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

by Rona Halsall

  The last box was quite heavy, full of paper and picture frames, stuff she’d had on her walls. She recognised the contents of her desk and knew this would need careful sorting – there were memories in here, together with records of achievements and official paperwork that she’d want to keep. She yawned and stared at the box, wondering if she should leave it for another day and take the opportunity to have an early night.

  Her curiosity had been piqued, though, as she couldn’t remember exactly what might be in there. Old school reports, photos from university when she was doing her nursing degree. Yes, she was pretty sure there’d be a few laughs amongst the paperwork. After topping up her wine, she lifted the box on to the kitchen table and started sorting the contents into piles.

  Halfway down she found an A5 notebook, fat and well used with a picture of a kangaroo on the front. Her heart gave a little skip. This was one of the journals she’d kept while she was on sabbatical in Australia. Something her therapist had suggested, so she could record her thoughts, note down the positives, address her worries and work through the issues which had been weighing on her mind for so long. She’d got into a routine with it and knew if she searched through the box, there would be others. She smoothed the front cover, relishing the familiar feel of it, stirring memories like silt from the bottom of a pond. This was the journal she’d been keeping just before she came home. This one was full of Connor.

  A fizz of anticipation bubbled through her as she opened the book. On the very first page, there was a picture of her and Connor on the beach – her in a hot-pink bikini, him in faded black bathing shorts, both leaning on surfboards, hair still wet, matching grins. She stared at her image, a slimline version of herself, tanned and glowing with good health. Look at that smile! Happiness shone from her. She appeared light and carefree. Quite the opposite of how she felt now.

  She glanced at the date and worked out the figures in her mind. Maybe two months after she and Connor had met. This was a picture of those early, heady days of their relationship, when friendship had blossomed into love, but nothing was serious. When their focus was on having fun. What a perfect playmate he’d been, lighting up her life with his silly jokes and gentle nature. She started reading her scrawled thoughts, and she was taken back to some of the happiest days of her life.

  As she flicked through the pages, her eyes were drawn to the pictures of Connor. She studied his face, remembering his touch and how it felt to lie in his arms and feel the fuzz of his chest hair against her cheek. ‘G’day mate,’ she whispered, a smile in her voice, delighted by her find – a whole book of escapism. It was like finding treasure.

  It was only when the front door banged closed that she realised Dean was home, and she quickly threw the journal back in the box, hiding it under a couple of framed certificates. She fumbled the lid closed as if it was some terrible secret. Her cheeks were burning and she jumped up, took her glass to the sink and let the cold water run over her hands in an attempt to cool the heat that flushed through her body.

  He knows about Connor, she reminded herself, only to be castigated by her conscience. Doesn’t mean he’d be happy with you mooning over his picture, though, does it? She picked up the box just as Dean came into the kitchen. He gave her a tired, preoccupied sort of a smile that hardly had the energy to turn his mouth up at the corners.

  ‘What you got there?’ he said, studying the box she had clasped to her chest.

  ‘Oh, Dad’s been having a clear-out. It’s just stuff from my old bedroom that I need to sort out.’ She grasped the box a little tighter. ‘I’ll stick it in the spare room for now, I think. Out of the way. Then I can sort through as and when I’ve got a moment.’

  He moved to one side to let her get past him into the hall.

  She hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom at the end of the landing, which had become a storeroom for belongings yet to be unpacked and find a permanent place in their home. It had been furnished as a spare bedroom, though, with a double bed, a chest of drawers and a built-in wardrobe along one entire wall. She opened this now and pushed the box into a corner on the floor, shut the door and glanced around the room.

  I’ll have to have a tidy up if Dad’s coming to stay. Dean had a bag of golf clubs stacked in a corner, along with a number of golfing umbrellas adorned with his company logo. There were a couple of large cardboard boxes filled with company merchandise – jumpers and jackets and gilets, all branded. Her heart sank. In truth, the room was a mess.

  I’ll have to get Dean to help, she mused, frowning as she opened drawers and found them full of golfing paraphernalia. It seemed he’d commandeered the room without her really noticing. No time like the present, she decided, hurrying back downstairs. Her dad would be coming the day after tomorrow, and she’d need to have the room ready for him.

