Her Dark Retreat: a psychological thriller with a twist you won't see coming, Page 2

  Her battered old Clio kicks up gravel as she puts it into reverse, does a three point turn on the tiny postage stamp size drive next to the house and sets off into town.

  3

  Alec

  He grabs the invitation and shoves it deep inside his jacket pocket, already thinking of a stream of plausible excuses as to why they can’t go. We were on our way when Peggy took ill; we’ve got another function on that evening - what are the odds? We’d love to come but Pegs has a writing deadline that week and usually works through the night to get it finished. He knows them all off by heart. And he’s new here. It gives him the chance to work his way through the old, apologetic explanations he trotted out at his previous school before he has to think up new ones. In the end the staff there stopped inviting him, and who could blame them? Peggy and Alec’s continued absences were an insult to the efforts of those involved. Nobody wants to be continually ignored or rebuffed. It shouldn’t have happened. He shouldn’t have allowed it to happen. He should have been firmer with her, coaxed her, told her everything would be all right. But after a while it becomes wearing, having to prop someone up all the time, to constantly pander to their needs. So, he stopped. But this time around he really needs to stick to his guns, to up his game socially. He has to make a good impression at this place. He’s the deputy head for God’s sake and has a duty to mingle with his team, be friendly, approachable. The last thing he wants is to come across as superior and aloof. This is a tough school - he needs them on his side. Alec pulls the piece of paper back out of his pocket and reads it again. A get-together to welcome new staff members at a local bar. Dear Lord, how awful would it look if he didn’t turn up? His own welcome party and he can’t even be bothered showing his face. He pictures it in his head, an empty space in the pub, people whispering about him not being there, conspicuous by his absence, then closes his eyes and visualises Peggy’s expression when he mentions the invite. She will go pale and gingerly stroke her right eye and he will feel guilty for asking her and watch her as she shuffles off, huddled in her own blanket of misery.

  The door creaks and Alec looks up to see a slim, nervous-looking woman standing in front of him. Good looking, nice hair. He places the paper down on his desk and gives her his best welcoming smile, hoping she doesn’t spot the crack in his veneer. He has to make a good impression here. This is his chance to shine, an opportunity to make a difference. She steps forward and hands him a sheath of papers.

  ‘The Year 5 targets you asked for?’

  ‘Ah yes, of course …’ Alec murmurs as an unexpected redness creeps its way up his neck.

  ‘Ellen,’ she whispers nervously and tugs at her skirt to straighten out a crease that has gathered around her midriff.

  ‘Ellen ...’ Alec repeats her name, enjoying the feel of it as it rolls off his tongue. ‘Ellen,’ he says once more, ‘thanks for these, I’ll get them back to you first thing in the morning.’

  She nods and stands for a while seemingly unsure what to say or do next, her eyes taking in the pictures and framed certificates hanging in the room before landing on the recently placed family photographs on his desk. One of him and Peggy, arms tucked tight round each other’s waists, another of Peggy on her own, a side profile of her taken in a restaurant on their honeymoon, when she wasn’t looking - her good side - the only side she wants people to see. A long time ago. Or at least that’s how it feels. An era when they were happy. A time when passion was their overriding emotion. Back in the days when Peggy smiled.

  ‘Anyway, better be off,’ she says quietly, ‘Rory was on the point of kicking off as I left. Don’t want to leave poor Jeanette on her own for too long. We’ve had a right morning of it over there.’

  ‘You can always send him over to me.’ Alec pulls at his collar. It feels unseasonably hot in his office. Perspiration begins to gather round his neck as he unfastens his top button and loosens his tie.

  Ellen raises her eyebrows in mock astonishment and makes a light whistling sound, ‘You sure about that? The last deputy head who said that ended up getting spat at,’ she says, her mouth pursed, ‘by Rory’s brother, funnily enough.’

  Alec nods and straightens up the papers in front of him, ‘Well, why don’t we give it a go? See how he gets on. Tell him I need someone to help set up the P.E. equipment but he can only do it if he finishes his work first.’

  Ellen runs her tongue over her teeth with a small flick and gives him an appreciative nod. Alec is well aware of how much it rankles staff when naughty pupils get the best jobs and all the attention. It’s all about balance when it comes to dealing with children and behavioural issues. There are no easy answers. And he should know. The vision of his father’s fist landing with a crack on his cheekbone splits into his thoughts. He feels the warmth of the blood as it runs down his face and brings his hand up, faintly surprised to find it dry. Another memory jolts him. Yet another beating he received when he pushed his fists into another child’s face shortly afterwards, full of misdirected hurt and anger, imagining it was his father’s belly. Alec runs his fingertips over his knuckles, recalling the feel of soft skin against bone, the screams of the other boy, the bubbling fury he felt all those years ago. The fury he still feels now.

