One in Three

by Tess Stimson

  ‘I can’t. I’ve got Kit.’

  ‘Stick him in the back of the car. He’ll sleep through it.’

  ‘I’m not dragging Andy home like a bloody fishwife,’ I say crossly. ‘I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.’

  ‘Well, change the locks, then. I would.’

  Easy for her to say. Angie’s never really liked Andy, though she hasn’t said a word against him since we got married. But she hated it in the months when he ping-ponged between us, despising a man who wasn’t content with making just one woman unhappy, but rendered two miserable. Those months I spent waiting for Andy to decide between us were the worst of my life, like having my skin flayed from my body in tormented, bloody strips. When he finally walked out on Louise, hurt and bitter and angry, he swore he was done with her for good.

  Despite what she thinks, I wasn’t the one who screwed her out of a decent divorce settlement: that was Andy. He wanted to make her suffer. He was the one who insisted on us getting married the minute his divorce came through, too. I’d wanted to wait, to put some clear water between one marriage and the next, but he was determined. I knew even then it had less to do with loving me, and more to do with punishing Louise. He hated her so much, he didn’t have room for anything else.

  But hatred is exhausting, and takes too much energy to feed. And there were the children to consider. We all needed to find a civilised way to behave with each other, for their sake. Hard to believe now, but I actually felt relieved when Andy stopped referring to Louise as That Bitch, and started talking to her when she picked the children up from our house on Sunday evenings. For a brief moment, I thought we might be turning into a modern, blended family, able to get on with our own lives.

  I should’ve known better: Andy isn’t capable of just having a cordial relationship with Louise. It’s all or nothing for him. Love and hate are opposite sides of the same coin. She’s always been able to get under his skin, and nothing I do seems to change that. And so here we are, with Louise pulling his strings, and Andy running over to her house every time she needs a lightbulb changing. For four years, she’s just been biding her time, waiting for her moment. And now here it is.

  I stare up at the ceiling, my stomach churning with anxiety. I can’t imagine my life without Andy in it. If he’s gone back to her, I don’t know how I’ll put myself together again.

  I must fall into a fitful sleep, because I wake with a jolt, and it’s daylight. I sit up abruptly, my heart pounding, listening to the sound of movement downstairs. For a moment, I wonder if someone’s broken in, and then I hear Andy’s voice.

  My initial relief that he’s back is instantly swept away by the urge to leap out of bed and storm downstairs, demanding to know where he’s been. I have to force myself to lie back down, breathing deeply until I can get my emotions in check. I can’t go in swinging. He’s come back, which means it’s not over yet. And I can hear Bella and Tolly’s voices, too; surely he wouldn’t have brought them here if he was planning to go back to Louise?

  My pulse slows. Perhaps I’ve been overreacting after all. In the clear light of day, my rabid jealousy seems less rational. It was pelting with rain all night; the storm was fierce enough to bring down trees. Louise lives in the middle of nowhere. Mobile reception there is spotty at best. Perhaps he didn’t want to risk driving back in the middle of the night with branches down on the roads, and couldn’t call to tell me. The lane might have flooded. Or—

  ‘You awake?’ Andy whispers, sticking his head around the door.

  Arranging my expression into one of welcome, I swing my legs out of bed. But my measured request to know why my husband has been out all night dies on my lips as I clock the hideous lumberjack flannel shirt and dad jeans. ‘What the hell are you wearing?’

  He glances down at himself. ‘My clothes were soaked from the rain. We put them in the tumble dryer, but then we lost power, so I had to wear some old clothes I’d left at Louise’s.’

  I can’t bear to see him in them. It brings back too many unhappy memories. ‘Let me get you something decent to wear,’ I say, opening the wardrobe. ‘You can’t go around looking like that—’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he says impatiently. ‘Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call last night and let you know I was staying over. It’s been a hell of a night. The whole damn kitchen ceiling collapsed, and my phone is buried somewhere beneath a foot of rubble. Thank God none of us were hurt.’

  If only the house had come down on top of Louise, like the Wicked Witch of the East, leaving nothing but her ruby slippers. ‘I was worried about you,’ I say, without turning around.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. Like I said, we lost power, so I couldn’t ring you on her landline. But you knew where I was, so I knew you wouldn’t be worried.’

  It’s precisely because I knew where he was that I was out of my mind with anxiety. ‘Did you get any sleep?’

  ‘Bunked in with Tolly for a couple of hours, but not really. I’m shattered.’

  I turn, searching his face, alert to any hint he’s lying. Andy’s an accomplished actor: he can affect concern or cynicism on cue, depending on the story he’s reporting. Even after four years together, I’m still never sure if he’s liked a meal I’ve made or is just being polite.

  Something doesn’t ring true. He’s holding my eyes just a little too steadily. His expression looks oddly familiar—

  Of course it does. It’s the one he wore when he used to go back to Louise after he’d spent the night with me.

  I don’t have the chance to process the information that my husband has just cracked our marriage wide open. Before I can respond, the woman responsible appears in my bedroom doorway like an apparition from hell.

