‘It’s not that. Believe me, she’s had so many tests since her accident.’
‘You’d know, I guess,’ Jo says. ‘In your line of work.’
Simon looks puzzled for a moment, but then shrugs. ‘I certainly see a lot of trauma similar to what she’s been through,’ he says. ‘And believe me, a lot of people with emotional issues subsequently.’
‘Therapist extraordinaire,’ Jo says, trying to make light of it.
‘Well, I suppose, in a way,’ he replies. ‘You wouldn’t believe how often, actually.’ He gives a sarcastic laugh then. ‘But I can’t always be on duty. And when I am, I worry about Suzanne being alone. I wish she’d stayed on at the facility for treatment, but something powered her home.’
‘I think it was me,’ Jo says. ‘I think I set her off in some way. You’d know all about triggers, I guess,’ she adds, hoping he’ll explain.
‘In more ways than one,’ Simon replies, laughing at a joke Jo doesn’t quite understand. ‘But she’ll be OK. She’s a survivor. Physically and emotionally. The accident may have damaged her body, and I also think her relationship break-up hit her harder than she realised. It’s been a tough time.’
‘Tell me more,’ Jo says, not meaning to sound quite so pushy.
Thin ice again, Jo.
‘To be honest, she’s been a bit of a dark horse about it. I think she feels ashamed as she found out the man she’d been seeing for several years had a wife. He didn’t live around here so it was easy for him to hide it. And with Suzanne travelling for work a lot, her often being in London, and him having a similar lifestyle but further away, it was easy for him to go underground. Suze didn’t realise a pattern until… until it was too late. It broke her. She’d put her trust in him.’
‘Did she love him?’ Jo can hardly get the words out.
‘Oh yes,’ he says. ‘When Suzanne falls for someone, she really falls hard. It nearly killed her, finding out the truth.’
‘And how did she find out?’
‘There were a few signs but social media confirmed it, I think. A mix of Suzanne’s suspicion and obsession, him slipping up on Facebook and probably a fake account thrown in too, knowing her. She went into stealth mode. But you didn’t hear that from me,’ he adds, tapping the side of his nose.
Social media… obsession… photos… triggers… Suzanne had met Louise, too, at the party that night…
Jo lets out a little whimper, barely audible. ‘Tell me, if someone’s lost some of their memories because of a physical trauma, are they… are they still in there – somewhere?’ She pauses, thinking. ‘So if they’re ignited by something – say, a photo – it can have an adverse effect on them?’
‘I’m no expert,’ Simon says. ‘It’s certainly not my field.’
‘You mean amnesia?’
He shakes his head, frowning. ‘No, definitely not,’ leaving Jo wondering what his field of speciality actually is. Now isn’t the time to digress into various forms of psychology, though. She wants answers about Suzanne.
‘What I’m asking is, if Suzanne sees something that’s linked to a painful memory that’s seemingly lost, would she react like she did? Would she have one of her episodes?’
‘From what I know, most definitely yes. PTSD is a cruel and unrelenting beast,’ he says. ‘I have many colleagues with experience of it.’
‘I see,’ Jo says, sipping her drink again, wanting to ask so many questions. But all she can think about now is creating a timeline of Will’s movements over the year or two before he went missing, to see if she can piece together chunks of missing time when he would have been meeting Suzanne – seized opportunities, snatched moments. She supposes that rehearsals for the play they did together and the subsequent performances would have been a hotbed of activity for them. But outside of that, she couldn’t recall Will being absent suspiciously or… or…
A couple of coincidences to get the result you want to see… She remembers Louise’s words earlier on the phone.
‘So it’s a girls’ weekend away now, is it?’ Will had said. ‘And a work trip to London with Margot for Fashion Week, more nights out by yourself this month than I’ve had in the last year… Well, Jo, my darling, it’s no wonder we’re not pregnant.’ He’d been quite calm about it, even injecting a little humour, but equally, Jo knew he was upset. And she still felt guilty. He wasn’t happy that they’d not been spending as much time together lately and it was almost as if he was turning it into a competition. A competition he wanted to have – as though he was almost challenging Jo to give him space.
