The Bride: A twisty and completely gripping psychological thriller

by Wendy Clarke

  That’s why I’d been so relieved when I let myself into Eloise’s apartment and realised she’d gone. I’d only popped in to have a snoop around, waiting until the time I knew she always took her dog for a walk. Imagine my surprise when I saw her suicide note stuck to the fridge with a magnet along with a photograph of me and Alice. I’d recognised it straight away as the one I had on my own fridge door, but how it had come to be there I had no idea. As I’d read her words, I’d felt sad – of course I had – but there was a little part of me that had felt glad too. What Eloise had done was evidence of how much I’d meant to her. Evidence too of how Alice’s visit had affected more people than I thought.

  What I wanted to do was have a hot shower, wash my hair and dress myself in some of Eloise’s clean clothes, but of course I couldn’t. Instead, I’d gone into her bedroom and locked the door, falling asleep as soon as my head hit her pillow. What would Alice have thought if she’d known I was only a heartbeat away from her when she’d stopped by? Or that only a few hours later, I’d be on my way to the police station?

  Putting my ear to my own apartment door, I think I hear something. A muffled sob. It comes again, but this time it’s the sound of a scared and wounded animal. I smile, placing the flat of my hand against the wood. I know it’s Alice who’s in distress. I know she needs me. The realisation floods my body with warmth, every instinct making me want to go to her. But I fight it. A few more minutes won’t hurt.

  The sweet smell of tobacco in the corridor is more pungent than I remember, but I like it. It reminds me of the stories Mark liked to tell me of the docks when they were still full of life. A time when the black water of the wharf was full of tall ships and a hangman’s gibbet stood proudly on the quayside waiting to welcome the traitors.

  Outside the window, at the end of the corridor, the sky is the pale milky blue of dawn, the black bulk of the warehouse next to ours, silhouetted against it. Smiling to myself, I take Eloise’s letter from my back pocket and unfold the page. It’s just light enough to make out the words.

  Leaning my back against the door, knowing that Alice is on the other side of it, I read Eloise’s letter for the second time.

  Dear Joanna,

  I don’t know where you are and, to be honest, I don’t really care now I know our friendship meant so little. Once, you made me feel special, helped me pull myself out of the dark place I was in, but I see myself now for what I really was – nothing more than another of your little projects.

  It was never about helping me, was it? It was about how good it made you feel to be needed. Being there when I was at my lowest ebb was your way of controlling me, wasn’t it? And when I started to get better, less dependent, you dropped me for someone weaker. Another fool who would look up to you as I did. Poor Nathan.

  I expect you’ll be surprised to hear that we met. He knocked on my door and told me who he was. How you’d helped him when his life was spiralling out of control. He looked bad, Joanna. Really rough. He said he knew all about our special friendship. That you’d told him… only it wasn’t that special, was it? There was someone else who meant more to you than either of us, and that person wasn’t Mark. Nathan gave me the photograph of you and Alice – said there were more in your apartment. Hundreds of them. That you were obsessed. He wanted to hurt me – it’s what jealousy does to you.

  Only I knew already. I’d met Alice briefly and had seen it in the way her eyes lit up when she talked about you. It’s a shame, as she seemed nice, and, in some ways, not unlike me. We were both blinkered. Both naïve. It was clever of you to know the right time to click your fingers and have her running back. It’s like you have a sixth sense that tells you when someone is at a low point in their lives. Just like me. Just like that poor kid who thinks you’ve replaced his dead mother. Now he’s clean and getting his act together, have you thought what will happen to him when you dump him too? Yes, of course you have. I just hope he doesn’t blame himself for what I’m going to do. It wasn’t the photograph that did it. I’m just tired of life. Everything’s turned dark again.

  I don’t know where you’ve gone, but when you get back, I’ll be gone too. I’ve taken Pixie with me. Someone will find her, and if not, she’ll make her way home in time. Hopefully, she’ll find someone who loves her as much as I do.

  If you’re reading this, it means that in the end I was the strong one. I broke away from you… not the other way round.

