‘Do you know the year, too, smarty-pants?’ Simon says, nudging her, nodding approval at Craig and Dawn. ‘See? I knew it was a good idea to invite her along.’
‘Now you’re really testing me,’ she says. I only know the film because it was one of Will’s favourites, she wants to say. We’d curl up on the sofa on a Sunday afternoon and binge on old eighties movies. ‘He loved Charlie Chaplin, too,’ she says with a faraway smile, staring out of the pub window. Rain pelts at the window, winding its way down the small panes.
‘Michael J. Fox was a Chaplin fan?’ Craig says. ‘You’re certainly full of random trivia,’ he laughs.
Jo jumps, like she sometimes does when she’s on the brink of sleep and something pulls her back to wakefulness. ‘Oh, no. No, sorry. I didn’t mean that. I was just thinking out loud. It was someone… someone I used to know who liked old classics.’
‘I think it must have been about 1984 or 5-ish,’ Dawn says. ‘Put down ’84, I’d say.’ She takes the pen from Craig and fills in the details as the three of them huddle around the quiz sheet, waiting for proceedings to begin.
‘Righto,’ the quizmaster says into his microphone. He’s a large man with a thick beard and bruise-coloured tattoos running the length of each arm. His jeans hang down low, leaving a gap front and back between the denim and his T-shirt, a roll of fat hanging over his belt. After every few words, he draws a large swig of his pint. ‘Final round,’ he booms, a white-toothed grin showing through his beer-foamed facial hair. ‘You’ve had your sport. You’ve had your geography. You’ve had your celebrities and entertainment. And now it’s time for my mixed-up bag of random questions to get your brain cells sizzling.’
There’s a rumble of approval and oohs and ahhs from the locals. Jo is sipping on her fourth drink now – one for each round. ‘A tradition,’ Simon had told her earlier. ‘Somehow makes the questions easier,’ he’d said, leaning close and winking. She’d smiled but didn’t say anything, was simply enjoying the relative numbness the alcohol gave her. And so far she’d not had to buy a single drink.
‘Round four, question number one…’ The quizmaster takes a flamboyant swig then ruffles his hand through his dishevelled hair. ‘“Love one another” were the final words of which Beatle?’
There’s a ripple of low chatter amongst the teams as they huddle close to debate. Jo hears hissed whispers: John Lennon… George Harrison…
‘Definitely George,’ Simon whispers in her ear, slipping his arm around Jo’s back and drawing her closer. ‘Do you agree?’
Jo freezes for a moment.
‘Ex-excuse me, I just need to…’ She stands up, praying that she doesn’t topple the stool or trip on Spangle’s lead. ‘Here, can you hold him?’ she says to Simon. He takes the lead but ends up grasping her hand for a moment too. ‘And I think you’re right, it’s definitely George,’ she says, bending down to whisper back. Her hair brushes his face.
There are two other women in the toilets – one washing her hands, the other applying lipstick. Jo goes into a cubicle, her shoulder bumping on the door frame, and leans back against the wall, closing her eyes.
Sober up, woman, for goodness’ sake. What are you thinking?
She yanks down her jeans, her thigh muscles as tense as her thoughts.
Love one another, she thinks, remembering the question, tears collecting in her eyes. Oh, how I thought we did. ‘How much I thought we loved one another, Will,’ she says, buttoning up her jeans again, flushing the toilet.
And then there’s Simon. How it’s been tonight.
He put his arm around your back. And whispered in your ear.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck…’
‘You OK in there, love?’ comes a voice outside the cubicle.
‘Oh, yes. So sorry for the bad language. All good here.’ Jo composes herself before coming out, washing her hands, pushing her fingers through her hair to bring back some of the waves before applying a slick of lip gloss.
‘We needed you just now,’ Simon whispers as she sits back down again, Spangle’s tail thumping the floor. ‘Got stuck on a few.’
‘OK, you lot,’ the quizmaster booms into his mic before Jo can reply. ‘Final question, so now’s your chance to pip the competition. I have a feeling it’s going to be close tonight.’
Spangle lets out a whimper and Jo puts a hand on his head.
