The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘I was worried about you last night,’ Jo says. ‘You’ve had quite a few of your episodes since you arrived home.’ She passes Suzanne the butter dish. ‘I can’t help wondering if I’m responsible, if my presence is triggering something in you. You said several times that you felt you knew me, and when I showed you pictures of my best friend, it kicked off again.’

  Suzanne holds up her hands in a halt sign. ‘Let’s just enjoy this, shall we? And thank you.’

  Jo nods, frustrated. ‘Simon was concerned about you, too,’ Jo says, cutting up her food.

  Suzanne glances up. ‘Simon doesn’t know everything.’ She keeps hold of Jo’s gaze as she sips her coffee.

  She’s more confident today, Jo thinks. The sleep has done her good. Is she on to you? Does she know why you’re here?

  ‘I’m sorry if I bored you yesterday,’ Suzanne says, buttering her toast. ‘With all my acting memorabilia. It’s the only thing I’ve got to hold onto these days, a reminder of when my life was whole.’

  ‘I understand,’ Jo says, feeling quite the opposite.

  ‘There’s more I wanted to show you,’ she says, making an approving face at her breakfast. ‘If you can stand it,’ she adds with an embarrassed laugh. ‘It does me good, believe it or not.’

  Bring it on, Jo thinks. Let’s have it all. Let’s see pictures of you and Will together, laughing, being happy, making a future together. Laughing at me…

  Then Jo’s mind switches back to that last break she and Will took together in the tiny cottage – the pair of them on the sofa, entwined and oblivious. But it was what had happened after they’d made love that first night that had stuck with Jo the most. Never mind that their week of focusing on each other, on hoping and praying that they’d somehow make another life – a new life – had failed. No, it was some hours after they’d finished, each of them glowing, throwing on whatever clothes were to hand, stoking the fire again before stumbling, warm and content, into the tiny kitchen to retrieve and eat the chicken Jo had put on earlier – that the nightmare had begun properly.

  Neither of them had slept well that night – with Will tossing and turning, sweating and thrashing in his sleep. And he’d been sleep-talking, too – entire conversations, which to begin with meant nothing to Jo. Despite her gently trying to wake him – he was so deeply asleep, so deeply immersed in whatever was playing out in his mind – it was as if she wasn’t there at all.

  She tried to sleep but every time she dropped off, Will would stiffen, reaching out and ripping the sheets off her, twisting them around his body as the terrified noises in his throat burst out of him. Each time, his distress grew worse, his head turning from side to side, his eyes screwing up, forming a deep frown just visible in the darkness. The cottage was so remote that there were no street lights or light pollution, so Jo had left the landing light on in case they’d needed the bathroom in the night.

  Will’s legs rose up then dropped down onto the mattress, pulling Jo back from the brink of sleep yet again.

  ‘Noo-ooo…’ he moaned. ‘No, get away…’

  ‘Will?’ Jo said, holding his arm. But he whipped it away from her.

  ‘I said get away, don’t come near me… Leave us alone… Don’t hurt…’ His jaw was tight and tense, his teeth clamped together as he gulped in air.

  ‘Who mustn’t come near, Will?’ Jo asked in a soothing voice, hoping to elicit some kind of clue as to what was tormenting him.

  ‘She… she mustn’t. Keep away… Noo-oo…’ His words were broken and slurred, but Jo could make them out well enough.

  ‘Is she going to hurt you, Will?’

  Will shook his head, made a low noise that sounded like ‘No’.

  ‘Who is she going to hurt, Will?’

  More thrashing and tossing as Jo caught sight of the sweat pouring from his body.

  ‘Who, Will? Who is going to hurt who?’

  Will moaned, almost on the brink of crying. Jo had never heard him like this before.

  ‘My wife. She’s going to hurt my wife…’

  Jo shivered, suddenly chilled to the bone. He was talking as if she wasn’t there, as if he was in a different place entirely.

  ‘Well, that doesn’t sound good,’ she said, cajoling him. ‘Tell me, who’s going to hurt your wife, Will?’ Jo clutched her arms around her body.

  He made some unintelligible noises then and, for a moment, Jo thought he’d gone back to sleep and was about to give up questioning him, thinking it was just some random nightmare that he wouldn’t even remember in the morning.

