Close My Eyes

by Beverley Harvey

Genres: Thrillers; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

‘Fantastic… got a hold of me from beginning to the end. I was desperate to know how it ended and at the same time, I did not want to finish reading... I will be thinking of this book for a long time.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

How did I forget the worst thing that’s ever happened to me? And how do I try and put it right? The first time I remembered, I thought I was dying. I couldn’t breathe – something was crushing my chest – all I could see was darkness. A terrible fear, pulling me under. And all because of a glimpse of a face I hadn’t seen in years. Since then I’ve realised: this is a memory of an attack. Something vicious happened to me years ago – a night that changed my life, without me even knowing. My family and friends don’t believe me – they say I’m imagining things, but I know I’m right. What I don’t know is who was responsible. And I won’t stop until I find out. Wherever the truth leads me. Whatever betrayals are uncovered. Whatever the risk. A heart-stopping psychological suspense novel that asks: who do you trust the most? Your friends? Your family? Or your own mind? Fans of T.M. Logan, Claire McGowan and Lisa Jewell will be gripped by Close My Eyes. Readers can’t get enough of Beverley Harvey: ‘ I LOVED THIS BOOK!… I literally finished it all in one sitting – meaning the bags under my eyes are solely down to this book as I just had to keep binging through this unputdownable story!’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Blood stopped in my fingers while holding my e-reader. It’s that brilliant. I was gripped… Just blew my mind.’ NetGalley reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Wow! I absolutely loved this book from the first page, it just pulls you in and doesn’t let go!… If I could give it more than 5 stars I would.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Had me bowled over… hooked for the better part of a day… a gripping novel and a must-read.’ NetGalley reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ I could not put it down and stayed up hours to finish reading… I loved the ending and the suspense… this is definitely an author to keep an eye on. ’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Just brilliant. Thrilling. Pacy. Suspenseful. Addictive. This one ticked all the boxes for me. I could not put it down. Very highly recommended.’ NetGalley reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ There are many twists and turns in this book that I thoroughly enjoyed and didn’t see coming. I cannot say enough about how much I LOVED the ending! I cannot wait to read more from this author.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Release date: March 23, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

The sweet scent of leylandii, like pine mixed with nutmeg, catches Beth’s breath. Feeling her throat constrict, she wonders if she is allergic to its dense foliage as she brushes past on her way to the compost pile, cradling the plastic bowl filled with veg peelings.

It surprises her that the neighbours haven’t complained. Mr and Mrs Henderson next door are almost as old as Beth’s father, yet their garden is a vision of manicured perfection – due in no small part to a local firm who buzz, clip and hoe noisily once a month. The way her dad’s hedge eclipses their dahlia patch must be a source of great irritation to them.

Braced against the October chill, she prods the rotting debris with a stick, adds the peelings to the mound and watches as steam curls into the fading light.

She looks back at the house, where her father’s silhouette waves from the back door and her heart contracts. When she’d arrived at noon, there were wet trousers in the laundry basket. Another accident. Not that it matters – a spill of coffee, a dribble of wee, what difference does it make, once discreetly loaded into his old but reliable washing machine? How long though before Tim is unable to look after himself? Moving him to a care home is not an option.

Beth considers her own flat in Sydenham, opposite the park and the bus stop, with its year-round whiff of grass mixed with diesel. As modest as her home is, it is her sanctuary and the thought of selling it to live with her father for the rest of his days is not a happy one.

She walks back towards the house she was born in thirty-nine years ago and marvels that it’s been in the family for so long. Detached houses in this leafy avenue are changing hands for unseemly sums these days. This one would too, despite its frayed condition and dated fixtures and fittings. Estate agents would call it a ‘doer-upper’, hoping to attract middle-class families with an eye for a bargain, fleeing inner London for a new life in the suburbs, perhaps to start or grow a family, just as her own parents had done all those years ago.

With an unexpected shiver, Beth looks back at the garden’s gathering shadows and hurries inside.

