That’ll keep me busy writing forever, then, Jo had thought, trying to engage with the idea. I simply have no positive thoughts. This was in the first six months after Will went missing, over twelve sessions of therapy through her local GP’s counselling service. But that had ended now, and she couldn’t afford to pay for private sessions, not with having to manage the bills and the mortgage alone. The car would probably have to go in the next few months and she hated the thought that she might have to ask her parents for help. She couldn’t stand the I-told-you-so’s… Would rather get a second job or sell the house, rent a small flat, though she couldn’t stand the thought of Will coming home and her not being there. As though she’d been the one to desert him.
She opens the notebook, flipping to the page she’d last written on a couple of weeks ago. FUCK!!! is scrawled in huge capital letters. Angry sketches fill the pages preceding that – horrific faces with bared teeth and butchered bodies beneath them. Childlike drawings, but with a bloody intent. The contents of her tortured mind. The anger coming out. The pages before that, though, have notes about her feelings, her hopes and fears surrounding what happened. What might have happened.
First Christmas alone, she’d written five months ago. How many more will there be? I can’t even stand one. How do I get through all the anniversaries, the birthdays, the various celebrations? How do I do all that alone? I can’t. I just fucking can’t…
Best things about Will not being here, Jo had written on 13 February, nearly three months ago. An attempt to make herself feel better. To take back control.
1. Don’t have to worry about Valentine’s wars tomorrow. She’d jotted a laughing face then, as if it was funny. But it’s what they’d called it. Valentine’s wars. No more wondering if he’ll outdo me again. Spa break for me versus my vintage vinyl for him. He won hands down. Though it was an original Pink Floyd album I got him. And he did love it.
‘As if it was actually funny,’ she whispers, scribbling out the stupid emoji thing.
2. No snoring. ‘I’d give anything to hear your night-time wheeze now,’ she whispers, hating herself for being so shallow. But that’s how it was with Will. Nothing to complain about. She was scratching about for upsides.
3. No worrying if we’ll get pregnant or not. That was true. The stress of conceiving had taken its toll on both of them. Every time her period came, she had to think how to tell him, how not to feel like a failure, less of a woman. But without Will here, failure was guaranteed. She didn’t want anyone else’s baby – now or ever. But similarly, she couldn’t come to terms with the cancellation of their IVF treatment, or the hormone therapy she’d not long started being curtailed shortly after D-Day. As if she was even more of an empty husk without him. Her ovaries had needed a jump-start and the treatment had been going well. And then suddenly Will wasn’t there. She couldn’t do it alone. Didn’t want to do it alone. She needed him.
‘That’s the thing,’ Jo says into the night. ‘With you here, there was always hope. Whatever happened, good or bad. Always something to travel towards. Someone’s hand to hold along the way. I’m not sure I can do it on my own.’
Jo’s phone pings an alert.
‘Oh… what?’ she says, her eyes bleary from lack of sleep, her brain unable to switch off. She reaches for it, sees the unfamiliar House Angels app alert on her phone.
One new reply to your House Angels application.
Jo reaches for her glasses. She can just about see OK without them, but everything becomes crystal clear when she slips them on. She opens up the app.
A new message alert sits in her inbox. It can only be from SusiQ19. She hasn’t applied for any other house-sits. Doesn’t want to. None of the others has pictures of Will in their living rooms. Her heart races. What if she’s been turned down? She’s new to the site, after all. Has no feedback or references, only her ID checks via the site.
‘What – what the hell am I doing?’ She drops her phone down onto the duvet beside her, unable to look at it, knocking her notebook and pen onto the floor. ‘He’s not coming back, OK?’ she tells herself, covering her face. ‘He left you, and that’s that. He doesn’t want you. He’s done with you. He was just too cowardly to tell you that he’s moved in with another woman.’
Jo leans forward, bringing her knees up to her chest, hugging them, sighing into the duvet cover. Even if you are out there, she thinks, I’m not sure I’d even want you back now. ‘Not after everything you’ve put me through,’ she says, lifting her head.
