The Ex-Boyfriend: A completely addictive and shocking psychological thriller

by Rona Halsall

  But really, did that add up to the answer? Was it that simple?

  She looked at her message. It wasn’t enough, there was something more she needed to say, so she tapped out the question she really wanted him to answer.

  I hope you can forgive me?

  If he said yes, would that make her feel lighter, or would it wrap another chain of doubt around her neck?

  The past ten years had been emotional. First her mum dying, and her dad struggling to cope with the grief. Then, less than a year later, she and Dean had married. Four years ago, her dad had had a heart attack and needed more support, especially when he’d had to take early retirement and hadn’t known what to do with himself. And then, three and a half years ago, after several miscarriages, Mia had been born. But Dean’s business had suddenly taken off just when Becca had gone back to work, and life had been hectic ever since.

  Every time she thought they’d reached a settled phase, something else would happen. The most recent upheaval was buying this house next to the golf course on the edge of Llandudno. It was more stressful than she could have imagined because it was a new build and Dean had wanted changes to the specification, so it fitted their needs perfectly. ‘If it’s going to be our forever home, we’ve got to get it right,’ he’d said more than once.

  Becca would be the first to admit that she and change were not good friends.

  It took her a while to adjust to new ideas, and after the troubles of her past, her therapist had advised her not to take on too much change at once, to let one thing become part of her routine before introducing anything else that was new. Life had other ideas of course, pulling her this way and that, thrusting decisions and situations in her path at a speed she found overwhelming at times.

  Too much change at once gave her a mental paralysis, a state of mind where she was incapable of knowing what it was she actually wanted. Unable to voice an opinion, she just let events happen. And that was how she’d ended up here, married to Dean with a three-year-old child, instead of in Australia with Connor and – who knew – possibly a different child. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t thought about it a hundred times. Probably a lot more, if she was honest. Especially on those days when Dean wasn’t there and she was alone, trying to entertain a hyperactive Mia. Lonely. Yes, that was the truth of it. She often felt lonely.

  Dean’s business was like a third person in their marriage, regularly taking him away for weekends and sometimes weeks at a time. In recent years, he’d specialised in running corporate events based on golf – his passion – using iconic courses all over the world. Companies would run team-building activities, strategy workshops or sales events in the mornings, followed by a round of golf in the afternoon or evening. Work and play. It was a win-win formula. He’d spotted a gap in the market and he’d been so right. Now he had so much work, he’d taken on a partner, an ex-professional golfer who had the industry contacts he needed; together, they were dynamite. It didn’t help that his partner was lithe and attractive and called Alice.

  Becca didn’t like Alice. Or was it that she didn’t like Alice being Dean’s business partner?

  The fact that Dean and Alice spent so much time together was the problem, and she found her insufferable, all puffed up and full of her own importance. She had a tendency to ignore Becca because, really, what did they have in common? Alice was focused, driven, her life all about golf, to the exclusion of almost everything else. There was no overt animosity, just a tendency to avoid each other if at all possible, a strategy they all seemed happy with.

  Becca sighed. Hand on heart, she couldn’t say she was happy. Stressed: that was her overriding state of mind, a hamster on a wheel, running to keep up with everything life was throwing at her. It wasn’t how she’d envisaged her life with Dean.

  Did I make a mistake? she wondered now, looking at her message to Connor. Did I pick the wrong man?

  2

  Becca woke feeling groggy and unprepared for the new day, having stayed up longer than she usually would, waiting for Connor to answer. Eventually, when her eyes had kept closing, her chin nodding on to her chest, she’d understood there would be no reply and she’d crept back to bed.

  In her first hazy moments of wakefulness, Becca thought back to when she and Dean started dating, and he would bring a cup of coffee for her to drink in bed in the mornings – workdays and weekends. It was a routine that had never faltered from the first night she’d stayed with him. He’d always done it for his mum, he’d explained, after his dad died and she was on her own. It was his way of showing her she was loved.