  He gives a small shiver and smiles, his face a frozen grimace as he watches her bustle out of his office, her pert bottom remaining rigid with every step. He keeps his eyes firmly focused on her panty line - a sharp, neat triangle through the fabric of her skirt. Alec feels a small buzz of excitement. He wonders if she’ll be at the welcoming evening and then quickly chastises himself. He shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea. She is a colleague, one he barely even knows, come to that, and he has to stop this. He’s acting like a bloody teenager. He’s got Peggy. She is his wife and she needs him. Things haven’t been great for them lately but then, find him a perfect marriage and he will find you a pair of liars.

  Rory was quite the angel when in the presence of a six-foot-four-inch male who holds a position of authority. They spent the next hour hauling basketball stands out of the P.E. cupboard and sorting out table tennis nets which had become tangled into small tight knots.

  ‘Thanks Rory. Couldn’t have done it without you, lad. A job well done.’

  The ragged-looking boy beams at him and skitters off over the playground. Alec sighs as he watches him as he makes his way back towards class, the boy’s demeanour changing visibly the closer he gets to the door - head down, shoulders hunched. Poor kid. All he wants to do is play football and roll about in a bit of dirt and instead he’s shut up in a classroom all day, trying to digest how best to use fronted adverbials, modal verbs, and relative clauses, and attempting to work out what the difference is between an active and a passive voice. What has the world come to when a person is defined by the number of adjectives they use in a piece of writing? What on earth happened to learning the times tables and a bit of physical exercise for youngsters? Alec turns and heads back into his office. There are times when he questions the very essence of why he ever became a teacher.

  He spends the rest of the afternoon sifting through the papers with a fine toothcomb and analysing the data, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. By the time he switches his office light out and tugs on his coat he already has this welcome party problem worked out in his head. It flitted in and out of his thoughts all afternoon, demanding his attention. Somehow, he will persuade Peggy they should go, mither her, remind her of his duties, do whatever it takes. And if his powers of persuasion aren’t enough, then he will go on his own. He wouldn’t usually do such a thing, but this is his life as well. God knows he has helped Peggy through enough tough times. He deserves her support for a change. Enough is enough.

  It’s late when he finally leaves school. Vera, their site manager is standing impatiently, keys in hand as he closes his door and heads out into the darkness, the sound of jangling metal telling him she has had enough of waiting around. When he first took the position here at Park Tree Primary he promised himself there
would be no more late nights, no more hanging around doing last minute jobs, but time continually seems to get the better of him and he is always the final one to leave.

  His footsteps crunch over the small patch of gravel outside the office as he hurries into the car park, head down against the bracing autumnal wind. He stops suddenly, a shadow ahead catching his attention. Alec tries to stem the uneasy sensation he has that somebody is watching him. He’s had it before, the eerie feeling that he isn’t alone. He thinks of Peggy and her caustic laughter when he told her he thought he had seen something or someone at their cottage. He shakes his head and continues on, head dipped against the growing breeze. She’s right of course. He reads too much into things. And why on earth would anybody want to watch him? He’s a regular thirty-something man leading an average life in the north-east of England, not a bloody film star. He continues to stare into the darkness, his fingers twitching nervously as he narrows his eyes and scans the area.

  Small spots of rain hit the back of his neck. Alec looks up and squints. He needs to make a move before it escalates into a downpour. Visibility can get pretty bad on the coast road in the rain. Plunging his hand into his pocket he rummages around for his keys. Come on man. He lets out a deep throaty growl of frustration, bone tired after a ten-hour day. He just wants to get home now. He locates them and curls his fingers around the serrated edge of the cold metal and stops to stare around, tiny splashes hitting his eyelashes, misting his vision. There’s nobody here. Stop over-thinking everything.

  His briefcase lands with a smack on the leather seat and he climbs in, suddenly grateful to be getting away from the office. It’s been a long one and he needs a hot bath to rest his aching back.

