The Quiet Ones: A gripping psychological thriller (17 page)

‘Erm,’ I put my hands on my hips and frown at the floor. ‘Let’s try The Marksman pub on Hackney Road. I read an article praising the food. Fancy giving it a try?’

‘Done.’

‘Great. I’d better book as its Christmas Eve. Shall we say one o’clock?’

‘Fine. I better get a move on, I suppose. I need to go into Central.’

‘Are you bloody nuts? It’s Christmas Eve. It will be heaving.’

‘Ugh! I know, but it has to be done.’

‘I never understand why you always leave your shopping until the very last minute.’

‘Not all of us start planning Christmas in August, Jose. Some of us like to keep it a bit more relaxed.’

I huff and turn to the sink full of dirty plates and glasses.

I pull up my sleeves and plunge my hands into the cold, dirty water, fumbling for the plug.

Humming a tune from an advert that has locked in my head, I unload the dishwasher and restack it. It’s a tedious job, but it’s mine none the less. As I bend down to put a glass in it, I almost jump out of my skin when Charlie wraps his arms around my waist.

‘Fuck! Don’t do that!’

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you jump. Just letting you know I’m heading off. It makes sense to meet you at The Marksman. Saves me coming back here first.’

‘Sure. No problem. One o’clock.’

‘One o’clock,’ he nods, grabbing his keys and wallet from a bowl on the kitchen table.

By the time I sit down at the pub table for lunch, I am a bag full of nerves. Today is the first time my husband and mother will meet and I really hope it goes well. There is no reason it won’t, but I’m still a wreck.

I check my wristwatch. It’s one fifteen and there is no sign of Charlie. Usually, he’s good at being prompt, so I know to expect him soon.

The pub is busy. All the tables are full. In the corner of the room is a hearth where a fire blazes; occasional sparks jumping out of it onto the tiled surround. Christmas songs dance out of the small speakers on the wall and quietly I sing along, losing myself in the monotony of the words to distract my agitated mind. By the time Charlie arrives, I feel much calmer.

He smiles across the room and I wave back. In his hand, he is carrying a small plastic bag. Despite the hours he has spent shopping, it doesn’t look very promising.

‘Hi.’ He bends down and kisses the top of my head. ‘I’m gasping for a drink. Do you want another?’

I look at my glass and realise I’ve almost finished it.

‘Go on then. V and T please.’

He puts his shopping down and approaches the bar. I’m tempted to look inside, but restrain myself. The present or presents might not even be for me.

Charlie reappears holding a pint of ale and my drink.

‘There you go, love.’ He slides the tumbler over to me and has a glug from his beer. It leaves a small foam trail on the moustache on his upper lip, which I wipe away with my thumb.

‘Any luck with your shopping?’ I ask, making a show of eyeing the bag.

‘Never you mind.’ He takes off his duffle coat and puts it over the carrier.

‘Food looks good.’ I offer him the only menu on the table. ‘Can’t decide what to have though. Maybe something light. We’re having goose tomorrow.’

‘For the three of us? That will keep us going for a week.’

‘I wanted to make a special effort this year. What with everything…’ my words trail off.

‘I’m not saying it’s a problem. I love goose. It will be great.’

‘You will be nice to her?’ I regret asking the question as soon as it’s left my lips.

‘No. I’m going to be awful. Come on, Jose. Relax. Drink your drink and let’s get some food in. I’m starving.’

‘Sorry. I know I’m being a nightmare. It’s strange. I feel like a teenager again. Introducing a new boyfriend for the first time. It’s silly, isn’t it? Just ignore me. I’m a prat.’

Charlie looks up from the menu, his eyes smiling.

‘Yes you are. But, you’re my prat.’

‘Thanks. One more thing, please, please, please will you shave before she arrives? You look so much more handsome without the beard. Not to mention younger.’

‘O.K.’ He scratches his beard as if to say goodbye. ‘If it will make you happy.’ He puts the menu down on the table. ‘I’m going to have a blue cheeseburger.’ He claps his hands together, forgetting all about his facial hair.

      
‘It
will
make me happy. Thanks. And so would a goat’s cheese salad.’ I lean back in my chair and escape into a haze of Christmas carols again.

We finish lunch and wander slowly back to the house. Darkness is beginning to fall and Christmas lights hang between the lampposts.

‘Wouldn’t it be just great if it snowed?’ I hang onto Charlie’s right arm and look up at the sky.