  Once Mia had arrived in their lives, and Dean’s business took off, their routines were transformed, and coffee in bed became a thing of the past. Not even on birthdays or Mother’s Day. In fact, Dean was so distracted by the myriad tasks he always had to do that he hardly bothered to say good morning these days, his mind on work as soon as he hopped out of bed. Of course, she was happy for him that he found his business fulfilling, but it absorbed so much of his time and mental energy there was nothing left for her. Or Mia for that matter.

  How strange, she pondered now, as she watched him getting dressed, that the man who had been absorbed by the idea of a family for all those years before Mia had arrived now spent so little time with his daughter. Perhaps the reality doesn’t match the dream? Not for the first time, a cold emptiness filled her chest, a sense that somehow she wasn’t shaping up to be the wife and mother he’d hoped she’d be. That home life wasn’t as enjoyable as being at work.

  She watched him slick back his short dark hair and gave herself a mental shake. It’s all for us, she reminded herself. He’s building a secure future. Wasn’t that what he’d said the other night when she’d told him she missed him? ‘It won’t be forever. But we’re in the middle of our expansion plans and I can’t take my foot off the gas just yet.’ He’d kissed her then. But even when he was kissing her, she wasn’t sure his heart was in it.

  Loneliness was the last emotion she’d expected from marriage. But there it was, chilling her heart, the moment she woke up and saw her husband eagerly preparing for his day. Was it any wonder she’d taken to daydreaming about her past? No harm in daydreams, she told herself, pushing Connor’s face out of her mind and focusing instead on her husband.

  Dean slapped aftershave on his face then stood in front of the wardrobe surveying his assortment of ties.

  ‘Jon Snow,’ she said as she watched. It was a little game she liked to play, each tie having a name, and this one was named after a newsreader who loved a splash of colour.

  He reached for the tie, raised an eyebrow as he turned to her, holding it up under his chin, a riot of fluorescent patterned silk. ‘This one?’

  ‘Perfect.’ She watched him deliberate then carefully put it back, pulling out a conservative navy and maroon one instead.

  ‘Alice hates Jon Snow.’ He grimaced in the wardrobe mirror as he slung the tie round his neck. ‘Says it’s juvenile and lacks class. I’ll go for David Cameron instead, I think.’

  Becca took a sip of water from the glass on her bedside table, swallowing her retort back down. So, Alice has a say over how you dress now? Nice. Of course, she wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t want to start the day with an argument, and she knew how petty it would sound.

  Dean finished tying his tie and took his suit jacket from its hanger, shrugged it on. ‘Presentable?’ he asked as he turned to face her.

  ‘Very smart.’ It was her stock answer, the same one she gave every day because she wasn’t even sure he was listening, his mind already somewhere else.

  He walked over and bent to give her a kiss. A fleeting touch of his lips, the kiss gone before it had properly landed, another part of the routine. That’s me, she thought as she watched him walk out of the bedroom. Just part of the routine.

  ‘Bye, Alice,’ he called as he left the room, and she froze as if he’d unwittingly fired an arrow into her heart. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. It wasn’t even the secon
d, and she stared at the empty doorway, her breath hitching in her throat.

  Just a mistake, she told herself. His mind’s on work, doesn’t mean anything. She thought back to her childhood, her mother always calling her and her sister Kate by the wrong names, distracted by whatever she was doing at the time. Doesn’t mean anything, she reassured herself again, but decided that she’d mention it to him. Present it as evidence that he was spending too much of his time thinking about work and not enough thinking about his home life.

  She sat staring into space, her thoughts sneaking back to what might have been. Connor. His name flowed into her mind, along with a flurry of images until they filled every little space. She lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes, inspecting each memory before putting it back and picking another. Sunshine and laughter. Lots of banter. The sea, surfing, cooking barbies on the beach, salty skin, road trips to the Blue Mountains, watching the sunrise, the sunset, boat trips. Snorkelling over the Great Barrier Reef. And talking. So much talking about everything and nothing. Connor knows more about me than anyone else on the planet. She knew this to be true, and she missed his friendship, the way he would always listen. And frankly, he’d had a lot to listen to when they’d first met, things that she’d never revealed to Dean lest she frighten him away.

