The Girl Across the Street Read online

  The Girl Across the Street

  A darkly compelling and absolutely gripping psychological thriller

  Vikki Patis

  Books by Vikki Patis

  The Diary

  The Girl Across the Street

  AVAILABLE IN AUDIO

  The Diary (UK listeners | US listeners)

  To my partner, always.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Three months earlier

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Then

  Chapter 44

  Now

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Epilogue

  The Diary

  Vikki’s Email Sign Up

  Books by Vikki Patis

  A Letter from Vikki

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  We stood together, silence hanging in the air, heavy, suffocating.

  I stared down at my hands, glistening red in the moonlight streaming through the window. I realised I was trembling uncontrollably.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she whispered, reaching out to grab my hand. I saw the blood coat her fingers too; now she was implicated as well.

  I could hear my heart beating; waves rushing in my ears. My mouth was dry, my breathing laboured. I gripped her hand tighter, desperately trying to draw strength from her.

  ‘What have I done?’ The words were barely a whisper as they left my mouth; I could almost feel them wrapping around me, marking me with their judgement.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she repeated, her voice ringing out in the silent room. I stared at the woman in front of me, our linked fingers hanging over the body between us. She looked up and our eyes met, and an understanding passed between us. A silent pact.

  We’re in this together.

  Three months earlier

  One

  Isla

  ‘Mrs Hull?’

  The words drift to my ears, but they don’t register. That’s not my name, I think, and then I remember. I changed my surname when I married Jake, shed it like an old skin. How many years ago now, five, six? When will it feel natural?

  ‘Mrs Hull?’

  I snap my head up, my eyes struggling to focus. The police officer’s face wavers before my eyes. I see his greying hair, the lines around his eyes. I blink hard.

  ‘Y-yes?’ I stammer. I reach for the plastic cup of lukewarm water, wet my mouth and throat. ‘Sorry.’ I force myself to make eye contact with him. ‘What did you say?’

  The officer raises an eyebrow. ‘Why were you out at three in the morning?’ He sounds impatient, as if he’s asked the question before. Maybe he has. Focus.

  ‘I was restless,’ I say, casting my mind back to last night. It feels like it all happened a year ago. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Do you often have trouble sleeping?’ asks the second officer, a woman around my age with black hair slicked back into a tight bun. Her hazel eyes are kinder than her colleague’s, her tone soft.

  I lift a shoulder. ‘From time to time.’

  ‘Do you often go out walking so late at night, in the dark?’ The rest of the male officer’s question hangs in the air. A woman alone. I frown in response.

  ‘Tell us again what happened, before you found the victim,’ the female officer says gently. She gives me a little nod when she looks at me, as if in encouragement. I take a deep breath, push my glasses up my nose.

  ‘I was out walking. It helps me sleep sometimes.’ I pull at my sleeve, picking at a loose thread. An old hoody of Jake’s, grabbed from the laundry basket in my haste to leave the house earlier. ‘I was only going around the block. It’s not far.’ My voice is defensive now; I try to soften it as I continue. ‘I saw the car as I was coming out of my road. It was speeding down Gallows Hill.’ A macabre name from centuries back, when the prisoners were taken from the gaol at the bottom of the hill to the place where they would be hanged. I wonder if there are any corpses under our house. Corpses in The Copse, I think, my mind drifting off again. I shudder.

  ‘And then what happened, Mrs Hull?’ The male officer taps his pen against his fingers. The sound brings me back; it grates on my already frayed nerves.

  ‘Isla,’ I say shortly. ‘My name is Isla.’ Both officers stare at me as if it doesn’t matter. I suppose it doesn’t. I take a deep breath and force myself to continue. ‘I kept walking, turning right, in the opposite direction to the way the car went. It was dark.’ My heart is beating wildly, my breath audible. I remember the fear, the incomprehension. ‘He came out of nowhere,’ I whisper.

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘Th-the man. The victim.’ The word hangs in the air between us.

  ‘Mr Jones,’ the female officer says, glancing down at her notes. ‘Daniel.’

  For some reason I cannot fathom, hearing his first name unsettles me. I can only see him as a dark shape emerging from the shadows, jogging towards me. ‘Sorry, love,’ he said, flashing me a quick smile. He startled me, jogging silently along the pavement. And then…

  ‘Yes,’ I breathe. ‘He was out running – he had an armband on, one of those reflective ones. And I saw his white headphones, heard his music.’ It’s all rushing back now, in a wave of memory. ‘He apologised for startling me.’

  The officers nod for me to continue, but I fall silent, caught up in the memory.

  ‘And then?’ the male officer prompts. What is his name? I can’t remember. They told me their names when they arrived at the scene, leading me gently away from where the paramedics were crouched in the middle of the road. Where he lay, dead.

