THE PERFECT NEIGHBOUR an absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller by SUSANNA BEARD

Author:SUSANNA BEARD [BEARD, SUSANNA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books psychological thrillers
Published: 2021-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Sofia

This is a crisis — I know it. It’s about me, it must be. My hands shake, my legs are so weak I can barely force them upstairs. When I have finished my work, or as much of it as I can bear to do, I go to my room. On the way, I take a waste bin from the spare room, holding it in front of me as I climb to shield it, in case she appears on the landing.

I wish I could lock myself in. Then I might feel safe, at least for a while. I lie trembling on my bed, waiting for her footsteps on the stair, the key in my door, the darkness. I can think better once she has gone to bed.

I have a choice: I can wait here, helpless, or I can make something happen. Whatever chance there might be, I have to take it.

I imagine Sir coming home, a heated conversation, Madam throwing words around, her arms gesticulating. The heavy tread of his feet on my stairs, my thin body grasped and forced downstairs, into a car and away . . . to what?

In my room, there is only one possibility. The walls are strong, the door sturdy. The window is my only option. I am going to get out, if it kills me doing it. I will climb across the roof somehow, down a drainpipe. If there is a way out, I will find it. If not . . .

I wait until the door is locked and the click-clack of her footsteps has faded before I turn the light on. The waste-bin is far too small to help me reach the window. I need a chair. I drag the mattress across the floor, put the bin on to it and step up. It wobbles alarmingly. I pile my few clothes under the bin but I am still nowhere near. I fold the mattress in half, puffing and sweating with the effort, hoping she is asleep and not able to hear my feet or the dragging sounds I am making. Almost there, so close! But not close enough. In the bathroom I grab the lid from the cistern. It lifts away easily. Surely I can use this to get just a little more height? It is not enough. But it might be, combined with the toilet seat! I wrestle and pull and scrabble with my keys to find the fixing, I brace my back against the wall and kick as hard as I can. It comes away.

Panting, I create a hill as high as I can with this strange array of objects. The mattress is rolled over, the toilet lid and seat arranged to give me extra height, the upturned bin on top. It is not stable, but it might be enough. I clamber up and get my balance, my legs working to keep myself from falling. My fingers grasp the wooden surround of the window and I peer over the edge.

There is nothing to see.

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