Jo puts down her menu. ‘I’ll have that, then,’ she says. ‘Sounds delicious. And sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that you seem a bit upset and—’
‘Strange? Is that what you mean?’
‘No—’
‘I am. I freely admit it.’
Jo feels the blush burn on her cheeks as the waitress approaches their table, notepad to hand. ‘Ready to order?’ the girl says, bending down to give Spangle a stroke.
‘I’ll have the—’
‘I do know you, don’t I?’ Suzanne says suddenly, half whispering, one hand gripping the edge of the small round table between them, making the glasses wobble.
Jo looks uncomfortably from the waitress to Suzanne. ‘Know me?’
Suzanne doesn’t reply, rather she slowly removes her glasses with one hand, squints at Jo, then puts them back on again, tilting her head to the side. Her lips are slightly parted.
‘I’ll have the chowder and sourdough, please,’ Jo says, turning back to the waitress. ‘Actually, make that two. I think my… my friend wants the same.’
The girl nods and collects the menus, tucking her pad in her apron pocket and heading off to the kitchen.
‘The same… the same… the same…’ Suzanne chants. ‘Now, does Suzanne want the same as Jo? Or does Jo want the same as Suzanne?’ She cups her face in her hands, making her eyes go wide. Her green irises glow with confusion.
‘Sorry?’ Jo says, concerned by the sudden switch in Suzanne’s demeanour. She’s acting very strange, to the point where she thinks she should pack up and leave for home as soon as they get back to Hawthorn Lodge.
But you’re not going to, are you? Because she knows something about Will…
‘Christ… I’m so sorry,’ Suzanne says, her tone of voice suddenly completely different. She bows her head, closing her eyes briefly. When she looks up, her expression has changed, too, as if a different person is occupying her now. She shakes her head, her shoulders shuddering – in fact, her whole body shivers.
‘I get these moments from time to time,’ she says. ‘These weird shifts inside, almost as if I’m somewhere else. Someone else. “Episodes”, my doctor calls them. There’s a proper medical name but I can never remember it. Anyway, it’s a fat lot of use them calling it anything if they can’t cure me. They come from nowhere, triggered by something, apparently, but no one knows what. It could be a word, a smell, a colour, a loud noise, someone’s expression. Someone’s… someone’s face. And seconds later, I don’t even remember why they were familiar to me.’
‘That must be terrifying,’ Jo says genuinely. Whatever her connection to Will, it sounds awful.
‘It’s like, for a few moments of clarity, my brain sees all the things I’ve forgotten and blocked out. But it muddles them all up along with everyday things in my mind, confusing neural pathways or something. Whatever it is that’s triggered a memory, rather than seeming clearer, it makes everything more confused and more lost than ever. It’s scary.’
‘That’s tough,’ Jo says. ‘Will it ever go away?’
‘No one knows. I’ve had so many scans, it’s ridiculous. And there’s nothing wrong with my brain on a physical level. But inside, it’s prone to going a bit haywire. There’s a treatment I want to try, EMDR. It’s meant to help process traumatic memories. But if I can’t recall them in the first place, processing them is going to be tricky.’ Suzanne smiles but then her face falls serious again. ‘The place I was just at was… was a residential clinic. I was hoping that some talking therapies, some group work, individual counselling would help, but…’
‘But you came home,’ Jo says. ‘You said it wasn’t for you?’
‘Truth is, I can’t properly remember why I had to come home. That’s the weird thing. I remember talking to Simon on FaceTime – he’s a good man, but I’m sure you know that by now – and then, as I was talking, I had one of the episodes. Afterwards, all I wanted to do was get home. It was a compulsion.’
‘Do you remember speaking to me on FaceTime?’ Jo asks.
Something flickers under one of Suzanne’s eyes. ‘We spoke?’
‘Yes. Yes, we did.’
She shakes her head and Jo can see by her expression that she’s forcing a memory, trying to wrest something out.
‘Do you think I triggered one of your… episodes, Suzanne? You’ve just had another, after all. And you passed out as soon as you came home and saw me.’
Before Suzanne can answer, the waitress returns with two bowls of soup and crusty bread. Following behind her is Will. He sits down right next to Suzanne, glaring at Jo.
