The Dream House by Jess Ryder

Author:Jess Ryder [Jess Ryder]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786819703
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

There’s been no word from Alan all week, despite my leaving countless messages on his voicemail and bombarding him with texts. I nearly called the police to report him missing, but after the recent embarrassment over the fake burglary, I decided not to bother them. How do you know if somebody’s missing if you don’t know where they’re supposed to be?

‘We have to face it, he’s done a bunk,’ Lori says as we begin our second week without him. ‘How much did you pay up front?’

‘Nothing. I paid him weekly. Plus materials, of course.’

She fills a large bucket with soapy water. ‘Did he give you receipts?’

‘Um … a few. He was really good at first, but I haven’t had any for weeks. I assumed he was just saving them up.’ I blush, realising how stupid that makes me sound.

‘Hmm … So you don’t know if he actually bought the stuff.’

‘Well he obviously bought some stuff – plasterboard and electric cable, that sort of thing. But he seemed more interested in demolition than building.’ I reach for the plastic box of scrubbing brushes and old cloths, thinking of the thousands I’ve paid out in small denominations over the past few months. Fifty quid for this, a hundred for that … It all adds up.

Lori twists her mouth. ‘And you paid him cash in advance to give to the Romanians?’

I nod, chewing my lip. I don’t want to believe that Alan was cheating me, but it’s looking more and more likely. The plasterers came knocking last Friday, having failed to find him themselves. They almost frogmarched me to the bank and made me hand over the cash they claimed they were owed.

‘There must be some explanation,’ I say. ‘Perhaps he decided it was too big a job and was embarrassed to admit it. Or maybe his mother’s been taken ill suddenly—’

‘He told me his mother had died,’ she interrupts, tying her hair back and covering her head with one of my scarves. We’re working on the floorboards today. They’re coated in ancient lino glue and bits of dried plaster, full of holes and spiky with old nails. I want to sand and seal them eventually, but they might not be in good enough condition to save.

‘I don’t understand it,’ I sigh. ‘I liked Alan; so did you, Lori. He was sweet. He made you sandwiches every day and gave you all those things for your room. I’m not giving up on him yet.’

‘Sounds like how I used to be with Darren,’ she says. ‘Always making excuses for him.’

I give her a piercing look. ‘But not any more?’

She shrugs. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll never escape from him. He’ll get me in the end.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘It’s true, Stella. Sad to say, but true.’ A dark cloud crosses her face for a moment, then she picks up the heavy bucket and goes upstairs.

We work hard every day, on our hands and knees, digging out nails, scraping away gunge, chipping off the plaster. It

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