Her Dark Retreat: a psychological thriller with a twist you won't see coming, Page 3

  A noise somewhere behind her catches her attention. She stops what she is doing and waits. It’s there again - a dull, scratching sound. She turns around, stands up and heads over to the window. Peggy would love to convince herself that it’s a branch scraping the roof tiles were it not for the fact that the nearest tree is almost a hundred feet away. The wind has strengthened but it’s a mere whisper compared to what they are used to hearing here, perched high up on the cliff top. She listens to the rocks being lashed by the sea below; angry, wet claws tearing at the very ground beneath her feet. A different sound altogether but again, a familiar one. She peers out. The impending storm seems to have passed them by, headed off northward, its grey, bulging mass now a threat to the unsuspecting folk of Norway. A few drops of rain hit the window. Just a short shower. Not the downpour they were expecting. Peggy leans forward and watches the sea still bashing the coastline furiously, then up at the cobalt sky above. How quickly the weather changes, altering its trajectory, proving forecasters wrong time and time again. She feels a tug of mild relief. They will have enough inclement weather to deal with soon enough. The winters up here are fierce and unforgiving.

  She shuffles back over to where the grating sound is emanating from and stands motionless, her body heightened to every movement and breath of wind, her skin prickling as the noise gets louder, becoming amplified under her feet. It’s down there somewhere, moving around the floor, each noise accentuated in the emptiness of the room. She kneels down, her ear to the floor, and listens once more.

  Sitting up as if burnt, her skin crawls with dismay and disgust. Mice. Shit, shit, shit. Bloody mice in their basement. Steel arms wrap themselves around her innards. Small rodents fill her with complete and utter dread. She thinks of the cellar floor covered with their scaly feet and long, swishing tails and feels a juddering pulse take hold in her neck. Ringing pest control is out of the question. How would she handle a perfect stranger walking about under their house? Somebody has to do it. It can’t be her. Definitely not her. And getting them in will cost money, something they currently don’t have a great deal of. Friends laugh at their financial woes whenever the subject crops up. ‘But he’s a teacher and you’re an author!’ they cry in unison.

  ‘You must be rolling in it!’

  ‘You live in a listed property. Only people with money can afford to do that ...’

  If only they knew the debt Peggy had gotten into whilst waiting for her books to sell. And everyone knows about teachers’ wages. As for living in a listed property - Chamber Cottage- beautiful though it is, is a money pit. Their latest expenditure - double glazing - was a necessity to keep the raging elements at bay. Right now, the one thing they don’t have is any expendable income.

  By the time Alec arrives home, she has convinced herself that the mice have multiplied a hundredfold. She can visualise them scurrying around under the floorboards, gnawing at wires, getting up through a crack in the brickwork and crawling over her body as she sleeps. She slaps her palm over her mouth to stop herself from gagging.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he says nonchalantly, ‘It’s no big deal. I’ll get some traps first thing in the morning. Good job it’s the weekend, eh? Or you’d have your furry little friends running around under your feet for a bit longer than you’d like.’

  Peggy wants to scream out loud at him; at his lackadaisical attitude, at the fact they don’t even have enough cash in the bank to call somebody in to see off an infestation of mice. They are down there, darting and bustling about, living off God knows what, running amok beneath her feet, spreading their germs around like poison and he is making a joke of it. She should have gone down there herself but the thought of entering that place ... that dank, musty, old hole; somewhere that sets her nerves jangling. She would rather it was sealed off permanently. Forget it even exists. She closes her eyes, shivers dramatically, and turns away.

  ‘I hate the very idea of them being so near to me. Won’t they go away if we just ignore them? Surely they’ll just die off eventually?’ Her stomach is in knots. Nausea rises as she stares at him.

  Alec sighs. His voice is a low croak as he speaks, a murmur of reassurance, ‘Like I said, Pegs, it’s nothing to get all het up about. Just one of the joys of living in an old cottage. They get in through the air bricks - and before you ask - no they can’t be closed up. Not unless you want damp coming up through the floor. It’ll be sorted by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll go out first thing and get armed to the teeth with traps and chocolate.’ He smiles, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth, a gift from the care system, the only decent thing it afforded him, ‘Little buggers can’t resist the stuff apparently. Now can we just relax and enjoy the weekend?’