Jo takes a deep breath, refusing to pity herself, refusing to let Will’s choices bring her down any more. Then, unable to resist, she grabs her phone and opens up the message. For a moment, her eyes are blurry. But then, as she focuses, she sees it perfectly clearly.
We’re sorry. This homeowner only accepts House Angels with three reviews or more over 80 per cent. But please do keep your angelic applications coming…
‘Great. Just great,’ Jo yells, hurling her phone onto the bed and her head onto the pillow. Somehow, she needs to get into that house.
Eight
Jo cups her hands around her mug, watching as Louise bites into her sandwich.
‘Not sure just the one is going to be enough,’ she says, grinning. ‘This is delicious.’
Jo smiles. ‘You can have mine, if you like. I don’t really have an appetite today.’ She’d been quiet since they’d met up on the corner of Regent Street and the Parade, their usual weekly meeting spot if they each had time to grab lunch together. Given her mood, Jo had been reluctant to go, but then figured that what she needed most was time with her best friend. Even just being in her company lifted her, took her head away from the dark place in which it was permanently fixed.
‘Go on then, what’s up?’ Louise dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin, brushing crumbs off the shelf of her pregnant belly.
‘Oh, no. Nothing. It’s fine.’
‘I’ve only got half an hour left, so if you want advice, you’d better hurry.’ She glances at her watch.
Jo rolls her eyes, flashes a brief smile. ‘I applied for a house-sit,’ she says.
Louise’s face lights up. ‘Good for you,’ she says, nodding, smiling. ‘You really deserve a break. I hope it’s somewhere lovely?’
The photos of Will on the mantelpiece flash through her mind. Do I say anything? Do I tell Louise? She’ll insist I go to the police…
‘Well, it was somewhere lovely. But I didn’t get it.’
‘What?’
‘The house owner turned me down because I don’t have any reviews or feedback.’
‘Oh, how ridiculous,’ Louise says, laying down her sandwich. ‘How are you even supposed to start, in that case? If you need a reference, I’m happy to provide one. Surely a few glowing words from a solicitor would count for something. Anyway, that particular owner was clearly a moron. Forget that one and apply for another.’
I don’t want to apply for another, Jo thinks. I want that one.
‘Doesn’t matter. I should probably stay around here anyway. You know, in case.’
‘Oh Jo, just leave a note on the door or something. You can’t never go away again. He’s got your number, hasn’t he? It’s not exactly like he’s gone out of his way to call it this last year, so he’s hardly likely to arrive back…’ Louise trails off, reaches her hand out to Jo’s. ‘Shit, I’m sorry, Jo-jo. That was harsh. But I hate to see you suffering and putting your life on hold.’
Jo sniffs, refusing to cry. She’s done enough of that, and it’s not helped any. It doesn’t bring Will back. ‘If only I knew, you know? Just if he was dead or alive, that would be a start. And if he’s alive, then if I had just a single fragment of a reason why he left me, I might be able to come to terms with it. In time. Can you understand that?’
‘Of course, and—’
‘If he’d gone off me because… because we were having trouble conceiving and he was desperate to have kids, you know, I could eventually get my head around that. Maybe.
Or even if it was because he didn’t like the colour I’d dyed my hair, or he hated the way I dressed or thought I’d put on weight or looked frumpy, or he wanted someone with bigger breasts, longer legs… you know, I’d eventually buy that shit. I’d hate him, of course, but at least there would be a cause for my anger, my grief. Some kind of closure. Right now, right now I don’t even know what I’m grieving. Don’t even know if it’s Will’s death, or simply his selfishness. That’s all I’ve got. Which is a big fat nothing. It’s killing me.’
Louise hangs her head. ‘Oh, Jo…’
‘No, I’m sorry. It’s fine. Absolutely fine. No need to pity me. You know that’s not what I want or need.’
‘I know. Really, I do. As much as anyone can. Christ, we’ve known each other since forever, feels like we’re sisters. I hate what you’re going through, and if there was anything I could do to take away your pain, make it better for you, then I would.’
Jo nods, smiling. ‘Thanks, Lou. That means the world. I honestly don’t know how I’d have got through this without you. And Archie, of course. He’s been a rock, too, mainly because he’s indulged you in indulging me.’
