The Open House

It placates him – at least temporarily. I practically drag both the boys out of the house and, as we walk-jog to school, I dial Nick.

‘Ah, good. Didn’t think I’d catch you before you began work,’ I say, breathlessly.

‘I’m out and about. Fact-finding mission for my latest cold case.’

‘Oh, right. Well, Leo has left his school bag in your car.’

‘No, he hasn’t,’ he responds with no hesitation. ‘He definitely took his bag with him when I dropped the boys back on Friday. Didn’t he give you the letter I gave him? He put it straight into his bag.’

‘No. What letter? And why didn’t you just give it to me instead of giving it to our six-year-old son?’

I hear a deep sigh. I’m not even trying to be awkward, I’m genuinely at a loss as to why Nick didn’t hand it to me when he brought the boys back. Maybe he knew I’d be angry for the whole “taking them without permission” thing and thought it simpler to get Leo to put the letter in his bag. Who knows what goes through a man’s head?

‘It came to my flat. Lord knows why. It’s been on the side for a couple of days, kept forgetting to give it to you, so I put it in the car to jog my memory. Leo picked it up while I was driving, so I asked him just to shove it in his rucksack. Anyway, I’m sure it couldn’t have been important, not if they hadn’t correctly addressed it; probably junk mail.’

It seems odd that someone should send a letter to me to an address I’ve never lived at, though. Maybe it was from someone who didn’t realise we’d split and had assumed I was with Nick at the new address.

‘Oh, actually, that reminds me. I’ve got a parcel at the house for you, too. Came on Friday. In the … er … stress of not knowing where the boys were, I forgot to give it to you.’

We left the call on amicable terms, as we always did, even after the heated discussion the other evening. I’ve never been able to stay angry with Nick. And it seemed that was a mutual thing.

So, now I’m left with a missing school bag and a missing letter.

Chapter Seventeen

Amber

When I open the front door twenty minutes later and walk through the hallway, I see the bag.

In the middle of the pile of shoes and stuff Finley had yanked out from under the stairs, there it sits.

‘What the hell?’ I grab it, pulling it free of the shoes. There’s no way I’d have missed it there. How could I have? And Leo, too? I’d been on my hands and knees shovelling all the stuff back. I’d have noticed a rucksack.

But I was rather stressed. And Leo wasn’t even looking properly.

God’s sake. If I make a detour to take it to school now, I’ll be late for work. Great start to Monday. Leo’s teacher was fine about it anyway, so it won’t hurt if I don’t take it. Leo was upset, but he’ll get over it – it’s probably already forgotten.

As I’m about to fling it back under the stairs, I remember the letter.

I check every zipped compartment. No letter.

Typical.

I have to go. I’ll ask Leo about it later. Maybe he took the letter out and put it somewhere “safe”.

I decide not to call Carl now as I’ve had enough stress already. I’ll do it this evening. I make some time up on the drive to work – no slow traffic, no tractors. And a parking space close to the entrance of the car park means I shave a little time off my walk to the optician’s. Hopefully my day is getting better.

My optimism wanes when I walk through the door, only to be greeted with stony faces and an accusatory glare from the boss, Henry. His wife, Olive, is standing beside him, her hand firmly on her hip.

They know.

I’m on the back foot – I wasn’t expecting this scenario to play out just yet.

‘Morning,’ I say. I carry on through the shop floor to the back room where we keep our bags and coats. I hang mine up, and while my back is turned, I try to plaster on a facial expression that fits with ‘I’m so sorry to land you in it,’ and ‘I’m sorry for not telling you myself.’

Who did tell them? When I turn back to face them, they’ve both disappeared.

That’s bad. They’re obviously really upset with me. I should’ve been upfront right from the beginning.

‘Olive?’ I call. ‘Henry?’

‘Why didn’t you say?’ I hear Olive’s soft, quiet voice. She’s in the doorway of the break room. ‘I don’t understand how you could keep it from us, Amber.’

