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The Woman Next Door: A dark and twisty psychological thriller
Cass Green
A No.1 e-book bestseller, perfect for fans of Ruth Ware, Shari Lapena and Clare Mackintosh.Two suburban women. Two dark secrets. The almost perfect murder.Everybody needs good neighbours…Melissa and Hester have lived next door to each other for years. When Melissa’s daughter was younger, Hester was almost like a grandmother to her. But recently they haven’t been so close.Hester has plans to change all that. It’s obvious to her that despite Melissa’s outwardly glamorous and successful life, she needs Hester’s help.But taking help from Hester might not be such a good idea for a woman with as many secrets as Melissa…
THE WOMAN NEXT DOOR
CASS GREEN
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Copyright (#uf64af6e8-21e4-55a3-bf2a-6ee75102af77)
This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
Killer Reads
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Copyright © Caroline Green 2016
Caroline Green asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Ebook Edition © JULY 2016 ISBN: 9780008203559
Version 2016-12-11
Table of Contents
Cover (#ud2ee3eff-1f4c-5d0c-ac43-b8e237f22a47)
Title Page (#uc1c4535f-ff97-567e-8a2c-d34bde3ab6f8)
Copyright (#u8ccc7a32-8f71-5275-a7b0-524a105d2af1)
Part One (#u52b1a575-655a-57f0-a768-6da776bb0de2)
Hester (#u80975ffb-f23d-563d-84af-4316cac9b2af)
Melissa (#ub1e4a085-50b6-58e5-b942-71c48d02b2a2)
Hester (#u7981c99c-094b-5e95-9264-a7351118876b)
Melissa (#ue2fa224a-1751-5fae-98a4-4a6b45471215)
Hester (#u1242b8b6-a38e-53ce-93f2-ac49f3560607)
Melissa (#u85532459-0ad0-5845-83f2-3099d5f1024d)
Hester (#u71551f59-721b-52ff-991c-518841a60d59)
Melissa (#u31fee3a5-d59a-561f-94fd-e6854cfdf3db)
Hester (#ua95ab920-f7a5-568f-aeb0-6b5e80174d69)
Melissa (#u6e75d94e-a59e-5da2-9f47-2bb522faebed)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Melissa (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Five Months laterMELISSA (#litres_trial_promo)
Hester (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Further Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PART ONE (#uf64af6e8-21e4-55a3-bf2a-6ee75102af77)
HESTER (#uf64af6e8-21e4-55a3-bf2a-6ee75102af77)
Cough, sniff, sigh.
Sniff, sigh, cough.
And so it goes on.
Mary, at the next terminal, is a veritable one-person orchestra of bodily sounds. It must be something to do with her size. She’s constantly spilling out of herself, like there’s someone bigger trapped inside.
She’s not the only person I’m finding distracting today. The old chap opposite, Jacky, I think he’s called, apparently believes an Adult Education course on Essential Computer Skills – in a library – is a suitable place to eat his lunchtime sandwiches. I can clearly hear the click of his jaw as he masticates bread, cheese, and pickle. The reason I know so much about the sandwich is because he is scattering a confetti of the contents over the keyboard.
You would think that his advanced years would have brought a little more wisdom about this sort of thing. He is possibly like many of the elderly and doesn’t really give a stuff anymore what others think. I quite envy that.
I clear my throat and turn my attention back to the screen, where I ‘scroll’ down the pages of the Mail Online. It’s all depressing: stories about immigration; teenagers heading off to join ISIS; and politicians telling the usual fibs.
But I enjoy knowing the correct word for what I am doing. I am now a woman who ‘scrolls’, ‘downloads’, and ‘surfs the web’, among other things.
Oh yes, Terry, you didn’t think I had it in me, did you?
The point is: I will no longer feel inadequate when I see people tapping away at computers, as though they belong to yet another club I am excluded from. I can do this now, too. Although heaven knows whether I really shall bother.
I look around the library, glancing at the big clock to see how much of the session is left. A couple of teenagers across the way have managed to cover a whole table with their belongings and, like the old man, are openly eating lunch. One of them has some sort of fast food and the fatty, savoury smell tickles my nose and makes my tummy give a little growl. I would never eat anything like that, but breakfast does seem a long time ago.
I think about lunch – a ham sandwich perhaps, or an omelette – and picture my kitchen. Bertie will be a big scruffy comma in his bed, gently snoring. The clock will tick with a dull thunk, which has always been a little too loud. Or maybe there just aren’t enough other noises to balance it out?
This sort of thinking will get me nowhere. I can feel one of my funks coming on and I must fight it. Maybe I will bake a cake when I get home. Something complicated, which involves skill. It could be my own small celebration for reaching the last lesson of the course?
I certainly deserve a pat on the back for sticking with it. It’s fair to say I had a shaky start, mainly because I didn’t enjoy the patronizing attitude of the tutor, Alice, an Antipodean who looks about twelve yet always reeks of cigarette smoke. She has a slightly seedy appearance; her small fingers are adorned with chipped, grubby-looking polish and her dark blonde hair has been put into those horrible dreadlocks. Why on earth a white girl would do that with her hair is anyone’s guess. They’re piled on top of her head every which way giving her the appearance of a young nicotine-stained Medusa. She speaks in a cheerful lilting way that is a little too heavy on the question marks. And she never seems to wear a bra so her small bosom jiggles about like a pair of tennis balls under the vest tops she favours.
She was patient enough when I struggled at the beginning. I’ll give her that.
It didn’t come to me easily at first. I had a tendency to lift the mouse off the table while trying to master it. When I explained, once, that I was trying to move the cursor ‘up’, she actually said, ‘Aww, bless?’ Bliss.
I was stunned! You would think I was a child or a little old lady instead of a healthy woman of just 62. I said, ‘Young woman, I suggest you show a bit of respect.’ That told her. Since then, she still does the annoying laughing thing, but her eyes are always sliding off somewhere other than my face.
