What Did You Do?: a gripping psychological thriller with plenty of twists Read online

  3

  Once dinner was done and the dishes stacked in the dishwasher, Nadia did as promised and ventured down the long, uneven track to see if anyone had seen Marge. It was a pleasant evening, and the air quality was superb. But then it was often that way in this part of the country. It was a different world down here. Quiet. Peaceful. With hardly anyone around and just the benign sounds of nature filling the airwaves.

  There were three properties in the locality, each one standing in its own sizeable grounds with forest and farmland on all sides. The houses were linked by a narrow dirt track which started at Camborne Stables and wound down the hill before bridging over a small river and rising up to the A30 that took you into Bodmin, the nearest town. Laurie and Nadia were responsible for the upkeep of the track, which could be a real pain in the neck - especially two years ago when a flood created a glut of potholes that needed attention - but it also felt good to be the ones in charge. Nadia Morgan was the queen of the homestead. This was her domain. Her safe haven.

  She walked without pace, casting her eyes into the long grass on either side, calling out Marge’s name whilst shaking the bag of cat treats she’d grabbed from the cupboard. Normally, the sound of treats alone would have had the old cat bounding out from the undergrowth, perhaps covered in seed buds or the like. But not today. With each step, Nadia’s heart grew heavier, but she resisted the urge to play out in her head what she might say to the children about Marge. She wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t ready to be the one who introduced death and pain into the lives of her babies.

  She’d walked all the way to Tom and Melissa’s house down by the river before she’d realised where she was. Good old Tom and Melissa. They were friendly and warm, and not being able to have children themselves, were always keen to look after the twins if Nadia needed to go into town for supplies. But as she approached the front door, she saw their lights were off. She knocked and waited, but no one was home, so she doubled back on herself and headed for the large cottage situated around the bend.

  Painted pale pink and with a huge fishpond in the garden that the kids loved, the house was arguably the prettiest out of the three in the area if not the most modern. It was a beautiful two-storey Cornish cottage with dark green ivy on the walls and an enormous garage and workshop which jutted out perpendicular to the main building. From the day she moved into Camborne Stables (then simply Camborne Cottage) Nadia had always thought the pink house looked French for some reason. So it was very apt, she thought, that it now had a suitably French owner.

  Mrs Lamb Bear – or Mrs Lambert, to those who weren’t six years old – was originally from Montpellier and had bought the pink house at the end of last year. Despite being relatively young, she was already a widow and had sold up in France after her husband died. From what Nadia had picked up on from their conversation, there had been a lot of pain and sadness towards the end. So, it made sense she’d want to start again somewhere completely new.

  “Good evening, Nadia, my darling.” The top of the barn-style door opened wide before Nadia even had a chance to get up to it. She must have seen her marching past through the window. “Is everything all right? You look stressed.”

  "Do I?" she said and blew a strand of her hair out of her face. "I suppose I am. It's our cat, Marge. No one has seen her in a few days and I'm starting to worry."

  “Oh no. How terrible for the children.”

  “Yes, Edward especially is going to take it hard if she doesn’t turn up soon.”

  Mrs Lambert – or Elenore if you were on first-name terms like Nadia was – unbolted the bottom section of the door and eased it open. “Please, come inside. Do you want some tea? Or something stronger, maybe to help calm you? I have just opened a wonderful bottle of Chablis. It is ice cold.” The way she said Chablis and ice cold prickled the hairs on the back of Nadia’s neck.

  “Do you know what? That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  “Bon. Come in. Please.”

  Elenore led Nadia into her front room and gestured for her to have a seat on the huge white couch along the nearside wall. "I'll be back in a moment with the drinks," she said, leaving her to get settled.

  The front room was done out almost entirely in white. And the effect was so calming that Nadia instantly felt more grounded and able to handle the swirling thoughts cascading through her mind. Pets died. People did too. It was a fact of life. And whilst the twins were only six, they were old enough to understand the concept of death.