  Dean was sitting in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea, lost in his thoughts. She noticed the grooves on either side of his mouth, the deep furrow between his eyebrows. He worked hard, she’d have to give him that, and she was grateful for the financial security – and the lovely new home – his efforts had given them. She went over to him, bent to give him a hug and a kiss, but he hardly responded.

  ‘Long day?’ she asked, the sting of rejection making her pull away. ‘Is everything all right? How did your meeting go?’

  He blinked. Sighed. Took a sip of tea, his eyes focused on the table. ‘Fine. It’s all fine.’

  ‘I’ve had quite a day myself,’ she said, and sat across the table from him, reaching for his hand. ‘Ruth can’t look after Mia any more. She’s just been diagnosed with breast cancer.’

  He blinked, awakened from his trance. ‘Oh, no. Poor Ruth.’

  Becca thought he might have more to say but he went back to sipping his tea. ‘It’s put me in a bit of a tight spot with work.’ She studied his face, watched him chewing the inside of his lip, clearly distracted by something.

  ‘Hmmm.’ He nodded, but she was sure he wasn’t listening.

  She bristled, her words getting a little snippy round the edges. ‘Anyway, I’ve sorted out a plan B. Dad’s coming over to keep an eye on Mia. Day after tomorrow. It was Kate’s idea. She’s got a meeting in London and has to go away for a night.’

  Dean took another sip of tea. ‘Right.’

  Becca’s jaw hardened. ‘I’m glad you’re so interested. Anyway, I need your crap out of the spare room so Dad can sleep in there.’

  His eyes met hers then. ‘Sorry, what was that?’

  ‘Honestly, Dean, I hardly see you these days, and when you are here, you’re just not bloody present.’ She pressed her lips together to stop more words from tumbling out, giving voice to her true feelings.

  They glared at each other. Then he finished his tea, put his mug on the table and stood, hands clasping the back of his chair as he leant towards her. ‘I’m doing my best to provide a lifestyle and home that you and our daughter can enjoy. I don’t work twelve-hour days for the pleasure of it, Becca.’ His voice hardened, his tone patronising. ‘But, hey, I know your job is more important than mine, so of course I’ll go up there right now and sort it out. Because I’ve got a busy day tomorrow and then I’ll be organising everything for the event at the weekend. Now is all the time I have spare because, you know, I don’t even need any time off for relaxation, do I?’

  She swallowed. ‘You don’t have to be like that about it. I just want the room to be nice for Dad when he comes. It’s the first time he will have stayed, and it might have to be a regular thing if I can’t find another childminder.’

  Dean glared at her again before leaving the room without another word. She listened to him clumping up the stairs, then a little while later he came back down with one of the boxes in his arms. ‘You don’t have to work. I’ve always said that.’

  Becca bit back her reply, not having the energy for the circular argument that spun around them whenever she asked him to help a bit more. It was a battle of wills that she wasn’t prepared to lose. He could never u
nderstand why her job was so important to her, why she was determined to keep nursing. But then she hadn’t told him about Rosie. He didn’t need to know that she was responsible for the death of her best friend.

  7

  Once she’d calmed down, Becca relented and went to give Dean a hand clearing his stuff out of the spare bedroom. She’d just managed to empty a drawer when a sudden wail sent her running to Mia’s room. The smell hit her as soon as she walked through the door, and she gagged as the aroma of vomit and diarrhoea filled her nostrils, so pungent she could practically taste it.

  She flicked on the light. Poor Mia was sitting up in bed, the front of her pyjamas covered with vomit, a puddle of it on the duvet in front of her. She was holding up her Beanie Baby unicorn, which had obviously been in the firing line and was dripping chunks of regurgitated food on to the floor. Becca stood for a moment, wondering where to start.

  ‘Oh, sweetie!’

  ‘Mummy,’ Mia sobbed, ‘unicorn’s all icky.’

  ‘You’re both a bit icky. Let’s get you to the bathroom, shall we? See if we can clean up the mess.’