‘What is the collective noun for a group of crows?’ he says, pausing a moment, his eyes scanning round the room as he draws on his pint. ‘The collective noun for a group of crows… Ooh, I’m seeing lots of blank faces out there.’
Jo glances at the others on her team, each of them pulling a puzzled expression.
‘Group of crows, group of crows…’ Dawn says thoughtfully.
‘A flock?’ Craig whispers, glancing at Simon.
‘It’s not going to be that obvious,’ Simon adds, rubbing his chin. ‘You know what Smithy’s like with his quizzes. He’s a tricksy bugger.’
‘I know,’ Jo says suddenly, clapping her hand over her mouth when she realises she’s talking too loudly. The others lean in close to her as she flicks her eyes around the group, hardly able to say it. ‘It’s a murder,’ she whispers, her eyes meeting Will’s as she spots him standing at the end of the bar.
Nineteen
Then
The first time Will went missing was only a year after we were married. In the space of an hour, I went from mildly concerned to increasingly worried to angry and downright fuming when, finally, six hours later, he phoned me.
‘What the hell were you thinking?’ I said after he’d arrived home. I’d waited ages outside the school as we’d planned, finally going inside only to be told he’d already left. We were meant to be going to my parents for dinner. ‘You could have told me if you didn’t want to go and that would have been fine. But oh no, instead you had to…’ I trailed off, seeing he looked done in, exhausted, emotional and not quite there.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, standing in the hallway, water dripping off his shoulders. It had been raining all evening and he was soaking.
‘Let’s get you out of this, then,’ I said, reaching up to slide off his mac. He shrugged out of my way, taking the coat off himself. ‘I was worried about you, Will.’
When he didn’t reply, I sighed and went into the kitchen to make some tea. ‘Here,’ I said when he came in. ‘Drink this.’
We sat together at the tiny kitchen table, our knees touching. ‘I couldn’t do it,’ Will finally said, staring into his mug. ‘Not tonight. I know they hate me. And I can’t change that.’
I hung my head. ‘They don’t hate you,’ I said. ‘They hate everyone. Everyone I’ve ever introduced to them, anyway.’
‘Last time I saw your mother, she looked as though… as though she wanted to kill me. There was loathing in her eyes, Jo. I can’t be dealing with that.’
‘She doesn’t want to kill you. She—’
‘I know, I know. She wants to kill everyone…’ Will took a deep breath. ‘I’d had a shit day at work and I chickened out, that’s all. I’m sorry. I should have let you know.’
I stared at his big hands as they cupped his mug. ‘What else, Will? What else is wrong? I know you. And you’ve been in the company of my parents enough times to know how to deal with them, how to ignore Mum’s snipes.’ My voice was soft, caring. Will looked up, his eyes heavy.
‘You’re right.’ He took a breath. ‘Look, I didn’t get the part, OK? They’ve cast someone else.’
‘Oh, love…’ I said, taking his hand in both of mine. ‘Why didn’t you call me when you found out? I’m so sorry. I know your heart was set on it. We could have cancelled my parents.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he said. ‘Now it’s not set on it. I couldn’t take a battering from your mother tonight too, so I went… I went to a bar in town and got pissed instead.’
I shook my head slowly. ‘Oh Will, you should have told me. I’m your wife. I love you. I understand.’ I pulled him close then, hugg
ing him tightly, breathing him in. It was then that I smelt the alcohol. ‘Jack Daniel’s, right?’ I said through a half-laugh. I felt him nod. ‘You hide it well. I’d have had no idea.’
‘I’m an actor,’ he said, kissing my neck. ‘But I’m not acting when I say that I love you too, Jo. Deeply.’
‘I know. I know. And there’ll be other parts, right? Better parts. Keep auditioning, keep getting yourself out there.’
Will nodded again, pulling away, wiping his big hands down his tired face. ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ he said, and when he got up, pushed the chair out, he only staggered a tiny bit. Barely noticeable and, if I hadn’t smelt the whiskey, I wouldn’t have known any different.
