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

by Rona Halsall

  12

  Mia was ill again that night. The same symptoms, and just as violent as the last time. At least Frank was there to help with the messy, stinky awfulness, even if Dean wasn’t present to accept his share of parental responsibilities. Frank couldn’t brush away her worries as being insignificant now. He couldn’t deny the situation was pretty scary, and Becca could tell by his wild eyes and the pallor of his skin that he’d been shocked by the whole experience.

  ‘I think she’s settled now,’ Becca said with a heavy sigh as she walked into the kitchen to see Frank making them a cup of tea. ‘It’s just like the other night.’

  Frank glanced up as he poured milk into their mugs and brought them over to the table, where Becca had slumped into a chair, hands rubbing her tired eyes. ‘These bugs can come back, though, can’t they?’ He sat in the chair opposite. ‘Maybe there were still some of the germs about on one of her toys or something. It’s impossible to sterilise the place, I would imagine.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Becca put her mug on a coaster, something Frank never thought to do, straightening it up so it was in line with the edge of the table. ‘Well, I definitely didn’t do a deep clean of the whole house. I haven’t had time to even think about that.’ She chewed her lip. ‘It’s something I probably should have done though.’

  ‘Let’s hope we don’t pick it up.’ Frank sipped his tea. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. She bounced back last time, didn’t she?’

  ‘I should probably take her to the doctor’s again.’ Becca was in two minds whether to take her now, go to the out-of-hours doctor at the cottage hospital round the corner. It wasn’t far.

  ‘There’s nothing a doctor can do if it’s a virus. There’s no point taking an emergency appointment when somebody else might need it. Why don’t you just see how she is in the morning?’

  She glanced at Frank, her fingers knotting together as if they were seeking comfort from each other. ‘I don’t think it is a virus, though. The symptoms don’t seem right to me.’ She sighed. ‘It could be all sorts of things. A whole range of illnesses present like this.’ She caught Frank’s eye. ‘What if it’s something serious and I just ignore it?’

  Frank frowned, his voice stern. ‘Now you’re catastrophising, Becca. Don’t start down that road again.’

  Her jaw clamped shut, annoyed that her dad was wafting her concerns away. This was her only child, the centre of her world. Nothing and nobody was more important, and Mia was dependent on Becca to look out for her.

  ‘Anyway, you’ve got work tomorrow, haven’t you?’ Frank slurped his tea, put his mug down. ‘I’ll be here to mind her, so you don’t need to worry, and if there’s any signs of illness, I’ll let you know.’ He reached over and patted her hand. ‘You worry too much, love. Kids that age are always getting tummy bugs. That’s just how it is. No need to rush off to the doctor’s every time. It’s always the same with you – no confidence in yourself when it comes to Mia, always thinking the worst. Remember last year when she had that rash and you were sure it was meningitis? Then before that, when she had an ear infection and you were convinced she had some neurological problem?’ He took another sip of tea. ‘Anyway, whatever’s upset her seems to have passed now, and hopefully that’s the end of it.’

  They sat in silence as they finished their drinks, Becca expecting to hear a wail of distress from Mia at any moment. Thankfully, the house stayed quiet, and Frank went up to bed. Becca found the soiled nappy and scraped a sample into a Perspex tube, ready to drop off at the surgery in the morning, to be sent away for analysis. Better to be safe than sorry. If she had tests results, she was more likely to get a clear diagnosis.

  Feeling jittery and anxious, her ears still straining for Mia’s cries, she got ready for bed and was just climbing in when she spotted the box that she’d retrieved from the spare bedroom. She’d put it next to her side of the bed, ready to sort through before Dean got home on Monday. That might relax me, she thought, looking through old photos. Her heart skipped at the thought. She checked her phone. No message from Connor. Or Dean for that matter.