Watch yourself, Jo, he says. You’re treading on thin ice here. You have no idea what you’re dealing with…
But… But…
‘But what?’ Suzanne says.
‘Sorry,’ Jo says. ‘The accident you mentioned – did you have a head injury?’
‘An everything injury,’ Suzanne says, rolling her eyes. ‘But mainly my leg,’ she says, rubbing her thigh. ‘My femur was broken clean in two and my knee comprehensively smashed up. A fractured hip, too. There’s a lot of metal in me.’ She unfolds her napkin, talking as normally about it as if she was discussing the weather. A different person entirely to a moment ago. ‘Which is why this leg is now a little shorter than the other. There’s another operation I can have in a few months’ time, but I’ve had so many, I’m not sure I can go through with it. I manage OK. The pain is bearable now. Once the episodes are under control, once the fainting stops, I’ll hopefully be able to drive again. And work properly again.’
‘You poor, poor thing. That’s a lot to deal with. Do you mind me asking what kind of accident you had?’ Jo asks, her spoon halfway to her mouth.
Suzanne stares at her, lets out a little sigh. ‘It was a hit and run,’ she says matter-of-factly, making Jo spill her soup down her front.
Thirty-Four
‘Oh, I…’ Jo says, stopping in her tracks, shocked. It takes her a moment to realise what Suzanne is doing.
When they’d got back to Hawthorn Lodge after lunch, Jo’s first thought was to pack up and leave. Everything had changed since Suzanne’s return and she felt rattled, thrown by her presence.
‘Are you looking for something?’ Jo says, feeling almost guilty for questioning Suzanne, given that she is in her house. But then Suzanne is rummaging in her handbag. And apart from her fainting and the brief ‘episode’ at lunch, she’s been nothing but pleasant, talking about her work – which seems to be more short films, TV and voice-overs, unlike Will’s focus on theatre. It could well be that their paths have crossed. And at least the woman she’s trying to find out about is now right here. It could make everything much easier. Earlier, she’d felt torn about what to do. Jo scoops up her bag and the spilt-out contents from the table, snatching it away.
Suzanne stares at her, that now-familiar flicker starting up under one eye. As if her conscious mind is using all its resources to dredge her brain. ‘Yes,’ she says. Then a little shake of her head. ‘But stupidly, I don’t know what. Probably just my keys.’
Keys…
She glances at the bag. ‘I’m sorry, Jo. You must think I’m so nosy. I didn’t even realise it wasn’t my bag until you said.’ Then that look in her eyes again, as if she was looking directly inside her rather than just at her. ‘It’s similar to mine.’
‘It’s… it’s OK,’ Jo says, putting the bag down on the table again. ‘I do understand, you know. That you get confused.’
No, Jo. You’ve just caught a virtual stranger going through your personal belongings. What if she creeps into your room later… with a knife or something?
Jo shudders. Her imagination’s running away with her.
‘The knives are in the second drawer along,’ Suzanne says.
‘Sorry, what?’ Jo’s eyes widen.
‘You just said something about a knife. There’s some fresh bread over there. I got the taxi to stop at the bakery earlier. Feel free to have as much as you like.’
Suzanne smiles.
‘No, it’s OK. I… I’m still full from lunch, thanks,’ Jo says, wondering how she’s going to get Simon’s keys out of the locked bedroom and return them to him. Suzanne must have her own set somewhere. She needs to find them.
Then she spots the shadow in the hallway, a ghostly figure slipping past the door. Will.
Suzanne grips the back of the chair, making Jo wonder if she saw him too, whether she’s somehow privy to her inner thoughts.
‘There was another woman, you know,’ Suzanne suddenly says, that look in her eyes again. ‘So I got rid of him.’
Then it’s Jo’s turn to steady herself on a chair. ‘Got rid of him? Do you mean… the man you mentioned earlier, the one you were seeing?’
‘Yes. His name was Bill. Though it wasn’t quite as straightforward as that. Turns out I was the other woman. I had no idea.’
