The neighbour, p.1
The Neighbour, page 1
THE NEIGHBOUR
GEMMA ROGERS
For Bethany
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
More from Gemma Rogers
About the Author
The Murder List
About Boldwood Books
1
Arthur Chappel pulled down the shutter at the rear of his removal van and wiped his palm on his khaki trousers before offering it to shake.
‘All done now, miss, the beds have been put back together and all the boxes are in the right rooms.’ His forehead glimmered, beads of sweat nestling in deep crevices caused by years of hard graft.
It was an unusually warm April day, with Easter less than a week away, and I was thrilled I hadn’t had to move house in the rain.
I shook Arthur’s clammy calloused hand and smiled at him. ‘Please, call me Shelly – and thanks, you’ve both been great.’ I watched as his young helper climbed into the passenger seat, rolling down the window, ready to get going. ‘I appreciate you fitting me in at such short notice.’
‘Ah, you didn’t have a lot to move, only needed the one van, and me and Bobby knew we could do it in a couple of hours. We’ll invoice you for payment later on this week.’
I’d only brought a few pieces of furniture with me – a TV, a sofa, and two beds plus Lauren’s chair, desk and bookcase from her bedroom. Enough to manage until I could replace them for new. Most of Mum’s stuff had gone to charity. I knew bringing it with me would mean bringing the memories too and those I was happy to leave behind. There was never any question that I would stay in that cottage.
I rummaged in the pocket of my dungarees and Arthur raised one eyebrow when I slipped a twenty-pound note into his hand.
‘Thanks again and please have a drink on me,’ I said, turning back to the house before he could protest, and gazing at what was now mine. For the next six months at least. Behind me, I heard the van door slam and the engine rumble to life before fading into the distance as Arthur and Bobby drove out of the close.
The house had been a real gem of a find, a three-bedroom rental property in the catchment area for a place at Briarwood High School where I wanted to send my ten-year-old daughter, Lauren, next year. It was the best school in the vicinity of Crawley in West Sussex, but rental properties were hard to come by, being so close to the airport, and I couldn’t buy anything until money from the sale of Mum’s house came through. Even so, I doubted I’d be able to afford the half-a-million price tag the last one sold for. Thankfully, there had been enough in Mum’s account to pay six months’ rent up front and I was positive it had been what swayed the owner to pick me out of a dozen other applicants.
We’d deserved a bit of good fortune after what had been a couple of years from hell. Lauren and I had been Mum’s carers until she’d passed away a month ago. Officially, it was a head injury incurred from a fall that had killed her, but she was in the later stages of dementia. It hadn’t been easy, juggling work, parenting, and looking after Mum. My dad had left when I was a baby, and there had been little in the way of help, it had all been down to me, so today felt like a new chapter. I wanted somewhere I could finally relax, somewhere I wouldn’t hear the summoning tinkle of Mum’s bell every five minutes. A sound so deeply ingrained, I heard it still.
I sighed, slowly turning in a circle to admire the view of the close, sure I saw a curtain twitch from across the green. The sun was in my eyes, and I couldn’t be certain I hadn’t imagined it, although it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for the other residents to want to find out who their new neighbours were, especially with so few houses in the close.
‘Right, what’s next,’ I said to myself, turning back to the house. The driveway looked like it needed a sweep, but I’d get to it later. I only had two hours before I’d have to pick up Lauren from school and I wanted to get as much of her room unpacked as I could. It was the last day of the spring term and we’d have two weeks’ holiday to get ourselves settled in before she had to go back to school.
I made to move, but the warmth of the sun on my back was so good. I soaked up the freedom for a moment, admiring the property, which was a million miles away from the dark 1890s cottage we’d been living in, despite it only being a short drive away. Our new home was a modern red-brick-built detached property with no leaking sash windows or icy slate tiles to be seen. The close, Beech Close – so called, I assumed, because of the single beautiful beech tree which stood proudly in the middle of a circular patch of green – was small, with only six houses dotted around the luscious grass centrepiece. It had the feel of a gated community, a private road for the privileged.
Each house was identical in size and design, even down to the pillar-box red uPVC doors and garages. All had white double-glazed windows and small driveways with a snippet of a lawn. When I had first viewed the property, I was concerned it was a little too perfect, and my old VW Golf sitting on the driveway would devalue the street. The estate agent had laughed off my comment and by the end of the tour I was smitten and offered a deposit, only to be told there were other interested parties, and the owner was going to make the final selection. I offered six months’ rent up front and luckily we were chosen.