  The engine roars into life, the headlights spreading an off-white beam of light around the small, enclosed space, a tiny glow in the surrounding darkness. His eyes are drawn once more to a flicker in the shadows next to the bushes. He dismisses it. Just his imagination in overdrive, a trick of the light. Who would want to hang around here after dark? It’s starting to rain and blowing a hoolie out there. Probably a fox on the prowl, watching, waiting, ready to raid the bins once the place is empty. He slips the car into reverse and stares in the rear-view mirror as he manoeuvres his way out of a corner space. That’s when he sees it. A figure standing next to the fence; a blur of a silhouette in the shadows, framed in the moonlight. This time there’s no mistaking it. Alec looks away and tries to ignore the troubled sensation he feels down in the pit of his stomach. A pulse thrums in his neck, hammering out a steady, dull beat as it works its way up through his ears and into his head. When he looks back, it’s still there. An outline in the darkness, grey and shadowy and deeply unsettling. And it’s staring straight over at him.

  ‘We shouldn’t be together. This isn’t right.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You know why. We have to stop this.’

  A long, drawn out sigh - dramatic and contrived.

  ‘I’m married. This has to stop.’

  ‘I can’t stop. I need you.’

  Stillness, heavy and sour, punctured by the sound of distant weeping.

  Another sigh, softer, sincere.

  ‘Don’t cry. I can’t bear it when you cry.’

  Movement, footsteps, a barely audible breath, hot and passionate. The sound of linen crushed under the weight of bodies tumbling together in the darkness, falling into each other. The molten heat of skin meeting skin. Murmurs in the darkness, an intensity so deep it hurts.

  Minutes passing, hours perhaps. Time loses all meaning.

  ‘I have to go now.’

  A heavy stillness, loaded with simmering anger and resentment.

  ‘You always have to go. Is it too much to ask that you stay for a while longer? Do I mean so little to you?’

  ‘Don’t. Please don’t. You know I have to. I can’t stay, you know that.’

  Another air of protracted silence. Breath ragged and harsh, building in strength and power. Rhythmic. Powerful. Threatening.

  ‘I don’t know anything anymore. You’re always running away. Always running. It’s all you ever do. The only thing you’re good at. Go on then. GET OUT.’

  ‘Why are you acting like this? You should know better. You of all people ...’

  ‘Do NOT use that line on me.’

  ‘It’s true. You know it’s true.’

  ‘I said get out!’

  ‘Okay, as you wish.’

  The rustle of clothing and the soft echoes of remorse as the door clicks closed. The thump of footsteps fading. Moving further and further away. Then emptiness. Nothing but a cavernous void; silent and bottomless.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t leave me. I need you ...’

  4

  Peggy

  Peggy unloads the car and drops the bags at the back step, her eyes drawn to the grey stone. No mark. She lets out a small breath, hot and slightly sour, pushing it out through pursed lips and unlocks the door. The door swings open as she picks up the bags and staggers into the kitchen, hands red from the exertion. It was an easy journey. Easier than she anticipated. None of the usual shit that accompanies her whenever she leaves the house. No awkward silences or long, hard stares at her face from perfect strangers. No people scurrying past pretending to shift their gaze elsewhere; in a shop window, at a passing car, anywhere but at the patchwork quilt that is her face.

  She drops the bags onto the kitchen floor and puts everything away, then makes herself a sandwich, knowing she should eat. It’s been hours since breakfast, her stomach just hasn’t realised it. That’s the pattern lately - eat because it’s time, not when she’s ready. She places a thin slice of cheese between two pieces of wholemeal bread and feels her stomach flip as the smell hits her. Staring at it as if it were poison, Peggy picks it up and throws it into the bin. So much waste. Instead she makes a cup of tea as she waits for her laptop to whirr into life. A series of emails pop up, most of them spam that have somehow slipped through her junk filter. Seems to happen more and more these days, as if the entire system is struggling to cope. She deletes them and stares at the screen. Two remain - one from an agent she had dealings with last year and one from a sender whose name she doesn’t recognise. Hand hovering over the mouse, Peggy decides to open the one from the mystery person, braced for another bad review. It happens sometimes; people feel the need to vent their spleen when a book isn’t to their liking. An iron fist clutches at her stomach, squeezing hard as she reads through it and then quickly hits the delete button. That’s something she wasn’t prepared for. Silly really, her mother creating a new email address thinking Peggy won’t spot it. She’s quietly pleased Alec isn’t here peering over her shoulder as she opened it. He would have harangued her into replying, told her what’s done is done and she should forgive and forget. That’s never going to happen. Not while she has breath left in her body. Alec has no idea what goes on in her head when it comes to matters concerning her mother. She opens the other email and scans it; a sycophantic missive about a possible representation from an agent who only last year turned her down. She bins that as well and lets out an angry cackle. Funny how once your books start to be successful, people come flocking. Fans, agents. Psychotic parents.