The Quiet Ones: A gripping psychological thriller (5 page)

Then out of the corner of my eye, I see my calendar hanging on the wall. The uniform squares separating the dates are a mess of red and black ink, arrows and circles where I’ve made plans, changed them and changed them back. But the thing that stands out to me is my father’s birthday. In a week, he will turn seventy-four. I’m reminded of the mess my relationship with my family is in. My stomach does a flip and I push my office chair away from the desk before spinning round in it and jumping out.

Charlie is still on the sofa, an arm thrown over his face, one testicle hanging out of his robe, and as I sit down carefully beside him, I think he is all the family I need. But then a thought cross my mind like a firework lighting up the sky. What if two became three?

I hadn’t considered children with Charlie. We’d met, moved in and married so quickly, there had barely been time to make other plans. But now, sitting in our cosy London home, it all falls into place. I know he is older than I but that shouldn’t matter. Without question, he would be a wonderful father. Doubts hang over my ability to parent but one thing is clear, I couldn’t do a worse job than my mother. I would never abandon my child.

So excited by the prospect, I wriggle on top of Charlie and start to kiss his face. He grunts and tries to turn over but there isn’t enough room on the sofa. He grunts again.

‘Jo…’ he grumbles, ‘just a few minutes peace.’

‘No time for that, lover.’ I nibbled his ear with just a little more vigour than usual.

‘Oow.’ He pulls his head away suddenly alert. ‘That hurt.’

‘I just want you to wake up.’ I say in my best little girl voice. He opens one eye and looks at me.

‘Yes?’

‘I want us to have baby.’

I say it as if I’ve requested pizza for dinner. Both eyes now open, he sits up to face me.

‘Are you serious?’ He appears bemused.

‘Deadly.’ I say fixing him with a smile. He cocks his head to one side and folds his arms across his chest.

‘You’ve never mentioned it before.’

‘It hasn’t been something I’ve thought of until now.’ It is my turn to cross my arms now, mirroring him. ‘I suppose in the back of my mind I just thought it would happen one day and there was no need to mention it.’

Charlie nods but says nothing.

‘You aren’t exactly getting any younger and I’m a good age, so yes, why not now?’

I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or myself. He inches closer to me on the sofa and puts his arm around my shoulders before kissing my hair.

‘Absolutely.’ He says and I am stunned. ‘But make me a promise. No pressure. Let’s not try too hard. Let nature take its course.’

‘OK,’ I say, pushing him onto his back, ‘but practice makes perfect.’

March 16th

Only a day has passed since we decided to try to get pregnant and, although I’m sure nothing has happened yet, I feel like a new woman. I’ve stopped taking the pill and keep finding my hand resting on my belly. I’m already mentally planning how I’ll rearrange the house when we need to make space for our baby, and all the things that will come with it.

This new excitement has even meant I’ve started to write again. Life feels good and I’ve been able to shake off the discomfort of Ailene’s advent into my life.

I haven’t spoken to her since I called the first time. There’s no point. If she wants to talk, she knows where I am. She made contact first, for fuck sake. That’s what really gets my goat. She came into my life uninvited and then just as I started to get my head around it, she dismissed me.

Standing in the kitchen, I physically stop and promise myself I won’t get wound up. I have a new exciting chapter just around the corner and nothing is going to spoil it. Not the hail outside, the war in Syria, the extremist terror threat hanging over Europe like a cloud – none of it is going to impact on my happiness.

I put the plates away in the cupboard and wipe my hands dry on a grubby tea towel. I fling it over the back of a chair before leaving the room.

Today is a good day and I am going shopping.

I think about leaving the house. There has been a break in the weather. The pavement is no longer pelted with hailstones. A grey sky blankets London reflecting the concrete streets. I look to the sky through the window, examining it with curiosity. Is snow in the air? It is so white, so clean and full of promise.

In the background, I hear the hum of news. Normally the whining tones of the Sky newsreader float over me but today the sound is genuine and solemn. I can’t ignore it.

Moving towards the voice, I feel my stomach flip.

‘The plane was flying at thirty two thousand feet… an airbus A230 has crashed…fell for eight minutes… flights cancelled… no known survivors… a very sad time says President…’

And before I get a glimpse of wreckage on the screen, I decide to turn around and walk away.