‘I can’t help it, love. It’s just the way it’s worked out. Margot and I really want to network more. Our bridal range is getting so popular locally and we want to get it out there, get noticed in London. And surely you don’t begrudge me a girls’ weekend away in Louise’s parents’ holiday cottage? It’s not exactly living the high life. Apparently it’s out in the sticks and very basic. We’ll be bedding in with a dozen chick flicks and a crate of Sauvignon, that’s all. And as for nights out, really, I can’t think of any…’
He’d turned it right round, hadn’t he? Jo thinks now. The few times you did go anywhere, even if it was just Pilates or a duty visit to your parents, as time went on, he made out as though you were the bad guy for not spending time with him. And while the cat was away… She covers her face, making a pained sound.
‘Bonnie’s right here, Jo. The cat’s not gone away.’ Simon laughs, touches Jo’s thigh. She startles, her nerves raw and on fire. Simon wipes his thumb across her brow. ‘Why the deep frown?’
‘Nothing,’ Jo replies, gathering herself quickly. ‘Nothing at all.’
Thirty-Seven
Then
‘Hardly the Ritz,’ Will joked as we pulled up, squinting out of the windscreen. The light was fading as we arrived at the little stone cottage, its gingery hues muted by the sour light that threatened rain. It looked more an acid grey than the usual honey tones of the Vale of Evesham, an hour or so’s drive south-west of home. ‘Does it even have running water?’
‘Oh, Will,’ I said, rolling my eyes. My heart skipped with excitement. A whole week, just the two of us. ‘You know what it reminds me of?’ I said as Will parked, pulling on the handbrake and cutting the engine.
‘A derelict hovel in the middle of nowhere?’
I poked him. ‘No, silly. Don’t you think it looks just like the cottage in the film The Holiday?’
‘No idea,’ Will said, sighing and getting out of the car. It hadn’t been a long drive but he stretched then rubbed his face, looking exhausted. I knew he’d had a tough time of it at work lately – school and his acting. And everything else. Which is why I’d arranged this break for the Easter holidays. We both needed it.
‘Well I think it’s incredibly kind of Louise’s parents to let us use it for free. We’d not have had a break until next year otherwise. I mean, look at the view, Will.’ I pointed across the lane to the rolling fields in front of the house. To the west, the sun bowed down in a yellow-grey fizz, glinting on the tops of the lightly frosted trees.
‘It had better be warm in there, is all I can say,’ Will said, opening the boot. But I saw the flicker of a smile on his face, knew how he loved long, bracing walks, pub lunches, movies in front of the fire.
‘Well, if it’s not, just think how much time we can spend in bed making each other warm, eh?’ I hugged him around the waist from behind as he reached in for our bags. ‘And making a baby,’ I whispered, squeezing him tighter.
‘I’m sorry for being miserable earlier,’ Will said later, glass of red wine to hand. ‘I think it’s pretty perfect here, actually,’ he admitted, ducking his head under a low beam as he crossed the tiny, flagstoned living room to put another log on the open fire. ‘And it’s already toasty warm.’
‘See?’ I replied, my legs curled up on the sofa as I snuggled beneath a knitted throw. ‘I shan’t say “I told you so”.’
‘So this is where you girls hung out that time,
eh? When you had that long weekend away.’
‘Indeed,’ I said, smiling fondly at the memory. It had been Louise, Margot and me – later joined by Louise’s cousin, Fran. ‘It’s where I got the idea for us to come. It’s romantic, right?’ I’d lit a cluster of scented candles and set them on a little wooden table beside us. There was one sofa, albeit old and saggy, but the many cushions made it comfortable.
‘Where’s the router?’ Will asked, phone to hand after he’d stoked the fire. ‘I need to keep comms open in case my agent emails.’
‘There’s no Wi-Fi,’ I said, feeling a little flat that Will couldn’t leave real life behind even for an evening.
Will looked up, his face blank. ‘None?’ He tossed his phone onto the table and dropped down into the cushions.
