The Perfect Neighbors: A gripping psychological thriller with an ending you won’t see coming. Rachel Sargeant

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       9

      Helen got home on a high after the swim, her blood buzzing with exercise hormones. And then the drudgery of her new life settled on her shoulders. She spent the afternoon signing up at the school library. She had trouble tracking it down; for all its solid frontage, the school had camouflaged its library in a Portakabin at the back of the campus. Eighties temporary units neglected into permanence.

      She found the Elementary School’s second-hand uniform shop first and went in to ask for directions. Sabine, the school nurse, was working behind the counter. Helen laughed and asked her if she did every job in the school.

      “I’m usually only here on Friday. It should be the head’s wife’s shift today but she has a breakfast party. Do you know Louisa?”

      Helen’s whole face clenched. Of course, Louisa volunteered in the school shop. She thanked God that the wives’ breakfast had given her a narrow escape.

      “I know her slightly,” she said. She turned to leave but noticed a pretty velvet top hanging from the rails.

      “Try it on,” Sabine said. “We don’t just sell second-hand uniforms, we have clothes for everyone. It was Louisa’s idea.”

      Helen dropped the blouse sleeve as if it was on fire.

      ***

      When she finally found the library, the assistant told her she had to get her membership form signed by her husband before she could borrow any books. “You’re his dependant. School rules.” Helen stuffed the form in her pocket and stormed outside, silently vowing to order her books from Amazon.

      “I’ll come to yours at eight.” A voice she recognized was coming from the other side of the Portakabin.

      Damian Howard. For once she’d be pleased to see a neighbour, this one in particular. As head teacher, he could make the stupid library assistant give her a ticket. But she stayed out of sight when she realized he was on the phone.

      “I can only stay an hour … Shelly, Sweetheart, please. It’s better than nothing … You know I do. I can’t wait …” His voice was getting nearer.

      She moved away briskly in case he came round the corner. Something told her Shelly Sweetheart wasn’t a pet name for Louisa.

      ***

      Later, back at home, she wanted to plant up the front flower bed with the marigolds she’d bought from Aldi but, when she peered out of the kitchen window to check the street was clear of nosy neighbours, she saw Damian and Chris in conversation by Chris’s car.

      There wasn’t a day that went by when Chris, or Mel, didn’t polish the sport car’s paintwork. A wave of irritation came over Helen: Gary was still at school whereas Chris was long since home.

      And Damian was home too. Head teacher and family man, who made private calls in work time. She’d wait until he’d gone back to his side of the road. The thought of making social chit-chat with him made her sick.

      But she stayed at her window, watching. Damian faced Chris, his fists clenching while Chris ignored him in favour of washing the car. Helen was turning into a curtain twitcher and she hated herself for it. But she was fascinated. There was no sign of the peace and harmony that Gary swore reigned supreme in Dickensweg. She thought for a minute that Damian was going to thump Chris. Hating herself even more, she opened the window to listen.

      “What about it?” Damian snapped.

      “I want to make some changes.” Chris was still polishing the car.

      “You bastard,” Damian said and walked away.

      “Don’t forget I’ve got the Chateau Petrus at eight,” Chris called after him.

      Helen pulled back from the window. She’d heard of Chateau Petrus. It was a wine that cost over five hundred pounds a bottle. Where did Chris get the money for expensive plonk? And why offer to drink it with a man he’d just argued with? She wished she’d opened the window sooner.