nick are no longer naive children.

  Beside me, I hear Nick suck in a ragged breath. ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘There can’t possibly be anything more shocking than this … this bloody reveal, surely to God. Right, me and Tim will search the house for bugs, spyware and whatever, then we can sort this shit out.’

  ‘How long will that take?’ I ask. ‘Can’t we do it tomorrow? I’m so tired now.’ I’m not ready to handle more tonight; can’t bear to see the further hurt and anguish on Nick’s face when the past catches up with us. I want to put it off for as long as I possibly can.

  ‘No, it has to be now,’ Patrick says, firmly. ‘There’s no telling where you two will disappear to overnight.’ He jabs a finger towards me and Tim.

  ‘I know where some of the devices were located,’ Davina says, her voice quiet; nervous. She should be timid. She should be ashamed of herself; so much of this is her fault. And that thug of a husband of hers.

  ‘And where is Wayne now?’ Nick asks.

  ‘He’ll be long gone, I expect,’ Davina says. ‘He’ll know I’ve told Amber everything by now. If we’re lucky, he may well have cleaned the house out – he wouldn’t have wanted to leave any trace of someone having been there; any clues that someone was listening or watching.’

  ‘Will he have had long enough to do that?’ Nick asks.

  ‘We’ve been gone over an hour,’ Davina says, giving a shrug.

  ‘Come on, then. Let’s move this out.’ Nick turns to Amber and I see the look that passes between them. They’re united, for the moment, in their shock at the unfolding events.

  I wonder how long that will last.

  Chapter Ninety-Four

  Amber

  Nothing about this scenario is possible. How can Richard be Tim? He hasn’t looked at me once during this whole unmasking. The others are avoiding my eyes, too. It’s like I’m suddenly invisible. Like I no longer matter to any of them. Even Davina averts her gaze. Did she somehow know?

  And this old man is Barb’s brother-in-law, not the man who sent the bracelet, the man who took and killed Tim and the girl? Well, obviously no one took Tim – that much I have been able to glean from this mess. So, who sent the girl’s bracelet?

  I’ve also never heard mention of a Patrick Miller in all the time I’ve known Nick. That’s strange in itself. He must be the family outcast. Everyone has one of those, don’t they? Only now, I’m thinking the Millers have more than one. How could Barb have hidden Tim’s whereabouts all these years? More importantly, why? Poor Nick. He’s spent his whole life grieving for a brother he assumed to be dead. How cruel Barb is. How cruel they both are.

  I want to go to Richard’s – Tim’s – side; grab hold of him, shake him and demand an explanation. I want him to tell me there’s been some huge misunderstanding. My world has just collapsed around me; come to an end in the middle of a field in a way I could never have envisaged. I want to ask him if he’s lied about absolutely everything: his job, his marriage to Leila – does she even exist? His love for me? Could I have been kidding myself this whole time, believing he actually wanted me? But my legs won’t move. I’m stunned into immobility as well as silence. I can’t think of anything to say – all the questions remain locked in my head. And clearly not one of them is even bothered about what I’ve just found out. How I’ve been taken for a ride for an entire year – manipulated and lied to.

  Why would you do this to me, Richard?

  My mind clouds. My body is cold to its core. I want to go home, have a hot bath, go to bed and sleep. Pretend none of this has happened.

  But, it seems they’ve made a decision. We’re all to go back to the house. My house.

  No one is asking my permission, I note.

  I want to scream.

  I wait, huddled in the car, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, while Nick and Tim go inside to rid the house of its recording traps if they’re any left. I shudder. Everything that’s gone on in my home was real – not a figment of my overactive imagination. Leo’s nightmares seeing a man standing over him – real. Finley’s feeling that someone was watching – real. Wayne was inside our house. It comes as little relief that I wasn’t delusional. Nor was I paranoid, as it turns out. In fact, I was pretty naive.

  “Richard is Tim” repeats over and over in my head. What must they be talking about in there right now? How one brother has replaced the other in my affections? Or about how the hell one brother could allow the other to believe they were dead? If this is how flabbergasted I’m feeling, I can’t imagine how Nick is even beginning to absorb the evening’s revelations. Why has Richard done this?

  Barb is in the other car with Patrick. I’m surprised Nick left her with him – they didn’t seem very cosy when we were leaving the field ten minutes ago. The man bloody well abducted her, hit her over the head and tied her up in his car. I can’t believe Nick is overlooking this fact. Trusting the man with his mother. Other things were obviously said in that field before I got there with Davina – I’d forgotten there was a lag in time before we arrived at the scene: moments in which other things were spoken about. I’ve not been privy to everything. Yet.