I felt a twinge in my stomach. ‘But I actually have good 4G and lots of data, so don’t worry. We can still watch Netflix.’
‘And chill,’ Will said, turning to me, his blank face now spread with a wicked smile.
‘I like the sound of that,’ I said, shifting closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and delivering the long, lingering kiss I’d been wanting to give him since we’d set off from home.
‘Do you ever feel that you just need to… to get away? And never come back?’
Will’s question had taken me by surprise several months before our getaway to Louise’s parents’ cottage, but then, I’d also been half expecting it. I knew how Will’s mind worked, how, when he was stressed, he began by testing me – to gauge if I felt the same way, or at least understood. I knew better than to shut him down. It was Will’s way of wanting to talk, unload. And those last few days, he’d been restless.
‘Sometimes,’ I said, flinching suddenly and sucking my finger. I’d brought some work home – a delicate bridesmaid’s dress that required much hand-stitching – and had accidentally stuck the needle in my forefinger. I went to fetch a plaster, not wanting to get blood on the cream fabric. ‘You’re feeling like a change, then?’ We’d already eaten, were winding down for the evening. I loved nothing more than to be sewing while Will and I chatted, discussed plans, talked about our days.
Will had stood then, I remembered, paced about. ‘I’m feeling edgy, Jo. Can’t lie about it.’
I’d looked up then. ‘In what way?’
‘School’s getting me down. Too much red tape and drama in the staffroom. Not enough hands-on time with the pupils. Though I’d like my hands round a few of their necks. It’s crowd control most of the time. It’s not what I went to drama school for.’
I swallowed, somehow feeling guilty for Will’s career taking a trajectory he’d never envisaged. While his teaching was bread-and-butter money, going full-time had never been in his grand plan. I often wondered whether, without a wife – a wife who was desperate for a family – he’d have been quite content living a more bohemian lifestyle, winging his way around the country, possibly the world, taking whatever paid acting work he could get. And if he couldn’t, then he’d be working bars, or even cruise ships, somehow scraping by. Being Will. Being alone. Having adventures. He’d never said anything, but I often wondered if, in his discontented moments, he felt it was all my fault. That he was stuck.
‘I know you feel like that, love,’ I’d said, not knowing what the answer was. ‘And I know you find the teaching frustrating, but you’ve got that big production coming up soon. Do you think that will help your mood?’
‘What, burning the candle at both ends?’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘No, of course you didn’t. You’re quite content with your little job in your little business with your little friends. Easy as. And how perfect will everything be for you once we have a baby? Maybe I should take on a third job.’
‘That’s unfair, Will,’ I’d said, laying down the dress. I remembered the cold feeling sweeping through me. Numb. That was it – I’d felt numb at how he could turn his discontent around onto what he thought was my contentment. It smelt a lot like jealousy to me, but of course I said nothing. I knew he was just going through a bad patch and it wasn’t worth causing a major row over. I wanted to help him, to hear him, to lift him out of the ever-increasing lows that he seemed to be experiencing lately.
‘Look, I know I’ve said it before, but do you think it’s time for a visit to the GP? There might be some medications that can help your mood.’
‘Don’t you think we’ve been spending enough time at the GP and hospital clinics lately?’
I knew he was referring to the IVF we’d been investigating. I also knew that, to Will, it seemed a whole lot of bother and expense if our allotted NHS treatments failed and we had to go private, especially when he seemed convinced that nature should be allowed to take its course. The upshot was, I wasn’t sure he really wanted a baby at all.
‘Mmm,’ I said, responding to Will’s touch as we held each other on the cottage sofa. The logs popped and crackled on the fire, while the smell of chicken roasting in a white wine and tarragon sauce filtered through from the tiny kitchen. Will had scoffed when he’d first seen the kitchen space, wondering how we were going to even make a bowl of cereal in there, but I assured him that with the ingredients I’d brought and a few utensils, I could still whip up a one-pot feast each night. And sometimes we could eat at the local pub.
