Finding what she needs in the utility room cupboard, Jo gently rubs at the mud with a damp cloth. She uses a fabric-cleaning spray she found but, to her horror, the stain gets even worse, spreading out in a muddy blot. ‘Oh, dog. Did you have to?’ she says, pulling out the seat cushion, hoping the cover is removable. It looks like it would wash OK in the machine. ‘Thank goodness,’ she says, unzipping the cover, relieved it comes off.
It’s just as she’s extricating the cushion from its tight covering that she notices – freezes, catching her breath. Several pieces of A4-size card have been tucked underneath the sofa cushion, slightly crumpled and indented from being sat on.
Jo lets the seat cushion drop to the floor, making Spangle dart out of the way. She reaches down to retrieve them, her hand shaking. They feel thick, slightly glossy. And when she turns them over, she sees that they are photographs. Three in all.
Three photographs of Will. The same ones that were propped on the mantelpiece.
‘Oh… my… God…’ she whispers, feeling light-headed.
She stares at them, one after the other, seeing her husband’s familiar expression. One picture shows him looking over the photographer’s shoulder, as if he’s gazing at something in the distance. He’s outside, with countryside behind him, a moody grey sky. Another picture is a head-and-shoulders shot of him in a café making a silly face, and the last one is of him in a car, sunglasses forked on his head – a selfie taken just before driving off.
Jo recognises them all. At one time or another, he’s used them as his Facebook profile picture. And not only that, but she took two of them herself.
‘These two have been enlarged and cropped,’ Jo says to herself, thinking back. ‘And I was actually in this one myself,’ she says, studying the countryside photo again. ‘And this one, I took it but I’d included our lunch. Someone – Suzanne? – has zoomed in on Will and removed everything else.’
Jo flops down onto the sofa again, staring at the pictures for what seems like hours, as if somehow, by doing that, it might bring Will back. Or, at the very least, he might speak out from within the images, telling her where he is.
Seventeen
Jo wakes. There’s something wet on her hand. And a noise. Ringing… knocking.
‘Oh…’ She sits up, rubbing her eyes, pushing her hair off her face. ‘Spangle,’ she says as he licks her, trying to wake her. There’s someone at the door. She gets up off the sofa to answer it. Something falls off her lap.
The photographs.
She looks down at them, seeing Will staring up at her. Then she quickly scoops them up and shoves them back under the sofa cushion, smoothing down her top and running her fingers through her dark hair as she glances in the hall mirror. She was staring at the pictures so long, she’d fallen into a deep sleep – almost as if having Will there with her had made her feel secure and safe, giving her permission to drift off with him beside her. Just like they used to. She glances at her watch. Three hours, she thinks, shocked.
‘Hello, Simon,’ she says, putting on her best smile as she opens the door.
‘Thought I’d just stop by, you know, see how you’re getting on.’ His hands are in the front pockets of his jeans, as if he doesn’t know what else to do with them. He shuffles from one foot to the other. ‘All OK with the animals?’
‘Oh, yes, yes. All fine,’ Jo replies, not knowing if she should invite him in. Perhaps Suzanne has sent him to check up on her. ‘Hey, Spangle, come back inside,’ Jo suddenly says, lunging down for the dog’s collar as he bounces around Simon’s legs. ‘Would you like to come in?’ she says, surprising herself, glancing up at him as she realises she doesn’t want to be alone. That company – any kind of company – is preferable to sitting staring at photos of her missing husband and rooting through Suzanne’s house, driving herself crazy.
‘Sure,’ he says, stepping inside, trying to hide the smile. ‘I never turn down the offer of a coffee.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on, then,’ she says, bringing Spangle back inside, switching to idle chit-chat mode as she fills the kettle, listening to Simon describing the best local walks in detail, how Spangle loves nothing more than a run along the beach, suggesting a couple of cafés that don’t mind dogs… She thinks that’s what he’s saying anyway, as she nods and mmms in what she hopes are the right places.
But her mind keeps veering back to the pictures.
‘It’s like I just zone out of everything now,’ she’d said to Louise, about two months post-D-Day. ‘As if I don’t exist in the real world any more. I’m… I’m somewhere else and I think it’s the same place Will has gone, except I don’t know where that is. Does that make sense?’