  She scowled as she typed out a quick message to her husband, telling him Mia had been ill again, still angry with him for calling her Alice. I’ve got to pull him up about it, let him know how much it hurts that he’s got another woman on his mind. Even if she was his business partner. That’s what he’d tell her – all to do with business, his mind already full of what he had to do that day as soon as he got up. Is that the truth? she wondered now, very aware of the empty space beside her. Or is there something going on between them?

  There was no arguing the fact that even when he was physically at home, his mind was on other things, constantly distracted with messages and conversations with people in different parts of the world. She pictured Dean’s face, the deep frown lines that had developed on his forehead, his tetchy demeanour. Is it all to do with work?

  He used to come home with flowers. Or other little gifts that he’d picked up on his travels. That didn’t happen any more. He used to burst into the house and rush to find her as soon as he got home, wrap her in a big hug and kiss her like he hadn’t seen her for a month. It used to make her laugh, make her feel so warm and loved. But that didn’t happen any more either.

  She loosened her jaw, rubbing at the muscles on either side of her face. Dean wouldn’t be unfaithful. He was loyal and kind and had stood by her when he really didn’t need to. He’d seen her at her worst, when they’d been to hell and back through three miscarriages and then the tense wait to see if the fourth pregnancy would finally result in the baby they both so desperately wanted. He’d left her in no doubt that he truly wanted to be with her in sickness and in health. For better and for worse.

  It’s just a blip, she told herself, deciding that she should initiate a date night, like Ruth had suggested. In fact, now she thought about it, a date night was a great idea.

  A whole night together, with no fear of interruptions, would give her time to explain how she was feeling – because, when she thought about it, communication between them had been on a surface level for quite some time now. Conversations about household chores and arrangements, what Mia had said and done. Nothing about feelings. What they needed was a proper heart-to-heart, then she could explain that she felt like a single parent. Remind him how much he was missing out on with Mia.

  Hopefully, he’d come to see that things had to change. It wasn’t as though they were short of money. He didn’t need to work so hard any more. Perhaps she could persuade him to lighten his schedule, employ another assistant and let Alice take more control of some aspects of the business.

  With a clear plan of action in her mind, she filed away that particular bundle of worries and opened the box, pulling out the three journals from her time in Australia.

  Slowly, she turned the pages, reliving her journey from mental hell – when she’d been accused of crimes against patients at the hospital – to mental health, when she’d been cared for by Tina in Australia, and then when she’d met Connor. She’d written the last entry in the third journal just after she’d heard news of her mum’s death and was getting ready to go back to England. She’d laid out how she felt about going home, the funeral, her heart-wrenching grief. Underneath, she’d stuck a picture of her with Connor, their last one together, and beside it she’d written, ‘Au revoir, my love. See you soon.’

  Although they’d been on a break for a few weeks before he’d given her a lift to the airport, as soon as she’d seen him, she’d known she still loved him. Not that it had ever been in doubt. The question had been about them having a future together, wanting the same things. At the time, she hadn’t told him how she felt because by then the grief had hit, and she couldn’t really speak.

  Now, a lump clogged her throat and tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the impossible dilemma she’d found herself faced with, the squall of emotions that had battered her at the time. Connor still didn’t know what had happened when she’d com
e home and met Dean. She picked up her phone, took a picture of the photo and sent it to him. Then she wrote him a long message explaining everything.

  By the time she’d finished, her eyes were sore with staring at the little screen, but her heart felt lighter, her conscience clearer for at last being honest with him. She pressed send. Would it scare him away? Or would it help to repair the bond of friendship that had been so strong between them?

  With that thought in her mind, she finally settled herself in bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

  13

  The next morning, the alarm woke her from a deep sleep, and she was still feeling groggy after she’d showered and got herself dressed. She peeked in on Mia, who was fast asleep, clearly exhausted by her illness the night before.

  The sound of whistling from the kitchen made her smile. Frank had a whole repertoire of tunes he could whistle, a skill which had eluded her, making her even more impressed by her dad’s abilities.

  ‘Morning, love,’ he said when he looked up from the newspaper he was reading, a cup of coffee in front of him and a plate with nothing but crumbs on it by his side.

