We Used To Live Here : An addictive and gripping psychological thriller Read online

  WE USED TO LIVE HERE

  DANIEL HURST

  www.danielhurstbooks.com

  Copyright © 2022 by Daniel Hurst

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  We Used To Live Here

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  EPILOGUE

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  ALSO BY DANIEL HURST

  About The Author

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  If you would like to receive a FREE copy of my psychological thriller ‘Just One Second’, then you can find the link to the book at my website www.danielhurstbooks.com

  PROLOGUE

  How many people does it take to look for a dead body?

  Seventeen, apparently, if the number of people currently in the garden at 31 Birchfield Drive was any way of judging it. That’s how many were standing around at the back of the property, their feet moving across either the patio, the grass, or the quaint little path that led down to the shed at the bottom of the garden.

  Most of the people were wearing boots, which seemed sensible given that this environment was quickly turning into a mud bath as land was churned up and soil was dumped to the side of the rapidly expanding hole. But some of those present were wearing less appropriate footwear for the conditions, like the set of sandals on the feet of the female homeowner or the smart black shoes on the feet of the male homeowner. However, those two people were not technically involved in the search for a body in this garden.

  They were just here to see if their property turned into a crime scene.

  For what was normally a very quiet street in an extremely quiet town in the South of England, there was plenty of noise and activity in this little section of the map. The back of this house was overrun with police officers, detectives and forensic experts, as well as a couple of sniffer dogs, while the front of it was home to all the vehicles they had travelled here in today. Cars, vans, and even an ambulance sat on the street, giving all the neighbours plenty to look at as they stood by their windows and speculated on what might be happening at Number 31.

  At the moment, it was all gossip and hearsay, but as the old saying went, there was no smoke without fire, so if the police were looking for a body, then there was a good chance they believed they would find one.

  Such a thing would have surely got every journalist in this town salivating at the prospect of having something more interesting to put in their news articles than a cat getting stuck up a tree again in the local park. But for now, all journalists were kept out of the way, as in the dark as the neighbours were. This was strictly a matter for the police at the moment, and until they knew more, nobody else would know anything.

  But as the officers, detectives, and forensic experts worked diligently, deploying impressive technological items such as ground-penetrating radar devices, as well as more heavy-duty instruments like spades, the mystery still remained.

  Would they find a body or not?

  There was surely nobody on the scene morbid enough to actually want to see human remains here today, but perhaps the two people who were hoping this would have a happy ending the most were the property owners standing on the patio. The wife had her arms folded across her chest and was nibbling on her bottom lip nervously, while the husband had his hands on his head, watching his well-manicured lawn and flowerbeds being destroyed by a combination of excavating tools and heavy-footed police officers. But as bad as it was to see their garden taken over while they stood by helplessly, it was even worse to see it become a hive of activity for a serious crime investigation.

  What would it mean for them if a body was found here?

  Would they have to leave the house?

  Would they have to sell?

  And would anybody ever want to buy a place associated with death?

  Those were just a select few of the dozens of questions that the homeowners had, but they would have to be added to the list along with all the other questions that surrounded this puzzle. The first thing to establish was whether there really was anything more interesting under the surface than just soil and worms, and as of yet, it didn’t seem like there was.

  But then came a cry that suggested that had just changed.

  ‘I’ve got something!’

  All heads instantly looked in the direction of the man who had just conveyed the potentially life-changing news, and as the search area suddenly shrank in size, zeroing in on that one patch of grass not far from the shed, the homeowners held their breath.

  This was the moment of truth. This was why the police were crawling all over the place. And this was the reason why laws had been made in this country.

  Laws existed to protect citizens.

  If somebody had died here, then somebody else would have to pay for it.

  As the ground continued to be disturbed and more soil was moved, it felt like time stood still in the back garden. But all hell broke loose a moment later when the police found what they were looking for.

  They had a body.

  And the homeowners’ worst fears had just been realised.

  BEFORE THE BODY WAS FOUND

  1

  STEPH

  They say you should never judge a book by its cover. But what about a house?

  My eyes are all over the property that we have just parked in front of as I get out of the car alongside my husband, Grant. He is also examining the exterior, looking for anything that might be a red flag and tell us to get back in our car and drive away as quickly as we can before we make a big mistake. But everything looks okay. So far, so good.

  Now all we have to do is see the inside.