  Mia slid gingerly off the bed and Becca noticed the stain on the back of her pyjamas. Thankfully she still wore a nappy at night, so the leakage wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but the stench was horrendous, and despite her years of nursing, Becca’s stomach heaved. Although she’d been a very healthy baby, Mia did seem prone to stomach upsets. But then, like most young children, a lot of her toys seemed to gravitate to her mouth.

  Probably some sort of twenty-four-hour bug. That’s what these symptoms usually meant. Maybe something she’d picked up at the playground, from the children she’d been playing with.

  Dean poked his head round the door and pulled a face when the smell hit him. ‘Oh my God! Shall I run a bath for her?’

  ‘Good idea. Can you get the changing mat and the baby wipes into the bathroom, and we’ll get the worst off with that first, I think?’ She held out her arms and picked up her smelly, puke-covered daughter, trying not to breathe as she carried her out of the bedroom.

  She was thankful for the floral scent of the bubble bath as she wiped Mia down as best she could, then popped her in the foamy water.

  Dean came back up with a bucket for Mia’s clothes before heading off to strip her bed.

  ‘Mummy, unicorn needs a bath as well,’ Mia said, big hazel eyes so mournful that Becca gave the toy a good rinse in the sink before handing it to her daughter, who started splashing it in the water.

  ‘How are you feeling now, sweetie?’

  Mia’s mouth turned down. ‘My tummy hurts.’

  ‘Do you still feel sick?’

  Mia looked at her, silent, pouting, and Becca realised that she wouldn’t know what feeling sick meant. Dean stopped in the bathroom door, a bundle of bedding in his arms. ‘Shall I put this lot in the washing machine?’

  Teamwork. She gave him a grateful smile. ‘Could you put it in the sink in the utility room? It’ll need a rinse before it goes in the machine.’ She got to her feet. ‘Tell you what. You keep an eye on Mia and I’ll sort out the washing.’ She took the bundle from Dean’s arms, picked up the bucket and made her way downstairs, forcing the thought that she was too tired to cope with this out of her mind. She locked into nursing mode, reminding herself that she’d seen worse on the wards.

  Twenty minutes later, she’d rinsed off the worst of the mess, got the wash on and was back upstairs, sorting out clean bedding. Dean came back into the bedroom, Mia in his arms, wrapped in a towel. She was still clinging on to the unicorn, and Becca sensed there was going to be trouble parting them from each other. She checked Mia over, tested her temperature, asked if her tummy still hurt, and when everything seemed okay, she got her settled back in bed. After a couple of stories Mia was asleep and Becca stumbled into the shower, dead on her feet now but feeling so dirty and germ-ridden that she knew there was no chance of getting to sleep until she felt clean again.

  Dean was sitting in bed, scrolling through his phone, when she walked in from the bathroom.

  ‘I hope she’s okay,’ she said to him as she pulled on her pyjamas.

  ‘Just a bug, I suppose,’ Dean said, still busy with his phone.

  Becca frowned as she sorted out her pillows. ‘I suppose so. I can’t remember her being this bad before, though, can you?’ She could hear the worry in her voice, told herself not to panic. Mia was such a precious child to her and the only one she was likely to have.

  ‘A few months ago, you were worried, don’t you remember? I think it was a rash as well that time. Then she had a high temperature and went pale as a ghost.’ Dean pulled a face. ‘I know it’s normal for a mum to be concerned but I honestly think this is just one of those things. If we sit it out, it’ll go away. Just like all the other times you’ve ever worried about her health.’

  Becca got into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. ‘I just hope you’re right. Some of these vomiting bugs—’

  ‘Mummy!’ Mia’s plaintive cry rang down the hallway and through their open bedroom door.

  Becca and Dean looked at each other.

  ‘Christ! I can’t be up all night,’ Dean said, clearly horrified by the thought. ‘I’ve got a really important meeting tomorrow, prepping for the weekend.’

  Becca clambered out of bed. She was the nurse in the family, the one who should be keeping a close eye on their daughter. ‘It’s okay. I’m off tomorrow. You go to sleep; I’ll get her sorted.’ She was halfway down the landing when she remembered she’d promised she’d go into work the following day, and a lead weight landed on her chest, a heaviness pulling at her shoulders. You’ve done back-to-back twelve-hour shifts in the past, she reminded herself and took a deep breath of clean air before entering her daughter’s room.

