THE CLINIC an absolutely addictive psychological thriller by SALLY-ANNE MARTYN

Author:SALLY-ANNE MARTYN [MARTYN, SALLY-ANNE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books psychological thriller and crime
Published: 2022-10-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 38

The doorbell downstairs rang, and Jenny heard Tom’s door open next to hers. He whistled as he bounded across the landing and down the stairs. She put her ear to the door, hoping it wasn’t Bob coming to hassle her about the rent or bend her ear again about his plans for the hospital.

Jenny leaned closer, unable to recognise the voice. She shot back when she heard two sets of feet walk up the stairs, as if she might be visible through the cheap MDF door. There were muffled thanks and goodbyes before a knock on her door that rang out in Jenny’s ears. She considered pretending she wasn’t there, until she remembered Tom had seen her come in earlier, as she scooted upstairs to avoid him. She didn’t want to look any crazier than he already thought she was.

‘Who is it?’ Jenny called through the door.

‘It’s me, Clara.’

Jenny’s head fell back as she quietly groaned. Little sisters were supposed to be annoying, but that was when they were ten, not grown-ups.

‘I’m a bit busy at the moment.’

Jenny waited, hoping in vain that Clara would leave, but something told her that Clara was not the type of person to accept defeat easily.

‘Can I come in? I won’t keep you long.’

Jenny slid the safety chain across and opened the door. Clara looked like she had just walked off the set of a Richard Curtis film — soft golden hair underneath a grey sequined bobble hat with a chunky pink turtleneck jumper and the kind of Levi’s that were made to look battered, not actually lived in. Jenny ushered her in and closed the door, looking down the landing, which was empty.

‘It’s freezing out there, the wind is really picking up again. Roll on summer!’

Jenny had to admire her optimism; even summers in Crowthorpe brought little more than a smudge of yellow behind grey clouds.

Clara took off her bobble hat. ‘So this is where you live?’

Her younger sister wandered around the room as if she had just walked through the doors of the V&A, studying the artwork on the walls and the ornaments on the shelf. Jenny reached for her gold and green tin and began making a roll-up, her hands trembling slightly, tobacco shreds escaping and falling to the floor.

‘This is so cosy,’ she gushed.

‘Is that the polite term for small?’

‘No.’ Clara turned to her. ‘I like it, it’s homely.’

Jenny lit her roll-up and watched as Clara moved over to the drawing of Pine End, her sister’s eyes brightening. She touched the edges of the paper.

‘Is this it? The asylum?’

‘I think the accepted term these days is psychiatric hospital.’ She raised her eyebrows playfully at her sister.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be dramatic.’

‘You’re a budding writer, aren’t you? It’s your job to be dramatic.’

Clara smiled, ‘A journalist, really — well, one day.’

Jenny moved towards the picture. ‘But you’re right, asylum is a more apt word for the place. Hospital makes it sound like somewhere you go to get better; it gives that place far too much credit.

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