Two Doors Down: A twisted psychological thriller Read online

  When I finally gather the strength to lift my head, I gasp in shock. For it is no longer Mark and Holly, writhing together as one at the foot of my bed, but Bill and Holly.

  They both grin at me, hips gyrating, hands exploring the contours of the other’s body.

  Twisting my head around – which is extremely difficult, given the force with which I am being plundered – it is sure enough Mark that I am with once more.

  I face forwards again and Holly speaks to me:

  It is me they want, Claire, not you. It is never you. They all want me.

  Behind me, Mark laughs.

  No, I gasp, but no sound exits my lips.

  Holly turns her back to Bill, grinding her backside into his groin, his hands cupping her breasts and pinching her nipples.

  It is almost time, Claire, Holly says. It is almost time and I will have them all.

  And behind me, Mark continues to laugh.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Mark doesn’t chase me up the following day, and neither do I seek him out. Holly is arriving tomorrow with that van load of stuff, which means I may not see Mark on his own again for ages. To top it all off, Blythe still wasn’t in the shop this morning. And now, at three-thirty p.m. this blustery, overcast afternoon, I am pacing my living-room, a mix of bored, restless, and agitated.

  I wish I had more friends, not just Blythe and Mark. I have nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no one to see. I feel as if I’m stuck in some bizarre twilight zone – my very own Groundhog Day where each day is doomed to play out just like this one, where I do nothing and get nowhere fast.

  Things are different in the summer – I always have a houseful of guests to contend with and as such I barely have a moment to myself. Usually, by winter, I am thankful for the break. Come the colder months, I am content to see Blythe most days on my morning walks, and I quite often see her in the evenings, too. I am happy pottering around the house, re-painting the occasional room, redecorating here and there, keeping on top of the housework, or just relaxing with a good book. Even just dreaming of the day Mark and I will finally be together keeps me warm during the nights. And counting down the days until I see him again gives my life structure of sorts. It gives me something to look forward to, to live for. Also, if I did ever feel a touch of sadness or loneliness, I would just go and let myself into Mark’s place, and potter around there.

  Am I only just realising now how empty and pathetic my life really is? That, now the distant dream of Mark and I ultimately ending up together has been cruelly snatched from me, my whole existence has shifted and changed course? It’s not a nice feeling. In fact, it’s downright miserable. I have come to the full realisation of what a sorry excuse for a human being I really am.

  I stop pacing and go over to the bay window, where I rest the side of my face against the cool pane, staring blankly out at the grey, frothy sea.

  It’s not all bad, I tell myself. For one thing, I have that hot date with Bill tomorrow. Thinking of Bill reminds me of last night’s nightmare – the one that had started out as a wet dream, then swiftly turned to hell.

  God, I think in a wave of despair and self-pity. I can’t even have a horny dream about Mark anymore without her ruining it. That bitch has ruined everything. There’s no doubt about it – her coming into the picture has ruined my life.

  I catch myself, not liking the bitter turn my thoughts are taking, the juvenile, self-important whining. This pathetic little pity party has to stop.

  I step back from the window, and Bertie trots over, sitting at my feet and gazing up at me, all big brown eyes and comically twitching, feathery, platinum blonde eyebrows. I can’t help but smile.

  “At least I have you, huh boy?”

  His string-tail thumps once on the floor, and he smiles back.

  *

  The next day, on Tuesday the thirteenth of October, Holly well and truly lands. Unseen, I watch them from an upstairs window in one of the guest rooms – Holly, Mark, and The Man With The Van she has hired. I peek around the side of the slatted blinds, making sure to tuck my body firmly into the wall adjacent to the window. The white van parked partly on the pavement outside Mark’s house is nearer the size of a lorry. The man himself has the same sort of look as the bouncer from The Red Lion in Bethnal Green a few nights ago, minus the suit.

  Christ, I think, Holly has really got her feet under the table. The magnitude – and permanency – of her arrival hits me full force.

  I continue to peer through the tiny crack where blind meets wall, watching in disbelief as they continue to unload the back of the lorry. Together, the bald guy and Mark lug the stuff into the house.

  Where the hell is it all going to go? I wonder.

  There is so much of it – boxes and furniture alike. Holly supervises from the side-lines, looking as immaculate and as glamourous as ever. Today, she is wearing skinny, light-blue jeans, a skin-tight, white T, and a cropped, tan leather jacket that perfectly frames her small, but shelf-like backside.

  Mark and the large bald guy are currently carrying an old-fashioned, folding dining-table between them, staggering along the pavement towards the tiny front garden of the house. Or at least, Mark is staggering, for he is half the width of the other guy.

  Holly watches them impassively from the pavement with unnerving stillness, making no move to help. It makes me wonder how in the hell the van managed to get filled in the first place. As big as the bald guy is, it’s a two-person job. He must’ve had help the other end from a third party, because Holly certainly isn’t bothering. She doesn’t even make a move to grab one of the smaller boxes stashed in the back of the van.

  Mark and the other man disappear from view inside the house, carrying the dark fold-up table with the elaborately carved legs between them.

  Holly has turned around now, her back to the street, staring out to sea as if lost in thought.