‘I’m sorry, Olive.’ My posture sags. I really am sorry as I know they’ll feel let down. And I kept the move from them for my own selfish reasons. I didn’t think I’d feel this ashamed. ‘I honestly didn’t know how long it would all take, so didn’t want to be too premature in telling you. I’ve had no offers, so it could be months and months yet before I’d even need to give notice.’

‘Need to?’ It’s Henry’s voice that booms in my ear now. He’s come to join in – watch my discomfort. ‘I really didn’t think it would be a case of what you were required to do, Amber. Not after all we’ve done to accommodate your needs. I’d have thought you’d offer the common courtesy of giving us a heads-up – a couple of months’ notice rather than the statutory one month.’

‘Of course. I completely understand, and that would be what I’d like to do, too. But how can I give notice if I don’t know when I’ll be leaving? As I just said to Olive, I’ve had zero interest – it could be months, a year, for all I know.’ My defences are up. Being put on the spot is making me anxious and when I’m cornered, I tend to say things I later regret. However much I’m in the wrong, morally, I’m going to put up a fight so I don’t come off worse.

It takes another five minutes of me trying to explain myself before Olive and Henry appear to have accepted I didn’t withhold the information to purposely hurt their business. I did say I was “testing the market” and might not go at all – which of course is an untruth. And one Leo would be very upset with me for telling. But I need this job until I’m ready to go.

It’s not until lunchtime, when Olive is sitting eating a microwave korma meal, that I get the opportunity to ask the burning question.

‘How did you know my house was on the market anyway?’

‘Oh, your mother-in-law came in to pick up her glasses on Saturday. She mentioned it in passing. She obviously didn’t realise you hadn’t told us.’

My face burns. Barb did know I hadn’t informed the Stewarts. I’d specifically told her. And she happened to come into the shop on a Saturday, a day she knew I didn’t work. And after the whole Maccies debacle on Friday. I attempt to swallow the anger. I ball my fists and take some slow, deep breaths.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Barb has done this on purpose.

Chapter Eighteen

Barb

How could she think I did it on purpose?

My ear is hot where I’ve been holding the phone tight up against it for the last ten minutes while Amber talked at me. She barely took a breath; certainly not long enough for me to get a word in. No chance to even defend myself. I tried to point out that her employers finding out about the move wasn’t in my interest either – if Amber were to be replaced before the house had sold, it could force her to sell to the property developers to speed everything up. But I stuttered and started and stopped, because Amber wouldn’t allow me to complete a single sentence.

Honestly, I’m shaking. Doesn’t she care what I’m going through? She seems to have forgotten I gave up my house. And here she is repaying me by accusing me of ruining things for her. I’ve had to make a cup of tea and sit on the sofa to recover from her outburst. When my ear stops burning and my hands stop trembling, I’m going to call Nick.

Amber seems overly upset about it all. I’d say there’s more to it; there’s something else troubling her. Hopefully, she and Richard have had a lover’s tiff; some disagreement about the future arrangements.

Or maybe she’s found out something that has rung an alarm.

Yes, I bet that’s it. Richard isn’t as wonderful as he’s led her to believe. She’s unearthed a bad side to him.

Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.

Everyone has a darker side, don’t they? Some are just better at keeping it hidden.

Chapter Nineteen

Amber

I’m all of a fluster after the phone call with Barb, but not as flustered as Carl appears to be at this moment. The doorbell rang as I was hanging up, so I opened it without checking the app to see who it was – the surprise at seeing him standing there took the edge off my frustration at Barb’s serious lack of ability to take responsibility for her actions.

‘I think I left my diary here yesterday,’ Carl says, his eyes wide as though he’s asked a question rather than stated a fact.

‘No. It’s not here,’ I say, keeping him on the doorstep. If I’m honest, I’m a little put out that he’s here for a bloody diary, not with news of a buyer. But at least him being here means I can ask him about the open house and for my key back. I’m about to tell him that I saw him leave with it, but I hold back – I don’t really want him to know I was virtually spying on him. I don’t think it’s really a big deal that I was, though. He must be aware of the doorbell app, he’s been here enough times. Although, to be fair, we’ve never spoken of it. The logo is on the bell itself and surely most people know what it is. Having said that, I don’t know anyone else with it in this village. I suppose most people don’t feel the need for the extra security in what’s considered a safe place to live. Before Nick suggested one, I hadn’t any knowledge of them apart from the odd advert on TV, which I didn’t take much notice of.

