The Marriage Betrayal
A totally gripping psychological thriller with a brilliant twist
Shalini Boland
Books by Shalini Boland
The Secret Mother
The Child Next Door
The Silent Sister
The Millionaire’s Wife
The Perfect Family
The Best Friend
The Girl from the Sea
Available in audio
The Secret Mother (UK listeners | US listeners)
The Child Next Door (UK listeners | US listeners)
The Silent Sister (UK listeners | US listeners)
The Perfect Family (UK listeners | US listeners)
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
The Perfect Family
Hear more from Shalini
Books by Shalini Boland
A letter from Shalini
The Secret Mother
The Child Next Door
The Best Friend
The Millionaire’s Wife
The Girl from the Sea
The Silent Sister
Acknowledgements
For Natasha Harding, an editor in a million
Prologue
She picks her way up the steep path as watery moonlight splashes down between the trees. Echoing strains of music and laughter floating up on the warm night air. The whispered hush and sigh of the waves in tune with her disappointment. She wishes she’d had more courage this evening. Why hadn’t she been brave enough to speak to him? All that build-up to tonight… for nothing.
Her long strides turn into angry stomps. She’ll be fifteen next week; she’s not a child any more. So why does she feel so hopelessly young? So pathetically immature? The path narrows, and she ducks to avoid an overhanging branch. Blinks back frustrated tears and pushes her hair out of her eyes. She takes a breath, the familiar scent of sea salt and pine needles going some way to dampen her annoyance with herself.
A snapping twig makes her stop and cock her head to the side. She knows it’s probably just a wild animal out hunting. Nevertheless, her breath hitches and her heart pumps a little harder. She’s watched all the scary movies with her friends. She’s seen the vampires and the zombies and the evil spirits that suck out teenage girls’ souls. But it’s the dark human characters who scare her the most. The ones who really do exist.
Still frozen in place, she wills herself to move once more. Lengthens her strides and quickens her pace. Not quite running. But almost.
Another cracking twig, a shuffle from behind. Sweat prickles on her back. Thoughts of soft lips and missed opportunities are pushed from her mind. Now, all she wants to do is reach the top of the cliff and race along the road. To get home and slam the door closed behind her. For her mum and dad to be angry that she’s late back. For them to be furious that she walked home alone. For her to reassure them that she’s fine. To roll her eyes and say, It’s okay, nothing happened.
But now there’s no mistaking the footsteps coming up the cliff path behind her. She reaches the stone steps and takes them two at a time, her wedge heels making a dull scrape and thud. The panic wanting to tear itself from her lips. She’s only halfway up, and she won’t be able to outrun whoever it is – not in these shoes. But there’s no time to undo the straps and take them off.
Whoever it is, they’re getting closer. She daren’t turn around.
She times her next step wrong.
She trips.
Falls.
A hand reaches out to clasp her bare ankle.
She screams into the darkness.
One
Now
The three-storey terraced house perches halfway up a steep cliff road, dramatically called Scar Point. It was described by the house-rental website as a handsome Gothic villa, but as we get closer my spirits drop a little as I note the peeling paint on the window frames, the mossy steps and rusted letterbox. I hope this isn’t a taste of what’s inside.
It’s not just the look of the place that’s put a dampener on everything – ever since we took the car-ferry to the Isle of Purbeck and we began winding our way to the sleepy seaside town of Swanage, I sensed my husband Jake’s mood plummeting. This is obviously not the birthday surprise he was anticipating. He’s been silent for the past half hour and I’m too nervous to ask him what’s wrong, in case it descends into an argument.
‘Is this our house?’ Our seven-year-old son, Dylan, slides out of the car and stares doubtfully at the Victorian building looming above us, the setting sun reflected in its dark windows. He turns to look at me, his brown eyes brimming with accusation.
‘Yes, it’s going to be our lovely home for the week.’ I heave a suitcase out of the car boot.
‘So, we have to live here?’ His voice wobbles.
‘It’ll be great,’ I say brightly. ‘We’re right by the sea and, if you like, we can have ice creams tomorrow.’
Jake raises a dark eyebrow at my wanton use of bribery. I shrug apologetically – I hadn’t expected to play the ice-cream card within seconds of arriving.
Tom and Lainy’s Ford Focus pulls up behind our Nissan Qashqai. Lainy steps out of the passenger side, her biscuit-coloured hair pulled back in a ponytail, her skin pale, her eyes dark hollows. Lainy is my husband’s younger sister, and she and Jake grew up in Swanage. They may be siblings, but they look nothing alike – Jake is tall and dark, while Lainy is slim and mousy.
It’s Jake’s birthday tomorrow, and so her husband Tom and I organised a nostalgic surprise week away for them – well, I say ‘we’ organised it, but actually it was purely my suggestion and legwork. Tom simply agreed that it was a great idea. But it looks as though our fabulous surprise has gone down like a ship with a cracked hull.