‘No, it wouldn’t, and I don’t think it’s very likely, anyway. This isn’t Victorian Britain nor are we in a Charles Dickens novel.’

‘More’s the pity.’ I refuse to acknowledge him mocking me and check my watch again. It’s nearly four in the afternoon. Ailene is meant to be arriving at five. ‘We need to get a move on. I still haven’t made up the spare bed. Fuck, I hope the sheets are dry in time.’ I quicken my stride pulling Charlie along.

‘It will be fine.’ He is so nonchalant sometimes and it drives me mad.

‘I hope you’re right.’

We arrive back at the house. Careful not to knock the holly wreath, I unlock the front door to find a small pile of cards dropped through our letterbox. I take them into the sitting room to open and hang on the strings I have hung across the window frame. The card on the top has a red envelope. I tear it open. It is a picture of a robin in the snow and reads Seasons Greetings in gold script. Inside, written in perfect blue ink handwriting, it says,

Dear Josie and Charlie,

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Best wishes,

CID FLO Kelly Malling.

So, the Family Liaison Office sends cards out to the next of kin of murder victims. I groan, tear up the card and throw it into the waste paper basket. Not today, I think, please not today.

‘The bedding is dry.’ Charlie calls from the kitchen.

‘Great.’ I slip off my coat and hang it on the row of hooks in the hallway. ‘I’ll go and make the bed. Put the kettle on, will you, Charlie? I’d love a cup of tea.’

The phone rings on the small hall table. I reach for the receiver and bring it to my ear.

‘Hello?’

‘Doll, it’s me.’ Sophie’s voice purrs down the phone.

‘Hi. How’s things?’ I clamp the phone between my ear and my shoulder and take the mug of tea from Charlie in one hand and the folded clean sheets with the other.

‘Can’t complain. Busy, busy. You?’

‘Same here. How are things going with that fella of yours?’ I silently hope she is going to tell me she has cut him loose.

‘Really well,’ she enthuses. ‘Couldn’t be happier. We are spending Christmas together, just the two of us. Saving all the tedious family stuff for Boxing Day and the New Year. That’s why I’m calling, actually.’

‘Oh?’

‘Just wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas and say I hope it goes well with Ailene.’ I’ve noticed Sophie won’t refer to her as my mother yet. I suppose it makes sense, since she grew up thinking of
them
as my parents.

‘Thanks. I hope you have a good one too. I’ll call you on the 27th for a catch up.’

‘Perfect.’

‘Sorry, Soph but I’ve got to go. Things to do. Happy Christmas, friend!’

‘You too, Doll.’

The line goes dead and I place the phone back on its receiver. I take a sip of the hot tea and almost burn my mouth. I leave it next to the phone and dash upstairs to make the bed.

When I go into the spare room, it suddenly occurs to me that my adoptive parents never stayed in this house. I never invited them and they never invited themselves. I hope that things with Ailene will be different.

I finish making the bed. I bought some bright pink roses earlier today, arranged them in a flowery jug and put it on top of the pine chest of drawers. I somehow think Ailene will like them. I stand back to view the room. It is small and a bit pokey, but has just enough room for a single bed, the chest of drawers and an old burnt orange velvet Victorian chair, I won on Ebay. Above the bed, hangs a painting I did in Sixth Form, of beach huts along a shore. It’s bright and colourful and helps to cheer up the room. The little sash window looks out over our patio. I notice a layer of dirt on the sill, dust it off with my hand, and rub it onto my trousers.

She could be here any minute. I glance at my watch for the hundredth time. I leave the room and rush down stairs to finish my abandoned cup of tea, by now cold.

Charlie is in the sitting room flicking through a newspaper. He has his feet up on the coffee table and I push them off, frowning at him as if I were his mother. He grunts and repositions himself, sitting up higher in his reading chair as I flop down onto the sofa opposite him.

‘She’ll be here, soon.’

‘I know.’ He doesn’t look up from his paper. ‘Bedroom made up?’

‘Yep. Spick and span.’

‘Right. Now, maybe you can actually relax.’ His words are spoken kindly but there is an element of authority in them.

‘I will. I will.’ I feel harassed by his calmness.

‘I’ll make a fire.’ He folds the paper in two and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

I feel the need to be getting on with something, anything.

‘And I’ll get the crumpets out of the fridge.’

