The Marriage Trap: A completely addictive psychological thriller

by Sheryl Browne

  It must be a good twenty minutes later when I feel Jason’s arm slide around my waist, pulling me away from my slow dance with the toy boy and forcefully to him. I’d glanced across to him once or twice, but my father had joined him the last time I looked and the two were deep in conversation, so I’d decided to stay where I was. I’m sure my father won’t break his promise not to say anything to Jason about our conversation, but still, seeing them together, I’d felt nervous butterflies take off in my stomach.

  ‘I hope this is my dance?’ Jason says, close to my ear, as he moves around in front of me. With the band now crooning ‘Save the Last Dance for Me’, and my husband looking classically tall, dark and extremely handsome in his blue linen-mix jacket and cream chinos, it might have been terribly romantic, but for the thunderous expression I see in Jason’s eyes.

  TWO

  JASON

  Driving away from the golf club, finally, Jason blew out a sigh of relief.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Karla asked, her tone slightly wary.

  Jason nodded, though he supposed it was obvious he wasn’t ‘okay’, since he’d more or less insisted they leave. He hadn’t been able to help himself. After being cornered by her father, again, and then watching the guy his wife was dancing with appreciating the view – his eyes had been all over her – Jason had fervently wished he’d made a work-related excuse not to go to Diana’s party. But it wouldn’t have gone down well with Karla. Her old man, though, might possibly have mustered up a smidgeon of respect for him, putting business before pleasure – as he himself always had, he was fond of saying, which was bullshit. Robert Fenton might bang on about business acumen and work ethic, but when it came right down to it, the man had no ethics. Jason had learned that as soon as he’d met him. The man had made it clear he didn’t consider him suitable husband material for his daughter from the outset. He’d wanted her to finish her acting degree at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art – validated by King’s College, London, no less – not throw her future away.

  He’d wanted her to abort their child.

  Jason still felt it now, the anger that had boiled up inside him twelve long years ago, when he’d overheard her ‘caring’ father trying to make her see sense. Fenton’s study window had been open. Arriving at the front door, Jason had heard every word.

  ‘I understand you want to be with him, princess. I know love isn’t choosy,’ he’d said, oozing understanding while backhandedly insulting him. ‘I won’t try to influence your decision, sweetheart, I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he’d continued, doing just that, ‘but you can postpone motherhood for a while, surely? You’re young. You have plenty of time to have children. Finish your degree before tying yourself down, hey? It’s what you’ve always wanted. Meanwhile, you’ll be giving Jason time to prove himself. He’s hardly in a position to support—’

  ‘He doesn’t need to prove himself!’ Karla had jumped aggressively to his defence. ‘I love him, Dad. I’d marry him if he were penniless.’

  ‘But love doesn’t pay the bills, Karla.’ Robert had sighed expansively. ‘Does it?’

  ‘We’ll work it out! Jason has plans,’ Karla had countered.

  ‘To do what, exactly?’ Robert’s tone had been scornful, even then.

  ‘Ecommerce,’ Karla had announced, which had been news to Jason. His degree had been in computer science, and he had been toying with the idea of designing packages and websites for sports equipment manufacturers. Even then, though, he hadn’t relished the idea of being stuck behind a desk. Being inclined to extreme sports, enjoying everything from scuba diving to paragliding, he had wondered whether there might be an opportunity in corporate events – preferably hands on, leading team-building exercises.

  ‘I see. He’d have to be very savvy to make his mark in that industry.’ Sounding unconvinced, Fenton had offered his invaluable opinion, he himself being an entrepreneurial genius who had grown his hugely successful plumbing and bespoke bathroom business from the basement of a dry cleaner’s. After hitting £1m revenue six years after start-up, Robert Fenton, self-made man, was now worth an estimated £50m. Clearly, he thought his fortune afforded him dubious privileges – Jason still couldn’t believe the man would make overtly sexual advances to a young woman at his own wife’s birthday party.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ Karla observed, after several miles spent driving in silence.

  ‘Yeah, sorry.’ Jason ran a hand over the back of his neck. ‘Just thinking.’ He hadn’t meant to give her the silent treatment, but the truth was, he was tired. Tired of her father preaching at him. Tired of Karla not seeming to want to listen whenever he tried to talk to her about how it made him feel: Useless, basically. Tired full stop.

