The Memory: A Gripping Psychological Thriller With a Heart-Stopping Twist

by Lucy Dawson

  ‘You should use your torch too,’ he says, waiting as I fumble around with it, only finding the right function through luck rather than any expertise.

  We stride out, crunching over the long, already frosting grass and Adam immediately breaks off to the left, to check the courtyard and the oil shed. I follow the gravel path, making my way across the main lawn, behind the house. I shine my torch onto the French windows that lead into the dining room and pull the handle, but they are locked, just as I left them this morning. I go round to the back door that’s in the middle part of the house, but that’s locked too. That leaves the rotten windows in the barn – the whole frame lifts out if it’s pushed hard enough. Izzie wouldn’t do that and climb in, surely?

  I hesitate when a voice says behind me: ‘It’s all secured at the three-storey end.’ It’s Adam. ‘You’ve checked the garden shed and by the swing?’

  ‘No, I haven’t!’ My heart lifts with hope and we both hurry across to the apple tree – but when Adam shines a beam across the lawn, the swing is empty – the ropes and seat hanging eerily still in our artificial light. ‘She’s not there,’ I say quickly, pushing his phone down. I don’t want to look at it.

  ‘Eve! Come quickly!’ I hear a voice calling from some distance behind us – it’s Claire. Hastening back towards the house until we reach the gravel path, she is standing in the brightly lit back doorway looking rather pale. ‘Isobel is in the small sitting room.’

  Christ – she is inside the house. I glance at Adam who is clearly thinking the same thing. We follow as Claire wordlessly leads us through my old kitchen, which has a too-big table in it, through the dining room, full of nothing but boxes. The house feels confused and sad. I can hear Timothy saying something, but as I arrive in the small sitting room between them, he has fallen quiet and is just staring at Izzie, who is gazing back at him, open-mouthed with silent tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t look more thunderstruck if she tried.

  I am instantly furious with myself for making the wrong decision – particularly in view of Susannah’s earlier revelation. ‘I’m so sorry, darling.’ I make a snap decision to reframe the significance of this moment to protect my daughter from further humiliation. ‘I should have told you exactly who was moving in so you didn’t find out like this. I’m so very sorry!’ I’d rather make this moment appear far bigger than it is; let Claire believe she’s witnessing stars collide as the two lovers explode back into each other’s lives, than have Izzie cast yet again as the local crazy girl who just broke into her ex-boyfriend’s house. I’m just not having that. It’s not how this is going to be.

  Anyway, it’s not as if Isobel isn’t playing her part perfectly – my poor love – I watch her reach a hand forward, slowly. I can see that she wants to touch Timothy and make sure he’s real. Her beautiful mouth opens as she laughs.

  ‘You came back!’

  I wince as Claire audibly gasps in astonishment. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt afresh every time someone hears my daughter speak and reacts as if she’s a freak. What’s particularly excruciating this time, is the rapt wonder in Isobel’s high-pitched, little girl voice. Adam looks away from everyone. I don’t think he can believe this is happening at all. Poor, poor Adam. Unrequited love is the only kind that lasts forever.

  I step forward, taking my daughter by the arm. ‘Isobel? We have to leave. Adam, would you please?’

  He comes to life again and moves to gently take her other arm, leading her quietly from the room as I let go. Isobel is so shocked that, mercifully, she doesn’t resist.

  Once she is out of earshot, I turn back to Timothy. ‘In view of your and Isobel’s “history”,’ I let the word linger in the air ambiguously, ‘do you think I might ask you to give her a little space? She’s been doing so well recently.’ Understandably he looks a little surprised – and confused – by my implication that he might have had any plans whatsoever to meet up with her and says ‘of course!’ without really thinking. He always was eager to please. Like a dog.

  I nod, as if satisfied and in some ways I am. I think I’ve rectified this situation; successfully twisting the painting so they are confused and uncertain they were viewing it the right way up after all. Isobel has walked out of here with her dignity intact.

  But I have underestimated Claire.

  ‘Just to be clear,’ she has recovered herself as I reach the threshold, ‘there are no keys that Isobel still has, to any of the other doors here? In case she becomes “confused” and tries to get in again?’