‘Oh…’ Jo feels light-headed, wondering if she might also faint. She sits down, pulling her handbag towards her again. ‘That’s awful,’ Jo says, meaning it for her own reasons.
‘I never thought I’d be that woman, you know? So completely blindsided by love I didn’t see the obvious. It all made sense after I found out, of course. How he wasn’t available at weekends, going silent for days on end, locked down on social media and refusing to add me, saying he didn’t want to rush things, that he wanted to savour our relationship slowly. Like a fine fucking wine, he told me.’
Suzanne drops down into the chair beside Jo. Lets out a strange sound, something like a deflated laugh.
‘I’m so sorry, Jo, you must think I’m crazy. I have absolutely no idea why I’m telling you all this. It’s weird, though, almost as if I feel I can. Like I said, it feels as if I know you.’
This is your chance, Jo. She’s opening up. Find out what you can then get the hell out…
‘Yeah, me too,’ Jo says, smiling and sliding a hand on top of Suzanne’s. ‘If I lived closer, we could, you know, hang out and stuff. Support each other. Be good friends. Girl power and all that.’
Girl power? Hang out? Will glances around the kitchen door from the hallway, shaking his head.
‘That’s a mean stunt to pull on anyone, right? Men can be…’ Jo glances at the door again, but Will has gone. ‘Can be right arseholes.’
‘It’s weird, after the accident, it’s left me with this feeling… like he existed but didn’t exist. Which in some ways is sad, as we did have good times together – and I haven’t completely forgotten everything – but then again, it’s also a blessing. Means I don’t have to go through more heartache. It’s hard to grieve for a relationship you can’t remember much about.’
‘So what happened? Did you end it?’
‘Oh yes,’ Suzanne says, folding her arms. ‘Absolutely. I made quite sure he was never coming back. Ever.’
‘Wow,’ Jo says an hour later. ‘You’ve done so much in your career. I remember this series. I loved it. We watched it every Sunday evening.’
Suzanne rummages through the press cuttings, flyers, magazine clippings and photographs as they sit on the sofa, Bonnie perched up behind them and Spangle content at their feet. It’s a whole career crammed into a cardboard box.
‘We?’ Suzanne asks, handing Jo another page from the Radio Times.
‘Oh, me and my… my husband,’ Jo says, not wanting to explain. ‘You look amazing here. So glamorous.’ Jo studies the photo, to see if there are any clues. Suzanne is sitting off set at a film shoot with cameras and lighting rigs around her, trailers and a big old house in the background. Someone is dabbing at her face with a make-up sponge, while her eyes are closed, her lips scarlet, her hair up in a period style, ringlets bobbing at her cheeks. ‘I love watching historical dramas,’ she says.
‘Well, my part wasn’t particularly big, and I was lucky to be included in this photo. The piece is actually about the female lead, as you can see. But it’s a good credit to have. One of my last TV roles, actually. I did some theatre afterwards and then, bam… the accident. Since then, I’ve done some voice-overs, a couple of adverts. My mum died several years ago and left me this place, so I’m not penniless just yet. Even though I’m washed up when it comes to men.’
‘Hardly washed up,’ Jo says, suddenly feeling sorry for her, as though they have things in common. On that thought, she glances up, looking for Will but he’s not there. Then her eyes are drawn back to the photo of Suzanne. There’s something about it. Something familiar, though she’s not sure what.
‘And this was my last performance before…’ Suzanne trails off, tapping her leg. ‘Before it happened.’ She’s holding a theatre programme for a play. ‘Look, God, I’m sorry. This is horribly self-indulgent and must be very boring for you.’ She hands the programme to Jo and moves the box aside, getting up and reaching for her stick. ‘I’ll go and make us some tea and you can tell me all about your work, your life.’ She goes off to the kitchen and Jo hears her putting the kettle on, leaving Jo holding the programme.
So are you going to tell her about Will? She’ll send you packing when she realises he’s the man who hurt her – Bill. So you need to find out what she did to him first…
Jo taps the programme against her leg, unsure what to do. Then the logo on the back of it catches her eye, makes her suck in a breath – the rep theatre where Will played his last Shakespeare role. She flips it over, her eyes wide when she sees a familiar photograph, the play’s title displayed across the top. Her fingers fumble to get it open, flicking through the pages of local adverts, performance details, the cast list… until she gets to the key cast members’ bios.