Both women laugh then and Jo picks up her sandwich, waving it at Louise. ‘Last chance before I comfort-eat, and order a slice of that chocolate cake too?’
‘Eat,’ she says, flapping her hand. ‘Look, Jo, I don’t want this to come across wrong, but… but can I help you out with a holiday? You need a break so badly, and we can call it a loan but without any pressure. You could take a week in the sun or bugger off to a cottage somewhere in the UK if you preferred. Anything to take your mind off… off the interminable waiting.’
Jo thinks about this. It’s tempting. Of course it’s tempting, and she knows Louise can afford it. She doesn’t begrudge her her good job and career. Far from it, in fact. She knows that money isn’t particularly important to her and Archie, rather a thing that they just have through circumstance, through their passions. Louise, a family solicitor, specialising in representing women in abusive relationships; Archie, an obstetrician, dedicated to his charity work. Every year he takes leave to donate his time to hospital maternity wards in Africa, helping raise awareness, raise money, raise standards. And giving his expertise to the local doctors.
‘Oh, Lou, that’s so kind of you. But that’s not what it’s about.’ Jo thinks, trying to put into words what it is about. ‘Since the moment Will went, left, disappeared or died – call it what you want – I’ve kind of made a pact with myself. That I will survive. Sounds silly, perhaps, but it’s my chance to prove, if only to myself, that I’ll be OK. Will and I met quite young and I’d only had a short time on my own, really. It’s important to me to know that I can do this by myself. Does that make sense? I hate that I might have to ask my parents for help, and I’m praying I won’t need to.’ I’ll be buggered if I need to, she thinks. ‘But if I have to sell the house and get somewhere cheaper, or take on more work or another job, then so be it. I just want to know that whatever happens to me is because of me, and not someone else. Enough of that has happened already. Do you understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ Louise says quietly, her eyes flickering warmth. ‘And you’re amazing,’ she adds. ‘You’re awesome with knobs on.’
‘So if I’m going to go on holiday, it will be because of me, and all my doing – even if it is clearing up someone else’s dog mess and guarding their house against burglars.’ Jo laughs, trying to lighten the mood. She’s brought it down for too long when the focus should be on Louise and her baby.
‘Show me that place you were hoping to house-sit and we can search for something similar that doesn’t have such strict criteria. I’ll help you. Norfolk is beautiful, as is Somerset. Have you thought about there, or Dorset?’
Jo hesitates before pulling her phone from her bag. She doesn’t want Louise to see the pictures of Will on the mantelpiece. ‘Thanks, Lou,’ she says, smiling. It doesn’t take long with Louise to make her feel better, for her positivity to rub off. They’ve done it enough times for each other over the years, and even after stints apart when Louise went off to study law and she went to art college to study fashion, the gap of time apart wasn’t enough to break their friendship.
‘Oh,’ Jo says, glancing through her notifications. The usual text and WhatsApp messages, plus a couple of alerts from Facebook. But at the top of the list is a message from House Angels.
SusiQ19 has sent you a message.
Without saying anything, Jo unlocks her phone and opens the app.
Hi, this might seem odd and thanks so much for your application. I have my criteria set to certain specifications, including automatically ruling out those with no feedback. (Been there and paid the price!) The app sends an auto-response for me. But I read your profile and it chimed with me. And, well, if I’m honest, I’m a bit desperate. I have a regular sitter but they’ve just let me down. I can’t leave my animals. Is there any chance you could house-sit for me at the end of the week for ten days? I know it’s short notice but thought I’d ask. All the best, Suzanne.
‘Oh,’ Jo says again, a puzzled look on her face which gradually turns into a smile, even though her heart is thumping.
Suzanne… so that’s what you’re called.
‘Looks like I got me a little holiday after all,’ she says, waving her phone in the air. ‘That house-sit came good.’
‘Wow, that’s marvellous,’ Louise says, pushing the last of her sandwich into her mouth. ‘Show me where you’re off to, then.’ She leans in.
