The Marriage Trap: A completely addictive psychological thriller

by Sheryl Browne

  ‘I’ve spoken to my bank manager. She’s willing to consider a percentage of the amount required, provided I can meet the rest.’

  Jason stared at him. ‘And you propose to do this by selling your soul, presumably?’

  ‘My flat, actually. I don’t think my soul is worth anything.’ Mark’s mouth twitched into a regretful smile. ‘And before you answer, I already have an offer. It’s being sold as a buy-to-let. I’m going to rent it back.’

  Jason balked, trying hard to keep up with him.

  ‘Turns out my red-hot Tinder date is an estate agent,’ Mark went on, with a wink, ‘so she’s pulling a few strings. I can turn this around, Jason, given time. I know I can. Well, I’m pretty sure I can,’ he added, with a shrug. ‘Obviously, you’ll need time to think about it though. I’ll give you a minute and go grab us a coffee.’

  After going through Mark’s vision for the future of Upwards Online, which took them through lunchtime, Jason was in his own office, having said yes. He’d offered Mark a lower price for the saleable assets, not that they were worth a great deal. The business was in the clients, and Mark and Rachel had clearly been working their guts out on ideas and marketing. They wanted to do this. And he… Mark had suggested he continue working with him, but Jason wanted out of it. He wasn’t sure it had ever been an area he’d wanted to be in. He would have to look for a job himself, find a way of supporting his kids, but this seemed like as good a way forward as any, considering he really would have cut his throat rather than touch any of Fenton’s money.

  Jason sat at his desk, feeling bemused by the fast turn of events. He needed to tie up loose ends and formulate a plan, given that suicide wasn’t an option, something he was ashamed he’d considered even when he wasn’t getting as drunk as it was possible to get. Getting drunk and chatting to women online, he reminded himself, though he couldn’t remember what had been said.

  Jesus, he was a mess. He needed to delete the sites – wished he could delete parts of his life. Flicking on his laptop, wondering whether he might actually owe anyone he’d ‘chatted to’ an apology, he called up the site he’d been browsing. Guilt twisted inside him. He’d been angry. Furious. Figured that, as his marriage was over, he had nothing to lose. Would this really have helped anything though, ‘hooking up,’ or whatever one did, with complete strangers? He’d obviously been inebriated, to the point of senselessness.

  Despairing of himself, he was about to exit the site when he received another ‘like’. Jason’s gaze strayed to her photograph, and he found himself taken aback. The woman was stunning, her hair, glossy brunette, tumbling over her shoulders, her skin lightly tanned and dotted with cute freckles. Her eyes were dark, rich chestnut in colour and with a definite twinkle therein. It was her smile, though, that caught his attention. She was laughing in all three photos she’d uploaded, natural and carefree.

  Jessie Kinsella. He read her name and then curiously checked out her profile:

  Not a 9–5 girl. Nursing is my thing. Caring, but don’t cross me. See aikido emoji. Black belt wannabe. Theatre, thrillers and chick flicks make me happy. Prefer > Dinner + Movie. Fancy surfing (home or abroad), climbing a mountain and the Golden Gate Bridge?

  Seeking: Men who can laugh at themselves + value health. Character – sporty. Smiling is sexy. Say hello!

  She was located in Ireland, he noted. Far enough away that there was no risk of any hasty ‘hook-ups’. Would it really hurt to say hello? Jason hesitated, and then, reminding himself that he actually didn’t have anything to lose, took up her invitation.

  Nice to meet you, Jessie. He typed. Great bio. Do I need to learn self-defence?

  She replied instantly. Depends. Are you nice to meet?

  Depends… on who I’m meeting, Jason responded.

  This is why I do aikido, she sent back.

  Jason wasn’t sure how to reply to that.

  Some people are NOT nice. Dating apps can be a minefield of douches and bad pick-up lines. She beat him to it.

  Might be guilty of the latter. He answered, after a second. New to this. Sorry.

  Ah, a dating app virgin, she sent swiftly back. Well, don’t be shy. I don’t bite. Not unless I’m hungry.

  Jason started to type – That’s a shame – and then backspaced. What was he doing?

  Not the world’s greatest online conversationalist, are you? she messaged, before he could think of anything else to say.