  His tone suggests that the matter is closed. Peggy stares at his face. A line of anxiety sits between his eyebrows. He looks tired, worn out. More than that - exhausted. Pushing the matter any further is pointless. She looks away, blinking back tears. Stupid bloody mice. Once they are dead, then the cellar can be closed up for good and forgotten about once and for all. She will seal the trapdoor and throw away the key.

  ‘I got some shopping in today,’ she whispers, her eyes downcast, already knowing what he will say. An overreaction will ensue. He doesn’t disappoint. Alec’s face changes and he grabs her hand, strong and powerful, and then gives her a firm hug. Peggy stands stiffly, waiting, knowing what comes next.

  ‘Great stuff, Pegs. Keep it up. You’ll be pleasantly surprised at how easy it is once you get into a routine.’

  She screams inwardly, knowing he would make something of it. Blow it out of all proportion. This is what he does. Piling on the pressure for Peggy to conform to normality is one of his least endearing traits.

  ‘So anyway, now you’re deciding to venture out a bit more, I was wondering if you fancied this?’ He leans over and produces an envelope from his jacket pocket, his manner jocular and childlike. The sight of it makes her stomach plummet. God, he is so utterly predictable.

  ‘It’s a welcoming party - well not a party really,’ he interjects rapidly as he susses the look on Peggy’s face, ‘more of an informal get-together to say hello to the rest of the staff and their families ...’

  The words hang heavily in the air. She should have known this was coming really, been more prepared for it. She feels his eyes on her, watching and waiting for some kind of response. Well, for once, she will surprise him. She needs to get out more; of course she does. She realises that. She can’t go on forever, shut up in this place. And as much as she fears the outside world, sometimes these four walls are not always enough. In fact, just lately, she has feared them even more. Today she felt confident - no, not confident, that’s too over optimistic a word, but not as panicky, not as - whatever the word is that eludes her, the point is she felt better about facing the outside world. Feeling slightly unsteady, Peggy slumps into a nearby chair and stares down at her feet. She needs to choose her words carefully; remember to not touch her face. He hates it when she does that. It riles him up, makes him convinced she’s looking for sympathy. She isn’t. Why would she want anybody’s sympathy? Behind her the scratching continues. Alec doesn’t seem to hear it but Peggy can. It circles around her head, growing louder and louder, taunting her, reminding her. She has to go with him. She really, really needs to do this. Alec is scrutinising her every move, she can sense it; every twitch, every breath that exits her trembling body is under observation. She has to say yes, get out of here, get away from this place. The last few weeks have been hell. Her hand begins to travel up to her right eye. She stops it, seeing Alec growing more and more infuriated. She doesn’t want it to be this way - the slightest everyday chore an uphill climb. She wants to be normal, be like everyone else. But she’s been like this for so long now, she can no longer remember what normal feels like.

  Tears prick at her eyes and everything sways as she strives to find the right words. She has to speak soon, before his temper gets the better of him. She is in no fit state for one of his rages. Havin
g to put up with one of his thunderous moods right now would very probably be the undoing of her; send her crashing down into a place she would rather not visit. Images flood her mind, meshing and overlapping, stabbing at her innermost fears; her mother’s email, an army of mice down beneath her feet feeding on God knows what, an ever-growing stain that has haunted her for weeks now. Run of the mill events that others are able to deal with she simply cannot handle. It’s the ordinary stuff that sends her into an almighty meltdown. But she did manage today. She actually did it. If she coped today then she can cope with tomorrow and whatever it may bring. And if she can keep on coping, building on it day by day, then everything will be just fine. Making a conscious effort to keep her hands pinned tightly in her lap, Peggy looks up at Alec and speaks.