  Eloise

  Forty-Eight

  Alice

  I hear a knock. Once, twice. A third time. So quiet, I can barely hear it. I hold my breath, but there’s nothing more. The minutes tick by, and I wait, my forehead resting on my bent knees, listening to the silence.

  Please. Please. Just go.

  Is he still out there? And, if so, what is he doing? I imagine him leaning against the brick wall, a cigarette in his hand, waiting for me to get bored. Waiting for me to open the door and look out. Or maybe he’s gone. In some strange way, the not knowing is worse. Panic is taking hold of me. He knows I can’t stay in the apartment forever.

  Slowly, I stand and move aside the brass cover of the spyhole. I’m just pressing my eye to it when the knock comes again, making me jump. But it’s not this that sends my pulse racing, it’s who I see standing in the corridor.

  Grabbing at the chain, I slide it back so quickly my skin catches on the sharp metal edge. Using my other hand to unlock the door, I pull it open, sucking at the cut on my finger.

  ‘Joanna!’

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing. She’s here. She’s back. Standing like a lost soul on the doorstep, her dark hair freshly washed and shiny, her face deathly pale. She’s wearing clothes that look too large for her as though they’re not her own. Stepping forward, I pull her into a hug, tears of relief running down my face, feeling her heart beat against mine. It’s only now she’s here in the flesh, not just in my memory, that I realise how much I’ve missed her.

  Standing back, I take in her pale, heart-shaped face. The shadows under her green eyes. ‘Oh my God! What happened to you? Where have you been?’

  Joanna looks over her shoulder. ‘Not here.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Come in. You look tired… I’ll make some tea.’

  She stares at me, and I realise how stupid my words must sound. Joanna has escaped from God knows where, and I’m inviting her in as though it’s my apartment and she the visitor.

  Saying nothing, Joanna steps inside. She has nothing with her. No bag. No coat.

  I start to walk to the kitchen, then stop. Why am I acting as though everything is normal when it’s not? Coming back, I take her hand in mine, my fingers tightening around hers. ‘I can’t stand not knowing. You must tell me where you’ve been.’

  Joanna doesn’t move. Just stands and looks beyond me, her eyes roving over the dining table, the settees, the kitchen island with its stainless steel counter. Her free hand moves to her hair, her fingers drawing back a strand that she tucks behind her ear. It’s then I see the thin gold band on her wedding finger. In my relief at seeing Joanna, I’ve forgotten about Mark.

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you, Joanna. It’s not good. Maybe you should sit down.’

  Putting an arm around her, I lead her to the purple settee and gently make her sit, just like the policewoman did with me earlier. I sit beside her, our knees touching, like we’re children again pressing close to one another, still trying to come to terms with the fact that she’s really here.

  Joanna lowers her eyes. Clasps one hand with the other, her knuckles whitening. ‘I know about Mark, if that’s what you were going to tell me, Alice.’

  ‘You know?’

  She nods. ‘The police told me about the accident. They thought, being his wife, it was something I ought to know.’

  I put my own hand on top of hers, wondering if I imagined the emphasis she put on the word wife. ‘It will take a while, but he’ll be all right. I’m sure he will.’ I give her fingers a reassuring squeeze. ‘I w
ent to see him in the hospital.’

  Her eyes lock with mine. ‘They told me that too.’

  ‘Yes. I was worried. I…’

  ‘Of course, you were. Why wouldn’t you be?’ Joanna rubs at her wrist. There’s a faint welt around it like a bracelet. The other one has it too.

  ‘Your wrists? What happened?’

  Joanna doesn’t answer. Pulling the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands, she gets up and walks to the window. There’s a pale tangerine glow to the sky, but it only serves to accentuate the velvet darkness of the river. On a morning like this, it’s easy to see how Black Water Dock got its name.

  ‘You need to know the truth,’ Joanna says eventually.