I leave Charlie on his knees by the wood burner, balling up the pages he won’t read of the newspaper and placing them strategically between logs.

I open the fridge and remove the packet of crumpets, but all I want to do is smoke a joint. Just one. But I won’t. I don’t really want to be stoned when she arrives. I just want to feel comfortable and at ease. I tell myself that the minute she gets here, all these nerves and insecure feelings will melt away. I so hope that will be the case.

Reaching up into the cupboard for the strawberry jam, I realise it isn’t there. I start to panic and take all the jars and tins out of the cupboard in my frantic search for it.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ I swear aloud.

‘What’s up?’ Charlie’s head pokes around the door looking concerned.

‘No bloody jam! We’re out. We can’t have crumpets without jam. What are we going to do?’

Charlie gives a guttural laugh, much to my annoyance.

‘I thought something serious had happened.’

‘For Christ’s sake, it’s not funny. She’ll be here any minute and we don’t have any jam.’

‘Josie,’ he is standing at full height and looking very serious, ‘If you don’t calm down, you are going to give yourself an aneurism and me a heart attack. I will finish making the fire then I’ll go and get some jam. No big drama. Simple.’

‘Sorry.’ I feel foolish and apologise.

‘Don’t be sorry. Just stop being so hectic. Be yourself and everything will be just fine. I promise.’ He kisses me and lingers a moment, cupping my face in his large hands. His fingers smell of newspaper ink.

‘Thanks. You’re wonderful. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘You’re my girl and I love you. Go outside, have a cigarette, then go and watch something mindless on the box. I won’t be long.’

‘One last thing,’ I flutter my eyelashes at him, ‘You did say you would shave.’

‘I’ll go and do that right now, then I’ll go out and get the jam. The fire can wait. Don’t want your mum thinking I’m a scruff bag.’ He touches his hair covered chin.

‘Lovely scruff bag.’ I reach up and stroke his beard. ‘Just for today, yeah? Then you can regrow it. As long as a wizard if you want.’ I wink and he pulls a face before disappearing to off to go upstairs and shave.

Half an hour later and I am sitting on the sofa, twiddling my thumbs and trying to enjoy the Kings College Choir carol service Charlie recorded on the television earlier today. The programme certainly hits the right festive notes but I can’t help but clock watch. And then, the front door bell rings.

I jump up out of my seat, turn the television off and run my eye over the living room one last time. I decide it looks tidy and welcoming and turn to answer the door.

I open the door and Ailene is there, clutching a small brown suitcase and a large carrier bag that has presents poking out of the top. She smiles.

‘Hello.’ She hands me the bag of presents and I have an overwhelming urge to hug her.

‘Hi. Come in, please. It’s cold out there.’

‘It is somewhat nippy.’ I like the faint Irish twang in her accent.

‘Good journey, I hope?’

‘Quite alright, thank you.’ She is so polite. I scrutinize her trying to work out why she looks younger. Then it dawns on me.

‘You’ve done something new to your hair.’ I stand back a moment regarding the cut and colour. ‘I like it. It suits you.’

She blushes and comes into the hallway, pulling her gloves off and rubbing her hands together.

‘It’s nice and warm in here.’ She smiles and beckons to the bag of presents I’m holding. ‘Those are for under the tree.’

‘Thank you so much.’ I put the bag down on the floor and take her coat. ‘Can I get you some tea or coffee? Warm you up a bit.’ We are both standing slightly awkwardly in the hall, so I pick up the bag and lead the way towards the living room.

‘That would be very nice.’ She follows me into the room ‘Oh my, what a lovely tree.’ She goes up to it and clasps her hands together.

‘I’m glad you like it.’ I feel a warm glow spreading up from my toes. ‘So, Ailene,’ the sound of her name still feels clumsy on my tongue, ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘A cup of tea would be lovely.’ She sits
down in an armchair, her back very straight.
I take her bag of presents over to the tree.

‘I’ll put the kettle on. Make yourself at home. Charlie has just popped out, but he’ll be back soon.’ I want to put her at her ease and call over my shoulder, ‘he’s very much looking forward to meeting you.’

I make the mugs of tea in the kitchen and remember from our first meeting, that she has two sugars. Knowing how my Mum takes her tea makes me feel closer to her. I carry the mugs into the living room, smiling. As predicted, all my nervousness has
disappeared and I feel like my old self.