‘Yes, I know you’ve been hankering after a seaside place for ages. Sounds lovely, Lou, go for it,’ Jo says.
‘Thing is, and it’s not like we’re hard up or anything, but… but, well, Archie started getting funny about my spending. And I kind of flew at him. Verbally, of course.’
‘Ah,’ Jo says, sympathising. She and Will had had the same kind of conversation many times, but at the other end of the financial spectrum.
‘I mean, we have our own finances, of course, and then the joint household stuff, which has always worked fine. So surely what I do with my hard-earned money is my bloody business, wouldn’t you think? But oh no, Archie says I’m spending too much, that if I carry on like this we won’t be able to afford to send Speck to private school and a holiday home will be off the cards.’
Don’t say it. Think it, but don’t say it, Jo. She’s your friend…
‘Jo, are you listening? Archie actually used the word “afford”. Can you imagine how that made me feel?’
‘I can,’ Jo says, meaning it. She pictures a slow burn of rage brewing inside Louise’s mind, with Speck the only thing preventing her from completely exploding in a fit of anger. Though it sounds like she did a pretty good job of that anyway. ‘I don’t imagine you liked it. And for what it’s worth, I think what you do with your own money is your business. You’re generous to a fault, Lou…’ That’s true, Jo thinks, remembering how she offered to pay for her to have a holiday. ‘And I think it’s a matter of deciding what you want. If you’re actually set on the things on your list, or if you’d rather be a bit more frivolous with your spending and blow it on what you really want.’
Silence on the line for a moment. Jo hears Louise breathing, thinking. ‘What I really want?’ she says thoughtfully. ‘Yes, yes, you’re right, Jo, thank you. I need to focus on what I really want. And sometimes those are the things money can’t buy.’
Twenty-Three
Jo hangs up, sliding down the wall and dropping onto the carpet. Out of nowhere, Bonnie appears, winding around her bent knees. She trails a hand over her soft back, the cat’s tail rising further as her fingers reach the end of her spine. She sighs heavily, the cat making a little throaty noise in response, perhaps sensing what’s on her mind. It’s not talking to Louise that’s made Jo feel guilty and remorseful about what she’s going to do, that she’s not there to support her pregnant friend – rather herself, by playing everything out in her mind. Last night with Simon… then the memories – the drive home that night, after the earlier talks about money, of never quite having enough even though, on paper, they should have. They did have. Didn’t they? Is that what was wrong, why he left? Like Louise and Archie, it had also turned into a massive argument.
‘Concentrate on the road,’ Jo had said on the way to the party, not wanting to continue the discussion about money that had begun earlier. Will seemed intent on dragging it up again in the car, on causing an argument. All day, it had felt as though he didn’t want her to be there with him.
She didn’t let on that she hadn’t been fussed about it in the first place, but had wanted to support Will. They were his friends, after all, and she knew she wouldn’t know anyone there. But she was OK with that, would do it for him. For Will. To be by his side. Always for Will. But then he’d had a go at her again before they’d even left the house, almost as if he was trying to pick a fight. As if he didn’t want her to come. She didn’t understand. It was out of character.
‘I can tell you’re not keen, Jo-jo. No need to put yourself through it if you don’t want, love. I won’t be late, anyway. Just show my face.’
But she was already dressed, had put some make-up on. An above-the-knee dress she’d made from lightweight vintage velvet in aubergine. Long sleeves with deep cuffs for which she’d sourced antique shell buttons; a scooped neck, fitted bodice. Long black boots. She’d done her hair – chestnut feathery curls around her face, dark eyes and softly blushed cheeks. Definitely the wife of an actor. Definitely the woman she wanted to be. And she wanted to be it by Will’s side.
‘If you’re not feeling great, Jo, then honestly, don’t come.’ Will had a nervous expression on his face, one cheek twitching just below his eye. Apprehensive, Jo had thought. As though he’s waiting for me to do the right thing and not come. But why?
‘I never said I wasn’t feeling great. Don’t be silly. I want to come. It’ll be fun.’
He’d swallowed then. She’d noticed.