‘No,’ Louise had replied. Despite having not long been back from work, and after a day in court, her face was still perfectly made up and her hair still styled in its purposefully messy updo. It looked as though she’d had time to visit the nail salon recently, too – her long nails glinting a subtle moonstone shade at the end of slim fingers. Jo had scrunched up her hands then. Sat on them on the bar stool in Louise’s kitchen. Archie was on nights and Lou had invited her over. Somehow knowing she needed it.
‘I keep seeing him. Everywhere, when I’m least expecting it. I talk to him. And… and the crazy thing is, he replies. Does that mean I’m going mad?’
‘Probably,’ Louise had said, making two gin and tonics. She wasn’t pregnant then, or, if she was, she didn’t know. ‘Drink.’
‘So what do I do? How do I come back to my life? How do I carry on with work, with my friends, my family…?’ She’d let out a big sigh then. ‘My period didn’t come just after he went missing, you know. I was convinced that I was pregnant, that even though Will had gone, he’d left something of himself behind. But then I came on and that was that. It must have been the stress that made me late.’
‘Oh, Jo,’ Louise had said, putting her arms around her. ‘Just be kind to yourself. None of this is your fault. You might be married to him, but you’re not responsible for his actions. I know the not knowing is unbearable and I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel, though believe me, I do try. What I do know is that you’re here, you still have your life and, however long this goes on for, I want you to live it. And I will help you do that.’
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ she’d said then, giving her a squeeze back. ‘Thanks, Lou.’
‘Sorry?’ Simon says with a smile. ‘Lou?’
Jo hands him his coffee. ‘What?’
‘You just said “Thanks, Lou”. You seemed miles away.’
‘Oh… sorry, yes. My mind’s a bit all over the place at the moment,’ she says, sitting down a little too carelessly and sloshing her coffee on her jeans. ‘Oh God,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘I mean, I’m totally responsible, so don’t worry. I mean, don’t worry on Suzanne’s part. The dogs and house will be cared for perfectly. And I’m not always this clumsy,’ she adds, sponging her leg with the dishcloth. She tosses it back in the sink but it lands on the floor.
‘I can tell,’ Simon says with a laugh. ‘And don’t worry. Obviously Suzanne checks in with me about any new house-sitters, but I’m not here to keep tabs on you. I called by because… well, I…’
Jo clears her throat and sips her coffee, not knowing where to look.
‘I’d like to get to know you more.’
‘Oh…’ Jo feels the blush burning up from her chest, rising up her throat and neck, sweeping over her cheeks and forehead.
‘You seem… interesting.’
‘I’m not,’ Jo replies quickly, wondering why, after knowing this man a very short time, she feels she could tell him everything. Wants to tell him everything. ‘I mean, not really,’ she adds, forcing a laugh. She wishes she hadn’t invited him in now, though she admits there’s something intriguing about him. If circumstances were different, she might even go so far as to say she liked him. But for now, he’s a welcome distraction. And besides, he might know things.
‘There’s a quiz on at the Crown tomorrow night. I wondered if you and Spangle might like to join me. I usually meet up with a couple of friends from the village and we make up a team. We’d be delighted to have you along, and Spangle is very good at getting the answers right.’
Jo feels her blush returning. Is he asking me on a date? She feels something inside her curl up, retreat, shrivel. ‘Oh, I…’
‘You have other plans?’
‘Well, no,’ she says. ‘Though I might have had. But you wouldn’t know either way. Of course you wouldn’t. Sorry. What I meant was, because I’d just arrived. No time to make any.’ She sips her coffee, her hand shaking. ‘Plans, that is.’
Simon just sits there, smiling at her, an amused expression in his eyes.
‘I’m gabbling. Sorry.’
‘I’d like to say it’s endearing,’ he says, about to continue.
‘But it’s not. I know that.’
‘No, it is. I just thought perhaps I shouldn’t say it, seeing as we don’t know each other. You seem… real. Honest. But also… vulnerable?’
‘Making a lot of assumptions there,’ Jo says, raising her eyebrows but also smiling in what seems like a— Jo, you’re flirting. Stop it! She hopes it will be enough to make him quit the analysis.