  ‘You’re a bit chipper, aren’t you? I can’t believe you’ve already been to get a paper.’

  ‘I’m always up early, you know that. Can’t help it after all those years at work. My body won’t lie in even if I want to. Anyway, it’s a lovely day out there.’

  ‘Mia’s still asleep, so I won’t wake her.’ Becca made herself a coffee, stifling a yawn. ‘Are you okay to get her breakfast?’

  ‘I think she’ll be wanting to make her own after yesterday.’ Frank grinned. ‘She was very taken with Ruth’s French toast.’

  Becca went to sit opposite him at the table, cradling her mug in her hands, happy to see him so cheerful. ‘And I think you were very taken with Ruth.’ She thought she detected a blush working its way up his neck and into his cheeks.

  He cleared his throat and stood up, pushing his chair back, the legs scraping on the tiled floor. ‘I’m going to make some more toast – you want some?’

  He was definitely avoiding her eye and she couldn’t tell if he was just embarrassed or whether she’d offended him. Ten years after her mum’s death, he still hadn’t found a rhythm to his existence. His life had become so much smaller and less sociable since retirement, with no reason to leave the house. She understood how claustrophobic it must be for Kate and resolved to work on her plan to get him out more, and maybe invite Ruth along as well.

  ‘Toast would be lovely, thanks, Dad.’ She sipped her coffee while her brain tried to organise her to-do list for the day ahead. Should I take Mia to the doctor’s? It seemed a shame to wake her, and as Frank had said, she’d bounced back last time. Still there was a niggling feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘I think I’ll have a chat to the practice nurse about Mia. Maybe she’ll run some blood tests, just to make sure.’

  Frank put the bread in the toaster, clicked it in place. ‘Your call, if it’s bothering you.’

  Becca nodded, her mind made up. She’d talk to Carol when she went into the surgery to sort out her round for the day, see what she thought before she made a formal appointment for blood tests. She didn’t want them thinking she was making a fuss about nothing again.

  Her phone pinged, a message. She snatched it up. Connor? Her heart did a little skip, but it was from Dean.

  She tapped out a quick response as Frank slid a plate of toast in front of her. ‘Just Dean, checking everything’s okay,’ she said, aware that the disappointment was obvious in her voice. She put her phone down and took a bite of her toast, eyes on her plate.

  ‘When’s he home again? That absent bloke of yours?’

  ‘Monday,’ she reminded him. She chewed and swallowed, thinking about all the household chores to do while trying to entertain Mia.

  ‘I could always stay Sunday night as well if that would help, you know?’

  Becca glanced over at Frank, saw the hopeful expression on his face and stopped herself from automatically knocking him back. She’d thought she’d hate him in the house, watching her for signs that things weren’t right with her again. But that had been her paranoia speaking, and it hadn’t been like that at all. He was more interested in Mia. And Ruth. On top of that, they still hadn’t had time for the chat she’d hoped for. To be honest, it was nice having him around.

  ‘I’m not sure when Kate’s coming home,’ he continued. ‘It was supposed to be today, but she rang when you were at work yesterday to say she was going to look up some friends while she was in London, so she might stay the weekend. She was keeping it “fluid”, she said, whatever that means.’

  He sighed, forlorn. ‘It’s a nuisance cooking for one, and that house feels so big with just me rattling round in it. I get to feeling all maudlin.’ He swallowed. ‘I miss your mum, love. I know it’s been a while, but I still miss her so much.’

  Becca’s heart squeezed. ‘I do too, Dad. Never a day that I don’t think about her and wish we’d had time to clear the air after everything that happened when I was suspended from work.’ She pressed her lips together, hardly able to carry on. ‘We seemed to get our wires crossed for some reason, and there was so much tension between us, and I never knew why.’ Her voice cracked. ‘It’s hard that we never got to sort it out. That I’ll never understand what she really thought.’

