Don’t Turn Around: A heart-stopping gripping domestic suspense

Unable to pretend I’m as brave as Meg for a moment longer, I stumble back into the shadows and remain there like a frightened rabbit, caught in the headlights of indecision and fear. I want to stand up to Lewis but what if he takes one look at me and laughs at my frizzy hair and shaking body? He might have reinvented himself with contact lenses and a manbun, but in the last ten years, I’ve stayed the same. I haven’t moved on from Meg’s death, I’ve been swept along by the sheer force of time, and that’s how it’s always going to be unless I do something.

So do it, I tell myself, although it could be Meg’s voice I hear.

When I reappear from behind the hedge, the group have moved onto the grass. If it’s too wet to lie down on, none of the prostrate figures are complaining. It’s grotesquely symbolic that Lewis should be the only one left standing and I don’t think about the consequences as I stride towards him.

Lewis is wearing a vest top and shorts that cling damply to his body, and his arm and leg muscles glisten with perspiration. Veins on the side of his neck bulge and if he would only stop shouting instructions to his class for two seconds, he might turn and notice me fuming from the sidelines. He doesn’t stop, however, and the first to note my presence is a young woman who has dared to defy his order for another set of push-ups by resting her chin on her hands.

‘EIGHT. NINE. Oh fine, why don’t the rest of you give up too?’ Lewis yells. He glares at the rebel and she points at me with her eyes.

There are moans and groans from the group as they collapse onto their bellies while their personal trainer forgets they exist. He’s looking at me, his eyes darkening from steel-blue to iron, and I don’t think either of us has blinked.

‘Are we finished?’ asks the rebel. When she receives no reply, she raises her voice with what little breath she has left. ‘Lewis?’

‘Since you’re so good at shouting the odds, Shannon, you can take everyone through the cool down and then we’ll call it a day,’ he says without looking at her.

Shannon stands up with a grunt. ‘Right, people, the sooner we do this, the sooner we can all get home and dry.’

Lewis stretches his shoulders as he steps away from the group and walks casually towards me. With time to compose himself, he has a smirk on his face when he says, ‘You always did find me irresistible. I don’t suppose you’re here to join the group, are you, Jen? You look like you could do with a good workout.’ Slowly and deliberately, he looks me up and down.

I don’t like the shiver that runs down my spine that has nothing to do with fear. I don’t need that kind of reminder. ‘And you look like you don’t give a shit who you hurt. Some things never change.’

‘Clearly not,’ he says, dropping his voice so we’re not overheard. ‘You can’t leave me alone, can you?’

Rather than answer, I look over his shoulder at the group of supple bodies bending and stretching. ‘You enjoy humiliating and controlling people, don’t you?’

With his hands on his hips, Lewis swivels around to check on his acolytes. ‘I’m not doing anything wrong. These people pay good money for me to shout at them.’

‘You need to go back to Newcastle,’ I tell him. ‘Slither back to whatever life you made up there and leave us alone.’

‘Me leave you alone?’ he asks, his words crackling with anger. He uses his hand to wipe away the sweat trickling down his face before adding, ‘Ruth publicly shamed me and now you’re stalking me. If anyone’s being victimised here, it’s me. Isn’t it time we all got on with our lives?’

‘Meg’s dead.’

His eyes close briefly and I wonder what image of my cousin forms in his mind. I doubt she’s smiling. In those two years we all spent in sixth form, I have more memories of Meg’s eyes full of tears than I do of them sparkling with laughter, but what is Lewis’s enduring memory? Could it be her dead eyes? Hanging is not a pretty or peaceful way to die and that image must surely haunt him.

‘How can you live with yourself?’ I ask, my voice low with emotion.

‘How can any of us?’

His cold stare turns my blood to ice and, frozen to the spot, I couldn’t turn away if I wanted. ‘Everything was fine until you showed up.’

‘I bet it was. How is Charlie?’

‘None of your business,’ I reply.

There’s an imperceptible shake of his head. ‘What do you want, Jen?’

‘You could start by telling me what you did to Meg that day. What was in the missing section of the note?’

I listen to his breath, exhaled through his nose like a bull that’s ready to charge. ‘This again? There was no note. I wasn’t there.’

I flinch from the force of his words. His anger thickens the air between us and as I breathe it in, my throat constricts. ‘You’re lying. You hurt Meg and she was going to tell everyone.’

‘Why do you all insist on painting this perfect picture of Meg? As much as I loved her, she was a fucked-up bitch who messed with all of our lives. Ask anyone in our group. Ask Charlie.’