I wrapped a leg over his as he pulled me close, trying not to think of the cooking time left – probably around forty-five minutes, maybe an hour if we wanted it really well done. Plenty of time to get close. Frankly, at that moment I didn’t care if we ate at all. I just wanted my husband – all of him – and I wanted him to want me, too.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ Will said, sliding his hands over my breasts. I manoeuvred myself into a sitting position astride him, looking down into his big dark eyes as he held me. The way he looked, the way he made me feel… no one else had ever come close. I only hoped he felt the same as he unbuttoned my blouse…
Stop! I heard myself scream. It had come out of nowhere. I jolted, gasping.
When I looked up, Will was suddenly across the other side of the room – almost as if I’d flung him there – standing beside the fireplace, arms folded, glaring at me although I could still feel his touch on me, still felt the effect he had on my body. I was confused, didn’t know where I was. Where he was. I screwed up my eyes, only wanting to live for the moment, to enjoy the sensation, to enjoy my husband, praying that this would be the month we conceived. Not live for the nightmares I – and Will too – had been having. Since that night.
The party – at Annabel’s apartment, Will on his phone the whole time, seeming detached, not wanting me with him in the first place, grabbing me by the arm, leaving abruptly, the journey home…
I sucked in a lungful of air – unsure if it was because of what Will was doing to me beneath me on the sofa, or because of the memories of that night. His hands were all over me, mine all over him – our mouths searching each other out, our bodies responding and eager.
Curtains. I remembered the curtains at the front window that night after we’d got back home, shaken. Once inside, I’d pulled them back an inch or two, peeking out as Will tapped at the front wing of the car with the mallet, getting beneath the wheel arch, carefully knocking out the dent before wiping it down with a cloth after he’d liberally sprayed most of it with whatever he’d found in the understairs cupboard. But the dent wasn’t gone. I could see that from my watching place. And neither were the scratches and scrapes. Far from it. I could see it would take far more than a rag.
It must have been a huge deer, I remembered thinking as I looked on. And while our house was near the edge of town, close to a wooded area, I’d never once encountered a deer. Of course, I hadn’t been able to look at its remains.
‘Oh my God!’ I said – unsure if I was saying it now, on the sofa, or in the passenger seat of the car that night as I was flung forward, my head almost hitting the dashboard.
At the time, on the way back from the part
y, I’d been fast asleep and, for some reason, the airbag hadn’t gone off, though my seat belt had done its job, leaving me with a pain in my shoulder and weeks of stiffness in my neck afterwards. I had no idea where I was or what had happened. It was dark. It was cold. It was silent, yet the sound of a thousand screams filled my mind. Had I been asleep for hours? Was I in bed? Why was I freezing, completely blindsided by whatever had just happened?
‘Oh Will…’ I heard myself saying, still unsure where I was.
In the car?
Or on the sofa?
Either way, it didn’t matter. The man I loved most was beside me, making everything better. As he always had done.
Thirty-Eight
Now
‘I heard you up and about,’ Jo says as Suzanne comes into the kitchen. ‘I have no idea what you like for breakfast, but I thought I’d take a guess.’ Jo turns to check the grill. ‘There’s toast, eggs, bacon… tea, or coffee if you prefer.’
Suzanne stands there a moment, wearing a brightly patterned kimono loosely tied around her waist. ‘All of that,’ she says, smiling while still looking not quite there. ‘You’re an angel,’ she adds. ‘Not sure what I did to deserve a house-sitter like you, but while you’re here, I’ll run with it.’ She laughs, greeting Spangle as he runs up to her, stomping about at her feet.
‘I walked him earlier,’ Jo says. ‘A good run. And he and Bonnie are fed. I found a brush and, much to Bonnie’s disgust, took to her coat with it. I hope that’s OK.’
Suzanne looks at her. ‘Jo, right now anything is OK. I feel as though all my hangovers from time immemorial have conspired against me to gather on this day. So walks, eggs, brushing and coffee…’ she raises an appreciative hand, makes a face, ‘are all absolutely fine with me.’
Jo serves what she’s cooked onto two warmed plates. She pours coffee and they both sit down at the table.
The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 21