  Passing the For Sale sign that has been hammered into the soil in the modest but well-maintained front garden, Grant and I head for the front door with the number 31 stuck to it. This is the house that the pair of us looked at online a couple of days ago before agreeing that it was worth a proper viewing in person. So here we are. My husband of six years and me, looking to buy our second home together, and we’re hoping our next move will be our last.

  Unlike our current house, which was great for just the two of us but quickly became far too small once we added a couple of children to the equation, this next house has to be bigger. Much bigger. We need more bedrooms, we need more storage s
pace, and we definitely need a playroom to accommodate all the toys that our two little cherubs have accumulated in their young lives to date. Charlie is five, and Amelia is six months old, and while they are both currently at their grandparents’ house being looked after today, they will be back with us shortly, and when they are, neither Grant nor I will have much time to do anything other than tend to their needs.

  That’s why we decided that we were better coming to look at this house as a couple rather than as a family. It’ll be easier to form an honest opinion about this place without our little boy running around at our feet and our little girl crying while we try and ask the estate agent simple questions about the current owners and how quickly they could move out if we decide to buy.

  Of course, we could have just asked the current owners those questions directly if we had the chance to meet them, but alas, they have opted to be out of the property for all viewings, leaving it to the appointed agent to do all the work. That’s fair enough, I suppose, because it is a bit of a hassle having to show people around a house that you are trying to sell. I know all about that as we try to sell our current home. But we’ve had a few offers in recently, and we’ll probably accept the largest one, which means the clock is ticking on us finding our own place to move to. Otherwise, we’ll either have to rent or move in with my parents for a while. But I don’t want to do the former, and Grant certainly does not want to do the latter.

  Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

  Let’s hope this house is the one.

  Let’s hope this is going to be our ‘forever home’.

  It doesn’t take long for our knock on the door to be answered, and when it opens, we see Rose, the effervescent, twenty-something-year-old estate agent who I spoke to on my mobile yesterday to confirm this viewing. She’s as bubbly in person as she was on the phone, and as she steps aside and welcomes us in, her youthful exuberance is making me feel every one of the ten or more years I might have on her. But I’m not bad for a thirty-seven-year-old. A little worn out after bearing two children and not sleeping much since but apart from that, I’m still pretty energetic.

  Just not as energetic as the woman in front of me.

  ‘How are you both? Did you find it okay? The sat-nav sometimes says to take a left at the top of the street instead of a right, but I guess you figured it out. Come in, come in. Would you mind taking your shoes off? It’s just that the homeowners have asked viewers to do so. I hope you don’t mind. If you just pop them over there, by the stairs, that will be fine. That’s great.’

  As Grant and I remove our shoes and place them down neatly where we were told to do so, Rose barely pauses for breath before launching into her next monologue.

  ‘So, as you can see, the hallway is very spacious and gets plenty of light, which is important. I believe it was only recently redecorated, and it’s certainly added value to the property. It’s obviously a very important part of the house because it’s the first part that any of your guests will see when they arrive. And you know what they say. First impressions are everything.’

  Rose smiles widely, clearly trying to ensure that she gives a good first impression of herself as much as this property. But she’s doing a good job so far, even if she is a little too keen, and Grant and I return the smile before she leads us into the living room.

  I recognise the stylish sofas from the photos on the agency website, as well as the impressive fireplace that forms the centrepiece of this room. While I would look to change most of the furniture and décor in here were I to move in, the fireplace would be one thing that I left untouched. It’s perfect, and I am already imagining what it will be like to be curled up in this room on a winter’s evening with the TV on and my family around me, while a roaring fire keeps us warm and cosy.

  Rose rambles on as we move into the dining room, and I run my finger over the oak table that sits in the middle of this room, surrounded by six chairs that make this the perfect place to entertain a few of our friends should we live here one day. But it’s the next room that really has me salivating at the idea of having guests over, and I’m not the only one who likes it.

  ‘This has to be my favourite room in the house,’ Rose says as she walks around the marble countertop that serves as a breakfast bar in this magnificent kitchen. Marvelling at the layout of the kitchen, I visualise myself cooking meals in here. Pasta dishes, curries, and so many salads on a weekday evening. Bacon and eggs on a Saturday morning. A roast dinner on a Sunday afternoon.

  Rose has a point.

  This is now my favourite room in the house too.

  ‘So, which one of you is the chef?’ Rose asks as I wander around the worktops while Grant cheekily opens a cupboard door or two to look inside.

  ‘That would be me,’ I say in response to the question. ‘The less time Grant spends in a room like this, the better.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not that bad!’ my husband cries, trying to defend his honour, but I’m not having it.