  No. Sorry. Jason answered honestly, and wondered again what in God’s name he was doing exactly. If he needed someone to talk to, he should talk to his sister, or possibly Mark. Except, with her husband out of work, Hannah had a shedload of her own problems right now, and Mark… Jason was pretty sure what his advice would be: Go get yourself laid and take your mind off your problems. If only it were that easy.

  Aw, don’t be, Jessie sent back. I like it that you’re shy. Like your profile too. Sporty = good. Pic = good. No six-pack on show = not a douchey shirtless Casanova.

  Glad you approve. You have a nice smile.

  My best feature. Fancy talking properly?

  Again, Jason wavered. This was nuts. He had a family. Except… he didn’t, did he? In fact, he’d never felt more alone in his life. His marriage had ended. That was an inescapable fact. He wanted to hold on to it, desperately wanted to do that, but he couldn’t. His business was finished. His life was crumbling. Was this really risking anything, then? He was talking to her, that was all. With the distance between them, it wasn’t likely to lead to anything more.

  Jason took a breath, typed Love to, and hit send.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  KARLA

  I took this morning off, on top of the time I’ve already taken off ‘sick’, but I slip into my office just before lunchtime in order to do some necessary private online browsing. John, the chief executive, has his weekly meeting with the housing association’s development department manager this afternoon, so I’m confident I can steal a little more time. It’s gone two when I check the clock, and I calculate that John will be tied up for at least another hour, so I set about creating my Tinder profile, which according to information I’ve googled about this particular site needs to be kick-ass in order to stand out and get noticed by the right guys, for the right reasons. I’m not sure what my reasons are, who the right guys are. All I know is that the man I considered to be my Mr Right, my soulmate for life, isn’t. I don’t know what I want from these sites, other than to feel wanted, desired – to feel something other than the almost debilitating emptiness I now feel. Do I care if Jason knows I’m also playing the dating game? ‘Hooking up’ with other men? Sleeping with other men, which I know is the end game here?

  Yes, of course I do. I’m not sure I’ll actually have the courage to sleep with another man. I don’t want to. I’m not sure I would know how to. But I do want Jason to feel as crushed as I do. I want him to question everything he ever was to me; to feel as insignificant to my life as I clearly am to his. To feel jealous. I thought, at first, when I discovered he’d been browsing dating sites, that it was some kind of angry reaction to me having pushed him to approach my father for the business loan. I tried to convince myself it was an act of rebellion, that he’d felt somehow emasculated, that it was something he was doing to get back at me. My stomach clenches painfully as I recall how furious he was that I would accuse him of doing this, his vehement denial, when the evidence was there, right in front of my eyes. His lies. It’s been more than browsing, more than the odd flirt to reaffirm his manhood, I would bet my life on it. How long he’s wanted out of our marriage, I have no way of knowing.

  He won’t be jealous, Sarah sighs, and my heart, which has been sinking steadily since I accessed his internet history, settles like ice in my chest. He’s moved on. He’s not likely to be distraught if I seek the company of other men. Even so, as pathetic as I realise it is, there’s an ember of hope still burning faintly inside me that he might wake up to the fact that it’s me he wants. That he might realise he loves
me when he knows he’s lost me.

  If he doesn’t, what will I have lost that was worth anything in the first place?

  Ignoring the phone ringing constantly to my side, I concentrate on compiling a list of enticing things about me that I can include on my profile. Tinder is populated by the dating-app generation, after all. If I don’t want to be hastily swiped left by men as desperate as my husband to move on to something more exciting, I have to be able to compete with tempting young things. I need to get in touch with the real me, the person I used to be, who felt she could climb a mountain, touch the sky or swim an ocean. She didn’t die the day she got married. She got side-lined, that was all. She’s still here inside, waiting to unfurl her wings.

  Work hard, play hard, I begin. I figure I might as well go for it. Dance till I drop. Embrace love and life and all the world has to offer. Love thrills + excitement. Wind in my hair, sunshine, sand dunes, cocktails + rollercoaster rides. Seeking – Man who can dance w/me, not afraid to catch me + lols. Introduce yourself!

