‘Jo?’ someone said. It was Will. His hand reached across the table. ‘You OK, love? You were miles away.’
‘Oh, gosh, sorry. How rude of me.’ I snapped back to reality, glancing between Will, Archie and Louise. They’d come over for dinner. It was always a good night, the four of us unwinding, and I’d been asking their thoughts on colours to paint the living room and the little dining room we were squeezed into now.
‘I think if we go too dark,’ Will said, ‘it’s going to make it seem even smaller.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t think Jo trusts me to go to the paint shop and not return with magnolia though, do you, love?’
‘Magnolia would be fine, if you like it,’ I said warmly, fuelled by the memory of my mother’s pursed lips earlier. Why couldn’t she like Will? Why couldn’t she accept him as her son-in-law? I’d shuddered at the look on her face at her final comment – the comment that sent me reaching for my bag and keys only fifty minutes into the regulation hour’s visit before I could escape. I had to get away before I said something I really regretted.
‘Will and I are going to try for a baby,’ I’d announced as Mum was making her second gin of the afternoon. Dad had instantly looked up, a delighted smile spreading across his face as he put down the paper and came over to congratulate me, arms encircling me. But he soon stopped once Mum virtually feigned fainting.
‘You’re trying for a baby?’
I heard the voice, quickly realising it wasn’t my mother’s, even though she’d said exactly the same thing. It was Louise speaking.
‘Are we?’ Will said in a shaky voice, looking embarrassed as he reached out for my hand again. He flashed me a look, his pupils constricting slightly, his lips tightening – imperceptible to the others, but I knew it was a gentle warning. We’d agreed it shouldn’t be public knowledge yet.
I gave a little nod in return, glancing down. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. I really hadn’t. It was private between me and Will, and yes, I’d told my mother earlier, but that was only to prove how much I loved my husband. So much that we wanted to create a new life together.
‘That’s simply wonderful news,’ Louise had said, standing up and leaning over the table, her arms outstretched. I reciprocated, though I couldn’t help feeling Louise’s tone was a little flat, her hug rather light.
Twenty-Seven
Now
She’s ashamed of herself. So, so ashamed.
Back from the beach, Simon’s kiss still burns fresh on her lips.
You’re trying to recreate him as a whole person, aren’t you? You see him everywhere, so now you’re finding a physical connection so you have something resembling a whole Will. Accept it. Will is gone.
‘Not until I have answers, I won’t,’ Jo whispers to herself, standing outside the locked upstairs room again. Her words come out through clenched teeth. ‘Not until I know. I will die a crazy and tormented old woman if I don’t find some kind of closure.’ She turns away, leaning back against the door, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling. She stares at the ceiling, clutching Simon’s keys tightly in her fist, the other hand pawing at her head.
‘What am I doing…’ she says, refusing to cry. She feels Bonnie winding around her ankles, her soft purr vibrating through her jeans. ‘Oh, cat,’ she says, looking down at the black and white thing. Probably hungry, Jo thinks, as she hears Spangle stirring from his sleep downstairs, his claws clacking on the kitchen tiles. The beach walk wore him out. ‘I just need to get on with it, don’t I?’ she says, bending down to Bonnie, giving her a stroke. ‘And be prepared to face whatever’s in there.’
And if there’s nothing in there, then you’re left with an empty space where your husband used to be and the mystery of why another woman had his photos on her mantelpiece.
The cat looks up, offering a shrill chirp of a meow.
‘I’ll take that as a yes, then, and blame you entirely if it all goes wrong.’ She rubs the cat under her chin before fumbling with the keys, before inching the door open.
Then she stops. ‘I could just ask Suzanne, of course,’ she says, feeling the cat against her ankles again. ‘But if there is something going on between her and Will, that’s only going to make them smarter at covering their tracks. Make them go underground even more.’
Jo takes a deep breath and pushes the door open wide. And then she screams.
‘Jo, darling, wake up, it’s OK, it’s OK.’ The deep resonance of Will’s voice gradually bringing her round, anchoring her to the reality she knew and loved. The man she knew and loved. ‘You were screaming.’