At home, the odour of last night’s fish and chips greets her – the result of leaving greasy paper and congealed scraps of batter in the kitchen bin overnight. Beth goes around turning on lamps and opening windows, letting the cold air rush in. After hauling the rubbish outside, she makes tea and settles in front of the television, a familiar crime drama flickering on the screen.

When her mobile phone buzzes from the coffee table, Beth realises that she’s missed two texts. The first is from Alex. With a groan, she reaches for her reading glasses.

Beth, thinking of you and missing you terribly. Sending you all my love, always. Ax

Ignoring the nub of guilt forming in her chest, Beth sets the phone aside for a moment before remembering the second text. It’s from Gemma, chatty and upbeat as always.

B, hope all ok at your dad’s today? Don’t forget Miya’s Halloween play on Weds, then dinner at ours. Guy is making pumpkin soup! xx

Beth smiles at her friend’s customary stream of emojis – on this occasion an entire line of pumpkins, ghosts and laughing faces.

After replying how much she’s looking forward to seeing Miya as a witch’s cat, Beth takes an open bottle of pinot grigio from the fridge and pours some into a glass. Shivering, she quickly closes the windows and sits down to focus on the frustrations of Detective Inspector Mellish, before realising that she’s seen the episode. Reaching for her phone, she re-reads Alex’s message.

She’d meant for things to be different this time. Alex is a good man, whom she liked. A lot. Certainly enough to sleep with him for the last six months. But recently, she’d seen the confusion and disappointment in his eyes… he could tell. Just like the others.

Beth reflects on the men in her life. Excluding playground crushes, there have been five boyfriends during her entire adulthood. Proper grownup relationships, where there had been an expectation that things would ‘go somewhere’. Yeah, she thinks wryly, like to the estate agents, to find a flat; then to Ikea, to load up with cheap, fashionable furniture; and finally, to church, to make solemn vows… It’s enough to make her head spin.

Poor Alex. She hadn’t meant to hurt him.

But the words he’d needed to hear had stuck in Beth’s throat; words that came so easily to others. To her sister, Laura, who said I love you to her husband several times a day; to her best friends, Guy and Gemma, who said it all the time, and right in front of her. Sometimes, she’d hear teenagers in school uniform calling out love ya to each other as they got off the bus, before wending in opposite directions. And yet…

Once, when she and Alex had enjoyed a wonderful day out – a Saturday afternoon spent wandering around the Royal Academy, followed by a walk in Hyde Park eating warm, sticky crepes from waxed paper – in a moment of pure happiness, she’d almost said it then. Almost.

The acidity of the wine smacks the roof of her mouth. She considers opening another bottle, then thinks better of it. She’ll need a clear head tomorrow for the Monday morning status meeting run by Nessa, who no doubt will be wearing the close-lipped smile she adopts during the frequent and sycophantic interjections by Ray. Creepy Ray, who smells of mints and carries a leather-bound notebook he never opens. Beth lives in hope that one day he’ll leave and take his polos, his retro Filofax and his sanctimonious air to another charity.

‘You’re late,’ Nessa snaps before Beth has even removed her coat.

She’s about to explain how her train was delayed by some idiot roaming the line near Brockley when she catches the inappropriateness of it, given she’s the press officer of a small mental health charity. She looks around and notes she is last to arrive. Not the best start to Monday morning. ‘I’m sorry, Nessa. My train was a bit late. I’ll make a point of getting in early tomorrow.’

Nessa nods, then hovers, her blonde eyebrows raised half-moons.

Beth does her best to look attentive, aware that she’s probably missed something.

But Ray is on his feet, looking pleased with himself. ‘Don’t worry, Beth, I’ve just sent five copies to the printer.’ He flashes her a smile that does not reach his small, mud-coloured eyes.

And then it dawns on her: it is her turn to print copies of the status report, ready for the 9.30 a.m. meeting. One glance at Ray tells Beth that her own fuzziness has made his day. She throws him a look, knowing that he’ll revel in making her appear small and stupid until at least lunchtime.