‘This is the last place I remember having it,’ he mutters and stretches his neck so he can see behind me, into the hallway. ‘Are you sure it’s not on the hall table?’ He’s rubbing the fingertips of each hand together. There must be a lot of important, possibly sensitive, information on his clients in it for him to be this concerned.

‘Quite sure. As you must’ve noticed, I’d cleared away any evidence of clutter, so I’d have seen it clearly.’ I don’t tell him how long it took to find Leo’s bag this morning. If it hadn’t been for me seeing Carl leave with the diary tucked under his arm, I would have to consider the possibility it was inside somewhere.

‘Yes, yes. You did a good job,’ he says, eyeing me cautiously. God, does he think I’ve taken the diary?

‘Sorry not to be of help. Did you return to the office after the open house? Or perhaps you took it home with you as it was a Sunday?’ I’m trying to be helpful, but Carl becomes more anxious, transferring his weight from one leg to the other. He looks like a toddler who needs a wee.

‘I can’t remember. Oh, well – it’ll turn up, no doubt.’

‘I assume all your appointments are computerised too, so you won’t—’

‘Yes. Yes – all that’s fine.’ He backs away from the door and turns as though he’s about to leave.

I can’t believe he isn’t going to mention the open house event.

‘Wait a moment,’ I say, to stop him leaving.

He whips back around to face me again.

‘How did the event go?’ I ask.

‘Oh, yes – sorry. Yep – went really well.’ He doesn’t seem keen to stay and chat; he begins to walk away again.

‘How well is well?’ I’m not letting him go until I’ve asked about everything that’s been concerning me. I’m sure I hear him huff.

Carl purses his lips, and then nods. ‘I’d say at least three positives, and one couple have asked for a second viewing. I just need to find their details …’

As he trails off, I experience a mini panic that their details are in the diary he can’t find. But I assume if worse comes to worst, they’ll call Carl if they don’t hear from him.

‘How many people attended?’ I’m aware I’m screwing my eyes up – and realise it’s partly from fear of the answer.

‘Er …’ He scratches his head. ‘Twelve, I think …’

I gulp. ‘Oh? You’re not sure?’

‘Well, I did write their details in the diary …’ He leaves the sentence hanging. Great. So, it’s not definitely twelve, it could’ve been thirteen like I thought. Not having a definitive number from Carl has just added another level of apprehension to my overanxious mind.

I must bring up the matter of the key now.

Ideally, I’d like to get him inside the house, rather than chatting about this outside. But as he’s edging towards his car this is my only chance.

‘I was thinking, Carl … Could I have my key back, please?’

‘Oh? Why?’ He stops in his tracks, his focus now fully on me. ‘I thought it was the best arrangement for you – you’d find it difficult otherwise while at work – and … well’ – he says with a wave of his hand – ‘whatever else it was you mentioned to begin with.’

‘Yes, that was the main reason for you having a key. But I could still let you have it in advance of any future viewings if you give me enough notice. I’d just feel better if I had the spare key in my possession, really.’

‘No one other than myself handles the key, Amber. It’s always locked away in the safe when not required.’ He’s getting defensive; his posture’s stiffened. ‘It’ll make it so much more awkward when arranging viewings …’ He peters off, but his eyes are boring into mine; their intensity makes me feel uneasy. It’s my key, my house – why should I feel bad about asking for it back?

‘I understand you keep it safe, Carl. It’s not that I don’t trust you, you know. But the other day when I was delayed at work, my mother-in-law couldn’t even get in the house with my children as you have the only spare.’ It’s not the reason I want it back, obviously, but on balance I think it’s a reasonable argument.

‘You could get another cut,’ Carl states.