‘Christ,’ she’d said, wiping her hands down her face and blowing out. ‘Sorry.’
‘Nightmare?’
Jo nodded. ‘They’re getting worse. More frequent.’
‘Maybe it’s time to see the doctor,’ Will suggested, a hand on her shoulder.
Jo glared at him. ‘You think I’m mad, don’t you? That I must be unstable and that’s why… that’s why we can’t…’ She turned away, swung her legs onto the floor.
‘Jo… of course I don’t. I know what you’re going through because I’m going through it too, don’t forget.’
Jo whipped round. ‘No, you’re not. Not like me. It’s not your body failing every month, is it? Every time I think there’s hope, I con myself into wondering if my breasts look bigger or I might be feeling sick in the morning. Then I have this dream and boom, we’re not pregnant.’
Will bowed his head briefly. ‘I know that. I know. But I’m here for you and will do anything to make you feel OK about this. Let’s stop trying, let’s just stop—’
‘Let’s stop analysing me might help,’ she snapped, sighing out heavily. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but the dreams, Will. They scare me. All these faces everywhere, closing in on me. People I know, people I don’t know, all leering at me, getting right up to me so I can almost smell them. Taste them. Some smiling, some laughing or crying, some with evil expressions, some with blood and gore and cuts on them. But the worst thing of all is that these faces, whether I recognise them or not, are on the bodies of babies.’ Jo shuddered, picking her dressing gown up off the floor. She stood up and slipped into it and, when she turned round to look at Will, he was staring at the bed where she’d been sitting. It was covered in blood.
Now, standing in the bedroom doorway, she covers her mouth as the scream burns up her throat. Her neck is tight, her eyes wide, her whole body juddering. Then the panting comes – quick, shallow and sharp breaths rasping in and out of her chest. Within seconds, she feels dizzy and nauseous, as though she’s about to pass out or throw up. She grabs hold of the door frame, steadying herself, leaning against it, unable to take her eyes off what’s in front of her.
‘Will,’ she says, barely audibly. ‘I… I don’t believe it. Will…’
Tentatively, Jo takes a step forward, as if she’s venturing into a dangerous lair. She glances back at the door, fearful there might be someone there to somehow lock her in from the outside.
‘What are you doing in here?’ she whispers, staring at him, hardly able to believe he’s been in here while she’s been in the house. ‘Will…’ she whispers again.
But Will doesn’t say a word. Rather he stares at her – his eyes tracking her as she cautiously approaches him from around the edge of the room, as if that might somehow be safer, her back against the wall. Jo’s mouth is dry as she locks onto what she’s seeing, unable to look away yet now knowing that she was right – Will is connected to Suzanne. But how? Why?
‘Please, dear God, tell me why you’re here,’ she whispers again as she draws closer, reaching out to him with her hand. She jumps as Spangle barks downstairs, then she hears a clattering and the dog goes crazy yapping and making a fuss. Jo’s heart rate rises even more, if that’s possible, but then she realises it’s just the mail coming through the door – always an afternoon delivery around here. ‘Are you in love with her – is that it? Is she in love with you?’ Jo’s
outstretched hand shakes.
Tell me no, Will. Tell me this is all a horrible nightmare and I’ll wake up soon and we’ll be back home in bed together, failing at making a baby but winning at making us.
But Will still doesn’t say anything.
‘OK, fine,’ Jo says, trying to take back some control as he just stares at her, seemingly oblivious to her presence, all the trouble he’s caused. She feels the stirring of something inside her. Something fizzing in her core. Something hot and painful, as if she needs to spew it out.
‘She’s beautiful – Suzanne,’ Jo says to him. ‘I’ve seen her, you know. Not the classic sort of beautiful, but she has something about her, I’ll give her that.’ Since the FaceTime call on Simon’s phone, Jo has struggled to get Suzanne’s image out of her mind – her doe eyes, her high cheekbones and full lips. Her blonde hair. From what she could see, she had a good figure, too. Slender yet womanly. But it was how she was that was the attractive part – the way she turned her head, perfectly timed with a look or a slight parting of her lips. The way her words were aligned with her expression, making her seem alluring, genuine, trustworthy. Intriguing. Someone you’d want as your best friend. Your lover.
