The Secret They Kept: What are they hiding? : An addictive and gripping psychological thriller

  The

  Secret

  They Kept

  J.S Ellis

  All copyright © 2022 Joanne Saccasan All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any way without permission except in the case of quotations or book reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Name, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, locales and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, or actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact:

  Black Cat Ink Press

  https://blackcatinkpress.com/

  J.S Ellis

  https://www.joannewritesbooks.com

  Cover Design by Getcovers

  Edited by Natalie Boyland

  Proofread by Tiffany Shand and Sianisel

  ISBN: Ebook: 978-9918-0-0213-9

  Paperback: 978-9918-0-0212-2

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter One

  The excitement flourished in me as I finished the last coat of paint. I took a step back and admired my handiwork. The wall was a light French grey, and it looked sophisticated. The window was wide open, and I could hear the chatter from neighbours outside. I hadn’t had the time to introduce myself to the neighbours yet; I had been too busy painting the wall and unpacking. I assumed they saw the moving truck a few days ago as I noticed a few curtains move.

  I cleared away the plastic and the mess I made while painting the wall, and continued with the unpacking. I had to finish as quickly as possible. I liked to set mini-deadlines; it kept me organised. The smell of paint wafted in the air as I unpacked my books and started placing them on the shelf. I moved the desk by the window, this was where I was going to work, so I could gaze out from time to time. I was a digital marketer which allowed me the luxury to work from home. I started this freelance gig a year ago and the business had been lucrative.

  Ed, my boyfriend of four years, was going to move in with me soon. I removed the plastic off the white cabriole sofa, which stood in the middle of the living room. I placed grey and a blue cushion so I could leisure about when I have nothing better to do. I wasn’t a woman of leisure, mind you; I always had something to do. Anyway, the blue of the cushions added a splash of colour. There was a small coffee table in front of it. It was progress, and I liked the country-style decor mixed with a bit of contemporary. The bell sounded in the house. I wiped my clammy hands against my jeans and went to answer the door. A small elderly woman stood before me, holding a dish in her hands. She had white hair, blue eyes and wore glasses.

  ‘Hello there, dear.’ The woman beamed. ‘I had seen the truck and I figured we have someone new to the neighbourhood. I thought I would come and introduce myself. I’m Mrs Parker.’

  ‘Hello, I’m Emily,’ I said, beaming back at her.

  She shoved the dish my way. ‘Hope you like apple crumble.’

  ‘Oh, I love apple crumble.’

  Mrs Parker smiled at me as I took the dish from her hand. ‘I’m at no. 9 if you need anything.’

  ‘That’s very kind. Thank you.’

  She lingered for a bit, maybe she expected me to invite her inside. ‘I better continue,’ I said. ‘I have so much to do.’

  ‘Oh yes. I won’t keep you.’

  More neighbours came to welcome me and brought me food. I tried to remember all their names, but I was hopeless at that. The neighbours, I noticed, were mostly elderly. I have seen no one in my thirty to forty age group anywhere. Although I couldn’t remember all their names, no one came to welcome me from the house across the street, an idyllic house with a yellow door.

  I went into my brand new white kitchen and opened the fridge, which was full of dishes of food the neighbours had given me. I took the bottle of water that was sitting on the bottom shelf and closed the fridge with my hips. Anna, my friend, was due to be over. I opened the bottle and took a sip while standing by the window, watching the house with the yellow door. The window upstairs was closed. The doorbell went off.

  ‘Hello!’ I said with a grin as Anna stood before me.

  ‘Emily! How’s the decorating going?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m almost finished. Come in,’ I said, letting Anna pass through.

  ‘Ah, this is gorgeous,’ she said, admiring the living room and turned facing me, waving a bottle of bubbly. ‘I brought supplies.’

  We giggled.

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘I just finished dusting.’

  Anna glanced at the wall and grimaced. ‘Grey?’

  ‘It’s natural, goes with everything,’ I said defensively.

  She couldn’t hide the disapproval from her face. ‘Boring.’

  ‘I think it looks good,’ I said, looking at the wall.

  ‘Well, the house is lovely,’ she cooed.

  ‘I need to unpack my clothes and I’ll be good to go.’

  Anna motioned to the kitchen and her blonde hair bounced along with her. ‘Not until we open this baby,’ she said, admiring the kitchen. ‘A chef’s dream.’

  ‘Nothing but the best for the foodie,’ I said, wiggling into the kitchen.

  ‘More reason to open this.’ She gestured at the champagne bottle.

  We laughed and Anna went through the momentous task of opening the champagne. There was a distinct pop as the cork went flying, hitting the upper cupboard and landing on the kitchen table. We sniggered as I reached for the mugs.