  ‘So what were you and Dad talking about?’ Karla enquired, as they neared the house.

  ‘Nothing much.’ Jason tugged in a terse breath. ‘He told me there was no shame in failure.’ Turning into the drive, Jason killed the engine. ‘I cut the conversation short at that point, for obvious reasons.’ He’d been sorely tempted to tell the guy, once and for all, what he thought of him, and then suggest he piss off out of their lives.

  ‘Oh God.’ Karla winced. ‘Did you argue with him again?’

  Jason didn’t much like the implication of that, as if he were somehow partly to blame for the fact that he and her father didn’t get on. As far as Jason was concerned, he deserved a medal for being remotely civil to someone like Robert Fenton. ‘Nope. I held my temper, you’ll be pleased to know, excused myself to reclaim my wife from the arms of another man and then suggested we leave, which my wife was severely pissed off about. All in all, not a great night.’

  Karla spilled out the passenger side as he shoved his door open and climbed out. ‘Is that what that was all about?’

  ‘What what was all about?’ Jason headed for the front door.

  ‘Your moodiness.’ Karla followed him. ‘You barely spoke to me on the dance floor, and you’ve hardly spoken a word since.’

  ‘I couldn’t hear myself speaking on the dance floor,’ Jason pointed out, going in first and heading towards the lounge, where the TV was on way too loud. ‘And I’m not “moody”. I just have a lot on my mind.’

  Correction: now he was feeling a definite mood coming on. ‘Holly?’ He swung his gaze in his daughter’s direction. ‘What are you doing up? It’s way past your bedtime. And what in God’s name are you watching?’ He turned his attention to the TV, which the babysitter had paused, unfortunately freezing an opaque-eyed corpse rising from a post-mortem table.

  Jesus. It would give Holly nightmares for weeks. Storming in, Jason shot the babysitter an unimpressed look as he relieved her of the TV remote.

  ‘Dad!’ Her expression indignant, Holly unfurled herself from the armchair as he hit the off button. ‘I was watching that.’

  ‘Bed,’ Jason said, pointing the way.

  Holly splayed her hands. ‘But you and Mum let me watch Netflix.’

  ‘Age-appropriate stuff, Holly. Which this is not.’ Jason folded his arms and waited.

  Clearly seeing there was no wiggle room, Holly folded her arms in turn and then, her face set in a petulant scowl, she flounced past him to the hall. ‘This is so unfair,’ she muttered, as she went. ‘You’re treating me like a child.’

  Watching her disappear, wearing a fluffy leopard skin onesie and her feet adorned with furry white unicorn slippers, Jason shook his head in bemusement, and then turned angrily to their babysitter, who was looking sheepish. And so she should be.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking, Megan?’ he asked her, trying very hard not to lose his temper.

  ‘She couldn’t sleep,’ Megan offered by way of explanation, as she scrambled up to stuff her feet into the pumps she’d kicked off and retrieve her phone from the coffee table.

  Jason laughed, disbelieving. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘It was just The Haunting of Hill House,’ Megan said, with a discernible sigh, as if he was making a fuss about nothing. ‘My little b
rother watches it.’

  ‘I don’t care what it was!’ Jason lost it. ‘She’ll be haunted. She probably won’t sleep for weeks. There is no way you should have…’ He stopped and took a breath. ‘Look, forget it, Megan. It’s probably best if you just go.’

  Megan glanced down at her phone and guiltily back up. ‘Do you still want me next week?’ she ventured, as he pulled the money from his wallet and handed it to her. ‘It’s just that Karla said you might be going out.’

  Dammit. He’d forgotten. It was supposed to be just the two of them, an attempt to make more time for each other, which they badly needed to do, since they seemed to be at loggerheads lately. He’d hoped they might be able to talk, properly. Not just about the suggestion that he approach her father for money – something, quite frankly, Jason would rather die before doing – but about the man constantly interfering in their lives. He needed her to understand, to at least acknowledge she was hearing him. He honestly wasn’t sure how he would react if she mentioned the damn loan again. He’d have to think of something. Hopefully, Karla’s mum could have the kids. Maybe he was overreacting, but he wouldn’t call on Megan again in a hurry. Allowing his eleven-year-old daughter to watch horror stuff – whoever else watched it – simply wasn’t on.