Jo lets out a noise – a cross between a growl, a stifled scream and a frustrated sob. Still Will says nothing.
‘Except you’re not trustworthy, are you?’ she spits out, echoing her thoughts. Before she can stop herself, she takes a swipe at him, her arm whipping through the air and connecting with his head. He immediately falls to the floor, without a sound. Then she swipes again, clawing at him, spitting on him, sweeping her arm across the dressing table and sending everything else onto the floor – perfume bottles, a hairbrush, toiletries. A couple of candles in glass holders. Will lies amongst the mess, Jo sobbing above him.
‘Oh, Christ, what have I done?’ she says, falling to her knees, clutching at him, stroking him, gathering up the dozen or more photographs of Will in her shaking hands.
Twenty-Eight
The phone answers on the fifth ring. Jo hears her own heavy breathing as she waits for Louise to answer, praying she’ll pick up. She’s sitting in the living room, still shaken.
‘Hi, Jo, how’s it going down there?’ Louise says when she finally answers. Jo can’t help noticing that she sounds a little… tense.
‘Hi Lou… is it a bad time?’ she asks, clutching one of the photos, not wanting to impose, especially if she’s still got blood pressure issues. ‘Do tell me if you’re too busy to talk.’ She knows it’s the middle of the working day for Louise, that she could be waiting in court for a case to be heard, liaising with a nervous client or perhaps neck-deep in emails or partner meetings at the office.
‘It’s OK,’ she says. Then a pause. ‘I’m not actually in work at the moment.’
‘Oh… is everything OK? How’s your blood pressure now?’
‘That’s the reason I’ve taken a few days off, actually. The hospital said if I didn’t take it easy, they’d have to admit me for bed rest. So here I am with…’ She clears her throat. ‘With my laptop on my knee going over a client’s court bundle to hand over to a colleague.’
‘Oh, Lou, I’m so sorry to hear that. I know you wanted to work up until the last minute. But things don’t always go to plan and your health is so important. It doesn’t sound as though you’re resting, though. I’m worried about you.’
‘I know, I know,’ she says. ‘But I have to sort it. It’s an important case.’
‘Is Archie there? Is he fussing over you lots?’
‘He’s been amazing. He’s right here, bringing me food and tea every hour on the hour. I feel like some kind of fat, swollen incubator about to burst.’
‘That’s good of him,’ Jo says. ‘But not good that you feel you’re about to burst, obviously.’ She laughs, trying to add a little humour. While she’d never begrudge Lou and Archie their happiness, she hates how Will’s disappearance has made her jealous of every happy couple she sees – every unhappy-looking couple, too. She’d rather be one of those with Will than no couple at all. ‘You make sure you lap up the attention.’
‘Oh, believe me, I am.’ A pause again. ‘How’s it going there?’
‘It’s…’ Jo isn’t sure whether to say anything now – if she should tell Louise that she’s kissed the neighbour or that she’s discovered a shrine-like display of photos of Will. ‘It’s all fine. It’s… fun.’
‘’Course it is,’ Louise replies drily. ‘You’d have more joy in your voice if you told me you’d just cleaned the bathroom. Are you feeling a bit flat?’
‘I guess it’s just a bit… lonely.’ Jo clears her throat, desperate to spill everything. But she doesn’t want to stress Louise out, raise her blood pressure further.
She looks up, catches her breath as she sees Will standing by the fireplace, arms folded, one foot crossed over the other ankle. His head tilted and his face wearing an expression that says, Didn’t look like you were lonely from where I was standing…
‘Have you been on any walks? Visited the local towns?’
‘I went on a nice beach walk,’ Jo says. The photograph falls from her hand and Will looks down at it, shaking his head. ‘With Simon,’ she adds, as if it’s more a confession to Will than to Louise.
‘Oh, who’s Simon? Mixing with the locals already, are we?’
‘Yes. No… no, not really. Lou…’
‘Jo, what is it? You sound upset.’
‘He’s here, Lou,’ Jo whispers. ‘Will is here. Or at least, I’m certain he… he has been.’ She stares at him, watches as he walks over to the dropped photo, standing above it. ‘He’s so close,’ she adds.
