Til Death Do Us Part: A gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist

by Daniel Hurst

  Continue a life of boring comfort? Or enter a whole new world, of which there will be no coming back from?

  One thing is for sure; I can’t wait to get home and see my wife.

  9

  MEGAN

  Every couple has disagreements. That doesn’t mean that there is anything wrong with the relationship. I think it is healthy to occasionally argue with your spouse. It shows that there is still passion between the pair of you. But Craig and I have not disagreed on many things during our relationship. We agreed on a small, intimate wedding. We agreed to move down south. We agreed to buy this house in the countryside. And we agreed that I should quit my job and put my feet up. But now we have something to disagree on.

  I want to go to the interview on Wednesday.

  And Craig doesn’t think it is a good idea.

  Unfortunately, that meant that we had a bit of an argument. It was nothing too crazy. There were no raised voices or smashed plates. But it has become clear that we aren’t on the same page when it comes to me finding a job again.

  I can hear Craig in the kitchen, loading up the dishwasher with all the dirty plates from our evening meal. The takeaway was delicious, though the novelty of it was slightly spoilt by the fact that Craig is not as thrilled about my upcoming interview as I am. He seemed genuinely surprised when I told him that I had already heard back from one of the companies whom I had applied too, and he had given me a hug to tell me that he was proud. But then he had gone quiet during the meal, and I could tell that something was wrong. He had been halfway through his Beef Chow Mein when he had told me what it was.

  He doesn’t want me to go back to work.

  He said that while I might like the idea of it now, I would regret it in the long term. He told me about his terrible journey home tonight and how he had been crammed into a train after another one had been cancelled. He told me how tired the early starts made him and how much stress came with working full-time in London. Then he told me that he didn’t want me to have to go through all of that.

  Honestly, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world sometimes. My husband cares about me so much that he doesn’t want me to lift a finger. Instead, he is the one who goes out and grinds through a long week in the office so that I don’t have to. I know many women would kill to have a man like him in their lives. But I explained to Craig how I missed having something to do all day other than sleep, shop and watch television. I also explained how I miss interacting with other people on a daily basis and how I would like to make a few new friends, so he isn’t the only person I ever get to talk too. And most of all, I told him how bored and lonely I felt sitting in the house all day in the middle of nowhere while he was at work.

  But I think it was the last part that upset him the most.

  He had shaken his head and headed back into the kitchen, taking his food with him. I had heard him opening a new bottle of wine, but he hadn’t shared any of it with me. Instead, he had sat there and finished his meal alone as if he was some wounded animal who wanted to be by himself.

  Maybe I should have followed him in there, but I chose to stay where I was on the sofa, finishing my own meal and finishing my own bottle of wine. I know I shouldn’t have drunk so much of it myself, but I am feeling a little downbeat after what just happened.

  I had hoped Craig would be thrilled with my news and want me to tell him everything about the potential job I had lined up. Instead, he seems to be sulking about it, which I can understand because he had no idea how unhappy I have been feeling lately. I guess he looks at it like I have been keeping a secret from him, pretending to be happy with things when in reality I was miserable all day. I know I should have told him how I felt sooner because I can see now how it might seem like a betrayal to have kept it from him for so long. But now he knows, and I had hoped he would have been more understanding.

  But the fact that I can hear him crashing around in the kitchen tells me he is still annoyed.

  Finishing my glass of wine, I leave the sofa and carry my empty plate into the kitchen, where I see Craig standing by the dishwasher with several plates strewn around on the counter beside him.

  “I didn’t know it needed emptying before I loaded it,” he says sullenly, as he separates all the dirty plates from the clean ones that had already been washed.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll do that,” I say, aware that I should have emptied it before he came home tonight. But I was so excited about my interview that I had lost track of time and forgotten the mundane household chores that usually made up the highlights of my day.

  “No, it’s okay, I’ll do it. I wouldn’t want you to get bored or lonely again,” he replies.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, feeling bad that my husband now thinks that I have been spending all day at home crying into a pillow about how terrible my life has become. “Come on, that’s not fair. You know what I mean.”

  “Do I?” Craig asks, letting go of one of the plates in his hand and causing it to wobble on the work surface. “There was me thinking that I was a good husband, freeing you from a life of office drudgery and saving you all the misery of having to commute in and out of London every day. Yet in reality, you have been unhappy all this time, and I didn’t even know it. So what kind of husband does that make me?”

  “Come here,” I say, trying to calm him with some affection.

  But he pulls away. I can see how stung he is by my admission of wanting more from my life than everything he has already given me.

  “I’m going for a shower,” he says, heading for the door and only pausing to pick up his glass of wine on the way.

  I try to stop him.

  “Babe, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  But he’s already gone.