  Because, when was a good time to learn of your own mortality? If the worst had happened to Marge - killed by a fox, maybe, or a car up on the road, or even just old age - they’d deal with it. As a family.

  “Here we go, one small glass of wine.” Elenore appeared in the doorway holding two glasses of wine, large in anyone’s estimation. She sashayed over to the couch and held one out for Nadia. “This is from one of my favourite chateaux.”

  Nadia accepted the glass, crinkling her nose at her friend as she sat beside her. She was certainly an elegant woman. Very French. Her hair was cut short and almost entirely grey despite her being only a few years older than Nadia. They’d never discussed ages, but if she had to guess, she’d put Eleanor in her early forties, knowing she might be older. It was her skin that made it hard to age her accurately. It practically glowed and there was hardly a wrinkle in sight. She saw Nadia looking and winked.

  “Salut, mon ami.”

  They chinked glasses, and Nadia took a long drink. The wine was as cold as she’d hoped and tasted delicious. In contrast, the Chardonnay she’d opened whilst cooking dinner was lukewarm by the time she was ready for it and rather mundane compared to the crisp apple notes and slight effervescence of the Chablis. It was obviously an expensive bottle. But maybe it was the atmosphere and the company that made the difference. At home, she was a wife, mother and cook, not to mention the owner of Elite Glamping. Here she could be a single woman with nothing to worry about but herself and the next glass of wine. For a while, anyway.

  “When was it last seen?” Elenore asked.

  “Sorry?”

  “The cat.”

  “Oh, shoot. Yes. Erm.. a few days ago, I think. She was an old cat, but the kids loved her. She might turn up, but I’m afraid I’m not holding out much hope.”

  “Oh, dear.” Elenore smiled, but there was something in her eyes that belied the gesture.

  “What is it?” Nadia asked.

  “I don’t know whether I should say. It is probably my overactive imagination. Or me seeing things in the shadows that aren’t there.”

  “What did you see? When?”

  Elenore rested the base of her wineglass on her knee. “Sunday night. I was getting ready for sleep and heard a sound outside my window. I opened it to look out and I swear I saw someone across the track, a dark figure in the twilight. I think it was a man, but it could have been a woman as well. Their face was shrouded in shadow. Then, as I was looking, they stepped back and disappeared into the woods. I know it sounds like maybe I had a few too many glasses of Chablis, but I am certain there was someone there. I didn’t sleep well that night at all.”

  “No. I can imagine. That’s awful.”

  “But you didn’t see anything?”

  “No.” A shiver ran down Nadia’s neck and the ice-cold wine wasn’t the reason. “Maybe we should set up some security cameras on the track,” she said. “Some lights, too.”

  Elenore stuck her bottom lip out. “Yes. It would deter prowlers, I think. For sure.”

  The way she said prowlers in her French accent made it sound even more sinister than it already was. But a small part of Nadia couldn't help wondering if this was Elenore manipulating her, telling her this story to get what she wanted. There had been a few other times in the last six months where she’d felt there was more to what her friend was saying than what was on the surface. But that was how most people operated, and she didn’t mind. Plus, she made a good point and the track could be quite treacherous, especi
ally in winter.

  “I’ll have a word with Laurie,” she said. “And see what he thinks. A few security lights would be good at least.”

  Elenore smiled. “I am sorry. You look stressed again, and this was not my intention. I do not mean to worry you. It was probably my imagination.”

  Nadia drank back the rest of her wine in one gulp. It didn't taste as nice anymore. The moment had passed. "I should get going," she said. "Laurie will be wondering where I’ve got to.” She got to her feet. “If you see Marge, will you try to grab hold of her and bring her up to the house?”

  “Of course.” Elenore got up too, and they walked together to the front door. Once there, she opened it before turning and placing her hand on Nadia’s arm. “You’re a wonderful mother, Nadia. I can see this. Those children are lucky to have you.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she replied, but her cheeks burned and she had to look away. “Thanks again for the wine. I’ll have to have you up to the house one night soon. We could play cards again.”