  Frank gazed over her head, his tongue licking crumbs from the corners of his mouth. ‘I think she was scared, for all sorts of reasons that had nothing to do with you. And you’re right, it’s a shame you never got to sort things out between you. But all you need to know is she never stopped loving you, whatever misunderstandings there might have been.’

  Becca could feel the tears welling up inside, couldn’t speak for fear that she’d start crying. She cleared her throat, sensing now was the opportunity she’d been waiting for – a quiet moment, just her and Frank, discussing things that really mattered.

  ‘Talking about bad feeling and misunderstandings, Dad. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about. Something I really don’t understand. Why is it that you and Dean can’t get along?’

  Frank took a minute to collect his thoughts, and when he finally spoke his words were measured. ‘He upset your mother. They had a hell of a row.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It was the same day she had her stroke, and I can’t help thinking he got her so worked up it had to have something to do with it. You know she had high blood pressure, and an upset like that, well…’

  Her brain froze as she understood the implications of her father’s words. This must have happened before Becca had even met Dean. ‘What? Wait a minute…’ She stumbled over her words as she tried to get things straight in her mind. ‘Dean and Mum knew each other… and nobody has ever mentioned this to me?’ Her voice was getting louder as the deception became clear, her heart flipping in a peculiar rhythm. Frank studied his fingernails. She banged a hand on the table, determined she wouldn’t be fobbed off by silence. ‘How? How did they know each other?’

  Frank reached for his tea, still not looking at her, as he put his mug on his plate, folded his newspaper. ‘It’s a small world round here, Becca. You know that. And being a dinner lady, your mum knew a lot of the kids and their siblings and cousins, even if they didn’t all go to the same school. She had that sort of brain. Knew how everyone fitted together locally.’ He glanced at her then, before his eyes slid away, his gaze fixed on the window and the garden beyond.

  Her jaw clenched to stop more angry words from spewing out while she let his explanation settle between them, like leaves falling from a tree. It was true that her mum had known an awful lot of people, but Frank wasn’t telling the whole story, of that she was sure. Another, more important question rushed into her mind and out of her mouth. ‘What the hell were they arguing about?’

  Her eyes narrowed as she tried to visualise the scene but found she couldn’t. Dean wasn’t an argumentative person and it took quite a lot to get him worked up to the point
of a full-blown row.

  Silence.

  ‘Come on, Dad,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t you think this has gone on long enough? It’s time for the truth.’

  He looked at her then. ‘As far as I know… Dean did something she didn’t agree with. You know what she was like… she tried to put him right and they had a row.’ He shook his head, lips pursed. ‘I wasn’t there. I didn’t hear exactly what was said. She rang me at work and was ever so upset, but I couldn’t make a lot of sense of what she was saying. Then I came home and…’ His face crumpled, and Becca’s anger evaporated, horrified that she’d reduced her Dad to tears. Her voice softened and she reached over the table to squeeze his hand.

  ‘Oh, Dad, why on earth didn’t you tell me this before? We could have sorted things out years ago.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything because he’s your husband and you were determined to be with him. And you were expecting a baby. Me and Kate agreed it wasn’t our place to tell you. I’ve tried to see things from a different perspective, but in all honesty, I can’t forgive him. If they hadn’t been arguing, then…’

  Frank didn’t move, didn’t finish his sentence, his chin wobbling, eyes squeezed shut. Now was not the time to push things, but at least she was getting closer to the truth. She’d have to make Dean tell her the rest of the story.

  ‘You know… whatever they were rowing about, I don’t think you can blame Dean for Mum dying.’ She gave his hand another squeeze. ‘Look, it would be lovely if you want to stay another night. And you could come and stay more often if you could see your way to getting along with Dean. Make peace with him. Could you think about that, Dad?’

  Frank was staring into the garden again, and she wasn’t sure he was listening.

  ‘Dad?’

  He blinked and took his hand from her grasp, wiping his eyes. ‘I’ll try, love. But he’ll have to make an effort as well.’