Lauren hadn’t been inside yet, although we’d driven around the close a couple of times. It had all moved so quickly, we hadn’t had time for a second viewing. She’d been excited before school this morning at the idea of coming home to a new house. Mum’s cottage, where we’d spent the last couple of years, was full of cobwebs and dark corners, and Lauren said she was looking forward to not being cold all the time. She had a point. The cottage was old and needed lots of work, but it was a listed building and sold within days for a higher price than I expected. There was a bidding war between two couples, the estate agent had informed us.
Lauren couldn’t wait to leave, and I didn’t blame her. It had been tough, her childhood marred and put on hold while Mum was ill. I’d discovered she was planning a housewarming party for all her friends as soon as she could get me to agree. Warranted for all of the times she’d missed out having anyone come to play over the past two years she’d watched her nan deteriorate. I was looking forward to seeing her be a kid again, she’d had too much on her young shoulders recently.
The dog barking nudged me from my thoughts.
‘Coming, Teddy,’ I called out, striding towards the house to let him out of the kitchen. I’d shut our four-year-old border terrier out of the way of the removal men and the poor thing was likely desperate to go to the toilet.
Rushing inside, I forgot to close the front door so when I opened the kitchen door, Teddy bolted straight for freedom. The pull of new sounds and smells too much for him to resist.
‘Teddy!’ I shouted, dashing after him. The close was a quiet cul-de-sac, with barely any traffic, but the thought of him being squashed by a neighbour reversing off their driveway made my legs pump faster.
He was quick for a dog with little legs, and I caught sight of him turning left out of the driveway.
‘Teddy!’ I scowled, hurrying after him.
As I rounded the hedge, I saw him squatting on the neighbour’s lawn to release his bowels.
‘Oh God, Teddy,’ I hissed, looking up at the house and cringing. It was a great way to introduce myself to the neighbours, by my dog crapping on their perfectly mown lawn. I didn’t have a bag on me either, although I reached into my pockets to try to find one, despite knowing they’d be empty. ‘Come on, let’s go get a bag and clear this up,’ I said loudly, reaching down to hold Teddy by the collar and walk him back towards the house.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ came a shrill voice behind me once we were almost at the door. Still clutching Teddy’s collar, hunched over, I twisted around to see who was there.
Taking the opportunity to escape from my grasp, Teddy sprinted at the woman standing at the end of my driveway, whose eyes widened in horror as if a monster was hurtling towards her and not a border terrier. He was hoping for a cuddle, but by the look on her face it was
2
Teddy launched at her, scrambling on his hind legs, mouth gaping and tongue out. His bronze tail wagged at the prospect of a stroke from a stranger as the woman tried to bat him away, palms outstretched.
‘Get off, get off, you vicious creature,’ she squawked, and I ran forward to pick Teddy up, who wriggled in protest.
‘Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you,’ I said, mildly amused at the image of our soppy Teddy being some rabid beast. Cujo he was not.
The woman brushed herself down, the tassels of her violet pashmina catching in the breeze. She looked immaculate in a knee-length skirt and block heels, her strikingly silver hair pulled into a tight chignon. Her face was flawlessly made-up, cranberry nails perfectly matched her shade of lipstick and she oozed glamour despite easily being in her mid-sixties. In comparison, I felt dowdy in my scruffy dungarees and long-sleeved T-shirt, speckled with dog hair and dust from moving boxes.
‘I’m so sorry. Teddy escaped before I could close the front door,’ I explained, blowing my fringe out of my eyes, and lifting my face as Teddy tried to lick my cheek.
‘I saw you. You let that mutt desecrate my lawn and walked away.’ The woman’s jaw tightened, her stare slicing through me. She was incandescent and I let out a nervous giggle at her exaggerated performance. Clearly, she wasn’t a dog lover.
‘I needed to get a poo bag, I didn’t have one on me,’ I replied with a smile, trying to pacify her.
She wrinkled her nose, shaking her head dismissively. ‘Do you think I was born yesterday?’
Teddy continued to struggle, and I put him inside, taking the keys out of the lock and closing the front door. Perhaps I’d try a different tack.
‘I sorry, we seem to have got off on the wrong foot. I’m Shelly, I’m your new neighbour. Here, let me get a bag out of my car and I’ll clear the mess up.’
‘Please do. It’s disgusting,’ she berated before stomping away, not bothering with an introduction.
I rolled my eyes as I ducked inside my car, pulling a tiny bag out from the passenger footwell.
‘Welcome to the neighbourhood,’ I muttered to myself, trying to shake off the confrontation. I wasn’t one of those people who didn’t clear up after their dog, but at the same time I didn’t keep a poo bag in the pocket of every single item of clothing I owned. She’d overreacted, to say the least. However, the last thing I wanted was to make an enemy of my new neighbour the day I moved in.