  I hesitate. ‘Confused?’

  ‘She does understand nothing here belongs to her any more? I mean that in the nicest possible way, Eve.’

  My God. The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. Timothy has chosen himself a little mini-Susannah. My hand grips the door handle more tightly. I think about my unwittingly showing Claire around Isobel’s room, letting her peek at everything that was private to Izzie, what I exposed to her… how she tricked me. I think about holding her hand when she told me her parents died in a car crash. I wonder if that sob story was Antony’s idea or hers?

  I turn slowly to look at her. ‘You were not honest, Ms Waters. At best you were evasive – at worst you deliberately deceived me. You took advantage of my kindness and I won’t forget that. I would not have sold you this house, had I known who you really were.’

  She has just enough grace to blush violently. ‘Yes, I was evasive, but—’

  I hold up a hand to cut her off. ‘You should have listened to me. I tried to warn you – this house will not make you happy. Good night.’

  I walk out leaving the door swinging open behind me.

  Ten

  Claire

  I am stunned. Tim and I just stand there in silence for a moment, before Tim moves to close the front door and turns back to face me, clearing his throat. ‘I’m so sorry. Obviously she has no idea that you weren’t in the full picture either and didn’t set out to “deceive” her at all.’

  I nod but tears have already rushed to my eyes.

  Tim steps over and tries to hug me. ‘Just ignore her. She doesn’t know you and her anger isn’t directed at you anyway, trust me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I breathe, wriggling free, so I can try to stop the tears from falling. ‘I liked her when we met, that’s all. I don’t want her to think badly of me when, as you say, this isn’t my fault. Tim, what’s wrong with her daughter’s voice? Is she putting that on?’

  He shakes his head, embarrassed. ‘It’s always been like that.’

  ‘But she sounds like a child!’ I say in disbelief. ‘This tall… amazing-looking woman opens her mouth and that tinkly-glass, wind chime voice comes out?’ I stare at the centre of the disordered room where Isobel stood, moments ago. ‘It’s actually a bit creepy. Like she’s possessed or something.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ Timothy says quickly and shudders.

  ‘Does she do it because she thinks it’s cute, do you think? Oh God!’ I suddenly remember the cuddly toys, the rose-patterned duvet on her single bed, the little trinkets everywhere, in her bedroom above us. ‘Has she got the mental age of a child, or something? Is that it? Is she not quite right in the head?’

  ‘No! She’s just a bit… different. I told you, I haven’t seen her for years.’ Tim walks over and sits down heavily on our sofa, dumped at an odd angle at the back of the room. ‘Not since we dated. Which, like I just said – was only for a few weeks. That’s it.’

  ‘The way she looked at you, I felt like I was watching Juliet being reunited with Romeo,’ I say quietly.

  He sighs. ‘What can I possibly say to that without sounding like an arsehole? OK, yes, she fell quite hard. I did like her, too, but I was only eighteen. I broke it off when I went to university, and she wrote to me for a bit. She was pretty upset and the letters were a bit much. I wrote back a couple of times, but I got bored and stopped – and eventually so did she. It was just normal teenage stuff. Life moved on.’ He shrugs. ‘I’m telling you the truth
– it was no big love affair on my part. It was all very innocent actually. I never even slept with her. It wouldn’t have been right.’ He shifts uncomfortably. ‘She’s a little offbeat perhaps, but she’s a sweet girl. She means well.’

  ‘“A sweet girl”?’ I repeat. ‘Tim – she is also astonishingly beautiful. You didn’t think to mention that either?’

  ‘Um,’ he looks puzzled. ‘Why would I? Wouldn’t that have been a really odd thing to say to you?’

  ‘In her case,’ I correct him, ‘it’s almost stranger that you didn’t say anything. She’s exquisite. I mean, Eve is attractive but Isobel… was her father Irish or something, with all that red hair and those green eyes? That’s some childhood sweetheart you’ve got there.’

  Tim stares at me. ‘“Exquisite”? Are you feeling all right? And she’s not my childhood sweetheart. I told you – we barely dated for a summer.’

