The Girl Next Door: a gripping and twisty psychological thriller you don’t want to miss!. Phoebe Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ the other woman says, and Jack turns to her, all smiles, his handsome face shining in the half light spilling from our house. If I look right I can see the pile of flowers and teddies outside the Edwards’ – it’s doubled in size. Rachel and Ian have left it all in the cold. I wonder if it’ll rain. There are more cars on the road now, their headlights highlighting the pavement; I can’t see whether there are figures inside. Suddenly, I’m overcome by the desire to shut the front door, drag the curtains across the windows, hide us all away from the glare of the events unfolding next door.

      ‘Of course,’ Jack says to the policewoman, ‘anything you need. Jane and I were so devastated to hear the news. I think the whole town is still in shock. We’ve been looking out for Rachel and Ian, of course, but – well, we didn’t want to pry.’

      If they’ve clocked how good-looking my husband is, neither of them show it yet.

      ‘Did either of you see anything or anyone out of the ordinary on the night of Monday the 4th?’ Madeline asks, her face serious. I wonder whether this is her first really big case here, whether she’s out to prove herself. God knows she doesn’t seem to have much of a personal life, from what I can gather. No kids. No partner. Maybe this is her chance to shine.

      I shake my head, thinking back to that night, pushing away the more painful parts, Jack’s words. The way he looked at me, the disgust. He didn’t really mean it.

      ‘I didn’t, I’m afraid. My friend Sandra did the school run, took the kids to hers for an hour or two while I made dinner. Jack got home from the surgery just after five. I went to get Sophie and Finn. Then we were here all night.’ Arguing.

      ‘I’m a doctor,’ Jack interjects, mainly for Lorna’s benefit I think, but to her credit, her face doesn’t change at all. Most women go weak at the knees for a handsome doctor. I should know – I was one of them.

      ‘And your eldest son, Mrs Goodwin?’ Madeline asks, her face turned towards me. ‘Was he in all night with you both too?’

      She’s smiling at me, her face open, calm. She may as well have You can trust me tattooed on her forehead.

      ‘Yes,’ I say quickly, ‘Harry was upstairs. He went out with some friends from the football team after school, but he was back early on.’ The image comes to my mind: a flash of blonde hair, my son’s eyes watching her from the window. I’m talking too fast.

      The policewoman nods, makes a note in her pad. I don’t look at Jack.

      ‘And did you see Clare that day, Mr and Mrs Goodwin? Monday morning, around 8 a.m.? Her parents say she left for school after breakfast.’

      ‘I think I saw her leave at the usual time,’ I say slowly, ‘but she was in a hurry, going to school I suppose, like you say. I was busy with the children’s breakfast. You know how it is.’ Madeline nods at me and I look away; she obviously doesn’t. I see again the swing of Clare’s black rucksack as she walked down the front path, not knowing it would be the last time she ever would.

      The younger woman is nodding along. I wonder how she sees me. A boring mother? A rich wife? Do I have the life she wants to emulate?

      ‘No unusual cars round here? No one hanging around the school that morning? You’re usually there, aren’t you Jane?’ Madeline asks, smiling at me. I try to think, although I know Sophie and Finn will be wanting a bedtime story round about now; I can almost feel their pull dragging me back inside the house. Jack’s presence beside me hums.

      ‘I didn’t see anyone,’ I say. ‘My eldest son took the little ones to school that day, as a favour to me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for her poor parents.’

      ‘Do you know them well?’ Madeline asks, focusing her gaze on me. ‘Ian and Rachel, I mean. Would you say you were friends?’

      I shake my head. ‘I wouldn’t say we were close,’ I say, ‘I mean—’ I pause, glance next door. ‘I would have liked to be,’ I say at last, ‘but it never really happened.’

      Beside me, Jack nods. ‘My wife’s pretty involved with the town,’ he says, with a little laugh. ‘PTA, book club, you name it. But some people don’t join in in quite the same way, I suppose.’ He looks down at me and I smile at him as he puts an arm around my waist.

      The younger detective, Lorna, makes a note on her pad.

      ‘And did either of you see Mr or Mrs Edwards that afternoon?’

      I frown, Jack’s arm still tight around me.

      ‘I didn’t notice,’ I admit. ‘I wouldn’t normally pay attention – like I said, we weren’t close or anything. Their cars came and went all the time, and their garage is around the other side – well, you’ll have seen.’

      Lorna nods. ‘Thank you, Jane. And don’t worry. We knew it was a long shot, coming down this end of the town, but we wanted to make sure we covered all bases, spoke to all the neighbours. We’re hoping someone a bit closer to Sorrow’s Meadow saw something.’

      ‘Don’t you live up near there?’ Jack asks Madeline, and she nods, the ponytail bobbing again. Her face is pale, tired-looking. I wonder who looks after her, if anyone does. I want to ask her if they’ve got any leads, but I don’t want to sound hysterical. I don’t want Jack to laugh at me when we get behind closed doors.

      ‘Yep. First major crime I’ve ever had on my doorstep. And yours, too.’ She smiles grimly.

      ‘We had word just now from your receptionist, Dr Goodwin,’ Lorna says, clearing her throat before looking down at a notepad in her hand. ‘Danielle Andrews. Saying she thinks she might’ve seen Nathan Warren that night, on her way home from work. He was the one who reported the body.’ She pauses. ‘Did you leave at a similar time? The meadow’s not far from the surgery, is it?’

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