  10

  CRAIG

  I stand with my hands on the wet tiles, allowing the stream of hot water to run over my head and cascade down into the plughole below me. With my eyes closed, I run through the conversation I had with Megan when I arrived home tonight, playing it over and over again in my mind to make sure I did everything that I was supposed to do.

  I feigned surprise when she told me about the interview, even though I had found out about it at almost the same time she did. I showed love by congratulating her on such a quick response to her applications, complimenting her on her attributes as a good partner should. But I also showed disappointment and a little anger when she told me why she wanted to go back to work, acting hurt when she said that it was because she felt bored and lonely being on her own all day in the beautiful house that I paid for.

  It was a balancing act, but I think I played it just right. I didn’t get too angry, nor did I raise my voice. I made it clear that I don’t think she should return to work and reminded her again about how much of a boring life she would really have if she had to commute every day and spend forty hours in an office every week. And best of all, I think I have made her believe that it has been her who has been keeping secrets from me, rather than the other way around.

  I’m not surprised that Megan feels bored and lonely because I know I would if I was in her position. Stuck out here in the middle of nowhere day after day with no one to talk to, losing track of time amongst all the sleep and soap operas on daytime television. I’d go mad if that was my life, which is why I have ensured that it isn’t.

  It’s hers.

  But I had to make out like she had been dishonest with me by not telling me her true feelings before, and I think I did that well. I know she will be downstairs now, finishing up cleaning the kitchen and feeling bad for not telling me the truth sooner. That is good, because it means she is more likely to come around to my way of thinking.

  I need her to politely decline the recruitment agent’s offer of an interview and go back to the life I have carefully planned out for her. I want her at home all day. I want to keep her away from other people. And most of all, I want her to know that without me, she has absolutely nothing.

  No income. No friend
ships. No purpose.

  Nothing.

  I won’t say anything more on the matter tonight, not wishing to play my hand too strongly. If Megan does broach the subject again before bed, which I suspect she will, then I will tell her to do what she feels is best and say nothing more. Then I will go to sleep, leaving her to stew on her decision through the night. By morning, I expect her to give me her decision. I expect her to tell me that she will not be attending the interview after all.

  Then I expect everything to go back to normal.

  Just the way I like it.

  11

  MEGAN

  I’m not going to go to the interview. Craig clearly doesn’t want me to go back to work, and I can understand why. I have my freedom right now. Why should I give that up to go and be some desk-monkey in a dreary office all day, just to make myself feel like I’m around other people again?

  I can see it from his point of view. If I was unhappy, then I should have told him sooner, not let it come to this. If I am bored and lonely, then that is my fault, not his. People don’t get jobs to fill their time or make friends; they do it for money. But I don’t need money, so applying for all those positions was just silly.

  He is right. I would end up hating it. I’d dread the commute, and I’d dread the long hours at a desk. I am so lucky not to have to do that anymore.

  I should be more grateful.

  I should be more considerate about Craig’s feelings too. He is snoring away softly beside me in the bed, fast asleep and no doubt worn out after a hard day’s work. I should be sleeping too, considering that it is almost 1 am, but my mind is still whirring after the evening’s events. I can’t sleep knowing that I have upset my husband and I wish I could wake him up now and tell him that I won’t go to the interview. But that would be selfish of me. He needs his rest. He has another busy day ahead of him tomorrow.

  As for me, I will be contacting Sally in the morning and politely declining the offer of an interview with Papier Projects. I will send her an email, and I don’t expect to get a response. But if she does press me for a reason, then I will say that I have had a change of circumstance and am unable to work now, so the interview should be offered to somebody else.

  That’s another thing. I don’t need the job but there must be so many other people out there who do. Post-graduates struggling with the debt of their student loans. Single mums desperately trying to make enough to feed their young. Or all those poor people who have been made redundant by the terrible economic climate over these last few years, all of them with mortgages and credit card bills and god knows what else to pay for. They all need the job far more than I do.

  It would be selfish of me to take it.

  I am fortunate. I never have to worry about money as long as I have my darling husband. His income will always ensure that the bills will be paid and the fridge will be full of food. Not many people are so lucky.

  Even if something did happen to Craig, heaven forbid, then he has told me that his insurance policies would see me receive a hefty payout, guaranteeing that I will never want for anything again even if he is no longer here to provide for me. The more I think about it, the more I feel ashamed of myself for feeling the way I did. Not only that, but I feel terrible for hurting Craig’s feelings. There he was working hard all day in the belief that he was giving me my dream and I just went and stomped all over it. That is not what a man like him deserves.

  I want to wake him up and apologise, but I know it is not the right time to do that. I will let him sleep, and I will give him the good news in the morning, along with my apology.

  And to make sure he knows how grateful I am for everything he does for me, I may even give him more than that.

  12

  CRAIG

  My wife is so pathetic. Not only did I wake up to her apology this morning and her admission that she would not be proceeding with the interview, but I also woke up with her on top of me, clearly in the mood to do some making up. Ever the dutiful husband, I accepted the apology, feigned my understanding regarding the job situation and allowed her to satisfy me until she was confident that all was right again in our world.