  5

  Alec

  He drags his fingers across the stubble on his chin and sighs. Jesus fucking Christ. Why does she make everything so bloody hard? Is it her sole aim in life to balls up every social event that they’re invited to? She’s going to refuse. He can just tell. That’s how well he knows her. Like the back of his hand. Standing with his feet slightly apart, Alec furls his hands into tight, hard fists, his nails digging into his palms as he clenches and unclenches his fingers. All he is asking for is a little bit of support in his new job. The job that pays for their car; the job that helps pay for their lovely little cottage with views many would give their pension for. What will it take for his wife to start acting normally? He wants to holler at her, tell her to leave her face alone and fucking grow up. But he doesn’t. Instead he takes a few deep breaths - in out, in out. His temples throb and burn with unspent rage.

  ‘Where is it?’ she asks, her voice tight and husky.

  He stops and stares, blinking rapidly. He’s misheard her, he must have, ‘Where is it?’ He repeats her words. This a new one. No refusals, no tears, no rubbing at her scars. This is progress.

  ‘Yes. Where is it? I might go with you.’ She is calm, her eyes glassy, unreadable. ‘If you want me to, that is?’

  A small buzz takes hold in his head as it hits him. His breath catches in his chest, a bubble of expectation, ‘Really? You’ll come with me?’ He stares hard, unable to take it in. This is a new sensation. It takes a few seconds for her words to fully register.

  ‘I just said so, didn’t I?’ Peggy stares up at him and smiles, ‘I ventured out today. Nobody stared, nobody said anything. Nobody gave me a second glance, Alec.’

  He gets down on his haunches, takes her face in his hands, suddenly overcome with gratitude, ‘That’s because there’s nothing to see, sweetheart.’

  She starts to speak but is stopped. Alec holds his hand up and stares hard at her face, ‘I know you think these stand out like a sore thumb,’ he says, gently tracing the mesh of her scars, ‘but they really don’t. You have lovely skin and a winning smile. That’s all you need.’

  A short silence as she gives him a half grin and shrugs nonchalantly, ‘I’m no stunner, never have been. Even before this,’ she points to her face and then lets her hand drop onto her lap, ‘so you don’t have to butter me up. I’m all too aware of my standing in the beauty stakes.’

  Alec exhales and pats her hand then stands back up, ‘It’s Wednesday next week. Won’t be a late one as we’ve all got work the next day. It’s at a pub in Lythe. I’ll drive.’

  .They eat their evening meal in near silence, Alec too tired to converse. It may be a Friday but he has a stack of paperwork to get through. He either does it this evening or has it waiting in store for him sometime over the weekend, which is even less appealing. He watches Peggy as she pushes her food around the plate before declaring she wasn’t really hungry anyway. Her mind is elsewhere - her book, the cottage, the invitation. Her mind is always elsewhere. There is always something to worry about, something to keep her from him. He thinks of Ellen standing in front of his desk today, her fine golden hair glinting in the late afternoon sun and the trail of perfume she left in her wake, then eyes his wife as she gathers up the dishes and hobbles off towards the sink. At only thirty-five she has the gait of somebody much older, shuffling around, shoulders hunched, head permanently tipped forward. He suppresses his anger. Her many miscarriages have taken it out of her but without a doubt, the main reason for her current state is the scars. She has always been self-conscious to a degree, but lately the whole thing seems to have gotten out of hand. When she was younger she wore make-up, did her best to disguise them, threw her head back when she laughed. But these days she rarely even smiles, and as for make-up and attempts at looking glamorous - well, only yesterday she was still in her pyjamas when he got home from work. There was a time, not long ago, when she started getting out, going into town more. Her therapy seemed to be working. And for a while she was happy. But then it stopped abruptly and since then it’s been a downward spiral. Alec shakes his head despondently. There are times when he could swear she actually enjoys being miserable and mildly disfigured.

  ‘I’ll come with you in the morning.’ Peggy is at the sink staring out at the barely visible line where the black sky meets the dark, shimmering sea. He watches her as she focuses on the small flecks of silver, moving and swaying with the ebb and flow of the tide. Such perfect rhythm and beauty.

  ‘Where am I going?’ Alec picks up his case, grabs a manila folder and slowly flicks through a wad of papers that are tucked inside.