  What are you thinking, Holly? What do you want?

  I stare at the back of her head, at the way her long, brown hair graduating to that platinum blonde at the ends softly undulates in the sea breeze. I have never wanted to read a mind as badly as I do right now.

  My attention is drawn away by movement, back to Mark and the removal man, who have reappeared. I watch them rummage around in the back of the van, as does Holly.

  From the way the vehicle is parked, I can see a good portion of its innards. There is a lot of stuff in the back. I see paintings, rolled-up rugs, and smallish items of furniture, such as chests of drawers, at least two antique-looking sideboards, a studded leather, highbacked armchair that looks as if it has been lifted straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel, and more tables and chairs.

  And boxes. Lots of boxes.

  Mark grabs one of those boxes and the other man grabs the leather armchair, holding it before him like it weighs nothing. Once more, they disappear into the house, Mark staggering under the weight of the box like he is drunk.

  When my gaze automatically swivels in the direction of Holly on the pavement, she is staring right at me.

  I stagger back from the window in shock, heart pounding.

  How did she know I was watching? I think in horror. I had been so careful to keep away from the window – how could she possibly have known? It’s like she has a sixth sense.

  I am reminded of the strange dreams I’ve been having lately – or nightmares, more like. For the life of me, I couldn’t say which night, exactly, I’d had this nightmare, but I distinctly remember Holly staring at me in my home from the street. A shudder courses through me. God, at least she had been wearing clothes this time.

  I have suddenly lost my appetite for watching them unload the van, and I back out of the bedroom, making sure to keep out of view of the window.

  TWENTY-SIX

  WANING CRESCENT

  On this day, the Moon will be in a Waning Crescent Phase. In this phase, the Moon’s illumination is growing smaller each day until the New Moon. During this phase, the Moon is getting close to the Sun as view
ed from the Earth, and the night side of the moon is facing the Earth with only a small edge of the moon being illuminated. This phase is best viewed an hour or two before the sunrise and can be quite beautiful if you are willing to get up early. It is also a good time to see the features of the Moon’s surface. Along the edge where the illuminated portion meets the dark side, the craters and mountains cast long shadows, making them easier to observe with a telescope or binoculars.

  14th October

  It is a full twenty-four hours before Mark extends an invitation for me to come to dinner the following night. But, as sod’s law would have it, tomorrow is Thursday, the night of my date with Bill.

  “You have a date?” Mark asks me incredulously. He bends down to pet Bertie, who snuffles and leaps around his feet.

  “There’s no need to sound quite so shocked,” I say with mock indignation.

  He straightens up, throwing me that special Mark grin that has my heart all aflutter. Half of me wants to invite him into the house, but I refrain. Maybe it is the polite thing to invite him inside, but it also makes me look overly keen. The rules are different now that she’s here. The more I potentially do anything with Mark that might antagonise her, the more she deems my actions ‘overly friendly’, then the more she might potentially pull him away from me.

  I’m doing a lot of surmising here, but then, that’s all I have been doing lately – second guessing hers and Mark’s every move.

  “I’m not shocked, it’s just, I’ve never known you go on so many dates. Is it the same guy?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Okay, so my first date with Bill was technically me stalking him, but that’s by the by.

  “You must be keen on this guy, then?”

  Is he jealous? I wonder incredulously. Or is he merely just pleased that I might be interested in someone else, and therefore Holly is happy that I am not obsessing over her boyfriend anymore? Because, as much as it pains me to admit it, us women know this stuff about each other. We sniff around each other like cats, sussing each other out and marking our territory. There is no doubt in my mind that she knows exactly how I feel, but what I don’t know is how she is handling it.

  “Yes,” I reply. “I mean, he’s interesting, I guess.”

  “Interesting, huh? You’re being coy, that must mean you’re really into him.”

  “I am interested in him. He is an interesting person.”

  “Right,” he smiles lopsidedly, and all I want to do is drag him inside and kiss him. “Where’s he taking you?”

  “I’m not sure yet. We’ll just be here in Broadgate, I think.”

  For some reason, I don’t want him to know where I’m going. I can’t risk him seeing me with him – the less he knows about Bill the better.

  “And will you be stopping out all night again?” he asks with a smirk. “Are Holly and I taking Bertie?”

  The heat rises to my cheeks. “That won’t be necessary. I’m not going to be that late.”

  “Well, let us know if you change your mind.”

  His use of the word us rather than me is not lost on me, and it only serves as a reminder that his affections lie elsewhere.

  “I will. Thanks.” I clear my throat. “Maybe I can come for dinner with you guys the night after? You know, if it doesn’t interfere with your schedule too much?”

  Mark laughs, displaying his slightly wonky row of top teeth. Oh God, sometimes I hate how much I love this man.

  “Sure, that sounds great,” he says. “I’m sure that we can squeeze you in.”

  He shoves a hand through the dark hair that is flopping onto his high forehead, scraping it back with his splayed fingers, revealing a few strands of grey that I’ve not seen before. It doesn’t diminish his sex appeal in any way – if anything it adds to it.

  “Well, thanks,” I say, somewhat dryly. “Should I bring anything?”