  Her back is to me, and I notice how her dark hair is longer than it used to be, falling to just below her shoulders. It suits her. It brings back a memory. We’re sitting on her bed, in our halls of residence, and I’m drawing a brush through the fine, straight strands. Following it with my hand, mesmerised by its shine.

  I hold my breath. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was Mark who did it. He knocked me unconscious, then locked me in an industrial unit by the river.’

  I stare at her. Not comprehending what she’s saying. I think of Mark – the man who welcomed me into his apartment and cooked me a meal even though he hadn’t a clue who I was. The man who did everything he could to scrape together the money to pay off Joanna’s captives. Who loved her enough to marry her without a second thought after only a few weeks, just because it was what she wanted.

  ‘I don’t understand. He can’t have. You’re lying.’

  Her voice catches. ‘I wish I was.’

  I study Joanna’s face. In all the years we’ve known each other, she might have had her faults, but she’s never lied to me. In some ways, she’s been too honest.

  ‘Oh, Jesus.’ Can it really be true? I try to picture it but can’t. ‘Where was this unit?’

  Joanna turns her profile to the window, points her finger at the glass, her face a picture of misery. ‘It was further along the dock. Near the Devil’s Staircase. He rented the unit to store the contents of his ex-wife’s house after he sold it.’

  That first day, when Mark had shown me the ancient mildewed steps with their iron rings embedded into the stone, we’d passed by several units to let amongst the derelict buildings. How had Joanna been in one of them without me knowing it? Feeling it? I feel sick to my stomach.

  ‘But it can’t have been Mark. He received a ransom note. Someone was asking him for money for your safe return.’

  I watch Joanna run her finger down the glass, hoping that her face will give away that this has all been a big joke.

  It doesn’t. Instead, she’s looking at me as though I’m the biggest fool alive.

  Forty-Nine

  Joanna

  I shake my head. ‘Oh, Alice. You’re so naïve. Don’t you see? Mark sent that note to himself.’

  Alice stares at me stupidly. ‘He can’t have. It’s not possible.’

  ‘And why do you think that?’ I wait, genuinely interested to hear her answer.

  Her hands are loose at her sides. She looks helpless. ‘Because I know him.’

  I want to laugh, but something tells me it’s better that I don’t. ‘You’ve only just met him and, besides, you’ve never been a very good judge of character, have you?’

  A phone rings, breaking into my thoughts. It’s an upbeat tune, something that’s in the charts, and it takes a moment to realise it’s my mobile that’s ringing. The one the police gave me. Taking it from my pocket, I answer it.

  ‘Hello? No, don’t worry, you didn’t wake me up. I wasn’t asleep.’ I look across at Alice, my face impassive. ‘Yes, I see. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I turn and hold my hands out to her. Palms upturned. The pink tender skin on my wrists exposed. ‘He tied me up, Alice. Left me alone in the dark.’

  Alice’s hand rises to her throat, her fingers hovering at the soft dip between her collarbones. ‘The dark?’

  ‘It was awful,’ I carry on. ‘I was so scared.’

  I cover my face with my hands, guessing that Alice wants to come over and comfort me, wondering if she will. When she doesn’t, I wonder whether it’s because she’s not used to this role reversal. She’s used to me being the strong one.

  ‘But why?’ Alice remains where she is, her head bent, forehead creased. ‘Wouldn’t it have been better if he’d sent the note to your parents?’

  ‘My parents?’ I know my voice is incredulous. Why would she think that? ‘Fuck all they care about me. It would be like getting blood out of a stone. No, his plan was different. This way, when it was all over, he would look like the victim.’

  Alice’s head shoots up. ‘What do you mean when it was all over? Christ, Joanna. What did you think Mark was going to do? Surely you can’t think…’ The words stick in her mouth.

  ‘You don’t know him, Alice. You don’t know what he’s capable of. If it wasn’t for the fact he was in hospital, I would have been too scared to come back here. The police know. They’ve sent officers to the ward.’ Walking back to the settee, I sit beside her again.

  Alice stares ahead, her arms wrapped around her body. ‘Do you really mean to say that for a week I’ve been sharing the apartment with a monster?’ She shudders at the thought.