  Now I’m on my way to work, and my wife is sitting alone at home. Not only did I get what I wanted, but Megan was left feeling like the bad guy in all of it.

  I really am quite brilliant.

  Fresh from what was a satisfactory performance from Megan in the bedroom this morning, I feel at ease, so there is no reason for me to put my foot down on the country roads this morning. With all the frustration and pressure removed from my body, I am happy to glide towards the train station by following the speed limit, content with my life and everything in it. As soon as I arrive at the office, I will check Megan’s email account to make sure that she has done what she has promised and emailed the recruiter back to turn down the offer of an interview. Then I will watch with glee as my wife returns to her more regular routine of internet usage, which is mainly shopping and scrolling through social media.

  For someone with no friends, my wife does spend a rather inordinate amount of time on social media. She has a few followers, but they are no one of any significance, and I make sure to keep an eye on all activity to confirm this. Mainly, Megan follows several celebrities, liking their posts from tropical beaches, while she sits on a sofa in leafy suburbia and counts down the days until she gets to go on holiday.

  Our next trip abroad is scheduled for the end of June, which is in five weeks’ time. We are booked into a five-star, all-inclusive hotel in southern Italy, a place we have visited many times before and always enjoy, due to the warm weather, friendly locals and short flight time there and back. But the main reason I like going there is because it is a place where so few British people tend to stay.

  The remote location of the hotel, coupled with the high cost of staying there, means it is exclusive, and not somewhere that is overrun with all the typical ‘Brits abroad.’ The majority of the other guests tend to be German, which is just how I like it because neither my wife or I speak a word of their language, which means that there is no chance of us striking up a conversation with any of them. That means that there is no chance that my wife will find herself making a new friend who she wishes to stay in touch with her upon our return to England.

  I put a lot of work into ensuring my wife is on her own in the UK, but I also put in the requisite work when we travel abroad. Megan thinks I work hard in my day job, but she has no idea that I’m working just as hard in our marriage.

  As I approach the station, I gently tap the brakes, guiding my car into its usual parking spot where it will stay until my return this evening. My day runs like clockwork, and I do my best to make my marriage run that way too. I expect Megan to be composing her message to the recruiter around about now, and I expect the email to be sent when I check my phone after my train journey. Then I expect Megan to watch all her usual television shows at their scheduled time, while I attend all the meetings that are slotted into my busy calendar. Then I will take the train home at the same time, arriving back at my house right on cue to find my wife putting dinner on the table and uncorking a bottle of wine. And finally, I will retire to bed, having listened to my wife tell me all about her day during the evening, of which I already know every single little detail she could have told me.

  Routine. Clockwork. Practised perfection.

  Who said marriage had to be difficult?

  13

  MEGAN

  I am writing my reply to the recruiter right now, wanting to get it over with so I can relax and enjoy the rest of my day. I hate having to send a message like this, in which I am telling the recipient that I am not going to do what they expect me to do. I’m sure Sally is waiting for my email response in which I thank her for the offer of an interview and say that I am looking forward to it. Instead, I am politely turning her down, which makes me feel a little guilty but is the right thing to do in the circumstances.

  I know Craig is happy again, and not ju
st because of what I did to him in the bedroom this morning. He is happy because he thinks that I am also happy. And I am. I just needed a little reminder. I will finish this email and press send, and then I will kick back and relax because I am lucky enough to be able to do so. I will leave it to others to rush around at train stations or sit in traffic and unnecessary meetings or be given unrealistic deadlines by uncompassionate managers. My husband has given me the gift of freedom, and I intend to make full use of it.

  I will watch rubbish television. I will waste time on social media. I will raid the fridge for snacks in the middle of the afternoon. And I might even have a go on the treadmill at some point today.

  Okay, maybe not the treadmill.

  Let’s be realistic.

  I reread the message a couple of times before moving my finger across the mousepad and directing the cursor to the big box labelled ‘Send’. When I am confident that I have struck the right balance between being grateful for the invitation but assured in my declining of it, I click the button.

  The email whooshes away into the ether, flying through time and space from my house in the middle of the countryside and onto Sally’s computer screen in London. I doubt she will even care that I have turned down the interview. She probably only offered it to me to make up the numbers. I’m sure there are far more qualified and deserving candidates out there for the role than me. There’s no reason for me to feel bad about turning down the interview.

  I would never have got the job anyway.

  The sound of my mobile phone ringing in the silent house almost makes me jump out of my skin. Rushing towards where it sits on the kitchen counter, I assume it must be Craig phoning me to tell me that he forgot something. I did distract him from his typical routine this morning, after all. I don’t even entertain the idea that it could be anybody else calling me because who else would possibly call me?