All it takes is a minute to change how you feel.

Back in the kitchen, I stack more plates and sweep crumbs off the table onto the floor. The crumbs only remind me of the plane. That quick. Once it was a piece of toast now just crumbs discarded amongst the dust and debris that has collected on the tiles.

Surely, life is not so fickle?

I feel ill. I am consumed by the thought that I’m dying. I catch my breath and as quickly as the thought enters my brain it is gone, distracted by the infinite ringing of the house phone.

I move towards the sound. Each step is more psychedelic than the next and I wonder if I am on the flight, falling, crumbling away.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear a dog barking.

Then I flood back into the moment and remember the phone.

Holding my breath, I manage a whisper.

‘Hello…’ The taste of bile fills my mouth and the silence emphasises it. ‘Hello?’ I ask again, my throat on fire.

Nothing.

‘H-E-L-L-O?’ My last attempt.

Nothing.

But then I think I hear something distant. A whisper. Muffled.

I wait again, holding my breath.

Then the line goes dead.

Just before I collapse onto the carpet, white noise echoes down the line.

      
I wake up to find my face buried in the living room carpet. My neck aches and my arm, which is tucked awkwardly beneath my body, is numb.

Slowly I sit up. The ceiling and walls feel as if they are closing in and I look around the room that feels foreign to me. For a few seconds, I am lost but then I notice a photograph on the wall. I see Charlie and I on our wedding day and I’m brought back to earth.

Gingerly, getting up onto my wobbly legs
,
I make my way towards the picture hoping to find comfort. It helps to calm me but I am scared. What is happening to me? I keep losing time. How long was I passed out on the carpet? My mouth tastes of metal and I realise I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek. Blood and saliva gather in the corners of my mouth and I wipe it away with the back of my sleeve, trying to focus my attention on Charlie’s face.

For the first time ever, I notice the age gap between us. He looks happy and handsome, but old. His face is creased while mine is pale and fresh. It doesn’t bother me, but it feels as if I’ve woken up in an unfamiliar world.

What was I doing before I collapsed?

Moving over to the couch, I flop down into the cushions and look up at the ceiling. A wispy cobweb dangles from the ceiling being blown by a draft from an unknown source. I really must try harder at housekeeping.

A cold shiver runs through my body starting at the top of my head and working its way down to my toes. The small hairs on my arms point north and I shake myself warm. This is ridiculous. I need to get a grip.

I get up, still feeling a little like Bambi and decide I need to see a doctor. Something is wrong with me and I need to get to the bottom of it.

Just as I reach for the phone, it begins to ring and a strange sensation falls over me. Remembering the cold caller, I answer warily.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello. Can I speak to Josie please?’ The voice sounds shaky.

‘Speaking.’ I say trying to place the familiar female.

‘Oh, oh Josie. Gosh, I didn’t recognise you…’ There is a long pause. I rack my brains trying to place the voice.

‘Margaret?’ I take a punt.

‘Oh Josie, I…’ It is Margaret. Her voice is breaking and all of a sudden, I feel faint. Something bad has happened. I sit down on the sofa.

‘What is it?’ I swallow down the lump in my throat.

‘It’s your parents, Sweetheart…. You need to come home.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I…’ She stops again. There is another voice in the background talking to Margaret. I can’t make out the words. ‘You need to come home, love.’

‘Tell me what’s happened. Mum, Dad, are they alright?’

‘The police are here.’ She offers as an explanation. I am none the wiser.

‘
The police
? Why?’

‘Your parents, oh I don’t know how to say it. They, I’m so terribly sorry but… they are dead.’ Her thick Gloucestershire accent has faded to a whisper.

I hold the phone to my ear. She must be mistaken.

‘Josie, love, you need to come back.’

‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’

‘I went there this morning to clean and when I got there. Oh Josie, it was awful. I called the police and now they are everywhere. I saw, people carrying a body out of the house. I didn’t know who it was. Then this detective came over and questioned me. He said there had been a break in and two bodies had been discovered in the house…’

I feel strangely calm as she tells me her story.

