Chapter 20
‘We’re just not set up for this heat,’ says Kath the next morning, pulling at the neck of her dress and using the fan on her sunburnt chest. ‘We need aircon.’
‘Aircon is a germ spreader,’ announces Susi, whisking in on a cloud of Jo Malone to go to the filing cabinet, then wafting out again, a folder tucked under her arm.
‘I’m sure she’s an alien,’ whispers Kath with a roll of her eyes when Susi’s left the room. ‘She never gets hot or cold.’
In the winter the office is like a fridge, and when Kath and I are huddled around the radiator, swamped in scarves and thick jumpers, Susi continues to wear her trademark silk blouses.
I try to distract myself from thinking about the Morgans and Joan’s spare key, which is burning a hole in my kitchen drawer, by keeping myself busy, volunteering to be the adviser every time someone walks through the door.
I keep my head down and Susi seems pleased with me.
I still haven’t heard anything from Charlie, and I’m worried he’s going to push for the house to be put on the market.
‘So, we’ll start with the holiday cover,’ Susi says, when we’re standing in the little kitchen making tea in a lull between clients.
‘Anna is away for the next two weeks so it would be great if you could work the two extra days a week and cover as much of her load as possible. And if it works out we could see about maybe making it more permanent. I might be able to find some extra hours if the budget allows, but I can’t promise. We’ll see how it goes, okay?’
‘Great,’ I say, stirring my tea, all the while thinking, I need to get into the Morgans’ house. Find out what they’re up to. It goes around and around in my head like a chant.
I half expect Drew to come in today and I’m disappointed when four o’clock arrives and he hasn’t.
I remember how dejected he’d looked yesterday, how powerless when we were talking about him going to the police.
I consider calling him, but it crosses a professional line, and now that Susi has given me some extra hours I need to keep her onside if I want it to be a more permanent arrangement.
Rufus asks me to pick him up from college on my way home because he’s bringing back some heavy equipment.
I wonder if it’s the sound monitor and boom mic but when I get there he’s carrying a tripod and a light ring.
I help him load them into the boot. ‘What’s this for? ’ I ask, as we get back into the car.
‘Freddie and I are filming a two-hander for our end-of-year project. We’re going to take some footage of Dad’s gig at the weekend. We’ve arranged to do a location recce tomorrow evening while the place is empty, for a before-and-after.’
Tomorrow is Thursday. Our movie night and a week since I overheard the Morgans. I try to keep my voice even. ‘Oh, right. Does that mean we’ll have to do our film night another time?’
‘Maybe Friday this week. I’m thinking of Rear Window.’ He turns to me with a glint in his eye.
‘We’ve watched that loads of times … Oh, I see! Ha ha, very funny.’
‘What about Disturbia then?’
‘Not heard of that one.’
‘A teenage boy under house arrest spies on the man next door and starts believing he’s a murderer when a woman goes missing. Sound familiar?’
‘Hey!’ I protest. ‘I’m not spying on the Morgans, okay? But I do like the sound of Disturbia. Let’s watch that.’
‘Cool. It’s a date. And, talking of dates …’ he glances shyly at me and I wonder if he’s going to tell me he’s met someone ‘… Dad’s told me about Rosie.’
My heart sinks. ‘Ah, yes.’ I turn into our street.
‘He says you’ve met her. Are you okay with it?’
I sigh. I don’t want him to know how hurt I feel about it. ‘Well, it’s a bit weird, if I’m honest. But … I want Dad to be happy.’
I pull up outside our house. Henry is lifting a small suitcase into the boot of the Jaguar and Marielle is watching him with her arms crossed.
‘Oh, look. Your favourite neighbours.’ Rufus grins playfully. ‘I wonder if they’re off on a murder spree!’
I tut at him, then step out of the car. Henry waves, closes the boot lid and gets into the driver’s seat.
‘Hi,’ calls Marielle. She looks as if she’s about to get in on the passenger side but seems to think better of it.
She walks over to me and lowers her voice.