  Davina went inside the house, too. She was adamant she’d be helpful in locating the gadgets Wayne had planted – she had seemingly taken one of his remote devices so she could turn off the lights earlier. I see her reappearing now – she stops on the doorstep and looks in my direction. A sadness pulls at her face, slackening the skin around her jawline even more than usual. She has aged in the past few hours; everything bearing down on her like a huge weight. She doesn’t come to the car; she crosses the road and I follow her progression as she walks back into her own house. I have no idea what she’s about to face. What Wayne will do to her. I think she assumed he’d be gone. I hope she’s right.

  Before she went inside my house with the men, she’d ducked her head inside the car and asked me what I was going to do about Wayne – about Carl, about the developers. I couldn’t give her an answer, because until I get the full, entire picture, I’ve no idea.

  As much as I’m angry with Davina, I know deep down I will forgive her. In time.

  I can’t say the same abou
t Richard, though. His deceit hurts so much more; runs far deeper. He’s Nick’s brother. I’m not sure the full realisation of this has hit me, yet. He is Tim. He infiltrated my life – to what end still isn’t clear – and I feel used. Foolish for believing he loved me when he’s obviously had ulterior motives all along.

  ‘All clear.’ I flinch at the suddenness of Nick’s voice.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ He nods. ‘Davina was right – the place is as clean as a whistle. No trace left.’

  ‘No evidence,’ I mutter.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t say that. There’s evidence, Amber – just not what either of us were expecting.’

  I climb out of the car and head back into the house. What was my home.

  It certainly doesn’t feel like it now.

  Patrick walks in behind me – his steps tentative, as though he’s afraid of what secrets lie inside.

  Join the club.

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Amber

  We are all in the kitchen – just as people tend to gather in kitchen’s at parties, the same appears to be the case in times of crisis. Barb is sitting at the table, shivering, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She didn’t even grumble when I didn’t give her the bone china cup of hers. She must be in shock. I can’t sit down, even though my legs are wobbly; I have to keep moving. I’ve made more tea than required, for something to do. I’d rather have something stronger, but I’m afraid that would dull my senses even more. Nick, Patrick and … Tim – I struggle to think of him as anything other than my Richard – are standing, leaning against the longer worktop. All in a line. The sight is surreal.

  It’s Tim who starts the ball rolling. This is his show now. Despite not being here for over thirty years, he seems to be the one taking centre stage.

  ‘You were right about the links, you know, Nick,’ Tim says.

  I find my voice before Nick can respond. The questions burning inside my brain suddenly needing to be answered. ‘Have you been in the house when I’ve not been here?’ I ask.

  ‘I know I owe you a huge explanation, Amber—’

  ‘Yes, you do. But answer the question. Have you?’

  ‘On a few occasions, yes – I’m sorry. I needed to … arrange … a few things.’

  ‘You took the letter from Leo’s school bag?’ It’s clear to me now that the strange goings-on might not have been entirely down to the missing thirteenth viewer, Wayne.

  ‘No. I didn’t do that. One of the first times I came here I did move the picture, though – the one that used to hang on the landing when I lived here – from the shed to inside again. I suppose I hoped you’d hang it up; I wanted to leave it as a sign for Mum to let her know I’d been here; that I was aware of what was going on. Then it disappeared, so I found a replica, cut out the face. She always told me the boy reminded her of me, so I—’

  ‘Really? That was you?’ My voice rasps. I release a large sigh. All I can do is hold my head; no further response is forthcoming; I’m too stunned to comprehend his actions.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Tim says, ignoring my obvious distress and turning away from me, ‘there are similarities with the cold case you were working on, Nick; links to Chloe Jenkins’ abduction and probable murder and my supposed disappearance.’ Tim pauses and walks to the other side of the kitchen, turning so his back is against the far wall. He’s looking at all of us now. ‘Just not in the way you’d come to think. You needed a helping hand. A nudge in the right direction. As did you, Amber. I thought it’d be less of a shock if you pieced it together yourself, rather than be showered with the evidence all in one go. And yes, I wanted you to figure out I was here, too, Mum. Wanted you to know I knew everything was about to blow up, out of our control. After all, it’s not only about the part he played.’

  ‘The part who played?’ Patrick asks.

  ‘Dear old Bern. Your brother. Our dad. My mother’s husband.’ He gives a short, vicious laugh. ‘The murdering bastard.’

  The room seems to darken – the words Tim has spoken lie heavy on each person’s shoulders. I don’t believe what I’m hearing. Nick clearly feels that same.

  ‘What? Shut up, Tim. You can’t come back here thirty-bloody-three years later like some whirlwind, tossing everything in the air, landing these bizarre stories on us,’ Nick says, propelling himself towards Tim.

  ‘Not stories, I’m afraid.’ Tim puts his hands up in front of him, pressing them into Nick’s chest to stop him from getting any closer. ‘And you knew that, didn’t you, Uncle Patrick? You’d always suspected your brother was up to no good, hadn’t you? But rather than stick around, help him, help his family – you abandoned us all, and that’s why you’re back here now, looking for absolution. You’re going to die soon, and you wanted to unburden your guilt first. And you were going to do that by telling Nick his father was a murderer and his mother helped him to cover it all up to save her own skin.’