  “No, just your good self. Shall we say around seven?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Great.”

  I want him to stay. I want us to have a real conversation, like we used to. Instead, I find myself shutting the door behind him as we say our goodbyes. When I am alone, I give in to the trembling that racks my body from head to toe. Being with Mark is like a sickness – one that I fear I will never recover from.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  NEW MOON

  On this day, the Moon will be in a New Moon phase. During this phase, the Moon is too close to the Sun in the sky to be visible. The Moon rises and sets with the Sun and is not present in the night sky. Because of this, the night sky is darker and therefore a good time to view other celestial objects. Like the Full Moon, a New Moon happens at a very specific time when the Sun and Moon have the same ecliptic longitude and it can be measured down to the second it occurs.

  15th October

  I was feeling fine up until an hour or so before the date, and then I suitably unravelled. And now, as I walk to the restaurant, I am so nervous I can barely put one foot in front of the other without falling over, my legs are trembling that badly.

  I hope I look okay. As I walk, I fiddle with my dress, having unbuttoned the upper portion of my cream belted trench coat, my hand fishing around inside it, tugging at a dress that feels too tight, too lowcut. I know that it’s probably neither of these things, but right now it feels about as subtle as a Boa Constrictor wrapped around my torso.

  I look cheap and tacky, I think in a moment of absolute paranoia and insecurity. He’s gonna think I’m a prostitute or something.

  My feet are already beginning to ache in the higher-than-usual, square-heeled, black court shoes I have elected to wear, the bunion on my right foot already starting to throb in earnest.

  Perhaps I should’ve got a taxi. But it felt stupid ordering a taxi for the little over half-a-mile, downhill walk into town, especially as it isn’t raining.

  Exhaling shakily, I tell myself that my knee-length, belted red dress with the cute, capped sleeves and low, square neckline is fine and not at all slutty.

  Part of me wants to turn heel and leg it back up the hill to get changed into something less revealing. Either that, or to lock myself in the safety of my house and never venture out again.

  I do neither of these things. I am on the flat now, on the main part of Broadgate seafront, and the seafood restaurant looms up ahead.

  Too late now. Do or die.

  *

  Bill is there before me, and I see him before he sees me. He is sitting at the bar on a high, chrome stool, his back to me, his dark blonde hair pulled back in his usual ponytail. He is wearing a pair of snug-fitting dark grey trousers in a canvas material, probably because the dress code in this place is quite strict. An untucked, black shirt highlights the width of his shoulders, and I am struck by how good his body is, how he is that much more filled in than Mark. My heart slams hard, and I lick my suddenly parched lips, then panic I have dislodged the uncustomary shade of bright red lipstick. God, I really need to calm down – I could so murder a drink.

  This is the first time that I’ve set foot inside this establishment, and it is like stepping into another world, as if I have discovered a portal that takes me directly to a trendy restaurant in London, or New York perhaps. Because this place absolutely does not look like it belongs in sleazy old Broadgate. The eclectic vibe of the place is a combination of cutting-edge industrial and old-fashioned black oak. It is like a cross between a Medieval tavern and a spaceship. Even the bar itself is a mix of black oak and shiny chrome – a contradiction that shouldn’t work, but does. The black wood tables in the large, moodily-lit space are completely at odds with the smooth and pale, highly-polished concrete floor. Non-descript classical music plays softly in the background.

  I take in the geography and décor of the room in a split second, before an attractive woman around my age in a dark trouser suit with her blonde hair pulled back in a neat chignon gracefully swoops on me from out of nowhere.

  “Good evening, madame.” she say
s. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “Yes,” I stammer, my insides twisted into a tight, nervous knot. “I have a booking under the name Bill Butler. And there he is, at the bar.”

  I let out a short staccato burst of nervous laughter and the woman barely cracks a polite smile.

  “Please, do come in. Let me take your coat.”

  With her help, I am shrugging out of it just as Bill turns around on his stool. Our eyes lock and the breath is knocked out of me. He is so bloody handsome – I had forgotten how much and wasn’t prepared for it.

  The woman disappears with my coat, and as if in a dream, I make my way over to the bar tucked against the side wall. He slides off his stool to greet me standing up. I feel ridiculously faint when he leans down to kiss me on the cheek. Or towers over me, more like.

  “Hello Claire,” he smiles. “You look extra lovely tonight.”

  His gaze sweeps down my body, his eyes glittering in what can only be approval. I find myself squirming – I can’t remember the last time a guy had this effect on me, besides Mark. Maybe this is just nerves, but I’m not so sure.

  “Hello Bill,” I smile back. “And thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  My face burns hot, matching my dress, most probably. I can’t believe that I just said that – how completely and utterly lame.

  If he agrees with me, he shows no sign:

  “What would you like to drink?”

  I eye his tall glass of clear liquid with ice and a slice. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  “Gin and tonic it is.”

  He catches the eye of one of the waitresses, who happens to be behind the bar, scribbling something down in her waitressing pad. I see the way she blushes – Bill is undoubtedly quite the woman magnet.

  “Two more of these, please. Better make them doubles.”