Читать книгу The Perfect Neighbours: A gripping psychological thriller with an ending you won’t see coming - Rachel Sargeant, Rachel Sargeant - Страница 24

The face staring back in the mirror had clown lips that bled into the surrounding flesh. Mel didn’t know how long it had been since she’d last applied lipstick but it had been a while.

Chris had come into the bedroom while she was dozing after her heavy meal – an extra egg tonight, and the portion of chips seemed big. She was tired after picking up Murdo from school. It was nice to spend time with the youngest Howard boy while Toby and Leo were at their music lessons and their mother had a governors’ meeting. She once heard another mother telling her child: “Murdo doesn’t speak because he doesn’t understand.” But the woman was wrong. Murdo understood things very well.

When Louisa had returned home, she was still tense about the man in her front garden. Was it the same man who’d accosted her by Chris’s car? Thank God he ran off. She never told Chris, although she knew she should have done. What if he was dangerous? At least three times he’d been loitering in the close. What if he broke into a house next or approached a child?

“Come on,” Chris had said when he interrupted her nap. “It’s time you and me made a night of it. There are some clothes on the chair, and I’ve seen the lovely Helen wearing this shade of lipstick so let’s see what it does for you. The table’s booked for eight.”

Her heart pounded at the thought of going out. It was hard enough going to swim club every week. She could tell him she was a bit off colour. He’d believe her because she so often was ill: headaches, wheezing, palpitations, every cough and cold Louisa’s boys brought home. But he’d already changed. The silk shirt looked new and expensive. She didn’t want to let him down.

She slipped on the kaftan he’d left for her. The coarse cloth chafed her nipples. She would get sore again. It wasn’t a colour she would have chosen. It even smelled yellow, sort of sickly, but at least it hid a lot of bulges. She was more conscious of her weight when they went out. The German waitresses would be goddesses, wearing crisp blouses and money bags strapped around their slender hips. She turned sideways to look in the mirror and blinked away tears. She looked pregnant.

***

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t go back.” He’d been home for all of five minutes when he spotted her swimming things on the washing line. “Was he there?”

Palm to palm. Helen suppressed an urge to lie. “Yes, I spoke to Sascha Jakobsen. Why shouldn’t I?”

He shrugged and looked disappointed rather than angry. He seemed ready to drop the subject, but she was still boiling about the ski trip and Louisa’s business card, and wanted a fight.

“He could be a terrorist, a bigamist or a serial killer for all I know, but maybe he had a reason to destroy Louisa Howard’s garden. Maybe she sent him one of her RELATE cards.” She gave a short bitter laugh. “That nearly had me reaching for the garden shears. Only it wasn’t her wisteria I wanted to deadhead.”

She sighed at the bemused expression on Gary’s face. “Let me explain. She thinks our marriage is in trouble. In her expert opinion we need counselling. So what are you waiting for? You better give her a call.”

Gary opened his mouth but she continued, “Or maybe it’s too late for that. Should we skip that neighbour and go direct to Karola Barton at number 1? I hear she’s a trained lawyer.” She started to sob.

Gary held out his arms and she collapsed into them. But she pulled away again.

“How could you book us a skiing holiday without even telling me? We really are in trouble, aren’t we?”

He gasped, sounding close to tears himself. “Don’t say that, don’t ever say that. The holiday was meant to be fun, a chance to get out of here and see Austria. I thought you’d be pleased.”