‘We’re away tonight but we’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning because I’m looking after my grandson.
But …’ she hesitates ‘… would you mind just keeping an eye on the house?’
I can feel Rufus’s breath on my neck. ‘Oh, the irony!’ I can imagine him saying.
‘Sure.’ I frown. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No. Not at all. It seems a very nice neighbourhood and everything. It’s just … we’ve had a few incidents.’
‘Incidents?’
‘Yes. Since we moved in. Silly things. Stuff being moved around the garden. A stone thrown through our shed window. Probably just kids …’
‘I’ve had the same with the back gate,’ I say, in a rush, ‘and I thought someone was in my garden. This is usually a safe area, but …’
‘It is a city at the end of the day,’ she says, reaching for an oversized pair of sunglasses from her pale-yellow Dior quilted handbag and slipping them on. I look at her handbag wistfully. I’ve got a weakness for bags. Unfortunately a designer one is beyond my budget.
A horn toots and we jump. Henry inclines his head at Marielle.
‘Whoops, here’s me chatting away. I’d better go, but thanks, Lena. And lovely to see you, Rufus,’ she adds. She scuttles towards the car in her kitten heels. She waves as Henry pulls away from the kerb and we watch as he drives at a snail’s pace down the street.
When they’ve gone Rufus turns to me, shaking his head, laughter in his eyes. ‘I can’t believe you think that old couple are up to something dodgy.’ He blows his fringe out of his face and heads down the front path, leaving me to get his equipment from the boot.
Rufus goes up to bed early and I stay downstairs for a while longer, flopped onto the sofa with Phoenix curled up by my side, watching Selling Sunset.
At least I can binge-watch reality TV now that Charlie doesn’t live here any more.
He only ever wanted to watch serious dramas about drug cartels or spies.
I turn off the TV. The living-room window is open wide, and the night is still, with only the occasional drone of an aeroplane overhead, or a far-off vehicle.
I get up, about to turn the lights off, when I hear it.
A baby crying.
I move to the window. It sounds like it’s coming from the Morgans’ house. But it can’t be. Marielle told me herself that they’re away tonight.
The cries are louder now, more insistent.
I pull aside the curtains and poke my head out of the window.
The street is deserted. It’s gone eleven.
No, I’m not imagining it. The cries are definitely coming from next door.
Perhaps, at the last minute, Marielle called her son and daughter-in-law and asked them to house-sit.
Phoenix cocks his head at me, noticing my agitation, and I bend down to soothe him.
Then I go to the front door, stepping out into the warm night air.
There are no lights on next door. It looks deserted.
They asked you to keep an eye on the house, a little voice inside my head pipes up. You’re doing nothing wrong if you want to check.
Before I can talk myself out of it I dart into the kitchen, grab Joan’s spare key and my phone, then close the front door quietly behind me so as not to alert Rufus.
Adrenaline surges through me as I hurry down their front path.
They don’t have a Ring doorbell and I can’t see any cameras.
They don’t even have a security light, and I approach their front door in darkness.
I hesitate. What should I do? They could have an alarm.
I decide to knock in case Heidi or the Morgans’ son is there.
When nobody comes to the door I knock again, my heart thudding.
I peer through the semicircle of glass in their front door, but the hallway is in darkness.
The house looks empty. I step back, peering at their upstairs windows.
They are all closed. Surely if someone was in, the windows would be open. It’s so muggy, even at this late hour.
I glance over my shoulder. Can the neighbours opposite see me?
It’s so dark in the Morgans’ front garden that it’s doubtful.
Before I’ve had the chance to change my mind I fish in my pocket for Joan’s key and put it into the lock.
I hold my breath as I turn the key, half expecting it not to work.
But the door opens. I brace myself for some kind of alarm system, planning to close the door and run back to my house if it suddenly goes off, but there’s nothing.
Gingerly, I step over the threshold and close the door behind me.