  Mentally running through the new clothes I’ll need to purchase in order to dare venture into nightclubs, I upload the selfies I’ve taken, in which I actually look quite acceptable – sexy, even – with my fake tan, fake hair and face. Fake me, I think. It’s not really so hard to reinvent oneself. But I’m not trying to do that. I’m trying to find myself. I’m reassembling myself. Repackaging and presenting myself as a more attractive option than a boring wife and mother. Isn’t that what men want? What Jason is looking for? Obviously, I have to embellish a little. And when it comes to meeting men in the flesh? I’m an actress. It’s time I put my skills to the test.

  I’m uploading the last photograph when John walks through my office door, almost giving me heart failure.

  ‘Karla…’ Trailing curious eyes over me, John looks surprised. ‘You look well.’

  Hell. I cringe inside, realising it’s probably not a good idea to still be wearing the fake tan and false eyelashes when I’m supposed to have crawled here from my sickbed. ‘I thought I’d make a bit of an effort,’ I tell him, with a stoic smile. ‘If you look better, you feel better, that’s my motto.’

  He nods, now looking taken aback, possibly because that last came out a little over-brightly and with no hint of the croaky voice I’d phoned in with yesterday. ‘It appears to be working,’ he says, smiling uncertainly. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but do you think we could have the post distributed any time soon? It’s just that I’m expecting tenders in for the maintenance contracts on the new-build site.’

  ‘Has it not been distributed?’ I glance around my office, where there is no sign of the post.

  ‘I don’t think it’s been brought up from the post room yet,’ he suggests hesitantly.

  I look at him, flabbergasted. I know he’s the CE, but surely he could have fetched it himself, or organised someone else to. ‘Couldn’t someone have asked one of the admin assistants to go and collect it?’ I enquire, pushing my chair huffily back from my desk.

  ‘I left a note on Zoe’s desk.’ His response is almost apologetic. ‘I suspect she might have missed it.’

  ‘Right.’ I plaster a smile in place and heave myself to my feet. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go and sort it out then,’ I say, heading for the door. As per usual. What is it with this place? Does everyone have an ‘it’s not my job’ attitude? If I’d had that over the years I’ve worked here, the bloody wheels would have dropped off long ago.

  ‘While you’re at it, do you think you could check to see where we are with the minutes of the board meeting I need typed up?’ John ventures. ‘I’d quite like to get those sent out today, if at all possible.’

  Yes, of course, why not? And I’ll make the tea and sweep the floor on the way, I think, peeved – and then stop. I don’t remember having had the audio tape for the minutes, let alone distributing that one specifically to be typed up. But I must have done. Though I was distracted, that being the day my father had called suggesting I check Jason’s laptop, I distinctly remember gathering up the various files and audio tapes from my out tray and dropping them off before I left.

  Was that one there? The truth is, I can’t concentrate on anything but the hurt gnawing away at me. I can’t think straight. Closing my eyes, I take a breath, gather myself and push through the admin assistants’ office door, where there is an immediate lull in the conversation as three surprised faces look up from PCs to me. I haven’t knocked, I realise, which I always normally do out of respect. Tough. I’m the office manager. I’m here to make sure the housing association runs efficiently, not pussyfoot around, being careful of people’s feelings. ‘Did it not occur to anyone to collect the post?’ I demand, my expression hopefully communicating how unimpressed I am.

  Now there are definitely surprised faces. They’re not used to me actually exerting my authority.

  ‘No.’ Zoe, the senior secretary, speaks up. ‘We’ve all got piles to do. If someone had asked us, we’d have—’

  ‘You shouldn’t need asking, Zoe. If I’m not here, then it should have occurred to you. Using your initiative is a requirement of the job,’ I snap, unfamiliar anger rising inside me. I don’t get angry with the girls. A little despairing, sometimes, when there’s more gossiping going on than work, but never murderously angry, like this.

  ‘Well, excuse me,’ Zoe says indignantly. ‘I didn’t realise we were supposed to cover everyone else’s—’

  ‘And being disrespectful to your superiors is not,’ I point out.

  Zoe and Yasmin exchange disgruntled glances. I can almost feel the daggers going in, as I march further into the room. ‘Who’s typing up the minutes from the board meeting?’ I ask, unable to quash the agitation I’m feeling, despite my conscience tugging at me.

  Zoe furrows her brow. ‘What minutes? I don’t remember seeing any.’

  ‘I put the audio tape in Lucy’s in tray when I was last in,’ I say, and wait while more glances are exchanged – worried glances, this time.

