The Guest Room: An utterly unputdownable psychological thriller (Totally gripping thrillers by Rona Halsall)

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I sit down between two big, curved roots and draw air deep into my nose. I swear I can smell it. Rosie’s perfume. As though it’s lasted all these months. A warm base with a sharper note on top, like lemon sorbet. Thirty-one. The same age as me, which somehow feels significant. He doesn’t look it. There are crinkles round his eyes when he smiles, but they barely leave a mark. The train car is crowded for this time of day, before rush hour gets going. People are clustering about me. Two instincts pull on my muscles: elbow them out of my space, or sit on the floor. Neither of which is socially acceptable.

Make sure there is a lamp on the nightstand. This will provide your guests with a source of light if they need it during the night. Pettiford’s already poured cold water on the possibility. I don’t know why I bother. Sometimes I wonder whether he’s on my side. On Rosie’s side.”Ever since Steph's husband walked out after a thirty year marriage, home hasn't felt like a safe haven. Her daughter Bea thinks she's imagining things. But Steph knows that the noises in the night, the open window she left closed, the strange smell in the kitchen - none of it feels right. Then her house is broken into, and a young man named Noah helps her fix the front window. He's fallen on hard times and Steph impulsively offers him a place to stay. At least if he's there, she won't be home alone.

To be fair, the book looks amazing. Celebrating the unique cuisine with all its cultural subtleties. I’m just not much of a cook. Something tells me Luke isn’t, either, despite his mum’s talent. There aren’t even any digital scraps, because she didn’t have a smartphone—no cloud, no data floating around, no social media. She hated “all that cyberspace crap,” as she put it. My mum’s having therapy, apparently. That’s what she told me in her last text. Her doctor is treating this is as personal trauma.” And I texted Oliver again, although his name hasn’t appeared since that message: Please stop texting me. (Yesterday, 16:21) Tess? Tess, are you there? I … I want to talk to you. I’m sorry I’ve shut you out. I’m sorry for everything. I’d just really like to hear your voice.” She coughs. “I don’t feel good. I feel like I’m reaching a point … I don’t know. Everything’s so screwed up. I want to be honest with you; I don’t know why I haven’t. We used to tell each other everything, didn’t we?” A foot scraping. A loud sniff. “God, I’ve had a horrible evening. And I think there’s some—”From the details you’ve given, its relevance isn’t apparent. It’s worth pursuing at this stage, but I wouldn’t like to give you false hope.” Oh wow! This book ended with more twists and turns than a winding road. I never would have guessed the ending. Loved it. Enjoy! When Kristin Chapman agrees to let her husband, Richard, host his brother's bachelor party, she expects a certain amount of debauchery. She takes their young daughter to Manhattan for the evening, leaving her Westchester home to the men and their hired entertainment. What she does not expect is that the entertainment—two scared young women brought there by force—will kill their captors and drive off into the night. The gallery is hushed and cool. Temperature controlled. The sweat from my short commute dried an hour ago, but I can still feel it, cold on my skin. My body’s out of balance. I rub my bare arms hard.