  ‘Sorry to bother you,’ Louise says, ‘but can you tell me where you keep the spare sheets?’

  CHRISTINA MURDOCH

  PART 1 OF RECORDED INTERVIEW

  Date:- 01/08/2020

  Duration:- 27 Minutes

  Location:- Kingsbridge Police Station

  Conducted by Officers from Devon & Cornwall Police

  (cont.)

  POLICE

  So you’ve known Louise Page for how long, Ms Murdoch?

  CM

  God, I don’t know. Thirty years?

  POLICE

  And you say the job was your suggestion, not hers?

  CM

  Yes. To be honest, I didn’t think she’d be interested once she knew the details.

  POLICE

  But she was?

  CM

  She needed the money.

  POLICE

  When did you have this conversation?

  CM

  I don’t remember exactly. [Pause.] We had lunch maybe four or five weeks ago. Louise mentioned she didn’t get paid over the summer, and was trying to pick up more freelance work to tide her over, and I said I might be able to help. She called me about it a week or so later.

  POLICE

  So it was at her instigation?

  CM

  No, like I said, she just reminded— Look, what does it matter? It’s got nothing to do with what happened to Andrew. Louise wasn’t the one stalking Caz; it was the other way around.

  POLICE

  But she moved into the current Mrs Page’s house, correct? That didn’t strike you as odd?

  CM

  It was Andrew’s idea, not hers. Her kitchen ceiling came down in a storm, and she had nowhere else to go. Her parents’ place isn’t big enough, and she couldn’t afford a hotel.

  POLICE

  Mr Page could have afforded one, presumably?

  CM

  I don’t know. I suppose so.

  POLICE

  But instead, he suggested his ex-wife and children stay at his house?

  CM

  That’s what Louise told me.

  POLICE

  Why do you think he did that?

  CM

  I’ve no idea.

  POLICE

  Caroline Page can’t have been happy abo
ut it, surely?

  CM

  I don’t suppose she was thrilled. But she and Andrew live in London most of the time. Louise was just borrowing the place for a couple of weeks. They weren’t all going to be living together like Mormons.

  POLICE

  So the plan was for Mr and Mrs Page to return to London with their son, while Louise Page remained with her children at the house in Brighton until her kitchen was repaired?

  CM

  Yes.

  POLICE

  But a week or so later, she suddenly moved out. Do you know why that was?

  CM

  Louise and Caz had a row.

  POLICE

  This would have been the altercation when the police were called?

  CM

  No, that came later.

  POLICE

  Do you know what this earlier row was about?

  CM

  Not really. [Pause.] Look, I don’t feel comfortable speaking for her. You’ll have to ask her about it.

  POLICE

  We will. Would it be fair to say, Mrs Murdoch—

  CM

  Ms.

  POLICE

  Sorry, Ms Murdoch, would it be fair to say that, overall, Louise and Caroline Page were not on good terms, particularly in the last couple of months?

  CM

  Yes.

  POLICE

  And yet you still thought employing Louise Page a good idea? Surely you were pouring petrol on a situation that was already extremely volatile?

  CM

  It had nothing to do with Andrew’s death.

  POLICE

  Are you sure about that, Ms Murdoch?

  Four weeks before the party

  Chapter 15

  Louise

  It’s weird and unsettling to be in the house Andrew and Caz share. There are so many items I recognise, familiar things I lived with for more than a decade before Andrew took them with him in the divorce: the Syrian carpet we bought together, a painting of Bella aged six that I had a friend do for Andrew’s birthday one year, a pair of matching bronze figurines that used to be his mother’s.

  But so much is different, too. Andrew has switched sides of the bed; his books and reading glasses and old-fashioned alarm clock are on the right bedside table now, instead of the left. Caz is clearly a bit of a neat-freak; there are none of the notes or magnets fixed to the fridge there used to be when Andrew and I lived together, and every counter in her sparkling modern kitchen is antiseptically clear. That must drive him mad; he used to hate it if I put away the coffee machine he used every day, or tidied his piles of newspapers into a drawer. He likes things within easy reach, to be surrounded by the familiar detritus of family life. Or he did.

  I reclaim several of my favourite books from the shelves in the sitting room, and go into Kit’s bedroom to tuck them away in the bottom of my suitcase. I can’t bring myself to sleep in Andrew and Caz’s bedroom, so I’m using Kit’s, even though my feet hang off the end of his bed. I put a sweater across the books, and close the case. Andrew never reads: he won’t even miss them.

  Ever since he and Caz married, I’ve been careful to avoid imagining their lives together. I didn’t want their relationship given flesh and substance. But now it’s unavoidable. I drift around the house when Bella and Tolly are at school, tormenting myself with the ordinary, domestic background of their marriage. There are photographs of the two of them together, or with Kit, everywhere. I wonder if they’re happy together, or if it’s all just for show.

  ‘He looks miserable to me,’ Min says, putting a photograph of the three of them at a ski resort back on the hall console. ‘Look at his eyes,’ she adds. ‘You can tell he’s hating every minute of it.’

  He does detest being cold. ‘He always refused to go skiing when we were married,’ I say sourly. ‘But he’ll do it for her.’

