Phoebe Morgan - The Doll House - A gripping debut psychological thriller with a killer twist!

‘James,’ I start, and he turns towards me. His eyes look a bit bloodshot and I smile. ‘Late night?’

‘Me? God no, no, just working, you know how it is. I wanted to come up yesterday but I was just swamped.’

‘Oh, poor you,’ I say. ‘Ashley’s told me great things about the digital world, though, seems like it’s all really taking off. eBooks are all the rage right now.’

He’s not really listening to me; his eyes are scanning the bottles of whisky behind the bar. The barman has finally spotted us and stands waiting, PDQ machine in hand.

‘Pint of Amstel, please, and a bottle of the Merlot,’ James says.

‘And a lemonade,’ I add and the barman nods.

‘Listen, James, I just wanted to say thank you,’ I say quickly. I can feel the heat rising in my face. ‘It’s so kind of you to help us, and I want you to know that we will pay you back, and we are so grateful. It means such a lot to me and it’s our last hope.’

He turns to face me, looks confused. ‘Sorry, Cor . . . you’ve lost me.’

I lower my voice. ‘Well, we went to the hospital last week. For the last round of IVF. And I wanted to thank you for the money you lent us.’ I swallow, praying that I don’t have to repeat myself again.

The barman places a dripping pint in front of us.

‘The money . . . oh right, sorry, Corinne, of course,’ James says, and he reaches out and touches my hand. Thank God for that.

I smile, relieved, and pick up Lucy’s lemonade. As I walk back to the table I think I can feel his eyes on my back, watching me as I weave through the people, past the dwindling fire. I wonder what he is thinking, whether there is any truth in Ashley’s worries. When I look back at the bar though, unable to bear the sensation any more, James has gone, his pint still sitting on the wet wood. I scan the pub, feeling jumpy, but all I see are families engaged in conversation. No one is remotely near me.

I sit down next to Dom, take a big bite of my roast and try to relax. ‘So, Dominic,’ Mum says, ‘tell me, how is the paper going? I’ve been trying to read the online version but our internet wire is terrible here.’

‘You don’t need a wire, Grandma,’ Lucy says, rolling her eyes. ‘I showed you before.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, forgive an old lady,’ Mathilde says. ‘Perhaps you’ll show me again when we’re home?’

Dominic smiles. ‘It’s fine, thanks, going really well,’ he says. ‘I’ve just started work on a property piece – a big Georgian house on the outskirts of London. Massive place! Corinne came to see it with me, didn’t you, Cor?’

I nod. The image of Carlington comes to my mind, the strange atmosphere, the way my hand felt against the stone. The dark windows. The empty rooms. The face at the window. I shiver.

Dominic is still talking.

‘We’re featuring it in the spring property round up. Got the tip-off from a company called Wells and Duggan. Impressive building, or it will be anyway.’ There is a clatter; water spills from Mum’s upturned glass out over the table.

‘Wells and Duggan, did you say?’

Dom nods. ‘Yep, that’s right. Here, let me get you a napkin.’ He reaches out, starts to blot the table.

Ashley leans forward, her wedding ring tapping against the wine glass in her hand. ‘Ooh, sounds wonderful. I love Georgian buildings.’

James reappears suddenly, slides in beside Ashley at the long table. He picks up his beer and takes a long drink, the tendons in his neck stiff. He looks very pale. My sister’s eyes follow his movements, track the liquid as it slides from hand to throat. The blonde girl at the bar laughs again and I see James look at her, see my sister notice.

*

Dominic squeezes my hand as we walk back out to the car park. I’ve just put hand cream on and he laughs.

‘You use too much of that stuff!’

He’s probably right, but I like it. It calms my nerves a bit.

‘OK? Enjoy your chicken?’ he says, and I nod and squeeze him back, his hand warm in my own. I am so lucky to have him. I know he’d never hurt me. But then, I still don’t think James would hurt Ashley.

‘Time for a quick walk? Burn off those roasts?’ Ashley suggests and I nod yes, say I’ll just grab my hat and gloves from out of the car.

‘Can you get me my scarf, please?’ Dom asks, fastened to the spot by Benji, who has hold of his leg and is talking about aliens, and I laugh and catch the keys from him as he throws them across the gravel.

I’m about to open the passenger side when something catches my eye. At first I can’t work out what it is, I think it’s a piece of clothing lying on the bonnet, but when I lean closer it hits me. The shock of it is awful; I recoil from the car, bile rising in my throat.

‘Dominic!’ I shout. ‘Dominic!’

I look over to the group frantically, they’re not paying attention to me. I cry out again, backing away from the car, and Dominic looks up, sees me and begins to come over, breaking into a run when he sees my face.

‘What is it?’ he says. ‘What’s the matter?’

I’m covering my mouth now, I can see passers-by staring at me, families emerging from the pub, making their way to their cars.

‘Look,’ I say. ‘Look!’

Dom steps forward, swears loudly when he sees what is lying on the bonnet of our car.

It is a rabbit. Dead, one of its eyes hanging slightly out of its skull, its mouth open in a frozen scream. The underside of it is matted with blood, its paws lie limply against the bonnet. It looks like it has been hit by a car.

‘Jesus,’ Dominic says. ‘Why the hell is this on the bonnet?’

‘I don’t know!’ I say. ‘I don’t know! I just came to the car and it was here, someone’s put it on our car! It’s horrible, oh God, it’s so horrible.’

‘Slow coaches slow coaches!’ Benji is running towards us, eager to begin the walk, and Dominic puts out an arm to stop him seeing the car. But it is too late.

‘Yuck! What’s happened to that bunny?’ Benji asks, screwing up his face and sticking out his tongue. ‘It’s dead like in science.’

‘Yep, yep it is, mate, OK, but not to worry, be a good lad and run back to your mum now,’ Dominic says. ‘You guys start without us, we’ll catch you up.’

Benji pulls another face, rolls his eyes. ‘Can I look at it?’

Dominic shakes his head. ‘No, mate, come on, go back to Grandma. We’ll be along in a bit. Do us a favour will you and tell them we’re just having a quick chat.’

Benji runs off, skidding his shoes along the gravel of the car park as he goes, making racing car noises. Dominic sighs.

‘What a sick thing to do, put it on the car like that. Poor creature. Leave it to me, I’ll get this cleared up. What a bloody mess.’

I am shaking, my eyes fixed on the poor rabbit’s face, half squashed by the force of whatever hit it.

‘Why our car, Dominic? Why this?’

He shrugs, shakes his head slowly. I don’t know how he can be so calm. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘You didn’t see anyone?’

‘Nobody.’

He grimaces. ‘Could be a practical joke, I suppose, or more likely some local weirdo.’ He glances around the car park. There are a group of men coming towards us, all clad in wellies and waterproof coats, laughing and jostling each other as they make their way into the pub. ‘Or someone protesting – people in the countryside are always against something – the badger cull, fox hunting. The amount of roadkill.’ He puts an arm around me, I am shaking.

‘It’s all right, my love. It won’t be anything personal – think about it, who do we know living out in deepest darkest Kent? No one. Except your mum of course, and somehow I don’t think she’s behind this.’ He smiles at me, trying to make me laugh. ‘Whoever did it was probably too scared to pick one of the fancy BMWs round here. Chose the scruffy car that looked as though its owners weren’t bothered!’ He sniffs. ‘You go on, join your family. Don’t let it upset you, my love. I’ll speak to the landlord of the pub too, report it. I bet you’ll find there’s been a spate of this kind of thing.’