  ‘I’m afraid we have to drink champagne in these.’ I waved at the mismatched mugs.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, it will taste the same either way.’

  We clicked the mugs together, giggled again, and took sips of champagne. The bubbles fizzed like soda and the dryness enveloped my mouth.

  ‘Where is Ed?’

  ‘Still at his place. He’s moving in a few weeks.’

  ‘He told you about this h
ouse and didn’t bother to see what you have done to the place?’

  ‘Not yet. He’s away for a conference.’

  When I was house hunting, I had seen around twenty houses. Ed told me he had a friend who was a realtor. Ed told him about this house in Greenwich, and sent me the link; it was cheaper than the other houses I had seen. I met with his realtor friend, who I had never met before, Tim, and he showed me the house. It was love at first sight. It had two bedrooms, one was an ensuite, two bathrooms, a living room, kitchen and a backyard. It was perfect.

  ‘What are the neighbours like?’ Anna asked.

  I opened the fridge. ‘I met a few. They seem nice enough.’

  Anna and I met at university. She was studying economics while I was studying marketing. She worked in a big corporate finance company.

  ‘Are you competing for a cook-off?’ Anna remarked.

  ‘Well, not me, the neighbours were,’ I pointed out. ‘If you’re hungry, I’m all sorted.’

  Anna waved her hand. ‘I’m fine. ‘You must be so excited, just turned thirty-five and a house all to yourself. A new career. The thirties are always about accomplishing your goals. Maybe Ed will propose.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Would that be so bad?’

  ‘No, not at all actually.’

  *

  After Anna left, I planned what to cook for supper. Something simple but satisfying, like rice or pasta perhaps, then a glass of wine, watch a movie, have an early night, and get on with work tomorrow. I picked the remaining files off my desk so it would be all nice and tidy for tomorrow. As I lifted the files, a voice sounded from across the street, making me jump and drop the files on the floor.

  ‘Shut up!’

  The voice boomed through the street and I peered from behind the curtains. The yell sounded from the house with the yellow door. The lights were on. The curtains were partly closed and I could make out a man and a woman. The man was on his feet with his hands on his hips, while the woman sat at the table, crying. My eyes went to the upstairs window. The curtains were open and a young man sat by the desk. He was looking towards the bedroom door, hearing his parents arguing downstairs. He turned his attention to the laptop, shaking his head, then rubbed his face with his hands.

  The man downstairs, presumably the father, stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He stomped to the street, went to his jeep, and drove off. Now, the son had left his room and was kneeling by his mother’s chair. She placed her hand on his cheek, and he pulled her to him. The son looked like he had a close relationship with his mother. I closed the curtain. It was none of my business.

  Chapter Two

  I was bored sitting in front of the TV. Ed was still away, although we were in constant contact. Today, we did a video call. He was in his hotel robe while I gave him the tour of the house. Ed was tall with dark hair which he kept brushed back, brown eyes and had a goatee which made him both scruffy and sophisticated.

  ‘It looks great, Emily,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to see it in person.’

  ‘I miss you,’ I said.

  ‘Miss you too, love,’ he said.

  I should have gone to bed, but I wasn’t tired. Without thinking, I grabbed my parka and left. The downstairs lights were on and there was the blurring of the TV coming from the house across the road. I moved along, going straight past the other houses. Most of them were dark, either the neighbours were out or in bed. The wind rushed, the cold snap made me shiver as I zipped up my jacket and wrapped the scarf tighter around my neck. I breathed into my scarf and my phone beeped inside my pocket. It was Ed and I only had 2% battery on my phone. I should have remembered to charge the thing.

  Good news I’ll be coming tomorrow xxx

  I smiled as I composed a quick can’t wait while walking, turning into a corner. I looked up and two figures appeared at the end of the road. They were laughing, talking at once, then one figure pulled the other against the wall. The woman went down on her knees and her head bobbed back and forth. My mouth gaped open as it became clear what she was doing. I had to mind my own business, but I found it impossible to look away.

  I tiptoed towards the dumpster and hid behind it. The woman stopped as her hand moved up and down the length of him. She licked him and her tongue circled around him. I watched with curious fascination as she took him in her mouth again. The man placed his hand over her head as if to position her as she slowed her motions. An orange light illuminated under him. I made out long blonde hair, a leather jacket, and a necklace glimmering under the lamp. A grunt escaped his mouth as he kept holding the woman's head in place. I gasped. His head turned as if he knew someone was there.

  I covered my mouth with my hand and lowered myself. What if he came here? Oh, God. This was mortifying. There was a laugh and footsteps. I peeked from behind the dumpster and they were gone.

