Home Is Where the Lies Live: An utterly addictive psychological thriller with an explosive twist by Kerry Wilkinson

Author:Kerry Wilkinson [Wilkinson, Kerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2024-12-05T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY

WILLOW

I’m finally feeling like I’m getting somewhere with my uni work when the doorbell rings. I’m not sure why considering he has a key but, for a second, I think it’s Gabe. He inexplicably left late for work this morning. He claimed something about ‘trying to give the other staff some responsibility’, which would make sense except for the fact that he’s always on time.

I stayed awake until almost two this morning, wondering if he was going to get out of bed and disappear. He didn’t – and all that happened was that I’ve been trying to stop myself falling asleep all morning.

As I head into the hall to get the door, Isabella bounds down the stairs and launches herself forward to get there before me. If I’d known she was that fast, I’d have suggested athletics as a possible career.

The reason for her speed is quickly apparent as her boyfriend, Jarvis, slouches his way into the hall. I’m not one of those parents who automatically disapproves of their child’s boy- or girlfriends but it is hard to take to Jarvis. He’s a yawn in human form. The fact he’s vertical always surprises me.

He grunts something akin to a ‘hello’ but he could be clearing his nose for all I know. I don’t imagine him to be one of life’s great conversationalists.

It’s only when Isabella turns to have him follow her that I notice her eyes are ringed red, her cheeks puffy.

‘Is something wrong?’ I ask.

‘I’m fine. Why are you always interfering?’

I’m about to protest her abruptness but it’s nothing compared to the venom Isabella has for Jarvis. She turns and hisses a furious, ‘come on’ to him, before heading up the stairs. He nods blankly in my direction and then trails after her like a scolded puppy.

I stand at the bottom of the stairs, listening, and then edge up until I’m on the landing. I’m half expecting shouting but the reality is far more familiar than that. Isabella and I do the shouting – but her father and I, probably Gabe and I, too – do the hushed, hissed arguments.

I creep along the landing until I’m outside her door, trying to tune into their muted disagreement. The closed door obviously doesn’t help.

When Isabella was young, her father and I would do this. Craig and I could begin and end an argument over the course of an hour while barely speaking a word out loud. There were two things we were good at together – the biggest one of which was fighting. Perhaps that was why Gabe felt so compelling at first? We would talk about our feelings and our days. But then, over time, we stopped. Does that mean it’s me? I’ve seemingly done this twice.

I’m not quite sure how it happens. There might be the subtlest of realignments of the tectonic plates, or perhaps I simply can’t stand still. Either way, the floorboard underneath me creaks and then the only sound from beyond Isabella’s door is a stony silence.

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