  They were up most of the night in a cycle of clean up and sleep. By dawn, poor Mia was exhausted and crying, and Becca felt like joining in. She now had a great pile of washing to do, and was worried that Mia would be dehydrated – she’d refused to drink anything because she couldn’t seem to keep it down. Thankfully, Mia finally drifted off to sleep, and Becca hoped that the worst had passed.

  ‘I think I’ll take her to the doctor’s,’ she said to Dean at breakfast, having already broken the news to Carol that she couldn’t work because Mia was ill.

  ‘She’s asleep now, though, isn’t she, so why don’t we leave her? Let nature do its thing.’

  Becca poured herself a coffee and hugged the mug to her chest. Her eyes felt scratchy and sore with tiredness, her body longing to lie down, but she couldn’t take any risks. Not with her daughter’s health. She’d taken risks before with Rosie, and look what had happened. She shuddered. In her heart, she could see the sense in letting Mia sleep, but in her mind, where her fears prowled like hungry wolves, she couldn’t trust her instincts. What if Dean was wrong? What if it happened all over again and she’d be to blame?

  She took a sip of coffee, her mind taking her back to the worst day of her life.

  She was eleven and playing with her best friend Rosie, on their way to the field just up the road, where the houses ended and the countryside began. Sometimes there were a few ponies in there, and they would gather handfuls of grass and giggle as the ponies’ hairy lips tickled their hands. This day, the field was empty. They had a den in the hedgerow, underneath the hawthorn bushes, and they had to crawl to get inside. It was their special place and they enjoyed many happy hours there, hidden from the world in a space where they could be anything they wanted to be.

  Rosie was a little pale today and her mother didn’t really want her to go out, but they sneaked away when she wasn’t looking.

  ‘Mum’s so fussy,’ Rosie said as they walked up the road. ‘She worries way too much.’

  ‘She just cares about you. And it is a bit worrying having epilepsy, isn’t it?’

  Rosie had only recently been diagnosed with the condition after having had a couple of episodes when the family were away on holid
ay. Now she was on medication, which she hated.

  Rosie shrugged. ‘I don’t remember anything about it.’

  Becca frowned and stopped, pulling Rosie to a halt alongside her. She studied her friend’s face, noticed the clammy sheen on her brow. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling okay? If your mum’s worried about you, then maybe we shouldn’t go to the field today.’ She turned to go back the way they’d come, tugging on Rosie’s arm. ‘We could watch a film or something instead.’

  Rosie pulled her arm out of Becca’s grasp, anger crumpling her forehead. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. Don’t you start fussing as well. Honestly, it’s like I can’t go anywhere or do anything any more.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I just want everything to be normal.’

  Becca relented then and gave her friend a quick hug before they set off again up the road. ‘Let’s not be too long, though.’

  Rosie sighed and linked her arm with Becca’s. ‘Let’s just do what we usually do. I just need to be… I want to forget about all that stuff.’ She glanced at Becca. ‘Please?’

  Becca pushed her concerns away. It was impossible to comprehend what it must be like to suddenly be told you’ve got this serious illness. Poor Rosie. She decided she wouldn’t mention it again but would try and cheer her up, pretend nothing had changed.

  They crawled into their den and were creating a bigger space to play in when Rosie stopped talking, eyes wide and staring before she started shaking. Then she fell forwards, limbs twitching, her face in the soil.

  Oh my God! She’s having a fit!

  Becca had never seen anyone having an epileptic fit before and she was paralysed by fear, not knowing what to do. She tried to turn her friend over, but her arms flailed, and her body was going into spasms. There was no way she could manhandle her in the awkward space, not when there was hardly room to kneel let alone stand.

  I’ll go and get help, she thought, starting to crawl out of the den. But then she stopped, unwilling to leave Rosie on her own. She started crying, frightened by her friend’s twitching body, wanting to do something to help but not knowing what to do for the best.