  ‘To the hardware shop in town for mouse traps. Remember?’

  He rolls his eyes and grabs a pen from his jacket pocket, ‘Ah yes. Mouse traps. How could I forget?’

  Sitting down at the table, he finds himself secretly hoping Peggy will have a bath or watch TV or do anything rather than write. He’s not sure he can hack having her so close at the minute. He needs a bit of space from her woes. It’s good she’s getting out and coming to the pub but he knows her well enough to realise this may well be short lived. What she rarely realises is the fact that he too has a whole heap of worries roaming around in his head. If anyone knew the things that flit in and out of his brain throughout the day … he swallows hard and stops himself. That route is not an attractive one. He shifts his thoughts elsewhere. There is work to be done. He needs to stay focused, not allow himself to get bogged down with memories he would sooner forget. He stares hard at the papers set out before him and quickly becomes immersed, scribbling away, scanning data, doing everything he can to keep the darkness at bay. Because once it descends, there’s no telling what will happen.

  6

  Peggy

  She is determined to accompany him. She needs to. It was an unsettled night; one of many. She woke on the hour, every hour; lying as still as the grave, listening to the ominous roar of the thrashing waves outside, and now she is exhausted but armed with a steely resolve to do this, to go with Alec into town. The recent email from her mother kept her from sleep, gave her more than enough reason to lie awake into the early hours wondering what it would be like to be somebody else, somebody beautiful. Somebody worthy. She likes to think she has that aspect of her life sorted, that she handles it pretty well, but truth be told, contact from her mother still makes her nervous, stops her from functioning as she usually would, which isn’t good at the best of times. It rakes it all up again in her head, thoughts of that period in her life. That day. Looking in the mirror is bad enough. A shadow of the person she used to be stares back at her. Any sort of contact makes her head swim. And when the content of her mother’s email wasn’t lodged in her mind, her book was there; how to add to the intricacies of characters’ intentions and how best to plug the gaping holes in the long and convoluted plot. As a result, she feels like death warmed up, but no amount of exhaustion is going to weaken her will. She strokes her face, feeling the web of lines underneath her fingers, thinking how little they have faded over the years. Just like the ones she wears inside her head - vivid, harsh, ugly.

  ‘I need to get straight back. Got some figures to work out.’ Alec slips his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and
grabs his keys out of the fruit bowl by the window.

  ‘I thought you finished everything last night?’ Peggy feels a frisson of annoyance run through her. He was there till well after midnight, flicking through papers, tapping away on his laptop. How much work is he expected to do every weekend? Besides which, he constantly complains about her not leaving the house and when she finally relents, he wants to come back home as soon as possible - what is all that about? She quashes her anger, eager to spend some time with him, this virtual stranger she calls her husband. She glances in the mirror - always shocked at the reflection that stares back at her - and sees a person in disguise, a splash of blusher, a slick of lipstick. A bright, shiny face - full of colour, devoid of emotion. A mask of insecurities. She purses her lips and applies more lipstick then sneaks another quick glance. The image that stares back tells her everything she needs to know. She is passable. No goddess, but then as Alec so casually reminded her yesterday with his backhanded compliment, she has a winning smile. What more can she possibly need? The confidence to live her life as it should be lived perhaps? Because as it is, living in fear of living is no life at all.

  ‘Still got some bits of paperwork that need sorting. I’d rather do it sooner than later. Don’t want it preying on my mind all weekend.’

  Peggy suppresses a sigh. A lump forms in her throat, hard as rock, immovable, solid. She wants to enjoy their time together, make a go of it. She hoped that this morning could be the start of something better. Things haven’t been great between them for some time and she has to take some blame for that. Her inability to move on from the past has hindered things. And over the past few months she has convinced herself that it’s their working hours that have been the main contributor to their marital decline. But deep down she knows that’s not entirely true. Because of course there was Sheryl. A dark, heavy mood descends at the thought of her. Sheryl with her contagious laugher, effervescent demeanour and porcelain skin. Oh God, that gorgeous, blemish free skin. She was so utterly fresh looking and perfect she practically sparkled.