The Last Wife: The addictive and unforgettable new thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller

by Karen Hamilton

  ‘I offered to be their photographer, but Nina had wanted me to “relax, for once, Marie”. I still took pictures, and mine were better, I’m not being conceited, they just were, but probably because I knew who and what was best to focus on. I’m at my happiest when I’m behind a camera. I feel like myself. When Stuart and Nina travelled to the Whitsundays for their honeymoon, I hung about for a bit.’

  ‘Hung about for a bit?’

  I mentally debate. The truth or not the truth? I had intended to take a trip, to go and explore, but when it came to it, I couldn’t be bothered on my own. This left me at a loose end as I wasn’t due to fly back to the UK for another three days.

  I meet Christian halfway.

  ‘It was hard to let go of her. I was so grateful that Nina was my friend, I never thought about myself and how maybe I deserved some input into our friendship, too. I just moulded myself to be whatever Nina needed so that she’d let me stick by her side. So, I admit, her whirlwind marriage shook me a little.’

  Confession is uncomfortable; it reminds me of going to church. I didn’t come here to talk about Nina or the wedding. I don’t know why I do this to myself, why I come here and talk about such pointless stuff. I wish I could cut through the bullshit, say what I really came to therapy to share.

  The undivided attention is alluring, however – when I can push from my mind the fact that I’m paying for it. Out of all my therapists, he’s the most adept at making me feel like he cares. While it’s intoxicating, it makes me shy further away from the truth. I don’t want him to think badly of me, despite it being a waste of time, money, energy – everything – yet a buried part of my subconscious hopes that he can cure me. I want to feel normal. I want to feel, well, just better. I don’t want to feel like me.

  Yet, I seem unable to move on from Nina.

  ‘I get the impression from Stuart that Nina valued me,’ I say. I don’t want to come across as a complete leech.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He treats me as if he’s fond of me. He trusts me with the children. He wouldn’t do that if Nina had spoken badly of me.’

  ‘Why do you think she would have done that?’

  ‘I found some correspondence when I was sorting out her affairs,’ I say, trying to make it sound businesslike. ‘She’d been in contact with a friend and it’s hard to put my finger on precisely what was wrong with their exchange, but it was odd. Their conversations appeared stilted. I’m really not being paranoid, honestly, but it also felt like they were discussing me in an unfavourable way.’

  ‘In what respect?’

  ‘That’s the puzzling thing, I don’t really understand. Nina and I had disagreements, but not major ones.’

  That is true, but the unsaid and unacknowledged issues that nonetheless existed perhaps cast wider shadows than I’d ever fully appreciated.

  Christian does his best to lift my mood, but I leave on a downer, my mind in overdrive, especially after he tells me that he’s taking a fortnight’s holiday next month. I appreciate that it’s irrational, but it makes me feel like I’m not special or interesting enough, the fact that he needs a break. Maybe I do need to be more honest and discuss how devastated I was when Charlie died. But then again, what good can it do, really? It’s not as if talking about him can bring him back.

  Back home, I hesitate as I open the front door. I needn’t have worried. A cosy, happy family scene awaits and one that I feel immediately welcomed into when Suzanne looks up. She beams as I enter.

  ‘Lovely to see you, Marie! We’re making Father Christmas-shaped gingerbread men. Come and try one!’

  ‘Love to!’

  Only Emily looks put out as I taste their creations. I need to work harder to win her round, make her trust me. Perhaps I’ve been too strict lately. The reward chart didn’t go down well. I concentrate on giving her positive attention (like I’ve read in parenting books) by saying, ‘Well done, Emily’, ‘Great job’ and ‘Clever girl’ as much as I can bear to.

  Watching Stuart with his parents is eye-opening. He jokes around. His mother play-hits his arm when he teases her, laughing. Ben always treated his mum and dad as if their visits were something to be endured rather than enjoyed. Suzanne cannot do enough for Stuart and it makes me wonder if it’s because she rarely sees him or if it’s because their relationship is naturally like that.

  I want to get to know her, and therefore Stuart, better.