  ‘Are you kidding? You can barely make toast!’

  That is true, and Grant doesn’t try to deny it, causing Rose to giggle a little.

  ‘My talents lie in other rooms of the house,’ Grant says, which I’m sure he didn’t mean to come across in a sexual way, but I think that’s how Rose takes it because she suddenly blushes before telling him to say no more in a very mischievous manner.

  I’m a little perturbed by the estate agent being flirtatious with my husband, but seemingly not half as much as Grant is because he’s now gone bright red and is pretending to concentrate on opening and closing one of the utensil drawers rather than make eye contact with me or Rose again.

  ‘Can we go out into the back garden?’ I ask, deciding that it’s best to move on quickly, and Rose is only too happy to oblige, rushing towards the double doors that give a view out into the rear of the property and unlocking them before pushing them open.

  ‘This house is south facing, so you will get the sun all day in the summer,’ Rose tells the pair of us as we step out onto the patio and survey the scene.

  I’m not much of a gardener myself, and it’s more the area of the home for my husband to excel in, which I assume is what he was getting at a minute ago when he made his slightly miscued quip. But maybe I will change all that if we do move in here because as I look across the luscious lawn all the way down to the little shed at the bottom of the garden, I see what a beautiful area this is.

  It’s great news that it gets the sun in summer because there’s nothing worse than being in shade on the rare occasion that the weather is nice in England, and it’s also good to see that this space is not overlooked by any of the other properties in the area. There are no windows offering a viewpoint for a nosy neighbour to spy on me sunbathing in my bikini, and I like that because nobody wants to be spied on when they are semi-naked, do they?

  ‘This is lovely,’ Grant says as he ventures down the garden path a little bit, getting a closer look at the flowerbeds and presumably imagining what kind of things he would do in this space if he was given free rein over it.

  ‘Plenty of room for the kids to play,’ I reply as I step onto the grass for a moment and picture my two little ones running around on here or sitting on a blanket having a picnic.

  ‘I’m very jealous,’ Rose admits as she remains standing on the patio behind me. ‘I live in a one-bedroom flat on the fifth floor. No garden for me.’

  I smile at the younger woman, hoping that she is aware that one day, as she climbs the career ladder and grows her income, she could have a property like this too. I’m just older than her, so I’m a little ahead. She has the advantage of fewer years taking their toll on her body, but I have the advantage of having more years to have earned a wage. She’ll catch me up eventually, and when she does, she’ll probably long for the days when she was poor yet young and energetic again.

  As Rose completes the tour of the house by showing us upstairs, I reach out and take my husband’s hand behind the estate agent’s back
. Once I’ve got his attention, I turn to him and give him a knowing smile, and he seems to register what I am silently saying to him.

  I like this place.

  I think this could be the one.

  Of course, I don’t come out and say it in front of the agent because if she sees how keen I am about making this property mine then she might pass that information on to the owners, and they could hold out for a higher price. That’s why I stay quiet, but as Grant smiles back at me and gives me a wink, I can tell he is thinking the same thing.

  He likes it too.

  That means there is only one thing we will do after we have left here and given it some thought.

  We will put an offer in.

  And then we will hold our breath to wait and see if it gets accepted.

  2

  GRANT

  There’s always a lot to do on day one in a new home.

  Carrying boxes. Unpacking boxes. Tripping over boxes.

  I’m surrounded by so much cardboard as I walk around this chaotic house that I’m pretty sure I’ll be seeing boxes in my dreams tonight.

  But it’s all worth it to be called the owners of a property like this.

  Steph and I celebrated when we heard the news that our second offer to buy 31 Birchfield Drive had been accepted by opening a bottle of champagne and toasting to an exciting new future. Now we are finally in our new house, there is no time for little luxuries like having a glass of something fizzy because there is so much to be done, but it’s important to take a moment to reflect on how far we have come, and I do just that as I put down yet another box and take a seat on top of it.

  I’ve not done too badly for a guy who left school with poor exam results and a desire to do nothing but drink beer, smoke weed and chat up any pretty girls that came my way. Then again, I have done a lot of growing up in the twenty years since I left formal education behind and realised the real world was not as easy as I thought it was going to be. I’ve got a proper career now, working for a company that even allows some ‘work from home’ days on occasion. I cut out the weed a long time ago, and while I’m still partial to a beer or three on occasion, I’m hardly a big drinker. And as for chatting up pretty girls? Not since I met Steph and married her, preferring the life of a family man rather than that of a ladies’ man.