Will, she thinks, her eyes filling with tears when she sees his black and white headshot. She gently touches his face with her finger.
‘I was at this performance,’ she whispers to his photo. ‘I was there. With Louise. I remember the night so well… how proud I was of you, the after-party on the last night – so proud to be by your side as your wife.’ She glances at the ceiling, praying the tears will hold off. She doesn’t want Suzanne to see her vulnerable, the weaker woman in the story that she is gradually piecing together. It’s all becoming horrifyingly real.
But she can’t help reliving the other feelings she’d had that night either – of being sidelined at the cast party, overlooked by Will, as if somehow she didn’t belong. Louise had said she was being silly, that she was imagining it, that it was just what those theatre types were like.
‘If you’d spent weeks and weeks rehearsing together, you’d have bonded, too. It’s the last night of the show, Jo. Let him have his moment,’ Louise had said later in the loos, her hands on Jo’s shoulders.
But Jo wasn’t convinced. She knew Will and he’d seemed different that night, yet she couldn’t put her finger on why. In the end, Jo hadn’t felt like going to the pub afterwards for pie, beer and the live band. So she and Louise had called it an early night, with Will getting a taxi back much, much later. Jo racks her brain, remembering him eventually arriving home, the sound of the front door opening waking her, glancing at the bedside clock: 4.23 a.m. She hadn’t slept properly, waiting for him to come home, and he’d not been answering the texts she’d sent. What had he been doing all that time? She knew the pub closed its doors at midnight.
‘I thought you were feeling ill?’ she remembered saying to him as he crept into the bedroom. Well, he’d thought he was creeping but in actual fact, he’d staggered in reeking of alcohol.
And now, beneath Will’s bio in the programme, Jo sees a headshot of the character who played the queen – the character who had made her feel uncomfortable in the green room. The woman with the grey, wiry wig, the white face paint, the smudged, scarlet lips. Except in her headshot, she is just her normal self.
Suzanne McBride – graduate of Guildhall School of Music and Drama.
‘Here,’ Suzanne says, carrying two mugs of tea with one hand while the other leans on her stick.
Jo jumps. She tosses the programme aside, hardly able to look. Suzanne w
as the actress who played the queen. Suzanne was the woman she’d watched kiss her husband onstage, sensing that ‘something’ between them. Suzanne was the woman who’d prevented her getting close to Will at the party, and Suzanne was the woman who’d had a lover, who she’d made sure was ‘never coming back. Ever’. And he was called Bill.
‘I hope it’s how you like it,’ she says, holding a mug out to Jo. But, as she takes it, she’s shaking so much it slips from Jo’s grip and falls to the floor.
Thirty-Five
Stay calm… Jo tells herself as she dashes for some cloths to mop up. Suzanne seems unfazed by the accident and continues chatting about her career, asking about Jo’s work as she cleans up the spilt tea.
‘I’m so very sorry. I’m completely clumsy. However careful I am, things just break or spill or fall over in my wake.’ She presses down hard on the stain with several tea towels, absorbing the mess as best she can. ‘Yes, yes, dressmaking… mainly bridal but some theat— other costumes, you know.’
‘Should I blame you for my fainting earlier, then?’ Suzanne says with a laugh. The two women look at each other – Jo on her knees on the rug staring up at Suzanne, her mouth slightly open, and Suzanne mid-sip. It’s as if they each know there’s something between them, a common denominator, yet neither of them can work out what.
Thing is, Jo, you know what the link is, whereas Suzanne doesn’t. Having lost memories from a crucial time, she has no idea that the man she was in love with is your husband.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Jo says, composing herself before she says something she shouldn’t. She rolls her eyes, playing the part. And then she remembers her conversation with Simon, how she’s told him far too much about her situation, how she opened up because he was so persuasive, so kind, so… understanding. Suzanne and Simon are friends, good friends. What if they talk?
‘There, that should do it,’ she says, dabbing at the rug. ‘Again, I’m so—’
The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 19