I walked back around to the front of her house, glad of the tall hedges which separated her property from mine. Teddy’s stomach had been a bit dodgy all day, anxiety due to the move no doubt, and the present he’d left on my neighbour’s lawn was difficult to pick up. I did the best I could, dismayed at how much had been smudged into the grass. Oh well, it would serve the miserable old bat right.
‘Hi,’ called a plummy voice from some distance behind me as I stood and tied a knot in the bag. I turned to see an attractive blonde woman in a Breton T-shirt crossing the green and waving at me. Her hair bounced upon her shoulders in soft waves as she jogged, looking like she’d stepped out of a catalogue shoot. Dark denim straight-legged jeans teamed with bright white Converse trainers, she swung her arms as she slowed to a walk, a broad smile displaying perfect pink apple cheeks.
‘Hello,’ I replied, trying to muster up the same level of enthusiasm.
‘I’m Niamh, we live at number six.’ She pointed over towards the last house, the one I was sure I’d seen the curtains twitching earlier. Niamh held out a perfectly French manicured hand, quickly retracting it when she saw what I was holding. ‘Oh,’ she said, with a girlish giggle.
‘Sorry, my dog, Teddy…’ I began before thinking better of it. ‘I’m Shelly, I’ve just moved in,’ I said, taking a couple of steps towards my house and away from my angry neighbour’s lawn.
Niamh followed, clapping her hands together. ‘So, I see. Welcome to Beech Close. It’s lovely to meet you. We could do with some fresh blood around here.’
‘I’m not sure everyone would agree with that,’ I replied, looking back over my shoulder.
‘Oh, don’t worry about Valerie, she’s the same with everyone, ignore her.’ Niamh waved her hand dismissively and I instantly lifted. ‘Is it just you and the dog?’ she continued, gesturing to the poo bag I was still holding.
‘My daughter too, she’s ten. Do you have any children?’ I asked hopefully, Lauren would love to have a playmate living in the same street.
‘God no, plenty of time for that, I’m only thirty,’ she laughed. ‘My husband, Finn, wants to travel before we’re drowning in nappies and breast milk.’ Her expression was one of distaste and I tried not to laugh.
‘Are there any other children in the close?’
‘Afraid not. Listen I’ve got to dash, I’m late for Pilates, but perhaps I’ll have a little soirée this week so you can meet some of the other neighbours.’ Niamh raised a heavily plucked eyebrow, a twinkle in her eyes.
‘Sure, thanks,’ I replied, a little bewildered. Perhaps the close was a tight-knit community and they all socialised together? At least she was more friendly than the other woman, Valerie.
Back at Mum’s we were one of three cottages at the end of a quiet lane and the neighbours barely acknowledged us. Despite making an effort when we’d first arrived. Since then, I’d got used to being left alone. Maybe they were much more social in Beech Close, although I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I valued my privacy.
Niamh waved as she marched back across the green towards her house.
I checked my watch, time was running out if I was going to get Lauren’s room sorted before collecting her. I had to get a wriggle on.
Teddy was pawing and barking at the front door when I opened it, excited to see me, and I ruffled his head. ‘You are a pain in the proverbial,’ I said with a chuckle.
He followed me upstairs, laying in the hallway as I unpacked sheets into the large airing cupboard before making Lauren’s bed. I tackled the boxes with her name written in black marker on the top, which had been stacked neatly in the corner opposite the door.
The walls were a pale yellow, which matched her Hufflepuff bedding. My daughter was mad on Harry Potter and currently working her way through The Prisoner of Azkaban, the third book in the series. I’d left the dog-eared copy on her bedside table, along with her radio, notepad and pen. Lauren loved to record her dreams, which were so vivid she had to write them down. I was jealous, I only seemed to have nightmares since Mum passed, which the doctor had told me was common under the circumstances. He’d kindly given me a prescription of sleeping pills, but I was rubbish at remembering to take them. They sat dormant in the bathroom cabinet for emergencies.
Balancing on Lauren’s bed in front of the window, I put up the grey curtains we’d brought with us from Mum’s, grateful the windows were of a similar size. Fairy lights were wrapped around the white framework of Lauren’s bed, and I laid the fluffy rug on the carpet beside it, imagining her little feet enjoying the comfort as she climbed out in the mornings.
Both bedrooms had fitted wardrobes, which meant I had got rid of the old rails on wheels we’d used before. It wasn’t long before all Lauren’s clothes had been unpacked and were neatly hung up. I left a box of toys for her to do herself but managed to get through everything else. By the time I’d finished, her desk and chair were back together and the bookcase had been rebuilt, her Harry Potter collection stacked neatly on the top shelf.