  When Stuart and Kevin begin an involved conversation about whether it would be a waste of money to invest in repairs to Stuart’s current boat or buy a newish one, I turn to Felix and Emily.

  ‘Why don’t you two go and watch a movie?’ I say. ‘There are lots of new ones to choose from.’

  I’ve resorted to stockpiling them because being a full-time mother is harder than I’d anticipated. I’ve started to do things I used to judge Nina for, like relying on the TV when I’m desperate for privacy or to get things done.

  ‘Suzanne, there’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up. I haven’t said anything to Stuart, so please don’t think I’m being meddlesome . . .’

  ‘Marie, my dear, you most certainly are not meddlesome. This is the most welcome we have ever felt in Stuart’s home.’ She claps her hand to her mouth. ‘I mean . . .’

  Loyalty dictates that I stand up for Nina, but pride at my warm hospitality feels good.

  ‘It’s OK. Nina was my closest friend. I know what she was like. She needed a lot of time on her own. She could be very private.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, I assumed that was what you meant.’

  ‘Oh, no, not at all. Nina was very hospitable and kind. No, I meant she had to work hard when we were here to hide her unhappiness. I got the impression that she and Stuart were having problems.’

  ‘Nina never said anything of the sort to me. Their marriage was as good as perfect.’ I pause. ‘I envied them at times, I admit.’

  Suzanne glances over at Kevin as if to check that he can’t overhear before she says, ‘It’s simply not possible that everything was fine all of the time. Believe me, it’s not realistic.’

  ‘Perhaps. But because I knew her so well, I can picture what she’d do in certain situations. I’d have known if she was particularly unhappy. I’d have sensed it before she’d even confided in me.’

  ‘People hide things from those closest to them for many reasons,’ she says. ‘Shame, guilt, fear, a desire not to add to the problems of others.’

  ‘Suzanne, I don’t know how to word this diplomatically, so I’m just going to come out with it. If Nina wasn’t happy with Stuart, she wouldn’t have stayed with him. She didn’t feel bound by loyalty the way most of us do. Nina was . . . unique.’

  Selfish is the word I’d like to use.

  I change the subject, concerned that I’ve just come across as disloyal.

  ‘What I’ve been meaning to ask you is would you and Kevin prefer to be in the house? We can swap. Stuart thought that it may be nicer for you, but I’d hate to be in the way and—’

  ‘Not at all. The whole arrangement suits us perfectly.’ She pauses. ‘We would’ve come sooner, you know. For the funeral or soon after, but Stuart thought it would be better now. That he’d need the support as time went on. He was in so much shock.’

  ‘We all were.’

  I excuse myself immediately after dinner. I run a bath. In the darkness, I watch the lavender-scented candle – my Christmas present to Nina last year – flicker. If Suzanne is right, if she has somehow picked up on something (as outsiders are prone to, seeing as they can home in on things that people who are too close can’t), how come I didn’t know she was that unhappy as opposed to having normal periods of discontent? Did Tamsin know anything?

  Jealousy prods at my mind, clouding my thoughts and memories. Every avenue I explore draws a blank. I can’t think of one thing – not one – that suggests Nina had made a mistake in marrying Stuart. Not even a hint, and obviously, after her diagnosis, our collective
focus shifted towards getting her well. The water turns lukewarm, then cold, before I realize I’m shivering. My mind none the clearer, I get out, towel myself dry and blow out the candle.

  Felix and Em’s nativity the following early evening is perfect timing. It’s nice to get out, to do something different. I spent ages making a narrator’s costume for Felix. Emily is a shepherd, so it was easy enough to knock something together with a tea towel. They’re not the best costumes by any means, but I was determined to give it a go. Nina obviously didn’t know what they were going to be this year, but had wanted to contribute nonetheless, so she’d ordered an array of costumes online: Mary, Joseph, wise men, stars, camels, angels. When I took the slips out of their school bags and saw their parts, it was such a cruel and blatant reminder that Nina had tried so hard to see into the future. I considered speaking to their teachers to see if they’d switch their parts, but I dithered so much that I left it too late.