‘Do you think I’m finally in their good books now?’ Will said one Sunday evening a few months later. Since landing a part at the local rep theatre with a professional company, I’d noticed a real change in his mood. He was brighter, more focused and positive, more caring and attentive towards me, and he’d started running again, out for several hours at a time. And, as if good fortune were infectious, Margot and I had been inundated with bridal enquiries after the daughter of a lord wore one of our designs at her wedding. Our luck had changed, but quality time together was getting scarcer.
‘What, because you basically saved Dad’s life?’ I dropped my head back on the sofa, laughing. ‘Definitely. You’re golden boy now, for sure.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Will replied, changing the channel.
‘I was joking, you know.’
‘I know. Anyway, I’m just glad I spotted it, that I recognised what it was.’
The melanoma had been on the back of Dad’s head so he’d not noticed the change himself, and Mum had told him it was just a mole and not to worry, brushing it off in her usual way. But Will’s own father had had something similar and so he knew the signs, even though it looked slightly different on white skin.
‘Thank God you did,’ I said, snuggling up to him. We were both full of Sunday roast. ‘And it was such early days, so the prognosis is good. He’s going to be fine.’
‘He might be an arsehole sometimes, but he’s still your dad. Anyway, I don’t actually believe he is an arsehole, not deep down. I think your mother does something to him, almost as if he’s her… I dunno, puppet. It’s not healthy, the way he just does everything she says.’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ I said. ‘I do know this. But arseholes or not, they are grateful to you for flagging it. I know she should have said it to you, but Mum did say as much to me. In her own kind of arseholey way.’
Will pulled me close, brought me in for a kiss. ‘Heaven knows how you turned out so perfect, growing up as an only child with them. But you did.’
‘I know,’ I replied, laughing and shrugging, cupping his face. Or maybe I’m just a good actor too, came the voice in my head.
Twenty
Now
‘Steady, steady,’ Simon says, taking hold of Jo’s elbow as they leave the pub.
She glances behind her one last time, her eyes flicking along the length of the bar. There’s no sign of Will.
As Jo had struggled into her coat, getting tangled up in the dog’s lead and knocking her bag onto the floor, the contents spilling out, Simon had gone over to a couple of his mates at the bar to say goodnight. When he returned, he’d found Jo on her knees scraping together spilt coins, a hairbrush, lipstick, hand cream, her phone, a few screwed-up tissues and various other items that had fallen out of her bag, including, to her mortification, a tampon.
‘I’m… I’m fine,’ she says now as the cold air hits her. She breathes it in deeply. ‘See? I’m all good.’ She stumbles sideways, laughing as Simon catches hold of her arm.
‘You’re slurring,’ he says.
‘I so am so not,’ Jo says, frowning. ‘I didn’t even finish that last gin. It’s nice to have a drink, though. It… it makes everything go away.’
‘Hey, it’s this way,’ Simon tells her, guiding her in the opposite direction.
‘I knew that,’ Jo says, giggling again, bumping into him. ‘Just testing.’
‘So you have stuff that you want to go away?’ he says, still guiding her.
‘Doesn’t everyone?’ she says, clearing her throat.
Hold yourself together, woman. And no blurting…
‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘But not everyone finds escape at the bottom of a gin glass.’
‘Oh no, now you’re going to think…’ Jo can’t help the hiccup. ‘Now you’re going to think… think that I’m… I’m a drunk. A drunk with issues, yeah, that’s me.’ She pushes her hair off her face, the usual brown waves having mostly flattened in the damp air. A fine drizzle falls around them.
‘I don’t think that,’ he replies.
‘Thing is…’ Jo says. ‘Thing is… I feel good,’ she adds, trying to be serious. ‘For the first time in ages, so thank you. Thank you very much for that.’ She hiccups again.
‘Oh, well… you’re most welcome.’ He laughs then and Jo senses he’s far from sober himself. ‘Sounds to me like you’ve had some things going on.’
‘You’re very… very perceptive. That was hard to say,’ she adds. ‘Actually, I don’t know why I’m laughing. It’s not funny. Not funny at all.’
‘Nearly home now,’ Simon says. ‘How about you come in to mine for a coffee? Then I’ll know you’re OK.’