Eventually, with the whole team of five huddled around two desks pushed together, which passes for a meeting area, the conversation gets underway as projects are updated, next steps decided, and tasks are assigned for the week ahead.

Beth looks round at the earnest, committed faces of her colleagues as they sit clutching mugs of instant coffee, some furiously scribbling notes. It is a quiet source of pleasure that apart from Ray, she genuinely enjoys the company of her workmates and would be content to sit in a bar and drink with any one of them. The accommodation could be better: two dusty rooms – one with a kettle and scant tea-making facilities in the corner – and a unisex loo, above a dry cleaner’s in New Cross Gate is hardly the stuff of corporate dreams. Wages have been frozen for three years running and the hours can feel ceaseless in the winter, walking through South East London streets hollow with grime and shadows during her weekday commute of barely five miles. Nevertheless, there are days when the office is buzzing with life and energy, even triumph.

Beth rarely tells strangers that she works for a charity – and even less so that she works in mental health. It embarrasses her, the way people’s expressions change, heads to one side with a barely perceptible nod, before gushing about ‘giving back’ or ‘doing one’s bit’, as if she’d fished for their approval.

At the end of the meeting, Nessa steers her to one side. ‘Beth, fancy popping out at lunchtime? I’d like to talk through this month’s key messages on social media,’ she says, her round eyes challenging Beth to refuse.

Hattie’s Wholefoods is alive with hipsters and yummy mummies so slender they look as though they’ve never given birth. Nessa points out a quiet corner table and after a perfunctory glance at the familiar menu, they order quiche and salad from a teenager with pale green hair and a pierced eyebrow that looks perilously inflamed.

‘God, poor thing. She should get that checked out for infection,’ Nessa says, setting down her tablet and a handful of typed pages.

When their food arrives, Nessa puts her pen down and studies her colleague’s face. ‘Beth, are you all right? You look tired – and if I’m being honest, a bit sad,’ she says, a furrow appearing between her brows.

Beth weighs up whether to invent something or to level with her boss. She opts for the latter, which seems easier, given that Nessa is big on honesty and that she’s known her for years.

Beth nods. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Alex and I have split up, but I’m okay. It was the right decision. He wanted things to move forward and I wasn’t ready for anything more serious.’ She takes a sip of apple juice and waits for Nessa’s response.

‘Oh no! Beth, that’s awful. I’m so sorry… I thought you two were good together. I only met Alex a couple of times in the pub, but any fool could see he worships you. I’m guessing you don’t feel the same?’

‘No, I don’t, and I can’t imagine that changing any day soon. So, that’s it, it’s over.’

They eat in silence for a moment but thinking about Alex has wiped out Beth’s appetite and the pie crust of her quiche turns to cardboard in her mouth.

‘Look, tell me to mind my own business,’ Nessa says, ‘but haven’t we been here before? Isn’t this exactly what happened with you and Andy?’

Beth shakes her head. ‘Andy was different. He wanted to get married and have kids, he was always putting pressure on me. It’s just not for me…’

Nessa holds up a hand. ‘You’ve got intimacy issues if you ask me,’ she cuts in.

Beth checks herself. ‘Maybe I have. Look, can we talk about something else, please?’

‘Of course.’ Nessa nods, firing up her iPad and getting down to business.

Gemma removes three pins from between full, rose-pink lips. ‘Miya, please, keep still – unless you want me to fix this tail to your actual bum.’

Miya giggles and continues shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

‘Okay, take the whole thing off and I’ll sew it up properly. While I do that you can watch TV in the sitting room, just until Daddy gets home, okay?’

Gemma helps Miya back into her jeans and stripey jumper and resumes sewing; tiny, neat stitches that soon transform a shop-bought catsuit into a bespoke, glittering Halloween costume. She’s just tying off the last stitch when she hears Guy’s car mount the drive, swiftly followed by his keys in the front door.