  She’s already on her way up the stairs. I follow her into Caz and Andrew’s bedroom, watching as she flings open the door to Caz’s huge walk-in wardrobe, shamelessly prying. ‘Jesus! I’ve never seen so many shoes. No wonder Andrew’s always pleading poverty.’

  ‘Wait till you see her sweaters.’ I pull open a row of drawers. ‘Look at them, all colour-coded. Cashmere, too. Not the cheap M&S kind, either, these are the real thing—’

  ‘Louise, what are you doing in this house?’ Min demands suddenly. ‘It’s fucked up. I’ve told you, I’ll give you the money for a hotel.’

  ‘I’m not taking your money.’

  ‘Fine. Put it on your credit card. Rob a bank if you have to. But you can’t stay here any longer. It’s not healthy.’

  I knew Min would take this the wrong way. ‘It’s not like Andrew and Caz are actually here,’ I point out. ‘The house sits empty most of the time.’

  ‘What are you going to do when it’s their weekend with the kids? Play piggy-in-the-middle?’

  ‘Bella’s going to take Tolly to London on the train, so Andrew and Caz don’t need to come down to Brighton till the kitchen’s finished. The three of us can stay here as long as we need to.’

  I can feel judgement coming off her in waves. I understand how it looks from the outside, but it’s not like that. This is just a practical solution to a logistical problem, that’s all.

  ‘So how long is this going to go on for?’ Min asks, as we go back downstairs. ‘You’ve already been here a week, and your kitchen still looked like a war zone when I stopped to pick up your post.’

  ‘It looks worse than it is. The builder said he’d been done in a week or two.’

  ‘Builder time?’ Her expression softens. ‘Look, I get it. If it were Luke, I’d want to pick the scab, too. You can’t bear to see their life together, and you can’t bear not to see it either. But it isn’t doing you any good, Lou. Why rip open old wounds? You need to be putting more distance between you, not less.’

  She’s right: I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Andrew since the night of the storm. I thought I’d put this constant ache for him behind me, but after last Saturday, I feel as if I’ve gone right back to square one.

  Min knows me too well. ‘This isn’t about the money, is it?’ she says presciently. ‘You can afford to stay at a B&B for a few weeks. What’s really going on?’

  I can’t quite meet her eye.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Min exclaims. ‘You slept with him!’

  ‘No! It was just a kiss,’ I say quickly. ‘We got caught up in the moment, that’s all. Too much nostalgia and red wine. It won’t happen again,’ I add, more to myself than Min. ‘You can’t tell anyone. Swear to me, Min. You can’t breathe a word, not even to Mum. Especially not to Mum.’

  ‘Jesus, Lou. What were you thinking?’

  I don’t have an answer for her. I’ve replayed that kiss a thousand times in the last few days, analysing it from every conceivable angle. I’m almost certain Andrew started it, but I was the one who put my hand on his shirtfront and told him to stay. Maybe I opened the door. Perhaps he thought I wanted to be kissed. Something happened between us that night, we both felt it. Not that we talked about it afterwards, of course. We both pretended it hadn’t even happened.

  I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t take a tiny bit of guilty pleasure in turning the tables on the woman who stole my husband. But it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would. Andrew’s built a life and a family with Caz now; breaking them up would make me no better than she is. I’ve spent the last four years trying to get over Andrew. I can’t put myself through the misery and torture of those months when he vacillated back and forth between us again.

  After Min leaves, I sit at the kitchen table and stare into space for a long time, mulling over what she’s said. There were any number of options I could’ve taken instead of moving into Andrew and Caz’s house. We could’ve squeezed into my parents’; I could have braved the builder’s dust, and stayed at the house and ordered takeaways for a few weeks. But I knew coming here would upset Caz, and drive a wedge between them.

  I su
ddenly feel thoroughly ashamed of myself. I’ve been behaving like a spiteful teenager. I’m not that person anymore. I don’t do that kind of thing. I’ve changed since Roger Lewison. I’m a mother now, a respected journalist. A university professor. As soon as the kitchen’s halfway liveable, I need to move out of here.

  Shoving back my chair, I push the thought of Roger from my mind and sift through the pile of post Min has left propped up on the counter. I spot an official-looking letter from Sussex University, and put down the rest of the envelopes to open it. They don’t usually send out new contracts this early, and I wonder if they’ve changed my course schedule.

  I unfold the letter and quickly scan it, and then I read it again, more slowly this time, with mounting fury. I know exactly who’s behind this.

  Well, if she thinks this will scare me off, she’s soon going to find out it’s had exactly the opposite effect. Two can play this game.

  Maybe I haven’t changed that much after all.

  Chapter 16

  Caz

  You’d think it’d be the thought of my husband in another woman’s bed that keeps me up at night, but it’s the idea of Louise in my home that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I imagine her pawing through my clothes, opening drawers and cupboards, spitting at my photograph as she noses through my things. Andy thinks I’m ridiculous, of course. ‘She’d never do that,’ he said indignantly, when I objected to the arrangement, as if I was twisted for even thinking it.