  I take another deep breath. ‘And then I heard the car again.’ I remember the screech of tyres, the loud music. They were shouting, laughing. The noise fills my ears; I try to speak over it, block out the memory. ‘I had just started to head back home when I heard the thump, a scream.’ I close my eyes. ‘I turned back, and saw that the car had stopped in the middle of the roundabout. The brake lights were glaring in the darkness.’ Now I can hear the commotion in my head, the raised voices, the panic. ‘I didn’t know what was going on. And then the car sped off towards the big roundabout, the one with McDonald’s on.’ The name eludes me, and I grasp for it.

  ‘The Rush Green roundabout?’ the female officer prompts. I nod. ‘Did you see which way they went?’

  ‘No, they disappeared. It all happened so quickly…’ I trail off as I’m lost again in the memory, the loud beating of my heart as I ran across the road, fell to my knees beside him.

  ‘What kind of car was it?’ the male officer asks.

  ‘A Corsa, I think. I’m not su
re. Dark colour, black or maybe dark blue.’

  ‘Number plate?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘What did you do then?’ the female officer asks.

  ‘I ran,’ I whisper. ‘I ran across the road, towards the… man.’ I stop. I almost said ‘body’.

  ‘When did you notice Elizabeth Cox?’ The name throws me off. I look up to see the male officer peering at me. Does he always look so suspicious?

  ‘Wh-who?’ I stammer. He sighs audibly at the question.

  ‘Elizabeth Cox,’ he repeats unhelpfully. But the name eventually clicks.

  ‘Beth? You mean Beth?’ I’m surprised; I thought Beth was short for Bethany. Although in truth, it hasn’t really crossed my mind in the hours since we met. I realise I know so little about the woman who shared this experience with me, who is possibly in the interview room next door, telling her own story. I wonder what she is saying.

  The male officer nods impatiently.

  ‘She ran over at the same time I did,’ I say, though I’m not sure which direction she came from. She too came out of the shadows, like a ghost. ‘I saw her on her knees beside the man, then she got out her phone.’ I remember Beth’s hands flapping like a nervous bird, hovering over the slumped form between us. ‘She was scared.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  I shrug. ‘She didn’t want to do CPR. She was too nervous, I think. Maybe she’s never had first-aid training?’

  ‘And you have?’ the female officer asks.

  ‘Yes, years ago, though.’

  ‘What made you perform first-aid on Mr Jones?’

  The question confuses me for a moment. ‘I-I don’t know. Instinct?’ I pick at the loose thread again. The sleeve is unravelling slowly between my fingers. Jake won’t be happy if I ruin one of his hoodies. ‘I j-just remembered what to do. Not that it was any use…’ My breath catches in my throat. I remember rolling the man – Mr Jones – on to his back, placing my hands on his chest, pressing down, trying to force life back into him.

  I tuck my hands inside my sleeves. The male police officer is staring at me; I can feel his gaze burning through me. Judging me. Suspecting me?

  The female officer looks down at her notes.

  ‘So, Elizabeth – Beth – called an ambulance?’ she asks. I nod again.

  ‘Yes, the operator talked me through the CPR. Beth put her on loudspeaker. I-I tried…’ Tears are suddenly threatening to overcome me. I feel my throat tighten, my eyes sting. I look down at my lap.

  ‘I know,’ the female officer says quietly. She reaches over and hands me a tissue. I look up in surprise at the kindness, then smile and wipe my eyes before continuing.

  ‘Then the ambulance came. And you. I don’t know how long it took, I can’t remember…’ I trail off. I notice the officers glance at each other, then nod.

  ‘I think that’s everything we need,’ the female officer says.

  ‘We’ll be in touch if we need to speak to you again,’ the male officer adds. They both stand.

  ‘Why…’ I start, then fall silent. I want to ask why the man was out at such an hour, why he was jogging in the dark, but the words won’t come. I stand as well, unsteady on my feet. I feel exhausted, as if I’ve been awake for days on end. ‘Can I go home now?’ I ask instead. I have no idea what time it is, or how long I’ve been here. I just want to go to bed.

  ‘Yep,’ the male officer says, opening the door and holding it for me. I duck my head under his arm and walk through. The female officer follows, walking beside me as she guides me out of the maze. As we pass through the corridor, I glance at the closed doors, wondering which one Beth is in.

  ‘Thank you for coming in,’ the officer says kindly, and I give her a small smile, wishing I could remember her name. My mind is a chaotic mess, the memories of last night playing on a constant loop behind my eyes.

  In the reception area, Jake sits with his head in his hands, his legs bouncing up and down. He looks up as I approach, then jumps out of his seat.

  ‘We can go now,’ I say, my voice quiet. Jake relaxes visibly.