‘Daddy!’ shrieks Miya, skidding back into the kitchen in socks with Guy at her heels. He dumps his briefcase on the kitchen floor. ‘God, it’s been a long day. Meeting after meeting, after bloody meeting!’ He rakes back dark, collar-length curls, kisses Gemma and bends to hug Miya.

‘What’s for dinner, sexy?’ Guy’s hand grazes Gemma’s behind.

‘Fishcakes and salad – something quick because you’re making soup.’

Guy’s eyes widen. ‘Am I?’

Incredulous, Gemma shakes her head. ‘Yes. You promised Miya you’d carve a Jack-o'-lantern with her and make soup from the filling. We’re supposed to be having it after the play. Did you forget?’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ Guy grimaces. ‘Sorry, love. I’m knackered, to be honest. Tell you what, I’ll make something nice at the weekend, give you a night off.’ He loosens his tie and goes out to the hall, returning shoeless. ‘Have you heard from Beth? Is she still coming tomorrow?’

‘Of course,’ Gemma says, taking a bottle of sauvignon blanc from the fridge door, filling two glasses and handing one to her husband.

He takes a sip. ‘Cheers, Gem. How was your day?’

‘It was fine. I did an hour of Pilates at the gym, then I had a wash and blow-dry at the salon this afternoon.’ Gemma swings a cascade of pearl-blonde waves for Guy’s approval.

‘Gorgeous,’ he purrs.

‘And since then,’ Gemma continues, ‘I’ve been trying to fix Miya’s costume, but sewing’s not exactly my thing.’

Gemma reaches for her handiwork and passes it to Guy. He smiles his approval. ‘Looks really good to me, must have taken ages to stitch these sequins on.’ He pulls his daughter to him. ‘Hey, stinker, are you excited about the play tomorrow?’

‘Yes, yes!’ Miya wriggles free and begins to pogo up and down.

Huddled at one end of a dining table made for eight, Guy and Gemma swap news over Miya’s head as the TV on the wall burbles in the background. It’s almost eight o’clock by the time Gemma kisses her daughter goodnight. As she loads the dishwasher, she can hear Guy growling and play-fighting as he chases Miya upstairs.

He soon reappears. ‘I didn’t even get to the end of the chapter tonight. Bless her, she’s exhausted.’ He tops up their wine glasses.

‘No wonder, she had rehearsals all afternoon,’ Gemma says, scanning the kitchen with a critical eye for missed spills or crockery out of its correct place.

Guy steers Gemma out of the kitchen and towards the sofa. ‘Come on, hon, let’s relax a while, see if we can find something on the telly for an hour,’ he says, grabbing the remote as he settles back against silk cushions with a sigh.

Gemma listens, alert to the snuffles and whinnies coming from her daughter’s room, while the light click in Guy’s breathing tells her that he too is asleep. Her hands travel over her toned body, pausing at her midriff. With a sense of satisfaction, she feels the hardness of her stomach, through buffed, silky smooth skin. Pleased that her gym sessions are paying off, her thoughts turn to the following evening.

Gemma pictures herself at the school, wedged between Guy and Beth, inhaling the dry odour of chalk and polish mixed with the sweetness of Pan Stik and hairspray as they wait, wired with anticipation for Miya’s moment in the spotlight.

It pleases Gemma that Beth will be there. She imagines seeing her friend’s serious face light up as Miya takes to the stage and performs her feline dance; the intensity of her dark-eyed gaze as she leans forward and absently tucks thick brown hair behind her ears for a clearer view.

Gemma wonders whether Alex will be there. Alex is rarely invited. To anything. Kept at arm’s length in an awkward vacuum, somewhere between friend and lover, he is grudgingly wheeled out for kitchen suppers, pub quizzes and cinema dates – any occasion where it’s necessary to even up the numbers. Poor Alex, destined only to be a plus-one.

Gemma stiffens as Guy – who has no time for Beth’s would-be boyfriends – murmurs something in his sleep before turning over with a faint snore.