  I pull the sleeves of my jumper over my hands to dab my eyes. ‘How did she get into the house?’

  ‘That’s my fault,’ Tim confesses. ‘I’m pretty sure I left the front door open, and she would have heard us calling her name. I take your point, about what you said to Mrs Parkes, but I don’t think she used a key. It’s nice to see she’s with Adam now though – he’s a good bloke.’

  The name rings bells again with me, and as I rack my brains, I remember Eve telling me about her daughter’s boyfriend, Adam, storing his stuff at the house. ‘He’s the artist,’ I say out loud, sitting down on the sofa opposite Tim.

  He makes a bemused face. ‘Honestly, Claire – I haven’t a clue. I’ve not seen Adam in about sixteen years either. We hung out because he and Izzie were best friends – but that’s it. We didn’t exactly keep in touch.’

  ‘He paints pictures of skulls and swirly seas.’ I suddenly remember the mesmeric picture of the red-headed woman in his studio at the back of the house. ‘He used to work here in the barn. And you’re right, he’s Isobel’s boyfriend.’

  Tim gestures helplessly. ‘Well I’m not surprised. He always had a thing for her, ever since school, I think. He was also one of the kids that was there the day Jones shot us.’ Tim leans back on the sofa and stretches his legs out. I will never understand how he can speak about it so casually. I know it’s a coping mechanism, but still… ‘There was one other boy too, who tried to hide behind the barrier and Jones deliberately shot him in the arse. What was his name?’ He blinks and stares up at the bright, bare lightbulb hanging in the centre of the room. ‘Richard! That’s it. He ended up a prison officer in Derby, I think…’ He exhales. ‘Adam probably only started the class because Isobel was doing it. He wasn’t exactly martial arts material. Or maybe his parents made him do it to toughen him up – they got more than they bargained for if that was the case. Anyway, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if Iz hadn’t rocked up here tonight. Try not to let it all seem more than it is.’

  Iz? I don’t miss that telling, comfortable familiarity and, although I know it shouldn’t, it unnerves me. I also remember suddenly how opposed Tim was to moving into Fox Cottage. Why is he downplaying what’s just happened when it seems this is exactly what he was afraid of?

  ‘Tim – are you sure Isobel didn’t let herself into the house?’ I ask slowly.

  He frowns, running his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. ‘I really don’t think it was anything suspicious, if that’s what you mean? Mrs Parkes and Adam went off round the back, you disappeared upstairs and I went into the kitchen. I called and then I heard her say my name – I came back in and she was just standing over there. Like I said, I think I probably left the front door open?’

  He points at the empty space in the middle of the room and neither of us say anything for a moment. The silence in the house reminds me of watching someone screaming on TV with the sound turned down.

  ‘Right, well I think I’ll get the locks changed tomorrow morning,’ I say. ‘It’s good practise when you move into a new house in any case.’ I shiver and rub my arms to try and warm myself up. ‘Let’s do another hour and head back to your parents’.’

  ‘You don’t want to stay tonight after all then?’

  ‘No! But not because of Isobel,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s just bloody freezing in here.’

  ‘I know, that Rayburn thing is stone cold and I haven’t cracked the thermostat heating yet either. I’ll try and get it sorted before we go.’ He rubs his eyes tiredly and holds out a hand to me. ‘Come and sit with me just for a second.’

  I hesitate, we’ve got so much to do – but I do as he asks, crossing the room and sitting down. He pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head as I lean rather awkwardly on his chest.

  ‘I’m sorry this has been such a crap start to us moving in,’ he says. ‘It’s arctic, we’ve had a lovely chat about traumatic childhood events, my ex turned up in our sitting room and then her mother arrived and issued you with a dire gypsy warning of unhappiness forever. Happy Valentine’s Day!’

  I half laugh – and out of nowhere – yelp as overwhelmed tears return again. I pull free and sit up to search for a tissue in my sleeve. ‘What did Eve mean, she wouldn’t have sold it if she’d known who I was?’ I blurt. ‘Like you said, she doesn’t know me full stop!’ I wipe my eyes.

  Tim groans and looks at the ceiling. ‘You’re my partner; I’m Dad’s son. She meant she wouldn’t have sold it to Dad.’