  *

  I hurried my pace back at the house and kept looking over my shoulder. My heart thumped against my chest and my cheeks were burning after what I saw. I saw nothing wrong, just a young couple, and the woman was giving the bloke a blow job. Still, the image was unsettling, as if I was embarrassed by them. I took out my key and placed it in the lock, but the key didn’t turn. I frowned. This was a brand-new lock. I tried again; it didn’t budge.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ I said.

  I tried again. It seemed to be stuck.

  I shut my eyes and puffed. The back door was locked and I didn’t have the key with me. I took out my phone, the battery was dead. Fantastic. My eyes went to the house with its pretty yellow door and the bed flowers around it. It would be a good time to introduce myself while I asked if I could use their phone.

  ‘Right,’ I said to myself.

  I rang the bell and waited. A man opened the door and scowled at me. He was in his late forties with dark short hair, high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and green eyes. He was very handsome, but his hard-stern look made me uneasy but I maintained my jolly, friendly self.

  ‘Hello,’ I said cheerfully. ‘I’m the new neighbour from across the street, Emily Clark. How do you do?’

  He stared at me as if I were an alien that just landed and knocked on his door to introduce itself.

  ‘I got myself in a bit of pickle and I was wondering if I could—’

  The slam of the door knocked me like a punch. I blinked at it, stunned.

  ‘Right, not friendly, I see.’

  I turned and reached the pavement. Maybe I could see if Mrs Parker was awake. It was the only name I could remember. I walked towards no. 9 when a shout made me stop and glance over my shoulder at the house with the yellow door. It was a woman this time.

  ‘You didn’t have to be so rude!’

  ‘Shut up!’ the man yelled.

  So weird.

  *

  I knocked on Mrs Parker's door. I could hear the chatter of the TV seeping under the house. Mrs Parker answered the door in her bathrobe and rollers in her hair.

  ‘Oh, Emily darling, how can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Parker, sorry to inconvenience you like this, but the lock of my front door is jammed and I can’t get in the house. My mobile battery is dead. I was wondering if I could use your phone?’

  ‘Of course, dear, come in,’ she said, opening the door wider. ‘These things happen.’

  I followed her through the long corridor to a spacious living room with a striped sofa, she had a talk show playing on the flat screen. On the cabinet were a lot of photographs. A mug of tea was on the coffee table.

  ‘You got me just in time. I was getting ready for bed,’ she said.

  ‘Right, I won’t keep you. I was hoping maybe you have a number of a locksmith I could call?’

  ‘Yes, I do... let me check.’

  She opened a drawer of a cabinet by the wall and produced a leather-bound notebook. She licked her finger while flipping through the pages. ‘Ah, there it is. The phone is right over there,’ she said, pointing at an ancient phone attached
to the wall.

  After I finished the call, Mrs Parker offered me a cup of tea while I waited. I stood in her living room as I heard her move about in the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers.

  ‘I’m sorry for the trouble,’ I called out.

  ‘No trouble at all.’

  I walked towards the cabinet where the photographs were. There were black and white photos of a man and woman on their wedding day. I presumed they were Mrs Parker and her husband. There were photos with the same man from the wedding photo and others with smiling children.

  ‘That is my husband, Roger,’ Mrs Parker said.

  I jumped. For how long she had been standing there?

  ‘I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to frighten you, poor thing here, have a seat.’

  She guided me to the sofa and handed me a china cup.

  The chatter of the TV seemed too loud, as if reading my mind, Mrs Parker reached for the remote and lowered the volume. She sat across from me in her armchair.

  ‘I’m sorry about this,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, no problem at all.’

  ‘Is Mr Parker asleep?’ I asked.

  She smiled sadly. ‘Roger has long passed.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s been ten years now. Died in his sleep.’

  I took a sip of tea, thinking of what to ask her. ‘How you’re finding the neighbourhood? Are you settled? Have you met everyone?’ she asked.

  ‘Nice neighbourhood, quiet,’ I said. ‘Who are the people that live in the house with the yellow door?’

  ‘Those are the Jones’s,’ she said as if their name was a medical complaint.

  ‘I see... I went there before I came here, I met them... well, just the husband.’

  Mrs Parker perked up. ‘You did?’

  ‘I knocked on their door. As I was about to introduce myself, he shut the door on my face.’

  ‘Mr Jones is not the friendliest of people around here. You shouldn’t have gone there and I should have warned you about them.’

  ‘Warned me?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, they are a strange bunch. His wife had a breakdown, you see.’

  ‘Oh, that’s terrible.’

  Why strange though? Having a mental breakdown didn’t classify anyone as being strange. What caused it? I shouldn’t linger and gossip about other people. I wasn’t that sort of person. I took more sips of tea to hurry the process, hoping the locksmith wouldn’t be long.