‘Well?’ he continues, unruffled, ignoring her. ‘Quiz night. You up for it?’
‘Sure, why not?’ she says in an attempt to portray herself as vaguely normal. She needs to maintain her cover.
After Simon has left, after she’s fed and watered the animals, tidied up the kitchen, Jo takes a deep breath and heads up to Suzanne’s bedroom. It’s not snooping as such, she tries to convince herself. She obviously intended for me to use the room.
She tries to imagine what Suzanne looks like. So far, she’s a faceless woman on the House Angels site, though she’s not entirely sure she wants to fill in the blanks. But it could help, could join a dot or two – is she Will’s type, for a start? Tall, short, blonde, dark… more attractive than her? She doesn’t even know how old she is – her profile didn’t give away much. In hindsight, she’s taken a risk coming to a stranger’s house. But at least Suzanne had over twenty reviews, all positive. But what if they’re fake? she thinks, her mind working overtime as she goes into the bedroom. What if Suzanne has lured me here, to get rid of me so she can have Will all to herself?
‘Stop being so stupid,’ she mutters. ‘You contacted her, for a start, and it was you who saw the photos of Will on her mantelpiece, which was purely a coincidence.’ Jo halts. ‘Oh, hello puss. Are you allowed to be in here?’
The cat is curled up on the end of the bed, her face tucked under her tail. Jo strokes her gently and she briefly looks up, giving a little chirp in the back of her throat.
‘I’ll let you off this once,’ she says, not knowing where to begin. Then she flops down on the end of the bed next to Bonnie. ‘To be honest, cat, I feel a bit like an intruder. This isn’t something I’d normally do or be proud of.’
And then she spots the picture on the dressing table – just a small framed photograph of a woman. She gets up off the bed, going over and picking it up, somehow instinctively knowing that it’s of Suzanne. Her heart thumps as she stares at it, focusing on the close-up portrait, the sea in the background. Jo can’t deny that she’s beautiful – wavy blonde hair blowing in the breeze, set around a symmetrical face, her teeth white and straight in her broad smile. And she looks happy, Jo thinks, wondering why. ‘Is it because of Will?’ she whispers, placing the picture back on the dressing table.
Jo turns, gazing around the room, seeing the cat has gone back to sleep as she takes everything in, wondering where to start. Wondering where to find even a tiny trace of Will in another woman’s house.
Eighteen
Jo stares at herself in the mirror as she brushes her hair, rolling her lips inwards to lessen the effect of the rust-coloured lipstick she’s decided, on a whim, to wear.
Lipstick, Jo – really?
She pulls a wipe from her make-up bag and rubs at her lips. ‘Ridiculous,’ she says, cross with herself, staring at the dark circles under her eyes. Will loved my eyes, she thinks. Always complimented them, said they were the darkest brown he’d ever seen. She does up her blouse one button higher, making sure the back of it hangs down low enough to cover her skinny jeans as much as possible. She was going to wear her long boots with a heel but decides against them, shoving her feet into flat ankle boots instead. ‘That will have to do. I am not sending out signals.’
Oh but you are, someone says.
She swings round. ‘Will…?’ She catches her breath, her heart melting at the sight of him. ‘No, no, really I’m not. I don’t even want to go to the pub quiz, but it might be a way… well, a way to find out if Simon – he’s the neighbour – knows anything. I saw your photos online, you see. Then I actually found them. Which is good, because it means I’m not going mad. But bad because it means… well, I don’t know what it means. Even though I didn’t find anything in Suzanne’s room, and I know I’m crazy for even looking, I sense you’re close, Will. Really I do. I just want to find you. Know what’s happened to you. Do you understand that?’ Jo reaches out to put her hands flat on his chest, to feel him beneath her touch. But as soon as she moves towards him, he’s gone.
The doorbell rings.
‘Christ,’ Jo says, glancing in the mirror one last time. She grabs her coat and bag and dashes downstairs.
‘Simon,’ she says, breathless as she opens the door. ‘Shall we head straight off?’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Or rather someone?’