Guy has his own theories about the state of Beth’s love life. ‘Alex is a nice bloke, but he’s all wrong for her. Beth can be a bit serious, can’t she? Probably from hanging out with the do-gooders at work. What she needs is a good shag – someone to get all caveman on her, loosen her up a bit. It’s funny, even when we were kids, all the boys fancied her – not that Beth noticed. It’s because she’s got that sexy librarian thing going on,’ had been Guy’s armchair analysis.

To Gemma’s relief, Guy at least kept his opinions to himself. To her shame, his warm, easy friendship with Beth had bothered her once upon a time. Because even though Gemma was five years Beth’s junior and would be considered beautiful in any context, the fact that Guy and Beth had grown up on the same suburban street, and that their parents had been close – their fathers spending hours on the golf course together, while their mums shopped for clothes and cooked elaborate suppers in matching spotless homes – had made her uncomfortable.

Guy had only scoffed. ‘Oh, you needn’t worry about Beth. I think the world of her but we’re like brother and sister. I’m two years older than her and that’s a chasm when you’re a kid. We never so much as kissed behind the bike sheds. And anyway, she’s not my type,’ he’d concluded with a shake of his head as if the very idea were preposterous.

‘Well, what about her sister, Laura?’

‘What about Laura?’ Guy had shrugged. ‘She was in my year at school, but we were all just friends – and that was mostly because it suited our parents. Anyway, that was before I went off to do my exams at private school and got involved with a whole different crowd.’

Her curiosity satisfied, Gemma had let the subject drop and Beth had become an ally; a surrogate aunt and unofficial godmother to Miya and gradually a confidante to Gemma herself, despite being Guy’s friend first.

Sleepless, Gemma reaches for her mobile on the bedside table and steals a look at the time: 01:20. She’ll need a ton of concealer under her eyes tomorrow. In five hours, she and Guy will rise, shower and have coffee together before waking Miya at seven fifteen; a well-oiled routine.

Swinging long, tanned legs out of bed, Gemma pads to the bathroom. Goosebumps rise on her arms, a reminder that the heating went off hours ago. She pauses in front of the mirrored cabinet with its touch-sensitive light, then, feeling behind a clutch of jars and tubes, pulls out a slim box. Inside, three foil blister packs of tiny pills rustle. She considers liberating and swallowing one, recalling the warm, cossetted feeling that the Zammertil gives her on the brink of deep dreamless sleep.

She thinks back to how she’d weaned herself off them the minute Miya had started school and she’d begun to feel like herself again. She’d meant to throw them away or return them to the pharmacy. Yet something had prevented her. Because having a supply on hand ‘just in case’ felt like having her own secret safety net. And anyway, what harm could a mild tranquiliser do in the grand scheme of things?

Not that Guy would see it that way. He abhorred drugs of any description, regarding them as a sign of weakness.

‘You’re better off without that rubbish,’ he’d said once Gemma had announced her intention to quit. ‘I can’t bear it when you’re bombed out on pills – and anyway, you already drink too much. Not a good combination.’

Gemma considers the bottle of wine they’d drunk with dinner. In a few hours she’ll be on the school run and, as fabulous as it is, her new white Range Rover will not drive itself.

She tucks the pills back into their hidey-hole and creeps back to bed.

Beth spots Guy and Gemma Ward before they see her. Under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights and against the draining palette of the school corridor, the shadows under Gemma’s eyes tell her she is tired. Nevertheless, the Wards shine like celebrities attending a red-carpet event; a golden couple out to get papped.

Guy sees her first and waves. Beth smiles, and starts threading her way through the throng of animated parents. Drawing closer, she can see that Gemma’s smile is tight and wonders if they’ve argued in the car.

‘Hi! Great to see you. Where is she?’ Beth asks after kissing them both.

‘Probably backstage wetting her little knickers,’ Guy’s voice booms to Gemma’s obvious embarrassment. ‘What?’ His wide brown eyes are innocent. ‘She’s nervous, isn’t she?’

