Trust No One: A Tense Psychological Thriller Full of Twists

Fern St Clair had started the weekend in denial, but by Monday morning she had reached acceptance. Anger, bargaining and depression had been squeezed somewhere in between, with a good healthy dose of panic.

The anger had followed swiftly after denial, both occurring Friday night. Janice, who had still been in the house, had endured the brunt of both, firstly being accused of sending the notes and playing a cruel joke. Then when logic kicked in and Fern realised it was no joke, she had lashed out at her old school friend, blaming her for everything else. Either she had blabbed or one of the others had blabbed, but regardless of who had done the blabbing, it was still Janice’s fault. Then when Fern was on her sixth double vodka and the stupid woman had suggested she might want to ease up on her drinking, she had seen red and hurled her glass at Janice.

Janice was a beast of a woman and she had always had slow reactions, but on this occasion she had somehow managed to duck, the glass smashing against the wall behind her. Shortly afterwards, as Fern had sobbed in rage, Janice had beaten a hasty retreat.

Fern had gone to bed annoyed, woken up furious, and had spent much of Saturday nursing a hangover and pacing like a caged animal. By Sunday she had started bargaining. What was done was done. She would track down the leak and then figure out who had sent the letters. This was blackmail and blackmailers could be paid off.

She was no longer in contact with Kelly or Rachel. And she hadn’t spoken with Howard recently. The last time had been several months ago when they had hooked up for sex, something they did on occasion when they were both drunk and horny. They were friends on Facebook, though, and so that was where she started, pinging him a casual message asking for a meet-up. Then, while she waited for his reply, she tried to track down Kelly and Rachel.

Rachel Williams proved to be a fruitless task. Fern hadn’t seen her in years and she could have been any one of the hundred Rachel Williamses on Facebook. That’s if she was even on there. Kelly Dearborn wasn’t on any social media sites, but a Google search eventually tracked her down.

Unfortunately, it didn’t provide Fern with any comfort.

Kelly Dearborn was dead and as Fern read the news articles regarding the suspicious house fire in which she had perished, a chill went through her.

Kelly had died in a house fire eighteen months ago.

And now Gary had burnt to death. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

Feeling sick, she had messaged Janice the news about Kelly before nipping out to the corner off-licence. Once back she had checked all the doors and windows were locked before pouring another vodka. This called for triple measures.

Janice replied almost immediately with three shocked emojis.

Oh my God. What are we gonna do?

Fern threw her phone on the sofa, not bothering to reply. Why was it always her job to sort out the mess? Janice used her like a crutch.

Sipping the vodka, she checked her message to Howard. He had read it, but not replied. She glanced at his profile picture. The hipster beard and man bun made him look a bit of a prat. Howard had always kept up with the trends, but this new look really didn’t work for him.

‘Fuck you, Howard Peck!’ Always thought he was something special, that one. She would give him until the morning and God help him if he hadn’t got back to her by then.

Sunday evening was spent in a vodka-fuelled depression. She was still reeling from the uncomfortable revelation that both Kelly and Gary had burnt to death. She slept on the sofa that night. Not through choice, but because she was too paralytic to climb the stairs to bed.

Monday brought with it a monster hangover and disgust that she had fallen asleep fully clothed.

After calling in sick at work, she downed a couple of paracetamol with a glass of water then dragged herself upstairs for a shower. It was as she was soaping herself down that she finally reached acceptance.

Someone knew the truth about what had happened and was taking matters into their own hands. Fern was still unsure whether the person who had sent the notes was responsible for Kelly and Gary’s deaths, though it was looking likely. That meant she had to find out who was targeting them and then try to resolve this. She needed to round up Howard, Janice and, if they could find her, Rachel, and between them they could make a plan of action.

As she sent a message to Janice, fired off a second snotty one to Howard, her mind wandered back to another familiar name.

To someone who had been the catalyst for everything that had happened that day.

Maybe it was time to have a talk with Olivia Blake.

Hearing his phone ping, Howard reached into his pocket, expecting it to be Daisy. Irritation creasing his brow when he saw Fern St Clair’s face on the screen.

He had seen her message yesterday, hadn’t replied because, truth was, he wasn’t that interested in meeting up for a quick shag, not since meeting Daisy. Fern had an okay face and a fairly hot body, and yes, she wasn’t a bad lay, but she was a seven, tops, compared with Daisy’s nine-and-a-half. Howard never scored a full ten, because he liked to think there was always room for improvement.

The problem with Fern, though, was she didn’t take rejection kindly. The pair of them had been occasional fuck-buddies for close to fifteen years. Sometimes they met up several times a year, but recently it had been less frequent.

It was no strings attached, but still Howard feared her reaction when she learnt he was hoping to settle down with Daisy. So in true Howard Peck style, he had blanked her message, hoping she would just go away.

Of course, this was Fern St Clair he was talking about. She was not going to just go away. Nope. He read her message now, his balls shrinking as the angry tone of her words warned him he was in trouble. Howard didn’t want to meet up with her, but knew he had to come clean about Daisy. He typed:

I wasn’t ignoring you. I fell asleep. When do you want to meet?

Coward. He was just buying himself some time, he rationalised with himself. Fern was mad at him right now and it wasn’t a good time to tell her about Daisy. Let her calm down and he would tell her in person. That was better, wasn’t it?

Of course, deep down he knew that wouldn’t happen. Fern could be quite persuasive and Howard had no willpower. They would fuck and he would do his best to make sure that Daisy never found out.

Fern’s reply was almost instant.

Come to my place tonight. 8pm. Janice is going to be here too.

Janice? Howard racked his brains. The only Janice he could think of was Fern’s trucker of a friend from school. He didn’t realise they were still in touch. Why the hell would Janice be there? Was Fern expecting a threesome? Because, while they had tried plenty of kinky shit in the past and Howard was definitely up for the idea of a threesome, he wasn’t sure he could get his dick hard for Janice.

She’s not really my type. Don’t you have any other friends you could invite?

While he waited for a response, he checked Janice out on Facebook anyway, just to see if he could. He hadn’t seen her in years. Maybe she had improved with age. A quick glance at her profile picture told him she hadn’t.

Fern’s reply flashed up on the screen.

Oh, for God’s sake. This isn’t a hook-up, you idiot. We need to talk.

We do?

Relief was tinged with fresh fear. Howard knew that when women said they needed to talk, he was normally in some kind of trouble. He hadn’t seen Fern in months. Hadn’t seen Janice in years. What kind of trouble could he possibly be in?

It crossed his mind briefly that Fern was the one who had sent him that note last week, the one warning him that his past was about to catch up with him. Howard had screwed it up and binned it, knowing it could have been any one of his psycho exes, but given that they still occasionally met up for a shag, he hadn’t suspected Fern. Perhaps she knew about Daisy and was jealous. Not that she had any right to be. What they’d had was a casual arrangement and there was no commitment involved. And it certainly didn’t justify writing on his windscreen with red lipstick the word ‘Guilty’.

That had really peed him off.

Her next message was annoyingly vague and did nothing to allay his concern.

8pm. Don’t be late.

Was it Fern who was dicking with him? He toyed briefly with just deleting her off Facebook and blocking her so she couldn’t contact him again. Problem with that was she knew where he lived and also where he worked. He couldn’t risk her showing up and making a scene.

With hindsight he wished he had said he was busy tonight, but it was too late for that. He would go over to Fern’s, find out what this thing was she wanted to talk about, and try to get to the bottom of whether she was the person harassing him. Then he resolved to make a fresh start: no more hook-ups, and he would try to commit to making things work with Daisy.

He would be strong. He could do this.