  ‘We’ll have to talk about it,’ he said, his look hopefully telling her she shouldn’t count on it. ‘We’ll let you know.’

  Nodding, Megan shrank past him.

  ‘I’ll walk her home,’ Karla said, from where she’d appeared at the lounge door.

  ‘It’s only half a street away,’ Jason pointed out.

  ‘Too far away at this time of night.’ Karla gave him a look.

  Jason felt a pang of guilt. She was right. He should have offered, but then he doubted Megan would have wanted him to walk her.

  ‘Be careful,’ he said, glad Karla had pulled her coat on over the short dress she was wearing.

  ‘I’ll be two minutes,’ Karla said, her gaze lingering – and not in a good way. Was he missing something here, or was she looking at him as if he were in the wrong?

  ‘I’ll go check on Josh then,’ he offered. And make sure he hasn’t been allowed use of his iPad in bed, he thought despairingly, in which case he’d be busy gaming under the duvet and undoubtedly wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight either.

  ‘I’ve checked,’ Karla called back from the hall. ‘He’s dead to the world.’

  Well, that was something, Jason supposed. Josh was a light sleeper at the best of times, and he actually had been having nightmares lately, ever since the night Jason had been honest with Karla about the state of their finances. That was the first time she’d hinted he should go grovelling to her father to bail him out, and they’d ended up arguing. Josh had overheard – got it into his head they were going to split. He’d tried to reassure him, but the tension was still there. Kids picked up on it; Jason could testify to that. His adoptive parents staying together ‘for the sake of their kids’ had been a complete nightmare.

  Sighing, more at his own ineptitude than anything else, he went upstairs anyway to look in on Holly, whose bad books he would definitely be in.

  Yep, he was clearly in the doghouse where his daughter was concerned. She burrowed under the duvet when he knocked on her door and peered in.

  ‘Night, Holly.’ He walked across to her. ‘We’ll talk more tomorrow, yes?’

  Nothing but a fidget from under the covers.

  Jason waited a second, and then, ‘Night, duvet,’ he said, pressing a hand lightly on the bulge he guessed was her head, or else her elbow.

  He doubted she would actually talk to him the next day – until approximately 10 a.m., that was. Saturday mornings were when he gave the kids their allowances. Holly wouldn’t be slow reminding him about that. Smiling amusedly, Jason headed back downstairs, to find Karla coming through the front door.

  ‘All settled?’ she asked him.

  ‘Settled,’ Jason said, moving past her to pull the chain on the front door. ‘If rather disgruntled.’

  Karla didn’t say anything, giving him that look he knew so well instead – the one that told him she wasn’t happy with him.

  Jason followed her to the kitchen. ‘Am I to take it you’re annoyed with me?’ he asked, wondering whether it was the babysitter thing she was peeved about or just everything in general.

  ‘A bit,’ she said, watching him cautiously as he went to check that the back door was locked.

  Finding everything secure, Jason came back. ‘What, because I gave Megan her marching orders?’ He knitted his brow. He hadn’t, as such, not without discussing it with Karla first. But even if he had, surely she couldn’t blame him?

  ‘Not about that, no. You were a bit sharp with her, but she was well out of order.’

  Jason nodded, glad they were on the same page about one thing, at least. But the financial situation they were in, which he accepted was squarely down to him and his business acumen – which was severely lacking, as pointed out repeatedly by her father – would remain a bone of contention between them. Jason had had no say in the matter when Robert had bought their house. He’d been grateful. He couldn’t keep being grateful though. Nor could he contemplate asking him for further help. He wanted him out of their lives as much as was possible, not further immersed in it.

  Flicking the kettle on, Karla turned to face him, giving him a long, searching look.

  ‘So?’ he asked, guessing there was something she needed to get off her chest.

  ‘I am a bit annoyed, to be honest,’ she said, and hesitated.