‘… I told them the only people who live in the house are your parents. They asked me if I had any contact details for the next of kin. I came home and gave them your address. They are on their way to you, now. I… I shouldn’t have said anything. They told me not to but I didn’t want you hearing it from a stranger. Josie, it’s just terrible. I am so sorry.’

‘Did you see them?’ I am running on autopilot.

‘Who?’

‘The bodies. Did you see their bodies?’

‘No. Goodness no. They were in bags.’ The thought turns my blood cold.

‘So, you didn’t see Mum and Dad?’

‘No, but …’

‘So, it might not be them.’ I interrupt.

‘Josie, well I …’ She doesn’t know what to say.

‘It might not be them.’

‘Josie, they said it was a couple, found in the master bedroom,’

‘But it might not be them.’ I repeat. There is a long silence.

‘The police are on their way to you now, love. I think you need to talk to them.’

‘OK, Margaret. I was going to go shopping but I think I should wait for them.’ My words sound as absent as they feel.

‘Yes, I think that’s a good idea.’

‘OK, yes, I’ll wait here.’

‘Alright, love. Are you on your own?’

‘Charlie is at work.’ My words come on autopilot.

‘I think you should call him. Tell him what’s happened. You shouldn’t be alone,’

‘He’s got meetings.’

‘Call him, Josie.’

      
‘OK.’ Another long silence follows.

      
‘I am so sorry.’ She says at last. ‘You have my number. If there is anything I can do…’

      
‘I’ll be fine.’ I pick a piece of fluff off my knee and watch it float down to the carpet.

      
‘Call Charlie, love. Promise me?’

      
‘Yes. I will. See you soon. Bye.’ I hang up and stare at the piece of grey fluff on the carpet for a long time and wonder where it came from. It looks like cat hair.

I decide the room could do with a good hoover. Moving with purpose, I go into the hall and pull our old Hoover out from a cupboard under the stairs but my mind is somewhere else. It has left my body.

I plug in the Hoover, start to suck up the dirt, dust and fluff that life produces, hardly noticing the roar the machine makes. I work hard pushing the head backwards and forwards over the same spot until I’m convinced it’s clean. I should do this more often, I scold myself, before I succumb to a sudden wave of exhaustion. My legs feel frail and sweat drips down my temples. I sit down on the floor, my legs crossed. I notice my hands are trembling, like they do sometimes. Of course, my hands are trembling.
My parents are dead
.

Without really knowing I’m doing it, I reach for the phone and dial Charlie’s work number. His mobile will be set to silent. There are three rings before someone answers. It’s a young woman’s voice.

‘I need to speak to Charlie.’

‘May I ask who’s calling?’

‘His wife.’

‘One moment please…’ Gentle jazz plays while I hold. The noise is as irritating as a fly.

‘I’m afraid he’s in a meeting at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?’

‘Tell him to call me at home. It’s urgent.’

‘Right, OK,’

I hang up before she has a chance to finish and remain sitting on the carpet next to the discarded Hoover. My hand is gripping the phone, willing it to ring. I stare at it, frozen in time. The numbers on the buttons are all swirling into a blur. I am finally brought back to earth with the ringing.

Answering the phone, I wonder what I’d say to anyone who wasn’t Charlie.
Sorry can’t speak now; my parents have been killed.

‘Hello?’

‘Jo, hi. Is everything all right? I got an urgent message to call.’

‘I had a call from Margaret. She said the police are on their way. I don’t think I can do this alone. Please come home.’

‘Who’s Margaret? What are you talking about?’

‘Mum and Dad’s cleaner. She said there was a break in.’ A lump returns to my throat. ‘They found two bodies at the house. It might be Mum and Dad.’

There is a long silence and I wonder if I’m imagining the phone call.

‘I’m coming right back. Don’t do anything. Sit down and wait till I get home.’ His voice sounds distant. ‘Jo?’

‘I think my parents are dead.’

The next few hours go by in a flash. At some point, Charlie returns home. Then the police arrive. The next thing I know I’m sitting in the back of a car being driven to Gloucestershire. The traffic is sluggish and the March sky a bleak grey. Charlie holds my hand the whole time, occasionally giving it a squeeze. I don’t respond.