‘I know I could. But I don’t want to,’ I say, my voice now rising in response to him being so obstinate.

‘Fine. If you insist, I’ll drop it back sometime after work tomorrow.’ He glares at me for a moment, then I see him open his mouth as though about to add something, but he changes his mind, turns and walks towards his Mercedes.

I’m conscious that the whole exchange was a little odd; I have an uneasy feeling I can’t pinpoint. His behaviour seems different since the open house – his reaction to me asking for my key over the top. What’s rattled his cage?

I hope the diary isn’t the only thing he’s mislaid.

What if he’s lost my house key, too?

Chapter Twenty

Amber

Before Carl has made it into his car, Davina rushes across the road, one hand waving madly. No doubt she was listening the whole time. One of the reasons I wanted to conduct the conversation inside the house, not on the doorstep. I’m sure I hear Carl groan when he hears Davina’s voice as it carries on the air like a seagull’s squawk. He does a quick manoeuvre and slips into his Mercedes before she can reach the pavement – even he doesn’t want to speak to Davina. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s been bending his ear every time he’s been at the house.

‘That’s the man I keep seeing going into your house,’ she says, her gaze following his car as he drives away.

‘Yes, he’s the estate agent, Davina. I told you it was probably him.’

‘Hmmm, yes. Very good-looking. I can see why you chose him.’ Davina gives me a sly nudge and then winks. Oh, my God, this woman is incorrigible. I take a few steps away from her so she can’t nudge me again.

‘I chose him because he’s the only local agent who could accommodate the viewings without me needing to be involved,’ I say, angry with myself for feeling the need to substantiate my decision.

‘Oh, if you ever need anyone to oversee a viewing, I’m your woman,’ she declares, her grin so wide her entire top row of teeth seem to be visible.

‘Oh, no. You’re fine, thanks. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. And you might be working anyway?’

It occurs to me I have no clue what Davina does for a living, if anything. She always appears to be at home.

‘I’m a writer,’ Davina says. ‘I’m almost always at home.’

Now, that makes sense. Always in comfortable clothes, her hair never styled, no make-up. I guess she thinks there’s no need seeing as she rarely goes out. Well, only to harass her neighbours. And writers are inquisitive by default, always looking for material for a bloody novel. Although I am actually a bit curious and would like to ask her about it, I refrain. I just want to cook tea, have a shower and lounge in front of the TV for a few hours before crashing into bed.

‘I’ll keep that in mind – thanks, Davina.’

‘Make sure you do,’ she says, smiling. ‘I like helping people out, and now you’re on your own, I want you to know I’m here if you need anything.’

Yes, so that you can dig out anything juicy about them to tell the rest of the village.

I nod politely and begin to make my way inside.

‘I was going to ask,’ Davina continues despite me walking away. ‘Any bites yet? Only I see that estate agent has brought the same—’

‘Must go, Davina – the boys need putting to bed.’ I skip up the step, turn quickly to say goodnight, then shut the door. Sometimes I question myself – think I might have got Davina all wrong; maybe I’m being too harsh on her. I’ve never given the woman a chance. What if she’s just lonely? Isn’t being a writer a very isolating career? I assume her husband isn’t at home all day, so she must spend so much of her time alone, secluded – no real people to speak with – just characters in her head. It must make you a little mad.

As I lock up, making sure I slide the safety chain across too, I make a mental note to be more friendly and open towards her, instead of cutting her off the second she opens her mouth. I don’t have to be best friends with the woman or invite her into my house – but I could make more effort to engage.

I remember the letter as I’m putting Leo to bed.

‘Oh, honey, I meant to ask – Daddy said he gave you a letter for me on Friday? You put it straight into your rucksack, but I didn’t find it. Have you put it somewhere else?’

His forehead crinkles. ‘Sorry, I forgot about it. But I didn’t take it out so it must be in there still.’