‘Oh, of course… Spangle!’ she calls out, taking the lead down from the coat hook beside the door.
‘Craig, Dawn, this is Jo. She’s house-sitting Suzie’s place for a bit. Spangle’s really taken to her, as you can see.’ Simon bends down to Spangle, who’s nestled himself between Jo’s feet. He ruffles the dog’s fur.
‘Very pleased to meet you,’ Jo says, shaking each of Simon’s friends’ hands. ‘But I should warn you, my general knowledge isn’t exactly top-notch.’ She grins, forgetting herself for a moment as Simon heads off to the bar to fetch drinks for them all. The pub seems like a pleasant enough place – the usual heavily patterned carpet, dark wooden tables, a cluster of locals at the bar, the beams of the low ceiling bedecked with hundreds of horse brasses. And first impressions are that Craig and Dawn seem pleasant, too. Normal people doing normal things.
Surely you can enjoy yourself for a couple of hours, Jo? Pretend you’re not twisted up in knots?
As they settle down at the little table, Jo finds herself scanning around the pub. Wondering if Will is here, or has ever been here – not in the ethereal sense, but rather really here. If he’s somehow connected to Suzanne, it may follow that this is the area he’s chosen to move to. To run away to. She catches Simon’s eye as he comes back from the bar, four drinks precariously grasped in his hands.
‘Hey, let me help you,’ she says, leaping up and relieving him of a couple of pint glasses. She puts them on the table, sitting down on the stool again with Spangle still at her feet.
‘Got us some snacks, too,’ he says, unloading several packets of crisps from his jacket pockets. ‘Brain food,’ he says with a wink.
‘I signed us up already,’ Craig says, sliding the sheets of paper and four pens into the middle of the table, avoiding the drips. ‘Competition’s likely to be tough tonight, though,’ he says with a sweep around the bar, eyeing up the other teams.
‘It’s just lucky Suzie and her lot aren’t here,’ Dawn adds. ‘They all seem to know everything, especially that tall chap she’s brought a couple of times lately. I can’t remember his name.’
Tall chap…
Jo stares at her, waiting for her to say more, to describe him in detail. But she doesn’t.
Just ask her, for heaven’s sake… ask her who the tall chap is…
‘Bill, you mean?’ Craig says, glancing at the quiz
sheet for the picture round. ‘Yeah, he was one smart dude. Oh wait, look – I know a couple of these answers. Jo, how about you? Any ideas on number one? Name the year and the movie from the actor’s photo.’
Bill… Bill… Will… He never called himself Bill. It was always William or Will. But what if he’s changed his name slightly? It’s what someone in hiding or reinventing themselves would do, after all.
‘Hmm, I’m not sure,’ Jo replies, pretending to ponder the picture round as she sips her drink. The gin is warming her brain, soothing her breaking heart.
‘You’ll get a taste for that, if you’re not careful,’ Louise had said that night back at her place when Archie was on a late shift. ‘Don’t let alcohol take away your pain, Jo-jo. I mean, a drink here and there is fine, but… but try to cope with this in other ways, too.’
‘Mother’s ruin,’ was all Jo could think of to say, shrugging and knocking back more. And, for her, motherhood had well and truly been ruined. ‘It’s not just Will I’ve lost, you know,’ Jo had gone on, staring out into the jungle-like courtyard at the rear of the apartment. ‘I’ve lost his baby, too. Not in the literal sense, but in the potential sense. I’ve lost all his babies.’
‘You don’t know that he won’t come back,’ Louise had said, thinking she was helping. ‘He could, you know. Perhaps when you least expect it.’
Jo looked at her, wondering if Louise was even hearing her. ‘Do you actually understand what I mean, Lou? How much I feel I’ve lost – apart from my best friend, my lover, my soulmate? Worse than all that, Lou, way worse, is that I’ve lost my future, too. All our hopes and dreams and plans for the rest of our lives. Gone.’ She’d made an exploding gesture with her hands then, knocking over her drink, scrabbling to set it upright before the glass rolled onto the floor.
‘Back to the Future,’ Jo says, surprising herself as she stares at the quiz sheet, not even really studying it. ‘Number five. That’s Michael J. Fox.’
The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 10