  But Will suddenly sat bolt upright, staring straight ahead, the white cotton sheet a start contrast against his dark skin in the half-light as he knotted it in his fists.

  ‘I thought I’d killed her,’ he whispered, his voice quivering. And it was then that Jo saw the tears streaming down his face.

  Thirty-Nine

  Jo clears the breakfast things away while Suzanne finishes her coffee.

  ‘I’ve got this whole stash of things upstairs,’ Suzanne says, her eyes tracking Jo around the kitchen. ‘One thing I learnt from the clinic is that after injuries like mine, facing our past by looking over things such as old photos can really help – even if we don’t realise it consciously. It’s so hard to describe, but it feels as if all the missing pieces of my life – and I’m talking about the time around the accident – are so close yet so far. Every time I reach out to take back the memories, they slide a little further away. It makes me think I’m going mad.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not,’ Jo says, shutting the dishwasher door after adding a tablet. Her heart thumps. I’ve got this whole stash of things upstairs… ‘But I think it’s probably time for me to leave you in peace now. For me to go home. Let you go over the old times by yourself.’

  ‘No, don’t go,’ Suzanne quickly replies. She grips the edge of the table, her eyes intense. ‘Please. I… I like your company. Let me go and dig out these other photos. I don’t know why, but I just have a feeling you’d be interested. They’re up in the spare room. I keep all my private stuff locked in there. Being away so much and having sitters in, I need a secure place.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jo says, swallowing. ‘How about we walk Spangle first, though? Like, right now?’ Jo suggests, hoping at least that Suzanne will forget the photos and anything else in the locked room if she’s distracted.

  ‘But he’s already had a walk, you said?’ Suzanne laughs, giving the dog a rub on his back as he trots past. ‘I’ll give you a shout when I’ve found it all,’ she says, pulling her robe around her, heading off upstairs.

  OK, you need a plan, Jo… and fast. She’ll see things are out of place and notice Simon’s keys on the bed. Just deny, deny, deny… She has no proof…

  ‘Jo…’ she hears Suzanne call out a few minutes later. ‘Come up here.’

  ‘I’m just finishing clearing up, then I’d better get organised and head off,’ Jo replies, her voice croaking.

  She paces about. The last thing she wants is to be in the spare room with photos of Will everywhere.

  ‘Come on, it’ll only take a moment,’ Suzanne calls out again, but sounding closer this time. She’s leaning over the bannisters. ‘Please?’ Her tone is begging.

  ‘OK,’ Jo says, knowing she has no choice.

  Just get it over with, she thinks, heading up. Then get out, get home.

  ‘Get what over with?’ Suzanne says, standing in the bedroom doorway, clutching a shoebox with photos spilling out from under the lid.

  ‘I – I… oh, nothing…’ Jo trails off, knowing she’s making everything worse.

  ‘Come and look,’ Suzanne says, beckoning her into the bedroom and sitting on the bed. She grabs a batch of pictures from the top of the box. ‘Spangle as a baby. Wasn’t he the cutest?’

  Jo tentatively steps inside, her eyes drawn to the keys half hidden in the bedding behind Suzanne. ‘Oh, he certainly was,’ she says as Suzanne flicks through a pile of photos of him gambolling along the bea
ch. Then she can’t help but glance over at the dressing table by the window, bracing herself for being faced with Will – his face staring out at her, praying she’d put them back in approximately the right place after swiping them all off.

  But the pictures are gone. The dressing table looks like… any normal dressing table, albeit minus the broken perfume bottle.

  Jo touches her head, frowning. Will… where are you? She looks around the room. No sign of him.

  ‘All these were taken before my accident,’ Suzanne says. ‘I remember them all. Happy times.’ She grabs another handful of photos, all mixed up with newspaper clippings and theatre programmes and professional headshots of herself. ‘I always get the best of my digital photos printed out from my phone, but I really must sort them into albums.’

  ‘They’re lovely,’ Jo says, feigning interest in a couple of the pictures. She just wants to go. ‘I’d better pack my stuff up now.’