Gemma’s expression softens. ‘Oh Beth, you should have seen her this morning. She was up early, trying on her costume and practising her dance routine. Even with my crap sewing, she looked amazing.’

Beth smiles. ‘Gemma, I hope you don’t mind, I got Miya a little present – as it’s her first proper school play.’

Guy rolls his eyes. ‘Beth, you shouldn’t spoil her. I don’t want her getting a princess complex,’ he admonishes, ‘I get enough of that from her mother.’ He cringes against a playful slap from Gemma.

Then a bell rings and a voice over the tannoy instructs everyone to enter the auditorium – the assembly hall on any other day – and the parents file into rows, the scraping of metal chair legs masked by the play’s overture.

When the lights go down there’s a ripple of throat-clearing and a flutter of programmes as the narrator takes to the stage: a witch-cum-fairy, dressed in voluminous layers of earth-coloured tulle, flanked by small goblins and something unfathomable which looks like a marrow.

‘Or an anaemic butternut squash?’ Gemma sniggers to Beth behind a cupped hand, her warm breath tickling Beth’s ear.

Twenty minutes into the story, Miya pirouettes onto the stage when the witch-cum-fairy summons her familiar. Guy slams his hands together in a thunderclap. ‘Go on, Miya,’ he roars. Beth steals a look at Gemma’s profile. Her blue eyes shine with tears.

At eight thirty, flushed and petulant with exhaustion, Miya is put to bed.

‘I’ll go – give you ladies a chance to catch up,’ Guy says, half carrying his bleary-eyed daughter to her room.

Beth scans the kitchen. A hand-carved Jack-o’-lantern burns cheerfully on the granite-topped island and creepy candles, burned almost to stumps, form shadows that leap and dance on taupe walls.

‘Guy’s so good with her, Gem. You’re the perfect family, you know that?’

Gemma doesn’t answer, just strokes the stem of her glass and gives a funny little wobble of her head which Beth can’t translate. ‘Are you okay?’ she adds.

Gemma’s smile is a stretched grimace. ‘Tired,’ she sighs, ‘I hardly slept last night. Think I got a bit stressed and excited for Miya. Bless her, she was so nervous… but it went okay, didn’t it?’

‘Okay? It was bloody fantastic – fabulous, in fact. Miya was the cutest kid on that stage by a country mile and her dance was flawless. I had a massive proud auntie moment. Dinner was wonderful, too. Guy’s pumpkin soup was delicious.’

Gemma hoots with laughter. ‘Yeah? That’s probably because I made it after Guy forgot… which was fine.’ She takes another sip of wine. ‘You know, it was really kind of you to finish work early and make such a fuss of Miya.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world. You three are as much family to me as Laura and the boys. Especially now.’ Beth stops talking, realising that she hasn’t told either Guy or Gemma about Alex.

‘What? Tell me… what have I missed?’ Gemma leans forward, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

‘I didn’t mention it because… no, honestly it’s fine—’

‘What is?’ Gemma places her hand on Beth’s forearm, her face a mask of concern.

‘Alex and I have split up. It was overdue… he’d started talking about it being time we moved in together.’

‘Oh, God, that’s awful. I really thought you two might… might actually go somewhere,’ Gemma says, looking cut-up.

‘And that’s just the problem, isn’t it? I don’t want things to go anywhere. Why can’t couples just go out together, you know? Have nice meals and see great films and go to galleries and… and do cool stuff?’

Guy creeps in and looks from Gemma to Beth. ‘Why do I get the feeling I’ve interrupted something?’

‘Tell him,’ Gemma urges.

‘Oh, it’s no big deal. It didn’t work out with Alex and me, that’s all.’

Guy purses his lips. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. The guy’s a door-mat.’

‘Guy!’ Gemma cries, startled by her husband’s candour.

Beth shrugs. ‘It’s fine, Guy’s right. It’s done now, and I feel good about my decision.’

Feeling suddenly tired, Beth gets up and starts casting around for her handbag. ‘I need to get going. Thank you for a lovely eve. . .