  “That would be wonderful. I look forward to it. Bonne nuit, Nadia.”

  She left and wandered back to the track, waving over her shoulder as Elenore shut the door. Without the light from Elenore’s kitchen, the track fell dark and Nadia felt very alone. As she walked Elenore’s words echoed in her head.

  A dark figure in the twilight… Disappeared into the woods…

  That settled it. She was going to have a chat with Laurie about some lights. She walked a few steps and then pulled her iPhone out of her pocket and tapped on the torch app with a quivering finger. The stark light bounced out onto the track in front of her and she quickened her pace around the bend. Another thirty seconds and she could see her house up ahead. Laurie had turned off the kitchen lights, but a dull orange glow drifted out into the garden from the lounge.

  “Come along now. Stop being so silly.” She spoke the words out loud, surprised to hear she’d opted to say them in her mum’s accent. Despite being the first generation of her family to be born in the UK, Nadia’s mum had grown up in a tight Bangladeshi community and had adopted her parents’ accent rather than that of the local area. When she was younger, it embarrassed Nadia whenever her mum spoke to people. She sighed. Now she’d give anything to hear her mum’s voice again.

  She carried on up the incline to her house, swishing the torch from side to side in case Marge was lurking somewhere.

  Oh no!

  At the main gate to the property, she stopped. There was a patch of something wet in the long grass.

  Was it…blood?

  She leaned down, resting her elbow on her knee and pointing the torch into the grass. It was blood, all right. She glanced around the area, ears alert for any sounds. “Marge?” she whispered. “Are you there? Are you hurt?”

  She got nothing back. No mews of pain or recognition. She moved in a little closer. The red patch was dry, but there was enough blood for her to know the owner had met a grim fate. She straightened up and marched as fast as she could back to the house. It could be a rabbit, or a rat, that had fallen prey to a local fox, she told herself as she got up to the front door. It happened all the time and there was no point distressing the children unnecessarily until they knew for certain. Besides, she was exhausted and couldn’t deal with anything more tonight than perhaps another glass of lukewarm Chardonnay and an early night.

  Things would look better in the morning. They always did.

  4

  Nadia’s head felt fuzzy as she pulled on her trusty pair of wellington boots the next morning. You could probably blame the extra glasses of wine for that, but she hadn’t had the best night’s sleep either. She’d fallen asleep easily enough - she always did since moving to the countryside - but she’d been restless and her dreams had woken her on more than one occasion. In the cold light of 6 a.m., she couldn’t remember what they were about, only that they’d been unsettling. The type of dreams that lay dormant in your soul the next day and ruined your mood.

  But onwards and upwards, that was her motto. Even if it was Saturday, she had work to do. This was the life she’d created for herself, after all. Pulling on her light green Barbour jacket, she headed out the front door and down towards the stables. The horses were all awake and seemed pleased to see her, proclaiming her arrival with stamping hooves and heavy snorts as she entered. There was room for six mares along with two studs in the main block and that was the idea when she’d first convinced Laurie she could make the stud farm a going concern. But today that number had reduced to three Arabian mares, Daisy, Buttercup, and Dandelion; Tudor, a black Friesian and the only stud; and a young Arabo-Friesian colt called Heath.

  “Hello, ladies,” Nadia called out, giving the female horses a wave as she walked past and opened the gate on the far side of the stables which led through to the main field. “How are we all this beautiful morning?”

  None of the horses replied. Which was rather rude of them, she thought. Although Buttercup – who was Nadia’s favourite if you were to make her pick (which Emily constantly did) - gave her a coy, almost knowing look through her long eyelashes. Nadia opened each of the mares’ stalls and ushered them out, corralling them across the stable block and through into the field beyond. As they passed between the larger stalls containing Tudor and Heath on the other side, the male horses regarded the females with passing glances, but nothing approaching lust. Tudor was old and, Nadia suspected he was going a little senile. He certainly wasn’t the stud he was even three years ago, and the business reflected that fact. She’d had such high dreams for the stud farm when they’d first moved here a decade earlier, but for whatever reason, it had never got off the ground the way she’d hoped. Once Heath came of age, they’d sell him but had no plans to buy more horses.