  ‘About the toy boy?’ Jason eyed her questioningly. He wasn’t sure it was him who should be defensive on that subject.

  ‘No.’ Karla shook her head. ‘Although you did act like a bit of a dickhead.’

  ‘Oh.’ Noting her semi-amused look, Jason laughed uncertainly. ‘Cheers for that.’

  ‘Well, honestly,’ Karla sighed, ‘coming over all macho and proprietorial like that. I was only dancing with him.’

  Jason nodded tightly. ‘I could see that.’

  ‘There was nothing to be jealous of, Jason.’ Karla blinked at him, astonished. ‘He was aged about two.’

  More like twenty-two, thought Jason, though he didn’t bother to correct her. And muscular and not bad-looking – not that he was any judge of what women found attractive in a man. The thing was, he had felt jealous, possibly because, with the problems hanging between them, he and Karla hadn’t been near each other for weeks. The fact that he wasn’t the provider he should be for his family was exacerbating his sense of self-doubt, he guessed. But then, Karla dancing with a man was one thing – she deserved to have a little fun, especially with him being as miserable as sin lately – but her dancing up close and personal with the man? The way he’d been holding her, it had got to him. Looking his wife over, he noted again how good she looked in the short, strappy dress she was wearing. She’d been more effervescent tonight. More like the woman he’d met, laughing easily, relaxed. Letting go on the dance floor was probably good therapy. They should get dressed up and go dancing more often. Except, he’d just as good as sacked the babysitter.

  ‘So, it’s not me cutting in to extract you from the guy’s arms you’re annoyed about then?’

  Karla rolled her eyes; wide, sharp, sparkling-blue eyes, which looked even wider with make-up and mascara. When had she stopped wearing make-up around him? When had he stopped noticing?

  ‘It’s my father.’ Karla dropped her gaze, her expression tentative when she looked back at him. ‘This thing between you and him.’

  Ah. ‘Now there’s a surprise.’ Jason felt his hackles rising.

  Karla pushed on. Jason really wished she wouldn’t. ‘I know he can seem aggressive and insensitive sometimes—’

  ‘Seem?’ Jason balked.

  ‘Has it ever occurred to you that he might be genuinely trying to help?’

  Jason quashed an immediate overwhelming anger. ‘What, by telling me I’m a failure?’ He st
ared at her, incredulous. ‘Constantly reminding me I’m a disappointment? That helps, Karla. Really, it does.’

  ‘Jason…’ Dragging her long, tousled hair from her face, Karla sighed in despair. ‘The only one who perceives you as a disappointment is you.’

  ‘And you’re not disappointed?’ Jason asked, point-blank. ‘Disillusioned with me, with your life, now we’re struggling to make ends meet?’

  ‘No, I am not. You need to stop doing this, Jason: blaming yourself, worrying yourself silly, refusing to reach out,’ she went on imploringly. ‘Yes, accepting help might mean that you’re not Superman…’

  Like Robert Fenton.

  ‘…but that’s not something to be ashamed of. There are people who are willing to help you. You have to let go of your own expectations of failure, though, and ask for that help.’

  Your father’s expectations, Karla. Jason didn’t bother to say it.

  Karla looked at the ceiling. ‘Dad wants to help,’ she said, looking back at him. ‘Why won’t you let him?’

  She really hadn’t been listening, had she? He did not want to go that route. How many ways could he say it? He might as well be talking to fresh air. Attempting to contain his agitation, Jason searched her face, and was perturbed by what he found there. Had she spoken to him? He narrowed his eyes, his heart dropping as he noted her sudden inability to meet his gaze. She bloody well had. Incredulous, he shook his head. She’d gone ahead and discussed her father loaning him money without telling him? In exchange for what? His soul?

  So much for trust in a relationship. Smiling cynically, he quelled a rush of hurt and defeat. ‘Why do you rate him so much?’ He studied her, curious – genuinely so. He got that she was his daughter; that her affection for him might make her blind to his flaws, but she must realise some of what he was like.

  ‘He’s a bully, Karla,’ he growled, his anger getting the better of him, despite his fervent desire not to allow Fenton to do this to him, ‘a womaniser and a fucking sleazebag.’