  Deborah doesn’t compliment the costumes. She sits next to Suzanne and only speaks to me when I address her. She reminds me so much of Nina in a mood. Same pursed mouth, same unforgiving stares. I concentrate ahead, smile and clap. Stuart got me a ticket. He asked me to come. I have a right to be here.

  I concentrate on taking the best photos I can, even though every few minutes, my vision blurs with tears. It’s my responsibility now to record their childhood in any way I see best. Nina’s memory book won’t be a one-off project for me. I’m determined to create optimistic, hopeful stories. I’ve got this.

  I focus on the shiny happiness of it: the shimmering tinsel, the gold star, the funny lines, the younger children waving at their parents, donkeys ears falling off. But when they sing ‘Silent Night’, the tears build up inside and I fear that I will sob out loud. I swallow, deliberately looking ahead so that I don’t catch the expressions of anyone else, but especially Stuart and Deborah.

  Afterwards, I attempt to get Tamsin to one side to see if I can pin down a time for us to meet and chat, but she’s ‘busy’.

  ‘Sure we can meet,’ she says, ‘but it will have to be in January. Work’s manic.’

  ‘What are you doing next Wednesday evening?’ I say.

  ‘I’ll have to get back to you.’

  Damn. People quite often get caught out when I attempt to tie them down by phrasing a question in that way. They aren’t usually quick enough to come up with an excuse and end up admitting that they have nothing specific on. It allows me to get them to agree to a fixed date. It worked nearly every time with Nina.

  I chat to Greg from our book group instead, who has come along as an unofficial photographer for the school website.

  ‘Is it a hobby or are you hoping to develop your interest into something more?’ I ask.

  ‘I wouldn’t say I’m a natural, but I’m improving all the time. Nina and I attended the same photography course.’

  ‘Oh. I just assumed that all her friends were made through connections to the school.’

  I didn’t know Nina had taken a photography class. I hate things that may seem inconsequential to others, but to me, feel like deliberate snubs, as if Nina was hiding things from me on purpose. It’s not as if I’d have enrolled at some random photography class, too! Perhaps she kept it a secret because it was something I was naturally better at.

  Ben said I had a tendency to take things too personally. I do try not to, but if I’m being honest, it’s hard when you discover that your supposed friend hid normal things from you for no clear-cut reason.

  ‘It’s a small world around here,’ says Greg. ‘People tend to be linked in some form or other. You’ll be glad to move on.’

  ‘I promised Nina I’d stick around for as long as it took.’

  I pick up a glass of white wine and take a sip, but it’s so sour I wish I’d gone for the orange squash instead.

  ‘That’s good of you. She must’ve thought highly of you.’

  Is he joking? Had he really missed how close we were? I’ve been part of the book group for over a year now.

  I opt for a simple response.

  ‘Well, of course. There wasn’t anything that Nina couldn’t ask of me.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Well . . .’ I say, giving a half laugh, half smile. I bite into a mince pie, unsure how else to respond.

  Stuart heads over.

  ‘We’re ready to leave,’ he says. ‘If you are, too.’

  I nod. Greg and Stuart barely acknowledge one another apart from a brief ‘hi’ as I swallow my mouthful, before we say our goodbyes.

  ‘Deborah has left already,’ Stuart says as he helps me into my coat. ‘I think she’s upset with me.’

  ‘It’s not you she’s upset with, it’s me,’ I say.

  ‘I feel bad for her,’ he says. ‘Let’s invite her round more or take the children over there.’

  ‘It’s probably best if you do that alone,’ I say. ‘For now.’

  I zip up my coat and wrap my scarf around my neck as I brace myself for the cold.

  Christmas lights seem to adorn nearly every house as they light up our route home. The sky is clear and there’s no wind. The village is film-set magical, and I half expect snow to complete the scene. Kevin and Suzanne walk ahead holding hands with the children. Feeling partly responsible for Deborah’s early exit, I decide to try to lift the mood.

  ‘I think they’re looking forward to Christmas despite . . . Well, I know it won’t be the same but . . . Sorry, what I’m trying to get across is that you’ve done a great job,’ I say.

  Stuart looks pleased. ‘I’ve had a lot of help. But thank you. It’s good to hear.’