  ‘Wait, there are more over here…’ Suzanne says, standing and walking across the carpet. ‘Ouch,’ she says suddenly, bending down. She lifts her foot, inspecting the sole. ‘Glass?’ she says, wincing as she pulls out the shard. ‘That’s odd,’ she says, holding up the piece. She rubs her hand lightly over the carpet, picking out other small fragments.

  ‘Would you like me to fetch the vacuum cleaner?’ Jo asks. ‘I can give it a quick going-over.’

  ‘No… it’s OK,’ Suzanne says, trailing off, looking puzzled. She puts the glass in the bin, frowning, and sits down again, spreading more pictures out on the bed. ‘Come and look,’ she says, patting the bed.

  Nervously, Jo does as she’s told, knowing that right now, there’s no way out without appearing suspicious.

  ‘I don’t really remember these ones. I have a vague memory of a couple, but it could be my imagination,’ Suzanne says, tossing photo after photo onto the bed between them – almost as if Jo’s not there.

  Jo picks a couple of them up. ‘Looks like a party,’ she whispers, wishing she could zoom in, like on a phone screen.

  ‘I can’t for the life of me remember which party, though. Do you know how frustrating that is? All my brain tells me is that I can date this batch close to the time of my accident.’

  But Jo is silent, doesn’t know what to say as she flicks through the rest of the shots. Wherever they were taken is dark and the quality isn’t good, but it’s enough for her to recognise the party as the same one that she and Will went to at that city apartment in Birmingham. There’s a woman in several of the photos whose dress she distinctly remembers – it was stunning and she’d made a mental note of the design for her own reference. Of course, anything to do with the actual event was overshadowed by what happened later, on the way home.

  ‘Annabel…’ Jo barely whispers. ‘It was Annabel’s party.’

  Suzanne whips the photo out of her hand, glares at Jo. ‘Annabel?’ she says. ‘Who’s Annabel?’ Her voice is suddenly demanding and sharp. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘I… I don’t know, to be honest. Someone I… someone I used to know was invited and I went along. But we left early.’

  Suzanne flips frantically from one photo to the next as if the answers to all her missing memories will be found in there. When she comes across one in particular, she stops, touching her head, her breath quickening. Jo lets out a little gasp when she sees the picture of Will, her hand going over her mouth.

  ‘Suzanne… are you OK? Can you hear me?’ While she’s not passed out or hyperventilating, it’s as though she’s completely left her body, just the shell of her remaining. Nothing inside.

  Get out, get home…

  ‘Speak to me, Suzanne,’ Jo says, taking her by the shoulders. The photo of Will lies between them, staring up as though one eye is on her, the other on his other woman.

  Jo feels sick, but she can hardly leave Suzanne in this state. As much as she might feel like clawing her eyes out, if Will had been deceiving her all that time, pretending he was single, then it’s hardly Suzanne’s fault. She’s as much a victim as she is.

  ‘Suzanne, please say something or I’ll have to get Simon.’

  Nothing. She’s stiff and unmoving, her eyes glassy and vacant. She stares straight ahead. Jo feels that if she gently nudged her, she’d topple over.

  ‘Let me get you safe and lying down, then,’ Jo says, easing her down onto the bed. Once her head is on the pillow, she lifts her legs onto the mattress, feeling something rustle and crinkle beneath the duvet at the end. When she pulls it back, she sees all the pictures of Will that were on the dressing table. Suzanne must have hidden them just before she came in.

  She knows who you are, Jo. Get help from Simon then get out… go home…

  Jo turns to leave but stops in the doorway, going back and grabbing the spare keys off the bed. She shoves them in her pocket and heads downstairs.

  Forty

  Hurriedly, Jo goes into the rear bedroom and grabs her suitcase, laying it on the bed. She opens the wardrobe and pulls the few things she’d hung up off the hangers, shoving them in the bag, not bothering to fold them. Then she whips several items from an empty drawer she’d used, dumping them on top of the other stuff. She has a few bits of make-up and some toiletries in the bathroom which she collects up as fast as she can, stuffing them into her washbag, not caring that it won’t zip up properly. Her hands shake as she unplugs her phone charger, throws that in too, along with the book she was reading, her hairbrush, a couple of pairs of shoes on the floor. She shuts the lid, cramming everything in, squashing it down as she forces the zip on the suitcase closed.