While Lainy bends down to usher their girls out of the car, Tom swings their suitcases out of the boot with ease and strides up the road to join us. He dumps the cases down, shades his eyes and gazes up at the house. ‘This place is fantastic! It’ll be like staying in a Hammer Horror movie.’ He gives an evil laugh and grins at me. I sigh and avoid catching Jake’s eye.
My little nieces, Annabel and Poppy, slip out of the car, yawning and rubbing their sleepy blue eyes, their clothes crumpled and their wavy blonde hair mussed up from the journey. Like a pair of well-played-with china dolls.
‘They fell asleep about half an hour ago,’ Lainy says, taking their hands. ‘They’ll probably be a bit cranky.’
I stop myself from adding, Yes, along with everyone else. Instead I lug one of our suitcases up the steps
to the black front door and punch the code into the key safe on the wall. The metal hatch drops down and I draw out a thick iron key. Part of me wants to put the key back in the safe, jump in the car and drive all the way back home to London. But that’s just my tiredness talking. We’re here now. Whatever else lies on the other side of this door, we’ll deal with it. I’ve spent weeks organising this getaway, so I’m not about to let everyone else’s bad moods rub off on me.
The key slides into the lock effortlessly, and I push open the heavy wooden door. I was fully expecting it to give a theatrical creak, but it swings open noiselessly and I step inside the dim hallway.
‘Smells a bit damp,’ Jake grumbles, walking in behind me with Dylan.
‘It’ll be okay,’ I reply, taking in the ornately tiled floor, dark wood panelling, sludge-green wallpaper, elegant, curved wooden staircase and impossibly high ceiling. Even Jake’s six-foot-two frame is dwarfed by its height. ‘We just need to open some windows, let some air in.’
‘I don’t like it, Mummy,’ Dylan says. ‘Can we go home?’
‘Let’s leave our suitcases in the hall and have our fish and chips,’ I suggest, unwilling to brave the upstairs just yet. Worried in case it reveals more disappointment. ‘Where’s the kitchen?’ We stopped off at the chippy in town on our way through, deciding that we’re all too travel-weary to go out for dinner tonight, so we’ll eat at the house and go exploring tomorrow. And now the salt-and-vinegar aroma is making my stomach gurgle.
Tom walks past me and starts opening doors, peering into gloomy rooms. ‘Kitchen’s back here!’ he calls. ‘It’s… rustic.’
At least Tom is being upbeat. Lainy didn’t look happy when she got out of the car. I hope she’s okay.
‘Good evening,’ an unfamiliar voice calls out.
I jerk my head up to see an elegant woman walking down the stairs. She looks about my age, but that’s where the similarity ends. She’s tall, slim and blonde, wearing a tailored dress that manages to be demure and sexy at the same time. ‘Uh, hello?’ I stammer.
‘Can we help you?’ Jake says, stepping forward and extending his hand. ‘Jake Townsend. Looks like there might have been a mix-up. Is it double booked?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’ She gives him an amused smile, walks down the remaining stairs and shakes his hand. Holding on to it just a little too long for my liking. ‘I’m Yasmin Belmont.’
The name triggers something in my mind. Where do I know that name from? And then it comes to me. ‘Oh! Hello, Yasmin. You’re the owner. We’ve emailed each other.’
‘I am indeed. And so you must be Faye?’ She turns her smile on me and I’m momentarily seduced. It feels like the sun has come out.
‘Yes, I’m Faye, that’s Jake, my husband, and this is our son Dylan. Nice to meet you. Is it okay that we let ourselves in? I didn’t realise you’d be here. We did get the day right, didn’t we?’
‘Hello.’ Tom reappears from the kitchen. And then Lainy and the girls come in through the front door.
‘Goodness,’ Yasmin says. ‘There are a lot of you. What beautiful children!’
I detect the hint of an accent, but I can’t place it. Maybe French, but I’m not sure.
‘Well, welcome and hello, to you all. Apologies if I startled you – I always like to be here to greet guests on their first day. To introduce myself and answer any questions you may have. Please don’t worry, I won’t stay long.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Tom says. ‘Stay for fish and chips, if you like?’
Lainy shoots him a look that makes him flush.
‘You’re so kind!’ Yasmin replies with a laugh. ‘But I’m sure you don’t want me here longer than necessary. Is there anything you’d like to know about the house or the area while I’m here?’
‘It’s very kind of you, but I think we’re okay. Jake and his sister know the area pretty well.’
‘Okay.’ She pouts. ‘Well, let me at least tell you a bit about the house. My father bought it back in the nineties from an elderly couple who’d lived in it for almost fifty years! He bought up a lot of the property around here. Most of the houses are seasonal weekly lets, like this one, but we do also let them out for longer during the winter.’