  Becca had been signed off work for four months before she’d been persuaded to take a sabbatical and had headed off to Australia. It was at the suggestion of her friend Tina, a fellow nurse who’d emigrated to Sydney five years earlier and had settled there with her Australian husband.

  ‘Come and stay,’ she’d said. ‘We’ve loads of space. The weather’s fantastic, you can just hang out, or find yourself a job, whatever works for you. I think getting away from the whole mess is going to be best. Fastest way to put it all behind you, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t,’ had been Becca’s first response, dismissing the idea before she’d even had time to think about it. Her go-to answer of the moment being ‘no’. She’d been trying to catch herself doing it, as her therapist had suggested, making a conscious effort to turn ‘no’ into ‘yes’ at least some of the time, but it really was a struggle.

  Her therapist had been delighted by the idea of a break. ‘What a wonderful opportunity,’ she’d said, beaming over the top of her bifocals, her blonde hair a curly nest sitting on top of her round moon of a face. ‘I think some time away from home, putting some distance between you and your… troubles would be just the ticket. You wouldn’t dwell quite so much on what happened, and if your friend is a nurse, well, you’ll be in sympathetic company. Unlike your mother.’ She’d cocked her head. ‘With the best will in the world, being at home is not really working, is it?’

  The next time Tina had repeated the offer, Becca had forced herself to accept. Spurred on by the fact her mother had been hinting that it was time for her to move back into her own apartment because, really, there was nothing wrong with her, was there? The tension had been mounting, and she’d noticed an increase in the hissed conversations between her parents, little digs at every opportunity. Eventually, it had become unbearable, and the challenge of flying halfway round the world by herself was more palatable than moving back into a place of her own, where she’d have nothing but her thoughts to keep her company.

  Tina had lured her with talk of sunshine and heat and kangaroos and kookaburras and koalas, all out there in the countryside, common as rabbits. It was strange, she thought now, how random things could unblock your thinking. Once she’d been there a few weeks, Tina had helped her find a bar job, and Becca had been surprised to find that she loved it. Six months into her stay, with her mental health well on the way to recovery, she’d met Connor.

  Their relationship was intense, spending every moment they possibly could with each other. They’d had a couple of weekends away, going up to Cairns so she could see the Great Barrier Reef. Then she’d given up her bar job to travel round the south coast with him, surfing and picking up casual work, living in his campervan. After five months, though, she was yearning for stability. Connor hadn’t been ready to stay in one place. That’s when they agreed to have a break, and she’d gone back to stay with Tina while he’d carried on his travels.

  Her heart had ached for him, but her head had told her he wasn’t long-term partner material. They’d continued talking every other day and she’d been completely conflicted, her head and heart at war with each other, and her biological clock ticking away in the background. Her dreams had children in them. Lots of children. But Connor was a free spirit, and parenting hadn’t been in his plans for the foreseeable future.

  When her mum had had a stroke and died, it had turned her thinking on its head.

  She’d travelled home for the funeral but had bought a return ticket. ‘I’ll be back in a month,’ she’d assured him at the airport. She hadn’t understood how grief would hit her once she’d arrived back home. Or how diminished her father would appear, shaking and swaying, hardly able to walk on his own, let alone look after himself. She’d soon understood she couldn’t leave him. A month at home was nowhere near enough to deal with the loss of her mother, or the unresolved issues which had been left hanging between them. With her mum gone, her dad became her priority, and Australia seemed as distant as another planet, completely out of her reach.

  A little hand tugged at her hair and she blinked her eyes open, shocked out of her reverie. Big hazel eyes gazed back at her. ‘Are you awake, Mummy?’ Mia asked, earnestly, as if it wasn’t obvious. Becca laughed.