‘What?’ comes Louise’s incredulous reply. ‘Close? What do you mean? Are you sure? How do you know? Have you spoken to him? I mean, how is that even possible? Christ… you poor thing. No wonder you sound upset.’
Jo can almost see Louise’s shocked face, her mind racing. ‘Lou, don’t get stressed, please. That’s just what I didn’t want to happen, in your condition.’
‘Have you told the police?’ she asks, sounding more composed.
‘No, not yet.’ Jo hadn’t thought that far ahead. Being a solicitor, Louise was bound to advise telling them. ‘I mean, I could be wrong. It was just…’
‘Just what? For heaven’s sake, woman, spit it out. Will’s been missing for nearly a year and you think you’ve seen him, yet you’re not telling me where or how and you haven’t called the police?’
‘Lou, please, don’t get worked up on my behalf, or—’
‘Of course I’m worked up, Jo. You’ve just told me that Will’s been there. That’s huge news.’ Another pause. ‘Though not as upset as you must be. I’m so sorry, Jo. Look, if it really is him that’s a good thing, surely? Amazing, in fact. But you do realise it probably means he’s been—’
‘With someone else all this time. Yes, I know, Lou.’ Jo sighs.
‘But look, it might not be that. Maybe he had some early midlife crisis and needed time alone for a bit. Still shitty, but not quite as bad. And similarly, if it’s not him, then you’re just working yourself into a state.’
A pause, while Jo thinks about this.
‘Jo, I hate to say this… and please don’t take it the wrong way, but I remember you once confided to me that you see him. As in, you see him but it’s not really him? Do you think this is the same—?’
‘You think I’m going mad, don’t you?’ Jo says quite calmly, quite flatly.
‘No, no, I didn’t say that. But I do think you’ve been under a lot of stress. Maybe it’s time to go back to your GP, Jo. Get some help. Some professional help. Medication, perhaps.’
‘I had counselling. There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘Maybe you need more than counsell—’
‘You mean a psychiatrist?’ Jo sighs. ‘Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with my mental health, Lou.’
Will bends down to pick up the photograph, his face only a foot or so away, his eyes b
oring into hers as he does so. But Jo lunges for it first, swiping it up, holding it close to her chest. Glaring at him.
‘I found photographs of him, Lou. Lots of them. In a locked room and all laid out on a dressing table amongst perfume bottles and personal stuff. And there were candles and…’ Jo stifles the sob. She’s not going there. She’s not going to turn into the crazy person Louise already thinks she is. ‘I can send you a photograph of it all, if you like. It’s… it’s… like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s sickening. I mean, what the hell? Why?’
The line falls silent for a moment.
She’s thinking how insane you sound. How messed-up, obsessed and deluded you are. And she’s probably right…
‘Hang on, you found photographs of Will?’
‘Yes.’
‘In the house you’re looking after?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, Jo…’
She hears the pity in Louise’s voice.
‘But it’s not like that. It’s not what you’re thinking.’
‘What am I thinking, Jo?’ Louise makes a noise then, as if she’s shifting position and something is hurting.
‘You think that… that I’m seeing things, hallucinating.’ Jo takes a breath, knowing she has to get this off her chest. ‘Look, I know how it sounds, but honestly, there was this locked room and I… well, I maybe sort of stole the keys off Simon, he’s the neighbour I kissed – yes, I had to get that out there or I’ll self-combust with guilt but to be honest now, it doesn’t really matter because what Will has done, whatever the hell that is, is way worse than me getting drunk after winning the quiz with murder and then us drinking far too much whiskey, listening to nice music and eating cheese. But the keys were just there, they sort of fell into my pocket and may not even have fitted the lock, but it turns out they did. And I wasn’t even going to go in. I chickened out and then we went for a lovely walk – albeit Spangle falling into this kind of quicksand stuff and needing a good hosing off – but then, then I just couldn’t help myself.’ Jo draws a deep breath, sucking in hard as if her life depended on that one inhalation. ‘So I did. And I wish I hadn’t.’
The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 15