  ‘I didn’t see it.’ Lucy looks flustered and stands up to go through her tray.

  ‘I see,’ I say, as she then searches her desk, growing more flustered by the second. ‘Perhaps you should consider tidying your desk, Lucy,’ I suggest, a cattiness to my voice I don’t like. ‘Your organisational skills are clearly somewhat lacking.’

  ‘I’ll help you look,’ Yasmin says, rising from her desk to walk across to Lucy’s, casting me a disdainful glance as she goes.

  ‘Let me know when you find it,’ I say, marching back to the door before I’m tempted to say more. I’m two steps away from my own office along the corridor when Lucy flies past me towards the ladies’ loo.

  She’s in tears, I realise, my anger immediately evaporating to give way to immense guilt.

  ‘Nice going, Karla. She’s just split up with her boyfriend,’ Zoe says hostilely, moving past me. ‘Nice make-up, too, by the way,’ she throws over her shoulder. ‘I’m not sure what your problem is, but if this is the new you, you might want to tone it down a bit.’

  My guilt intensifies, wedging itself like a cannonball in my chest. I’m doing exactly what my father does, I realise, aghast, bullying people, caring nothing for their feelings, what they might have going on in their lives. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say weakly, but there’s no one to hear me. Zoe has disappeared into the toilets after Lucy.

  In one fell swoop I have soured my relationships with three people. Broken the trust of the people I work with. They will hate me now, with good reason. Who is this vile person I seem to have become?

  Swallowing hard, I go into my office, close the door behind me and lean against it. Is this something that Jason sees in me? This nastiness I didn’t even know I was capable of? Why am I doing it? Lashing out. Hurting people because I’m hurting. My colleagues. My children. Holly, my beautiful baby girl. I’m hurting her. Josh, my puzzled, scrawny, sensitive little boy – he’s hurting. Jason – he’s obviously been hurting for a long time. It has emanated palpably from him at
times, when my father has so denigrated him. Yet still, I wouldn’t accept that he wanted nothing to do with him. I bullied him, despite hating that trait in my father. Perhaps the blame for the breakdown of my marriage is all mine? Would anyone want to stay in a relationship where they felt they didn’t have choices? A voice? Jason told me, over and over, he didn’t want to be beholden to my father. I wasn’t listening.

  Do I really believe that though? Wasn’t I only trying to find a way that Jason wouldn’t see himself as a failure? To support him? I don’t know. I gulp in a breath, try to suppress the tears, but they come anyway, hot and salty, tears of bewilderment, guilt and grief streaming down my cheeks. I’m sorry. Feeling as if the hard lump in my throat might choke me, I repeat it silently. I’m not even sure who I’m saying sorry to any more. Sarah, the constant reminder of my disloyalty? My children? Jason?

  I glance at the ceiling. I don’t think I can bear it. My heart is so raw, I feel as if it’s tearing apart inside me. Everything that was solid in my life, the very ground beneath my feet, is slipping away from me. I’m falling. And there is no one to catch me.

  TWENTY-SIX

  DIANA

  Recognising the ringtone she’d set to play when Karla called, Diana abandoned her task of cleaning the fridge to take the call. Karla had been in a terrible state after discovering what Jason had been doing in his office, rather than going home to her. Diana was glad she’d been there, babysitting Holly and Josh, when her daughter had arrived back home. She’d been able to persuade her to take a breath and a step back. Screaming at him and demanding explanations, she’d managed to convince her, would only make him defensive, possibly driving something that might actually have no traction.

  Diana prayed it didn’t. She was still struggling to believe it. Jason seemed to care so deeply for Karla. It had been clear to Diana how much he’d loved her from outset. There was no mistaking a man’s love for a woman, and Jason’s feelings for Karla had been obvious. He’d fought so hard for her, despite Robert’s determination to split them up, which Diana had never condoned. As far as Diana was concerned, fate had brought them together. They’d created a child. After all Karla had already lost, how cruel would it have been for her to lose the man she loved too? It was possible that Jason had grown weary with the battle, she supposed, this constant war between him and Robert, the arguments he and Karla were having, more and more lately, and his fight to save his failing business. Even so, for him to have made the decision to cheat on Karla in such a cold, calculating way… That was more Robert’s domain than Jason’s.