Jo freezes. ‘Oh, there aren’t many photos,’ she says, shielding her phone before pulling up a shot of the front of the house, then one of the nearby beach, flashing a quick look to Louise. She’s careful not to show her any of the inside. ‘It’s near Hastings,’ she adds. ‘There are some lovely walks and pretty places to see nearby.’ Then she tucks her phone back inside her bag, asking Louise about her due date, her recent scan, if she’s all ready for her impending bundle of joy. Not mentioning the photos of Will at all.
Nine
The weekends are worst, Jo thinks as she walks slowly back to work after lunch. So perhaps taking off for the coast would be a good thing. Often she goes Friday afternoon to Monday morning without seeing or speaking to anyone. She fishes around in the bottom of her shopper for her umbrella as she feels the first specks of rain on her face, hoping Louise doesn’t get soaked heading back to the office. She rushed off in such a hurry – as much of a hurry as her size allowed – after receiving a text, making Jo wonder if there’d been an emergency.
‘Oh no…’ Louise had said, tucking her phone away again, her cheeks aglow. They’d been that way since she’d first found out she was pregnant. She’d looked radiant throughout.
‘Everything OK?’
‘There’s a work crisis. I’m so sorry, but I have to go.’ She’d reached out and touched Jo’s hand, a pitying expression sweeping over her. ‘I feel terrible, but there’s an important court case tomorrow and I need to liaise with counsel before he hits the golf course in an hour.’ Louise had rolled her eyes then.
‘Don’t worry, I understand. You’ve told me enough times what the barristers are like.’
‘A lot of them seem to think they’re part-timers. Don’t realise we’re not just at their beck and call. This one in particular,’ she’d said, draping her patterned scarf around her neck and gathering her jacket. ‘He’s good, one of the best, but along with that, he’s very…’ She glanced at the ceiling a moment. ‘Very demanding, shall we say.’
‘Go,’ Jo had said, completely understanding. ‘I’ll settle the bill. It’s my turn anyway.’
‘Rubbish,’ Louise had said, pulling a twenty-pound note from her purse without hesitation. ‘If I can’t buy my bestie a sandwich, then what’s the world coming to?’ She leant down and kissed Jo on the head, giving her a squeeze round the shoulders. ‘I’ll call you later. You can tell me more about the house-sit. And make sure you reply to the owner. It looks absolutely lo
vely.’
Jo had nodded, watching as Louise left, gathering up her own stuff as soon as she was out of sight after paying the bill at the counter. It was only a ten-minute walk back to work, down towards Jephson Gardens where Sew Perfect was tucked away in a pretty mews courtyard development, all brick and cobbles and once the stables to one of the big Regency town houses. There was an artisan bakery, a little art gallery and picture framer’s as well as an upmarket shoe shop in the out-of-the-way cluster of businesses.
Walking in the door, Jo smells the tantalising aroma of fresh sourdough. Margot or Beth must have been to the bakery across the way for their lunch. She shakes off her umbrella, leaving it in the stand, and shrugs out of her jacket. Once she’s settled back at her work table, she logs into the House Angels app, pulling up the message from Suzanne again. Thanks for getting back to me, she writes in reply. I’d be happy to house-sit for you. If you send me your address and any other details, I can be there by 9 p.m. on Friday evening. Let me know any special instructions. And she hits send before going back over the house photos for the hundredth time, just to make sure Will is still there. He is. Of course he is. Making her feel as if he’s almost back in her life.
‘Boo!’ Beth says an hour or so later. ‘Penny for them.’ She puts a cup of tea down on Jo’s sewing table.
‘Oh, thanks, Beth.’
‘You were miles away.’
‘I was?’
Beth reaches for the garment spread out on the table, holds it up. ‘This is stunning,’ she says. ‘So different.’
‘I love working on pieces like this,’ Jo replies. ‘Far more interesting than the usual frilly white things.’
‘Oh yes, I totally agree,’ Beth says, running her fingers over the burgundy, gold and jade brocade on the bodice. Long blousy sleeves in dusky rose-coloured chiffon end with vintage lace cuffs.
The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 5