‘You think I can’t cope?’ Jo says. It doesn’t take a detective to see that…
‘Not at all,’ Simon says, stopping at his gateway. Spangle winds between both their legs, binding them up with the lead. ‘I just thought it would be nice to, you know, have a coffee. Maybe a nightcap. A chat.’
‘Actually, that would be lovely,’ Jo says, turning to face him. Not quite as tall as Will, but you’re good-looking, I’ll give you that. She smiles, praying her thoughts aren’t audible.
‘Come on, Spangle,’ Simon says, reaching the lead around behind Jo’s back to untangle them. ‘You’ll have us both on our backs if you’re not careful.’
And Jo bursts out laughing again, covering her mouth as she follows Simon up the path to his front door.
‘Right, drink this,’ Simon says, handing her a strong coffee. ‘And I made us some cheese and biscuits,’ he adds. ‘Thought it might help…’
‘Soak up the booze?’
He smiles, sits down.
‘Despite what you may think, I’m very responsible and not a total mess, even though I might seem like it now.’
‘You can’t be that drunk. We wouldn’t have come third in the quiz if it wasn’t for you knowing that final answer.’
‘Murder,’ Jo says, sipping on her coffee. Murder, murder, murder…
‘I honestly never knew that. I quite like it. It’s sinister, and I find crows quite sinister, don’t you? Harbingers of doom.’
‘I didn’t even know I knew it myself, to be honest. But it must have been lurking somewhere in the back of my mind…’
Keep it to yourself, Jo. Whatever you do, keep your mouth shut.
She takes a big bite of a cracker, hoping it will stop her speaking, shoving it in. She looks around Simon’s living room as he slices some more cheese. It’s simply furnished but pleasant.
‘You live alone?’ she says, spraying out crumbs. She didn’t need to ask. It reeks of man living alone, but his furniture is tasteful, his possessions minimal and tidy. Everything in calming shades of grey or bare wood. She likes the unassuming style, as if anyone could live here with ease, slide right into his life. There’s a stack of classic car magazines on the coffee table, two black T-shirts hanging to dry on the radiator, a spider plant trailing down off the top of a bookshelf, though she can’t read any of the titles. They’re too far away for her alcohol-blurred eyes.
‘Is it that obvious?’ he says, offering her more cheese.
‘Yeah,’ she says with a full mouth. ‘But it’s… it’s nice.’ She looks at him for a beat longer than is comfortable, holds his gaze.
&nbs
p; Is that your tactic, Jo? You don’t trust yourself not to blurt everything out, so you’re flirting with him instead?
‘I guess it could do with a few more… you know, feminine touches. But it does me fine,’ he adds.
‘What, you mean like, pink fluffy things dotted about?’
‘Sorry,’ Simon says. ‘You’re right. I’m not into stereotypes, just so you know.’ He brushes her knee.
See what you’ve done now? He’s flirting back. Talk nonsense with him… anything!
‘Nonsense?’ he says, an amused look on his face. ‘I’m going to have a whiskey to go with this cheese. Ever get the feeling that…’ He hesitates then, his left arm hooked up on the back of the sofa, his fingers just touching Jo’s shoulder.
If you stay still, it means you don’t mind. If you pull away, it’s a signal for him to back off.
Jo stays perfectly still.
‘Ever get the feeling that the night isn’t quite over?’
‘Yes,’ she replies quickly, wishing she’d paused a moment. ‘I’ve had far too much already, but you’re right. This cheese is definitely lacking something, and I’m also convinced it’s whiskey.’ She grins.
New plan. Get so pissed you are incapable of speaking.
‘Good,’ he says, getting up and going to the kitchen. He returns with two glasses and a bottle, setting them down on the table.
‘Looks serious,’ Jo says, suddenly feeling more sober.
Then Simon taps his phone a few times and music comes on and the lights are dimmed. Will is standing over by the bookcase, the spider plant trailing down over his shoulders.
‘How did you actually do that?’ she says. ‘With your phone? Is there an app for that?’ To make missing husbands reappear? Then she’s giggling again.
‘Yeah, I can pretty much control my entire house with this,’ he says, tossing his phone on the sofa beside him.
The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 11