  ‘Coat and trainers,’ she whispers, knowing they’re downstairs, along with her handbag and scarf. She doesn’t really care if she’s forgotten anything, as long as she has her phone, purse and keys. Herself.

  She quickly checks in on Suzanne, who is lying in exactly the same position, staring at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling slowly with her steady breaths. Jo lugs the bag downstairs, bumping it down each step, leaving it in the hallway as she retrieves her other belongings and laces up her trainers.

  She shuts Spangle in the kitchen so he doesn’t try to follow her out, knowing that both he and Bonnie have been fed and have water. Then she gathers her keys, phone and bag and heads out to the car, dragging her suitcase awkwardly across the gravel.

  It’s as she’s heaving it in the boot that her phone rings.

  ‘Hi, Lou,’ she says breathily, scratching the back of her car as she tries to get the case in with one hand. Her heart is thumping. ‘Thank God it’s you. Look, I don’t know what’s going on here but I’m getting the hell out. Suzanne’s gone all weird. She’s been showing me pictures of Will as if I’m supposed to say something or react. And she gets these crazy episodes where her character changes entirely. It feels… dangerous. She’s upstairs right now, refusing to speak. Just lying on her back staring at the ceiling. And there’s the shrine and the keys and all the broken glass on the carpet I missed and it’s not right, and I’m getting Simon to look after her then I’m…’ Jo stops, slowing herself. ‘Christ, I’m sorry Lou. I’m so self-absorbed right now. Are you OK? How’s the baby, and the blood pressure? I’ll come and see you tomorrow when I’m back.’

  Silence down the line.

  Jo shuts the boot then heads out onto the lane to go next door, praying that Simon is home. She jumps back onto the narrow pavement as a car speeds round the corner only a foot or so from her.

  ‘Lou?’ She goes onto Simon’s property, up his drive. Thankfully, his car is there.

  ‘Not great, to be honest,’ Louise says. ‘Archie and I have had another fight.’

  ‘Oh Lou…’ Jo replies, going up to Simon’s door and ringing the bell. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. Have you been working still? Did he find out?’ Jo’s almost glad, hopes he has. If anyone can get Louise to slow down in her last couple of weeks of pregnancy, it’s him.

  ‘Found out?’ she says. ‘Oh… yes. He did. And he’s not pleased. He ordered strict bed rest an
d took my laptop from me. I was in the middle of a crucial case and he wouldn’t even let me hand over to my colleague. Hence… hence the row,’ she adds. ‘I’m so relieved you’re coming back. That woman sounds unhinged, if you ask me. And I need my bestie beside me these next couple of weeks.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have me right beside you when the baby comes,’ Jo says. When Simon doesn’t answer the door, she knocks hard, ringing the bell again. ‘Damn, doesn’t look like the neighbour’s home, Lou. I can hardly leave Suzanne like she is. She’s in a state. I’ll have to call a doctor or something.’

  Feeling torn, Jo turns to go back to Suzanne’s just as a car pulls into the drive.

  At first, she doesn’t realise what it means, doesn’t take it on board fully, her mind caught up somewhere between babies, finding Simon and getting help for Suzanne – as well as getting on the road home. Getting out of here.

  She knows something’s wrong with what she’s seeing – something very wrong – but, for a few seconds, her brain doesn’t register the implications, perhaps protecting her a few moments longer.

  But then it does sink in. As though a thousand pieces of a jigsaw puzzle have fallen from the sky, landing at her feet and all fitting perfectly together.

  Simon gets out of the yellow and blue chequered police car, wearing full uniform. He grins when he sees Jo.

  ‘Good timing,’ he says. ‘I’ve just got off shift. Got time for a cuppa?’

  Jo sits at Simon’s kitchen table, barely able to speak. She may as well be wearing handcuffs. So far, she’s only uttered a ‘yes’ and managed a couple of nods. She feels tiny, stupid, terrified and has never wanted to go home to her empty house more than she does now. When she gets back, she vows to shut the door and never open it to a single soul as long as she lives. She doesn’t even care what happened to Will any more, doesn’t care if he’s dead or alive or if he’s with another woman or not. All she knows is that he didn’t want her. And she just wants to be alone. Forever.