  ‘I am now,’ she said, pulling her daughter into a hug, burying her nose in her tangle of curls, filling herself with the scent of the little person who ruled her heart. Connor’s in the past, she told herself firmly. This is my future.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Mia said, wriggling from Becca’s grasp and tugging at her hand. ‘Time for breakfast, Mummy.’

  Becca allowed herself to be pulled out of bed and padded downstairs with her daughter’s tiny hand wrapped in her own, a sensation that she never ceased to delight in. Because there was a time when she’d thought she’d never be able to trust herself to look after a child. A time when she hadn’t trusted herself to know what was real.

  3

  It was never a good idea to let her mind go back to those dark days; it was like stepping in quicksand, which grabbed at her thoughts, pulling her down and refusing to let go. She focused on chopping up fruit for Mia’s breakfast while she tried to keep the past at bay. Her phone pinged with a new message. Connor? She made herself finish what she was doing, settled Mia with her food and then checked her phone. Her shoulders slumped when she saw it was from her boss, Carol, asking her to call.

  That was all it took to connect the dots in her mind and send her thoughts spinning back eleven years and four months to another message from another boss, asking her to come to her office.

  Becca’s ward manager, Jane Fielding, was a brisk middle-aged woman with hair dyed a shade darker than suited her lined and jowly face. They’d never had a harmonious relationship, Becca’s sense of humour and her habit of being silly to cheer up her patients apparently unprofessional in her manager’s eyes. Jane was always pulling her up on little things that didn’t really matter. Nitpicking, Becca thought, putting it down to a controlling personality who liked things done her way. But this was something else.

  She’d never been called into the office for a formal chat before, and the mood was sombre. Becca’s hands felt clammy where they rested in her lap.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to do this,’ Jane said, her voice brusque and businesslike, ‘but I’m afraid circumstances demand it.’ Her mouth became a hard, scarlet line, a mean slash across her doughy face. ‘I’m going to have to suspend you from duty pending an investigation. With immediate effect.’

  Becca held on to her chair, shocked beyond words for a moment while Jane continued. ‘These are very serious allegations.’

  Her patronising tone unblocked the logjam of words that had been stuck i
n Becca’s throat. ‘You can’t think I’m in any way involved in harming the patients?’ she said, incredulous. Her heart was racing, revving like a jump-started engine. ‘You can’t think that. I treat everyone like they’re family, and everything I do is to help make them better.’ She glowered at her manager, fingers tightening round the seat of the chair as her mind scrabbled for a way to make Jane see that she’d got it wrong. ‘Who made these accusations against me? Let me talk to them. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding.’

  Jane sat back in her seat, her eyebrows knotted into a continuous line. ‘It’s not one accusation; it’s a number of incidents. Initial investigations show they appear to have started when you first joined us here on the ward.’

  ‘What incidents?’ Becca’s mind immediately started reviewing recent events. There had been a crisis the previous day, a resuscitation. And one a couple of weeks earlier. Is that what this is about? She wiped her clammy hands on her uniform as if smoothing out the creases. ‘Surely I’ve a right to know exactly what I’m being accused of?’

  Jane nodded. ‘Yes, you do, and you’ll be given a formal letter detailing everything. It’s being prepared as we speak, but the decision was made to suspend you immediately to safeguard the patients in our care.’ She gave Becca a stony look. ‘We’re investigating incidents of patients being given the wrong medication and the wrong doses, leading to catastrophic outcomes in some cases.’

  Becca shook her head, her heart racing so fast she felt lightheaded. ‘I’m always extremely careful with medication. Ask the other nurses.’ There was desperation in her voice. ‘Please just talk to them. They’ll tell you. I’m always double-checking.’

  Jane gave her a curt nod. ‘We will be checking, don’t you worry. And in the meantime, you are relieved of your duties. The police will be wanting to interview you, and I hope you will give them your full cooperation in this matter.’