I know she’s probably trying to be helpful and interesting, but quite honestly, I wish she would go and leave us to it. We’re all tired and a bit irritable and could really do with food and an early night. It’s also a little bit strange that she’s been waiting here in the house for us. We never told her what time we’d be arriving. It was available any time after noon, which was hours ago. Does that mean she’s been here all that time? With most holiday rentals, you’re just given a key and the place is yours for a week. I realise she’s still talking, but I must have zoned out, so I nod and smile, stifling a yawn.
‘Okay, so if you have any questions or problems, please don’t hesitate to get in touch. I only live up the road, so it’s no trouble to pop down if you need me. Faye, you have my number?’
‘I do.’
‘Thank you,’ Jake says. ‘Everything seems really great. It’s a wonderful old house.’
I wonder if she heard his ‘damp’ comment when he first walked in.
‘It certainly has a lot of character. A bit like this handsome chap.’ Yasmin bends and squeezes Dylan’s cheek affectionately.
‘Ow!’ My son puts a hand to his cheek and looks at me, outraged.
Yasmin doesn’t seem to notice. ‘Okay, well. I’ll get out of your hair now. Have a wonderful stay. And, like I said, any problems just shout.’
We say our goodbyes and she sashays through the hall and out of the front door, closing it firmly behind her.
‘Well. That was a bit weird,’ Lainy says.
‘I thought it was quite a nice thing to do,’ Tom says. ‘To welcome us. It is her house after all.’
Lainy gives him a look and then frowns. ‘She looks really familiar. I’m trying to think where I’ve seen her before.’
Dylan tugs at my arm. ‘She pinched me, Mummy, did you see?’
I smile down at him. ‘I don’t think she meant to hurt you, Dyls.’
He scowls and takes his hand away from his cheek, and I see that she’s left quite a livid red mark. ‘Oh, Dyls, are you okay?’
‘He’s fine, Faye,’ Jake says. ‘Don’t mollycoddle him.’
Jake has a point. It was just an overfriendly gesture. I probably shouldn’t fuss so much.
We pile into the kitchen. It’s clean at least, if a bit dated. And Jake was right earlier – it definitely smells a bit mildewy in here. I ease up one of the sash windows overlooking the forlorn back garden, walled on all sides. Tom unlocks the back door and props it open with a stone planter. A shaft of evening sunlight spills onto the grey kitchen flagstones, and a breeze stirs the discordant wind chimes hanging by the back door.
‘Okay, plates…’ I open one of the kitchen cupboards but find mugs and glasses instead.
Lainy and I bustle about the kitchen finding plates and cutlery, while Jake unwraps the fish and chips.
‘It’s strange to be back in Swanage,’ he murmurs.
‘How long’s it been?’ Toms asks. Five-year-old Annabel clambers onto his lap, sticks her thumb in her mouth and closes her eyes.
‘Don’t let her fall asleep again!’ Lainy says. ‘She’ll be awake all night. Hey, Annabel, sweetie, do you want some juice?’
‘Yes please.’ She nods sleepily, burrowing deeper into Tom’s lap, like a hibernating dormouse.
Jake starts portioning out the food. ‘We haven’t been back here for… must be seventeen years, right, Lainy?’
‘About that,’ Lainy agrees. ‘I wonder if it’s changed much down in the town.’
Jake shrugs and his face closes down again. My stomach knots. Coming here has definitely unsettled my husband. I was looking forward to supper a few moments ago, but my appetite is rapidly waning.
I pick at my fish, trying to think of a way to lift the mood.
‘Where are the onion rings?’ Dylan asks.
I glance around the table, just in time to see Poppy eat the last one.
‘Oh, Poppy!’ Lainy says. ‘Those were Dylan’s.’
Seven-year-old Poppy frowns. ‘But I like onion rings too.’
‘Yes, but you asked for cod and chips. Dylan asked for onion rings.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘Dylan doesn’t mind, do you, Dyl?’ I give him a look to let him know he shouldn’t kick up a fuss.
‘Aren’t there any left?’ he asks, his voice perilously high.
‘We’ll get some more tomorrow.’ I’m desperately thinking of a way to change the subject. The last thing we need is for one or more of the kids to have a meltdown.
‘But that’s not fair!’
‘You can have some of Poppy’s chips,’ Tom says, grabbing a handful off his daughter’s plate and plonking them onto Dylan’s.
‘Daddy!’ Poppy cries. ‘You had an onion ring too. So did Annabel.’
‘Tell you what,’ I say, attempting to make myself heard above the escalating squabble, ‘after supper, we’ll go and choose our bedrooms. What do you think about that?’ I’m hoping that after a good night’s sleep, things will improve.
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