  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ he says, pushing a hand through his thick blonde hair. I realise he’s still wearing the same clothes from last night. I glance down at my crumpled dress, which had looked so elegant the night before. ‘Let’s go, then.’

  In the car – his car, as I will forever think of it: a sleek BMW with a ridiculous amount of bells and whistles – I click the seat belt into place and settle back on the cool leather. I feel drained. The sun is coming up, already warming the air around us. It must be early morning. Did it all really happen only a few hours ago?

  ‘Is that it then?’ Jake asks as he pulls out of the police station without indicating.

  ‘I think so. They’ll call if they want anything else.’ I rest my forehead against the glass. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to sleep. Thankfully, Jake doesn’t ask any more questions, and we spend the rest of the short journey in silence. Jake swings the car into the driveway, the lights glaring against the dark living room windows. I can see a couple of our neighbours getting into their cars, briefcases or gym bags in hand. Time to go to work. But not for me.

  ‘I’m gonna grab a shower,’ Jake says, kicking off his shoes in the middle of the hallway and leaping up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I sigh as I pick up the shoes and place them on the rack beside the front door. I kick off my own pumps and slip them next to Jake’s. They look tiny in comparison, like children’s shoes.

  I wander into the kitchen and fill the kettle. Jake will want to take a cup of coffee with him, for the traffic he will undoubtedly have to sit in. I won’t be able to sleep until he leaves. I brew the coffee in the cafetière, breathing in the aroma. I drop a tea bag into my favourite mug, adding milk and two sugars. For the shock, I tell myself.

  I walk through the living room and open the patio doors, looking out at the grass, which needs cutting, then up at the sky. Barely any clouds punctuate the blue; it’s going to be another hot day.

  I sit on the bench and sip my tea, blowing gently to cool it. Jake comes out wearing tracksuit bottoms, a towel slung around his shoulders.

  ‘You’re not going to work like that?’ I say, and he laughs.

  ‘Course not. I’m heading to the gym.’ He flexes an arm and grins. ‘No work today. It’s Saturday.’

  So it is. It feels like a week has passed since last night. I shake my head to clear it.

  ‘I’ve made coffee.’ I nod towards the kitchen. I flush as I remember my confusion, thinking it was a weekday.

  ‘Ah, cheers,’ he says, then turns to go back inside. He hasn’t asked how I am. He hasn’t even asked what happened. Doesn’t he care? I take a sip of tea and stare up at the sky, listening to Jake bang around in the kitchen for a while, then pound up the stairs. No doubt he’s throwing some clothes into a bag, grabbing his car keys and phone.

  ‘See you in a bit!’ he calls from the hallway, and I raise a hand. The front door slams, and he’s gone.

  I breathe out.

  I go inside and collect my pack of cigarettes from the kitchen cupboard. They’re not hidden exactly. Jake knows I smoke, have smoked for years; he just isn’t keen on me doing it when he’s around. I go back outside and sit on the bench, lighting up and blowing smoke into the sky. A small knot of tension releases inside me as I take another sip of my tea.

  Last night flashes through my mind again. Beth’s terrified face, hair coming loose from its bun. Her eyes looked bloodshot, watery. She was on the phone already when I made it over to her, to them. I could hear her voice, roughened by fear, from across the road.

  ‘A-ambulance, please,’ she almost cried. ‘A man, he’s… he’s been run over, I think. He’s l-lying in the road. I…’

  The operator wanted her to get the man in the recovery position. I remember her eyes widening, her hands shaking as she held them over him, unable to touch him.

  ‘Put them on speaker,’ I said almost brus
quely. ‘I’ll do it.’ And Beth looked at me gratefully, as if I was there to save the day. If only. Her phone was placed face-up on the tarmac, its screen covered in cracks.

  Why did I say I would perform CPR? I haven’t done first aid for years, not since Jake’s dad sent me on a course when I worked for him. But I acted without thinking, a strange calm descending upon me, a type of clarity settling over my mind for the first time in months. Years. I felt for his pulse, my fingers held against his neck. When I felt nothing, I rolled him over on to his back and began to press down on his chest, in time with the operator’s instructions. I remember how desperate I was for him to breathe, to move, to live. I tried to push my own life force out of my hands and into his body. But it wasn’t enough.

  The cigarette between my fingers is smouldering, almost burned right down to the end. I drain my mug and head back inside, lock the back door, then deposit my empty mug on the kitchen counter. I sigh at the mess Jake has left for me to clean up. Later. I pad up the stairs, my bare feet hardly making a sound against the soft carpet.

  In the bathroom, I use the toilet then wash my face, lathering up the tea tree facial scrub from the Body Shop. Last year, I switched all my toiletries to cruelty-free alternatives. It was my big project, one I’d posted incessantly about on Instagram. Jake, of course, didn’t notice that I’d swapped his toiletries. He doesn’t care about such things.