  I smile.

  ‘Why don’t I put the children to bed?’ I say. ‘Then you can walk your parents back to the guest cottage, have some time alone with them and maybe have a nightcap? I’m sure they’d appreciate it.’

  ‘Great idea, thanks,’ he says, walking ahead to catch up with them.

  Felix and Em are tired and tetchy so it takes a while to persuade them to put on their pyjamas and brush their teeth. I orchestrate it so they’re both snuggled on either side of me on Stuart’s bed for a joint bedtime story, to save having to do it separately. I suggested this routine to Nina many times, it’s not always practical to read two separate stories, but she wouldn’t have it.

  ‘They need quality time,’ she’d said. ‘I like to give each of them at least some of my undivided attention every day.’

  I tuck them both in by pulling up their duvets and fitting them snugly around their shapes. I’m firm with Em when she wants to chatter.

  ‘We can talk about the play more over breakfast tomorrow,’ I say. ‘You were wonderful.’

  I remind them both how proud we all are of their brilliant performances and switch off their lights.

  I walk downstairs in my stockinged feet, which slide slightly on the wooden floor when I reach the bottom. I’m not used to wearing dresses, and it wasn’t strictly necessary to make an effort for tonight, but when Suzanne mentioned that she was wearing a dress, I felt as though I should, too.

  It’s quiet without Stuart and his parents. I pour some red wine into a saucepan and add in some cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and star anise. I stir, inhaling the aroma.

  I’m not normally a huge fan of Christmas tunes, but the magic of tonight has wormed its way into my mood, and it’s infectious. What Nina’s death has taught me is that you have to enjoy the rare moments of calm. I feel so at home right now. Apparently, the grass isn’t greener, but perhaps that’s meant to be interpreted as a caution against general dissatisfaction, rather than a situation such as mine.

  When the wine is warm enough, I ladle some into a large, thick glass. Steam forms at the sides. Nursing it, I decide to take it into the living room and choose a film. I should examine and back up the photos I took tonight as I want to create a gift out of the best ones for Kevin and Suzanne, but right now, I feel too chilled.

  The back door opens. Stuart steps inside, dragging the cold in wit
h him.

  I watch him take off his coat, boots and hat. ‘Mulled wine?’

  ‘Perfect,’ he says. ‘It smells exactly the same as Nina used to make it.’

  It is her recipe, but I don’t tell him that.

  ‘I was going to watch a film, if that’s OK?’

  ‘You don’t have to ask.’

  ‘I know, thanks. But . . . it feels polite to. Fancy joining me?’

  He grins. ‘It depends what you like watching.’

  ‘The scarier the better,’ I say.

  ‘Let’s give it a go,’ he says.

  We walk through to the living room and I let Stuart faff around with the controls. When we agree on what to watch – a documentary on spies, Stuart’s choice, but I’m prepared to try it – I dim the lights. As I do so, the doorbell rings. Stuart pauses our selection. The opening credits freeze, blurring the letters on the screen.

  ‘Carol singers,’ says Stuart as he heads for the door, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

  I wait.

  I don’t hear any singing. Or voices. Perhaps Deborah has returned to check up on us?

  Something doesn’t feel right. As I stand up to investigate, Stuart returns. He doesn’t look himself.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m not sure, it’s odd. Nothing like this has ever happened before . . .’

  He’s clutching a card which I prise gently from his grip. It’s not a Christmas card. It has a picture of a black heart on the cover. Inside:

  Wishing you both a dreadful, shame-filled Christmas.

  The words take a few moments to fully sink in.

  ‘Very childish,’ I say, handing it back to Stuart. I feel queasy.

  Stuart rips it in half, then into smaller pieces. ‘I’d chuck it in the fire if we had one going.’

  ‘Light one,’ I suggest.

  I hesitate. I don’t want to say what I’m going to out loud, but if I don’t do it now, the moment will pass. Again.

  ‘Nina thought someone was after her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just that.’

  ‘No way! Not to my knowledge. Why would that even be the case? She would not have hidden something like that from me. Besides, everyone loved Nina.’