Jo had smiled – an attempt to allay whatever doubts he was having as she shrugged into her faux fur, keeping her eyes fixed on him, watching. After a moment, when she was standing there, waiting, eyebrows raised, clutch bag in hand, Will finally reanimated.
‘Sure, that’s great. You look stunning, by the way.’ Then the familiar look in his eyes again – appreciation, love, warmth. Jo breathed out. She was imagining things, making too much of it. He’d given her a squeeze around the shoulders before they’d headed out to the car. ‘I don’t feel like drinking tonight, so I’ll pilot,’ he’d said, beeping it unlocked.
Annabel always hosted the best parties, according to Will. Though for some reason on the drive to Birmingham, he’d already decided that they wouldn’t stay long, that there probably wouldn’t be much of a turnout anyway, that it would most likely be a bit of a boring evening.
‘She’s chosen the wrong night for a do,’ he’d commented, focusing on the road ahead. ‘There’s another after-show party at the Crescent. Everyone decent will be at that instead. We’ll just show our faces and go.’
Jo knew Will had worked with Annabel a number of times – she was one of his favourite directors – and he’d often commented about the ‘people she knew’, how her contacts list was a rich vein, how there were people he was waiting to be introduced to. And Will was good at networking, even though it seemed to stress him out, drain him, force him into a recovery black hole for a few days. But she knew he was determined to one day quit his teaching job and act full-time.
‘You look beautiful,’ Will said to Jo again after they’d parked a couple of streets away from Annabel’s city-centre apartment, his arm slung low around her back as they walked along. ‘But really, we don’t have to stay long. I know you find these things a chore.’
‘So you keep saying,’ she replied. ‘And honestly, I don’t. It’s nice to be out with you.’ She looked up at him, ponytailing her hair with one hand. It was windy. ‘I want to share this with you, have you be as proud of me as I am of you.’
The Color Purple had been one of the most successful theatre performances Will had been involved in to date, even though he was lower down the cast list than he’d have liked. He didn’t get the part he’d auditioned for so had settled for another character. Jo knew it had irked him. And now, looking to the year ahead, Will’s acting calendar was far blanker than he’d like. He had a couple of day shoots for an advertisement booked for the Easter break but, apart from that, his main income was still his teaching.
She quickly touched up her lipstick, taking hold of Will’s arm as they went up to the apartment, wondering if she’d know any faces. Will hadn’t mentioned anyone he was working with lately, whereas he was usually full of stories and tales and backstage gossip. She sensed his tension as they stepped out of the lift.
‘Just enjoy tonight and celebrate the amazing run the company’s had,’ she’d said. ‘It’s such an achievement. It’ll lead to other things, you’ll see.’
Will had taken her by the shoulders then, looked into her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he’d said earnestly. ‘It means so much that… that you see something more inside me than I deserve.’
Jo shivers, hugging her legs as she sits on the carpet, thinking back.
She’d read between the lines. Or at least, tried to. Seen the frustration in the expression on his face. He’s an actor, for God’s sake. An artist. A creator. This is what he’s like… He was also everything her mother had warned her about, since she was young, that she should avoid in a man. Yet, ironically, it wa
s everything she desired. And how many times had she been woken by his night-time sleep-talking to know that he was scared, terrified, of feeling like a failure, of never quite being good enough and trying to live up to some blueprint of an idea he’d foolishly overlaid on his life? His sleep patterns had been affecting them both.
But despite the acting insecurities, Will had always brought in a steady income. He had day job security at least, and whenever Jo’s mother made snide remarks, she was able to defend him on that score, especially as Sew Perfect was only as good as her and Margot’s client list, which was up and down depending on the season. She barely made three quarters of what Will did each month.
‘I see everything that’s real in you,’ Jo said, straightening Will’s collar as he slid his hands down to her hips just before they went into the party. ‘And it pains me that you don’t. But I won’t stop saying it until you believe me, Will. We’re a team. And I want to show the world that we’re a team. That we’re invincible, OK?’
She’d taken his face in her hands then, pulling his mouth towards hers, destroying her lipstick. But she didn’t care. She wanted to go in with a lopsided smile, with the same colour on her husband’s mouth as hers. Now that was a team, she thought as they walked through the door together.