The hallway is wider and more impressive than mine, with high, ornate ceilings and original cornicing that was unfortunately stripped from my house by the previous owner.
Overhead there is a huge glass chandelier, and a pair of Marielle’s gold ballet pumps sits neatly by the old-school radiator along with a pair of highly polished brown leather lace-ups.
The newly painted stone-coloured walls are bare, with no photos or any personal touches, like pictures or even mirrors.
Shadows play upon the walls, and I pause, straining to hear the baby.
But there is just silence. Did I imagine the crying baby?
Perhaps it was coming from somewhere else after all.
Now I’m here I don’t know what to do. What am I hoping to achieve?
I should go home but curiosity takes over.
I think of everything that’s happened since the Morgans moved in: the conversation I overheard on the boom mic, the man caught on tape swearing about my dog, the fact Sarah-Jane was being followed by a blue classic car, Henry lying about her being sacked, his coldness towards Drew.
But it’s more than that. It’s a feeling I’ve got deep in my gut, something unsettling, that makes me feel uneasy.
Something about him. I have to trust my instinct this time.
After all, look what happened during my training.
I was only nineteen then. I knew nothing about the world, or about the people in it.
I didn’t know about the darkness that could lurk behind a respectable exterior.
Behind a doctor. I was too scared to speak up.
But I’m not that innocent young girl any more.
With resolve I push open the door to the left.
It creaks on its hinges, sounding overly loud and creepy in the dark, empty house, like in a horror movie.
I blink a few times, hoping my eyes will adjust. I don’t want to turn on a main light so instead I use the torch on my phone.
I sweep the triangle of light around the room, which is empty.
And then it lands on the far wall, and I gasp.
I step further into the room. At first I think it’s some kind of trendy wallpaper, but as I get closer I can see that it’s newspaper clippings, layered on top of each other, taking up nearly half the wall.
What is this? I move my phone to see them better, but because of the way they are pinned together they are hard to make out.
BABY FOUND ON HOS …
… ORGANS FOR RESEARCH AT …
DRUGS LORD FOUND DEAD IN …
brIGHT SPARKS WIN NATIONAL AWARD
… ADOPTION RACKET WITNESS SPEAKS …
This is seriously weird. I’m taking a few photos with my phone when a shrill cry makes me jump. It’s the baby. The baby is crying again, and it sounds like it’s coming from upstairs.
I freeze, listening intently. There are no other noises. No movement from upstairs. No sign that someone is in the house. Just the solitary sound of the baby crying. I move back into the hallway. The cries get louder. They are definitely coming from upstairs.
Surely Marielle and Henry wouldn’t be cruel enough to leave a baby alone at home.
I’ve got to see for myself. I can’t leave.
I head up the stairs, my heart pounding in my ears.
The baby is still crying. I follow the sound, past the first door and along the landing to the next.
The cries are louder now. I push the door open to reveal a nursery and the cries instantly stop.
A pretty white cot sits in the middle of the room and I can just make out the dark, familiar shape of a baby in a Grobag, like I used to dress Rufus in at night.
There’s no way Marielle would leave her grandson asleep alone in the house.
And then a thought occurs to me. Unless she hasn’t left the house and is here after all.
I think of the shoes downstairs. Oh, my God.
Have I got this completely wrong and she’s here?
But I saw them drive off in the car. She told me herself they were away for the night.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a cold feeling washes over me.
I spin around, half expecting her to be standing on the landing, watching me.
But nobody’s there. The action makes me topple against the nursery door and it bangs against the wall.
I flinch, imagining Marielle charging down the landing to see what the noise was.
But there’s nothing. I brace myself for the baby to start crying again but there is just silence.
Gently I walk towards the cot. I can’t believe she’s left a baby here all alone. A cute, chubby-cheeked baby.
But there’s something wrong.
The baby’s eyes are open. Glassy.
My mouth goes dry as I reach over to touch the baby’s cheek. It’s cold and I recoil in horror. It’s so lifelike, but it’s not real. It’s not real.
The baby is fake.