  Once the mares were all safely outside and loping freely around the expansive green of the field, she locked the gate and headed for her fork and wheelbarrow, leaning against the wall. It was mucking out time, a dirty business, yet Nadia never minded this aspect of the job. Most mornings she found filling the wheelbarrow with the spoilt hay and dung almost therapeutic. Some people had yoga and meditation to help ground them. She had shovelling horse manure. There was something about the way she could switch off and just focus on the job in hand, which helped quieten her busy mind and prepared her for the day.

  Today was no exception and by the time she’d dumped the last barrow load onto the manure pile outside the stable, she felt relatively settled. Although she noticed it was time to call Bob Banon, the local farmer, and have him come and collect a few tonnes of the stuff. And that was it, job done. She’d let the mares run free for the rest of the day and bring them in later, so Heath and Tudor could be mucked out and exercised before dinner. Leaning the wheelbarrow against the wall, she waved goodbye to the male horses, getting a dirty look in return from the surly Tudor, and headed back to the house.

  Laurie was already awake as she entered their bedroom.

  "What a sight for tired eyes," he purred in his throaty morning voice. He propped himself up on his pillow and eyed her greedily as she headed for the en-suite bathroom. “Do you fancy coming back to bed?”

  She stopped and glared at him. “The twins are already awake. I could hear them chattering as I walked past their room.”

  “Lock the door,” he said. “It’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “A few minutes?”

  “All right, half a minute.” They both laughed and Laurie dropped his head back down on the pillow. “Fair enough. I’ve got to get to the office, anyway.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s this new project from Donnie Masterson. The deadline is fast approaching. It’s going to be very good for us once it’s finished.”

  “So, it’s me looking after the kids on my own. Again?”

  "I'll make it up to you."

  “Will you?”

  When Laurie flipped back the covers and tapped the bed beside him, she just glared. “You
’ll have to do better than that. Besides, you don’t want to come anywhere near me right now. I stink.”

  I stink.

  The words had barely left her mouth before she felt a familiar prickle of unpleasantness in her chest. It could have been shame, it could have been rage, it was probably a bit of both. At school, that had been one of the key themes of the bullying. That she stank. That she was smelly. That she should go back to her own country.

  What the hell...?

  She shook her head to dispel the unpleasant thoughts. Why was the past suddenly rushing back to hurt her this way? She hadn’t thought about that time for so long. Not really. There were certain aspects of what had happened that would always stay with her, but over the years she’d learned to, if not accept them, put up with them. Like one might an unsightly wart. But for her to get caught up thinking about her past twice in two days was worrying and something she needed to explore when she had more time and energy. But for now, there was no rest for the wicked. She had chores to do.

  After a brief but functional shower, she dressed in a floral dress and went through into the kitchen, where she found Laurie had made a fresh pot of coffee for the two of them. He was sitting at the island and didn’t look up from his laptop as she walked over and poured herself a cup.

  “I don’t suppose there’s been any sign of old Marge?” he asked.

  “No. I’m worried. I think we need to prepare ourselves for the worst. And the kids.”

  He looked up finally. “It’s going to destroy poor Edward.”

  “I know. But kids are resilient. Aren’t they?”

  “Are they? Even ours?”

  She laughed. "It's not my fault you surrounded them with all the trappings and safety nets of upper-middle-class life. You’re the big rich architect, darling. If it was down to me, we’d be living in squalor up north.” She slipped into her old, Yorkshire accent for the last bit and was surprised at how alien the pronunciation now sounded coming out of her mouth. But that was a good thing.