‘We’re going. Come with me,’ Will had said barely an hour later. Jo hadn’t spent any time with him, with Will disappearing off almost as soon as they’d arrived. But she’d met some interesting people, had a couple of drinks, some tasty food, laughed and listened to various stories. Then came Will’s hand cuffing her upper arm, startling her – but not as much as the look in his eye as she turned to him. ‘Now,’ he whispered sternly in her ear, his eyes cold and empty. Not the Will she knew.
‘Why? What?’
‘We’re going. Now.’
‘But… Did someone upset you? What happened?’
‘Just do as I say.’
Jo had blinked a few times, watching the person she’d been chatting to drifting away, giving them an awkward glance. ‘That was Gavin Mayfield, you know. I was telling him all about you, was going to introduce you. He’s on the lookout for new talent.’
‘Just get your coat and let’s go.’
Loyalty drove her to do as Will had said, Jo remembers that much as she sits on the floor now, Bonnie winding around her legs. Smiling and uttering a few quick goodbyes to those she’d spoken to, someone catching her other arm as they left – virtually pulling her in two with Will attached to her other arm. ‘Don’t forget to watch that series I told you about,’ the woman said. Jo had smiled, her heart thumping as she’d nodded a vague acknowledgement, trying not to appear rude.
‘Will, what the hell?’ she’d said as the cold night air hit her. She pulled on her coat as they went, racking her brains for what she’d done wrong to prompt his sudden departure.
‘I’m sorry,’ he’d said, striding back to the car. Jo wondered then if he’d staggered a little, if his gait wasn’t quite as measured as it should be. But she put it down to an uneven paving slab, him tripping. She decided not to say anything when he nudged the back of the car parked behind them as he pulled away, or when he clipped the kerb as he turned a corner. But now she wishes she had. Wishes she’d insisted on driving.
‘I can’t do this,’ Jo says to the cat, as she gets up off the floor. The cat, still a little wary of her, darts to the other side of the landing at her sudden movement. ‘Hey, it’s OK, puss,’ she says, closing the bedroom door without peeking through the crack, relieved when she locks it again. She can’t stand to look inside. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
And that’s OK. You don’t have to. Just pretend you never even saw the photos on Suzanne’s mantelpiece. As if you never applied for the house-sit, as if Will never disappeared. Because he’s safer inside your head.
‘Hey, Spangle!’ Jo calls out at the top of the stairs, trying to break her mood. She’s not thought about Annabel’s party in much detail since it happened, overshadowed by their journey home. But for some reason now, she wants to recall it, to remember the faces of everyone who was there, what they said to her, who Will was talking to, and why oh why they had to leave in such a hurry. She never did find out. Because soon afterwards, everything turned bad.
‘Want some food, boy?’ Jo says, as the dog yaps and wags his tail. She heads downstairs, calling the cat as she goes. Though Bonnie stays put on the landing, sitting elegantly, her back to the locked room as if guarding it.
And it’s when Jo is mixing up dog biscuits that the doorbell rings.
Twenty-Four
‘Simon,’ she says, gripping the door tightly as she opens it a little. After last night, she’s not sure why she’s surprised to see him, but she is. She glances down at the cake tin in his hands.
‘For you,’ he says, holding it out. Still the smile in his eyes, fine lines framing their depth. ‘I sometimes… bake. I know, I know, before you say it.’ He laughs then, almost embarrassed. ‘Not a manly thing to do, but it helps me relax.’
‘I wasn’t going to say…’ Jo trails off. ‘That’s really kind, thank you.’ She opens the door a little wider, taking the tin.
‘Chocolate brownies, in case you were wondering. Still warm.’
‘Lovely,’ she says, about to thank him again and close the door.
‘If you’ve got the kettle on, we could do a taste check?’
Tell him you’re about to go out. Tell him you’re cleaning the floors or grooming the dog or… or about to meditate. Anything!
‘Sure,’ she says, pulling the door completely open. ‘I was about to make a coffee.’