  ‘Why?’

  Tim whistles under his breath, lifts his head and looks at me flatly. ‘Because I think they had an affair.’

  ‘What?’ I draw back from him. ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘I don’t know for certain.’ He leans his head back again and closes his eyes. ‘All I know is one minute Mum and Mrs Parkes became good friends and Mum was trying to help her out a lot, sending Dad round to fix a gutter here, reattach a tile there. That’s kind of why I even started dating Isobel in the first place. I was at home for the holidays bored out of my brain, and Mum asked me to take Isobel out because Mrs Parkes was worried about Isobel not really ever going anywhere. The next minute – bam. Nothing. All contact stops; Mum in tears, shouting in the study when they didn’t know I was home and could hear them – that kind of thing.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I would have chosen another house!’

  He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling again. ‘Because in a way, you were right. They’re just buildings and I didn’t want to sound like I was making excuses. I’d have done whatever it took to keep us together. Plus, I’m not one hundred per cent certain that’s what happened. It’s just what I think.’

  ‘You’ve never just asked your mum?’

  He laughs. ‘What do you think? You know we don’t have that kind of relationship. Best foot forward and all that. Anyway, they obviously worked it all out, they’re still together.’ He twists his head and looks at me. ‘I’m sorry, Claire. This is all so shit. I promise I will make this up to you.’

  I pause and imagine him trying not to listen to the shouting echoing down the halls of The Rectory, having recently come back from boarding school, about to ship out again to university. Why do some people even bother having children? I reach out and squeeze his hand.

  ‘Ignore me, I’m just tired,’ I say, partly truthfully and then I take a deep breath and sit up straighter. ‘You don’t have to keep saying you’re sorry, Tim. I know you are.’ I blow my nose. ‘I’m still dealing with what you did, but this isn’t going to work if I blame you for every tiny thing that goes wrong from here on in, because things are going to go wrong. I’m determined not to fall into that trap, and we’re going to make the best of this. It’s just for a year – that’s all. Everyone wobbles a bit when they move into a new house, that’s normal, because it’s not what you’re used to apart from anything else. This place isn’t that bad really.’

  I pause and we look around us at the threadbare carpet, the faded walls with marked squares where once Eve’s pictures hung and the paint peeling from the window frames.
It doesn’t just feel neglected, more like it has been abandoned. Our jumbled boxes and furniture only seem to add to the confusion. I haven’t done a good job of cleaning in here either – there are still cobwebs on the ceiling, drifting in the air and lifting on whispering draughts we can’t feel… and everything is so still and quiet. I actually miss noise – police cars going past, commuter trains rattling away in the distance, even the neighbours above and below us clonking around – signs of life.

  ‘It just needs some new curtains,’ says Tim wryly.

  I snort and he smiles at me, before reaching for my hand again and holding it. ‘Thank you,’ he says simply.

  I nod and then we both jump out of our skin as there’s a sudden bang from one of the rooms above us.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Tim says nervously, looking up the dark stairwell to the floor above.

  ‘I left the window open in our bedroom. It smelt all musty. I expect it’s blown shut, that’s all – my fault.’ I stand up. ‘I’ll go and close it now before I forget. That’s probably why it’s so cold, too. I’m a moron.’

  He stands up too. ‘No, you’re not. You’re just absolutely exhausted, that’s all. Mentally and physically.’ He hugs me to him and rubs my back. ‘And I’m sorry about Isobel. I can’t help having a past, but I promise you’re the only future I want.’

  I properly laugh for the first time in a while. ‘Tim! That’s such a naff line.’

  ‘And I really mean it.’ He grins.

  I think about Isobel again, standing so very still while staring at him with such unnerving radiance, and immediately tip my face up to his, kissing him lightly on the lips. ‘I still want to get the locks sorted though. Not because of her, but if the builders are starting next Wednesday in the barn end and storing materials in the other end of the house, it makes sense to secure this sandwiched middle bit we’re actually going to be living in. I don’t want Rosie wandering through the connecting doors and finding a load of sharp, dangerous tools on one side and exposed wires and rubble on the other.’