  ‘No – to save my boys from the horror, the humiliation of finding out what their father was,’ Barb says quietly. She looks beat. All her energy zapped, as though she’s given up the fight.

  ‘You abandoned your family too, though, Tim, didn’t you?’ Patrick retorts. ‘And as for you, Barbara – you protected a killer.’ He leans on the table in front of Barb, his eyes narrowed. Barb stares him down, saying nothing. The air is charged, and I feel gripped with fear at how this is all going to end. I’m not ready to believe Nick’s father was a murderer – it’s an absurd suggestion. Someone is lying, surely? But then I remember Richard is Tim and maybe nothing is out of the realms of possibility with this family.

  Tim lowers his hands and Nick backs away from him. Nick seems resigned to knowing he can play little part in whatever is being told now. He was too young to remember any of this. Tim turns to Patrick.

  ‘I was in Dad’s shed – his hermit hideaway, as he and Mum always referred to it – and I saw something strange, out of place, sticking up from underneath a chest of drawers – something he told us never to go near because it held dangerous tools. And it did – I looked. But that wasn’t the reason he told me to steer clear. No. It was what was underneath the chest that he was keen to keep hidden. I’d been watching him closely, though; had noticed odd behaviour. Caught him out in little lies. Little to begin with, that is, but then I tested him. Made him tell me something I knew to be a lie: where he’d been one evening. He told Mum he was gambling. Weirdly, I guess he felt telling her he was losing their money due to an addiction to poker was far better than the grief he’d get from what he was really going to be doing.’ Tim looks to Nick. ‘Our dad had a penchant for lap dancers. That’s where a lot of his money went. I guess that was an addiction too, together with the gambling. His most carefully guarded secret was what he did in private, though. His interest went beyond watching some scantily clad women dancing and gyrating on his lap – he liked them younger. Teenagers.’

  I hear a sharp intake of breath from Barb. ‘Do we have to do this?’ she asks.

  ‘Sorry, Mum. Uncle Patrick wants the whole story, and the rest of them need to hear it, too. It affects us all.’

  ‘Go on,’ Patrick says.

  ‘I intend to,’ Tim says. ‘Although much of this you were already aware of, dear Uncle Pat!’

  Patrick bristles. ‘Yes, I told you I had stuff I wanted to unburden – you know as well as I do that I played a part in it.’ His face crumples, layers of wrinkles folding up on themselves. Patrick seems conflicted. Maybe the truth he was after didn’t involve defaming his dead brother’s name. But he gathers himself and continues. ‘My brother’s ways weren’t acceptable, and I could, maybe, have done something about it. Before … before it got out of hand. I’ve had to live with so much regret …’

  ‘Good. As long as you know you’re as guilty as the rest of us,’ Tim says. ‘Because you’ll also know our father did get out of hand. He did take things much further – his private hobby became something he felt he had to take to the next level.’r />
  ‘That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, yes, but it’s not how—’

  ‘That’s why you left,’ Barb interrupts, slamming her hands down on the table. ‘You happily left us to deal with the evil.’

  ‘That may be, but you didn’t deal with it very well,’ Patrick says.

  Barb lets out a hysterical laugh. ‘Don’t you dare …’ Her breathing is fast and shallow. I think she might collapse. I go to her side.

  ‘Try to stay calm, Barb,’ I tell her. ‘Take slow breaths.’ I don’t want the woman dying in my house. ‘None of this explains why you have pretended to be someone else, have come back into our lives and tried to get me out of this house, though, Richard,’ I say, glaring at him. Finally, things are sinking in fully, and anger is now replacing the shock.

  ‘I was protecting you. And Finley and Leo.’

  ‘By lying to us. Telling me you loved me. How could you?’ I scream.

  ‘I do love you, and the boys. I love my family very much. That’s why I left,’ Tim says. His eyes are wet with tears, but I’m guessing they’re fake too.

  ‘I’m not buying that,’ I say. ‘You kept your identity from me, from your family. Your entire reason for being with me was a lie. Jesus. How are we meant to believe you’ve somehow been protecting us?’

  ‘I see it,’ Barb says. I turn sharply to face her.

  ‘What do you see, Barb? Because all I see is you sabotaging my house sale, my relationship with Rich— Sorry, Tim, because you were selfishly trying to keep my family exactly as they’d once been since you failed so miserably at keeping your own together.’

  ‘It was bigger than that,’ she says, then buries her head in her arms.

  ‘Come on, Amber – think about it all,’ Tim says. ‘Everything that’s been happening is linked. Mum was preventing you from leaving because she was afraid of what was going to happen to the house. Not you. And I was trying to get you away from here – you and the boys – because I knew it was all about to come out. All the lies, the buried secrets were going to be unearthed. Literally.’