Jo screws up her eyes briefly, leading the way into the kitchen and ignoring the voice in her head. Simon follows. She’s about to put the cake tin on the scrubbed pine table when she spots the keys. Simon’s set of keys. And then she sees Will, standing by the sink. Somehow, as if in slow motion, the tin falls from her hands.
‘Oops, I got it,’ Simon says with lightning reactions as he catches it, managing to hold the lid on. She hadn’t realised he was so close to her. As he takes the brownies over to the kettle, Jo sweeps up the keys from the table, praying he doesn’t notice the slight jangle they make as she tucks them in her pocket. Will stares at her, and then slowly turns to Simon, who is only about two feet from where he is standing.
Will… it’s not my fault. I didn’t know he was going to call round…
‘You OK?’ Simon asks as he fills the kettle. ‘You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m… yes, I’m OK. I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache brewing. Nothing a brownie won’t sort out, I’m sure.’ She knows she’s gabbling and glances at Will for reassurance, mouthing again that she’s sorry. Simon follows her gaze, shrugging, looking puzzled as Spangle trots into the kitchen having just finished his food.
‘Hey, boy,’ he says, ruffling his fur. ‘You had a good walk today?’
‘Oh… well, we haven’t managed to get out yet. I was just about to take him.’
‘It’s nice out,’ Simon says. ‘A good day for a beach walk. If you like, I can come with you, and then afterwards—’
Jo is holding her breath, thinking up an excuse, but breathes out heavily when Simon’s phone interrupts with a shrill tone.
‘Ah-ha…’ he says, glancing at the screen, flashing it at Jo. ‘This is good timing.’ He swipes the screen and holds the phone out in front of him. ‘Suzie… Suzie… how are you getting on? How’s everything? You’ll never guess where I am.’
Suzie… Suzanne…
Jo freezes before casting an eye around the kitchen. It’s tidy enough. The animals are fine.
‘I’m doing OK, Si,’ the voice comes back. Suzanne’s voice. ‘As well as can be expected. You off work today?’ she asks. ‘And of course I know where you are. The background is a bit of a giveaway.’ She laughs then – a laugh that Jo would instantly tune into if she’d heard it elsewhere, wondering who it belonged to, why they sounded so happy and carefree as if ther
e was nothing weighing them down. The opposite of her.
The woman who has most likely stolen your husband sounds warm and kind, normal and friendly. Someone you’d get chatting to in a shop or a café…
‘Ta-da…!’ Simon says into his phone, flashing a quick pan around the kitchen. ‘All good here, Suze, and I should probably introduce you to Jo, since you’ve likely just caught a glimpse of her and she is house-sitting for you, after all.’ He laughs, twisting the phone round briefly towards Jo. ‘Oh, and you know me, look – I made these…’ He turns the camera on a close-up of the open tin of brownies.
‘They look perfect as ever,’ Jo hears Suzanne say. ‘You’re a good ’un, Si. And thanks for handing over the house for me. What a nightmare, the previous sitter letting me down. And hello, Jo!’ comes a shrill voice directed at her. Simon comes up close, sidling in against her so she is also included in the video call. Their shoulders are touching. ‘I’m so very pleased to meet you and utterly, utterly grateful to you for taking over at the last moment. Si has already told me you’re a good egg, and—’ Suzanne’s face suddenly stills, her mouth open. Nothing moving.
‘Damn, I think the connection’s frozen,’ Simon says, holding his phone closer to the router.
But Jo sees the flicker in Suzanne’s eye, notices how her pupils widen and her jaw twitches slightly as if she’s about to say something but doesn’t. The connection isn’t frozen at all. Suzanne is.
‘Hi,’ Jo forces herself to say to the unmoving image as she stares at the blonde-haired woman, slightly older than her, at her full lips, her blue eyes. Just like the photograph she saw, only prettier. Is she Will’s type? ‘Thank you so much for allowing me to look after your animals. I don’t know if you can hear me, but they’re a delight! And they’re both fine, as is your lovely home. It’s a beautiful place to live.’ She can hardly believe these normal words are coming out of her mouth, but they are. She’s a better actress than she thought.
The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 13