‘That fucked-up bitch was my best friend and my cousin,’ I reply, but it’s more of a croak.

‘So at least we’re agreed she was fucked up,’ he says, his smile returning.

‘Is that how you live with yourself – by blaming her?’ I scoff. ‘Take a long look at yourself, Lewis. You need help.’ I glance over at the collection of women bending and stretching on the grass. ‘You have to find a better way of dealing with your anger than taking it out on women.’

‘It would help if they didn’t make me so fucking angry. I thought you were better than this, Jen,’ he mutters, his eyes softening as he attempts to draw me in.

He’s playing with me. I should know by now that my energies would be better served helping the victims, not the perpetrators. ‘The solicitor’s letter isn’t going to make us go away and neither will the nuisance calls. We’ll call the police if you don’t stop.’

He shakes his head. ‘Nuisance calls? Seriously, I don’t have time for this. Go away, Jen. Get the fuck away or you might just regret it.’

‘You’re a bully, Lewis,’ I hiss before his warning has a chance to sink in. ‘You bullied Meg and I bet you’re bullying your new girlfriend too.’

‘Iona?’

At last I’ve wrong-footed him. I know Ellie’s real name now. I can’t suppress the smile.

‘Have you been stalking her too?’ he demands.

I’m tempted to break all the rules on confidentiality and mention Ellie’s phone call – it’s not as if it should come as news – but Lewis’s growing agitation stops me. My stomach clenches as I consider the possibility he doesn’t know she’s spoken to me. His girlfriend might have leapt to his defence of her own volition. Then another thought occurs: what if I’m completely wrong about Ellie being his girlfriend? But who else could it be? ‘No, I’ve not seen or spoken to her,’ I say, no longer sure if this is the truth or a lie.

‘Well, make sure it stays that way,’ Lewis says as he closes the gap between us. His body radiates hatred and I can smell the sweat soaking into his vest top. ‘I came back here for my family, not for you, and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to protect the people I care about. Don’t put me to the test, Jen. If you come near Mum or Iona, I will retaliate. Take this as your final warning.’

With my chin raised in defiance, I look past Lewis’s snarling features. The woman who had been leading the group’s cool down is standing directly behind him and our eyes meet briefly. I force myself to smile, hoping my feigned confidence is convincing.

Confused, Lewis looks over his shoulder and I enjoy seeing him recoil. ‘What do you want?’ he snaps.

Shannon clears her throat. ‘We’re all done,’ she begins.

I don’t hear what she says next because I’m already on the move, heading for a set of steps hidden behind The Club House. Not stopping when I reach the bottom, I race out of Liverpool One towards Lord Street. There aren’t as many shoppers milling around as I’d like so I rush into a shop. It’s an opticians and as soon as I step through the door, I’m accosted by an assistant. I’m out of breath and I can’t talk. I feel like an idiot. I am an idiot.

9 (#ulink_e191c61a-0121-5813-ab91-96535a18d7a1)

Ruth

The book I’d planned to spend a lazy Sunday devouring lies abandoned on the cushion next to me, while my open laptop is balanced on the arm of the sofa. My hands hover over the keyboard as I dare myself to watch the video recordings of Meg I’ve so far avoided; those last months and years of her life when I was too busy talking at her to listen.

The clips I have indulged in over the last week – the footage of holidays in Cornwall; the birthdays with clowns that enthralled Meg and terrified Jen; the snatched moments of Sean playing pranks on his sister – they tell me nothing I don’t already know. Meg had a happy and contented childhood. There were the expected mood swings during her early teenage years but nothing remarkable. I have to search beyond the summer she passed her GCSEs to discover more about the troubled young woman Meg would become.

I scan the thumbnails of the videos Geoff has catalogued in chronological order but I’m scared of what I might find and my courage fails. Distracted by the bottle of wine chilling in the fridge, I get up to pour a glass. I glance at the clock. Geoff will be out for another hour at least and preparations for dinner can wait. Something quick and light will do. I’ve lost my appetite and Geoff will have eaten at the golf club. He’s with our Whitespace clients, sweetening them up in case the meeting with the city planners tomorrow doesn’t go our way. It’ll be a disaster if planning approval is turned down. I’d like to say I care, but I don’t.

There was a time when I took pride in every tender we won and every building we created or restored, but all I see lately are bricks and mortar. I hope this bad humour I’ve fallen into is a passing phase because the helpline is the only thing I care about these days and, even there, I can feel my strength waning. The call I took from Gemma on Friday evening has affected me more than I would like.