‘Okay – maybe I missed it. I’ll check again.’ I tuck the duvet all around him, making sure I push it in under his legs just as he likes it. He hates the feeling of any air reaching him. He couldn’t be more opposite to Finley, who is often sprawled over the bed, duvet abandoned on the floor. I kiss him goodnight, flick on the night light on his bedside cabinet and close the door. He calls out, telling me to leave it open “a crack”. I think he’s still unsettled following last night’s bad dream.

I pop into Finley’s room and find him at his desk, facing the computer, brandishing a controller as though it were a sword.

‘What are you up to?’

‘Fighting aliens,’ he says without his attention leaving the screen. I was against him having a computer in his bedroom. I’d been adamant there would only be one, and it would reside in the lounge, where I could always keep an eye on what they were doing. But, after the split, Nick left his old computer here and told Finley he could have it as long as it wasn’t connected to the internet. Basically, it’s a glorified games console. The laptop, which I ensure stays downstairs, is the only device they can use to look things up on the net. And then only with me present. It’s a sign of the times, I tell the boys if they ask why I’m being so strict. I don’t want to make too big a thing of it because it’s second nature – if something is off-limits, or out of bounds, it suddenly becomes more appealing and they’ll do whatever it takes to use it behind my back. I check my watch.

‘Half an hour longer, then bed, mister,’ I say. I go over and kiss him on the top of his head. Thankfully, he’s still allowing me to show some affection. I don’t suppose that’ll last much longer. Soon enough he’ll be going to secondary and batting away any form of sentimental stuff from his mother.

‘Forty-five minutes,’ he counters. There always has to be bartering involved.

‘Forty and you have a deal.’

He smiles. ‘You’re too easy,’ he says.

I raise my eyebrows, but decide not to bite. ‘You didn’t happen to see what Leo did with a letter on Friday, did you? Dad gave it to him in the car.’

Finley pauses his game and turns to me. ‘Yes. Dad told him it was for you, and Leo put it into his bag. In the main zip compartment. I watched him do it.’

‘Oh. Well, it’s not there now.’

‘Weird,’ he says, and his eyes narrow. ‘And you couldn’t even find his bag before, either.’

The fact he has pointed this out makes me think about it too. That bag was nowhere to be seen, then twenty minutes later was in the middle of a pile of shoes. Like someone had put it there during the time it took for me to take the boys to school.

Yet, a letter for me is no longer in the bag.

Barb was with Nick when he handed the letter to Leo. She would’ve known he put it in the bag. So, maybe she also took it out again.

Earlier, I was concerned maybe Carl had lost the key to my house. Maybe he actually gave it to Barb.

Has she been in here, messing around with things?

‘Did Nanna take it, perhaps, for safekeeping?’ I ask Finley, in case it jogs his memory.

‘I didn’t see her take it, no. Leo had his bag with him the whole time.’

‘Oh well – I’m sure it’ll turn up. Just like Leo’s bag did.’

‘Perhaps it’s already magically back inside the rucksack now,’ he says brightly. ‘You should check.’

‘Yes. Will do. Right, now you only have thirty-five minutes.’ I laugh as I close his door and hear him muttering to himself about that being unfair.

I do check the bag again when I get downstairs. I upturn it, shake it, and unzip each pocket again. Definitely not there.

Someone has taken it.

Chapter Twenty-One

It’s not easy keeping things from others.

Secrets.

They’ll destroy you eventually. Even if they stay secret, you just dwell on them, worry about making a mistake, worry about slipping up – saying something you shouldn’t. Right up to the day you die.

And if they don’t stay a secret – well, then you’re forced to deal with the fallout.

Or, run from it.

Burying your head in the sand – that’s a common coping mechanism. After a while, when you realise you’ve not been found out, you become smug. If that’s the right word; overconfident, maybe.

Then, after the weeks and months pass, the possibility the lies will never resurface seems greater.

It was unexpected that this village – its villagers – would be what turned. Which is naive of me, given the circumstances.

I suppose you can never be sure where the knife to the back will come from. Keeping friends close, but enemies closer might have worked for a while, but everyone has a price.

And regardless, for me, it turned out my loyalties had been completely misplaced from day one.

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