  ‘I was so scared for you, knowing that I’d invited you here and as a result you’d be here… with him. Part of me hoped that you’d just turn around and go back home when you found I wasn’t here, but the other part of me knew you were my only hope.’ I take her hands in mine, remembering the feel of them. ‘Knowing you wouldn’t let me down was what kept me strong. I knew that if you stayed, you’d realise something was wrong and eventually see through Mark’s lies.’

  Yet we both know she hadn’t. Even now, I’m not sure she completely believes he could do what he did. And that’s the thing I’m uncertain about. The thing that’s been puzzling me. At no point during my interview with the police did they mention the demand for money. No one showed me a ransom note.

  I picture the sheet of paper, the words written in red ink. Each one formed from the little wooden blocks with their rubber letters, which I’d pressed into the moistened ink pad. I’d found the printing set in a box in the unit, along with other toys belonging to Nathan, though why he hadn’t got rid of them I don’t know. It was what had given me the idea – the perfect way to prove how much Mark loved me.

  Could it be that the police don’t know about the note? That no one told them? I need to make sure it stays that way. Things have escalated since the day I left. Going to the police had never been part of the plan, but when Mark didn’t deliver the money to the chapel, my disappointment had been crushing. I’d wanted to punish him for not loving me enough.

  Punish him for Alice too.

  To expect the police to believe Mark sent the ransom note to himself is a step too far without her help; I need her to believe too. I never thought anyone other than my husband would read it, but if it’s found, it could be easy to link it to me.

  Alice looks uncertain, as though she’s still trying to decide what to believe. She’s perched on the very edge of the settee, her back ramrod straight, watching me with nervous eyes. I have to up my game.

  ‘It was so cold,’ I continue. ‘So dark in there. No windows to let in any light. The only sound was the scratching of the rats. I was terrified they’d run over my face as I slept.’

  Alice turns away from me… from my words. Not wanting to hear. Not wanting a picture to form. What I’m telling her is taking her back to a place she doesn’t want to remember. I know I should stop, that to carry on is dangerous, but I can’t. I’ve missed that look on her face. The fear in her eyes. Her lip caught between her teeth.

  At first, my voice is flat, but as I carry on, it becomes more animated. I’m picturing the place of my captivity, describing it as though it’s a scen
e from a film.

  ‘Each morning, I’d wake, and it would be as dark as it was when I fell asleep. It made my skin crawl, but at least then I knew I was still alive. I’d press the palms of my hands against the wall. Move them along until I felt the place where the door was. Pounding with my fists in the hope that someone might hear me.’

  I can see from Alice’s face that she’s there again, in that garage at the end of my parents’ gravel drive. Her fist raw from trying to make someone hear. From wanting me to hear.

  ‘Stop it. Please.’ Her voice is a plea.

  Taking her gently by the shoulders, I turn her so she’s facing me again. Her pupils are dilated with horror. I can’t stop. My power over her intoxicating. ‘And with every minute, every hour, the suffocating darkness would press in on me until at last I knew, with absolute certainty, that I’d gone blind. That my fear was slowly shutting down each part of my body and I was going to die.’

  Our eyes are locked, and I feel the shiver that runs through her body, making her shoulders shudder.

  I think she’s going to break down, fall into my waiting arms as she always used to in times of distress, but she doesn’t. Instead, she stands, and it’s only when I see the look of disgust in her eyes that I realise I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  Fifty

  Alice

  I stare at her.

  These are my words. The ones I used all those years ago, sitting in her parents’ living room, a cup of sweet tea in my hand to help me get over the shock.

  I think of Mark in his hospital bed. How desperate he’d been to find the money. The effort it took to control his trembling lip as he’d told me Joanna was missing. If I was going to fake my distress, I’d have put on more of a show – sobbed and pulled at my hair. And what about the silent tears that soaked the collar of his shirt? The tiny red blood vessels that reddened the whites of his eyes? The desperation in his voice? No… they were real.