‘Let me have some dates,’ Jessie said. ‘I’m going to be coming to the UK to see my brother soon. He’s working in Birmingham. I was thinking that maybe we could travel back together? What do you think?’
‘I, er…’ Jason hesitated, and then wondered why. ‘Okay, why not?’
‘Brilliant.’ Jessie sounded pleased. ‘Uh-oh, I’d better go back inside. My shift starts in five minutes. Looks like it’s going to be a madhouse in A&E already. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Speak then. Take care, Jessie.’ Jason ended the call with a bewildered shake of his head. He felt as if he’d just been hit by a tornado. But he also felt better than he had when he’d come home.
THIRTY-TWO
KARLA
The last time I drank this much – in my youth, which now seems like a lifetime ago – it altered my perception of everything around me into something bearable. I felt exhilarated, uplifted and relaxed at the same time. Above all, I felt happy, filled with the overwhelming urge to dance. The lights were brighter, the colours more intense. I was locked into the music, confident on the dance floor. Free of the pain. Every and any sound was danceable to. Leaving the nightclub, I could have danced to the thrum of the rain on the pavement outside, the distant screams of a police siren. Hugged everyone and anyone.
Now, as I sit on the lowered loo seat, waiting for the walls to slow down, I feel nothing but cold and empty. In this club heaving with people, I am suddenly, irrevocably lost. A lonely, abandoned woman sitting on her own in a toilet – no one to reach out to, no one to hold me, no one to hold my hair back as I vomit into the bowl. Jason had done that once, when we were young, when being recklessly stupid was a rite of passage. He’d held me, carried me to bed, undressed me, carefully and respectfully, lain with me.
Stroked my hair softly until I’d fallen asleep.
Wrapping my arms about myself, I quiet a sob and try to still the fresh wave of nausea rising inside me, the acrid grief that grips me and won’t let go. The jealousy. I love him. I miss him. I am mourning him – my husband, my lover, the father of my children. The man I am losing.
I have to go. I have to get out of here. I pull myself to my feet as the black-painted walls of the cubicle close in on me. The wine I drank before I came to the nightclub was a mistake, beyond reckless. I should have made sure to keep myself hydrated. I was dancing non-stop, until the floor shifted off-kilter. What was I thinking?
Holly and Josh are all I can think of, as I come shakily out of the toilets, desperately longing to be where I belong: at home with my babies, with Jason… But my husband doesn’t want me.
My hook-up isn’t too bothered about hanging on to me either, I realise. As I make my way to the exit, I see he’s already hitting on a hot young thing, dressed appropriately for her age. That’s okay. He’s not my type anyway – too tanned, blonde and blue-eyed. Too arrogant. Not Jason.
Men half my age, no more than boys, look me over as I flag down a black cab. They don’t comment. One of them even smiles. I don’t flatter myself they like what they see. They’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, a woman of my age, wearing spaghetti straps and lace and boots that belong on the thighs of a teenager.
Do you know why you’re here? Sarah whispers.
After almost missing the seat as I get in, I give the taxi driver my address, right myself and close my eyes. Playing the dating game. But I’m not sure I’m winning, I answer, wishing I could sleep as I listen to the rhythmic swish of the windscreen wipers. Sleep until my nightmare is over. Or else forever.
Fifteen minutes later, I ask the taxi driver to keep going and stop a few houses past my own, take several slow breaths and try to still the wooziness in my head. I note as we pass that, apart from the mellow glow from the children’s nightlights, all the lights are off. I breathe a sigh of relief, glad that Jason appears to have gone to bed. Sometimes he waits up for me, even though he doesn’t know when I will be back – whether I’ll be back. I have no idea why he does it, since he obviously cares nothing for me. I am disposable, interchangeable. He’s bored with the marriage, the monotony, the responsibility; ready to reclaim his freedom and move on. Is it so wrong of me to want him to realise that I can do the same, if I choose to? If I want to. But I don’t. I swallow back the grief that’s now lodged like a stone in my throat. How will I bear it, having half of my soul ripped again from inside me?
The taxi driver’s expression, as I fumble my purse from my pocket and thrust the fare into his hand, is one of ill-concealed disdain. ‘You need to take more water with it, love,’ he comments, as I turn to shove my door open and stumble to the pavement.
Steadying myself, I quash down my irritation. How dare he make assumptions? He knows nothing about my life, who I am. I don’t know who I am. When I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t recognise the person looking back. The photos I posted online, they’re not me, but facets of me. In some, I look like Sarah, with her cropped hair and feisty attitude. In others, I can see my fun-loving, free-spirited self – someone who’s got lost along the way. I’m fractured, falling apart. Will I recognise the body that lies on the ground when everything stops?
The house is still when I finally manage to manoeuvre my key into the lock and let myself in. After negotiating my way along the hall, I drop my holdall in the downstairs toilet until I can stow it away. My need to check on my children more urgent than satisfying the thirst that grips me, I go straight back to the stairs. I have no doubt Jason is looking after them; he will do that above everything else. Above temptation? Not that. Clearly, not that. He’s already succumbed; will continue to succumb to whatever his online woman is offering him. How far might he go to distance himself from his past life? From me, or who he imagines me to be? From his children? I’m pushing him, but surely he must know that I want him to push back. I need him to. I desperately need him to realise he wants to.
Fear tingling my spine – fear of the unknown, of what my future might hold; fear of falling further into an endless abyss on my own – I climb the stairs, willing the floorboards not to creak. I have to open his eyes. I have to make him see the person he’s forgotten exists inside me. I have to make him realise he doesn’t want to lose her.
Finding Holly’s door ajar, I nudge it further open and slip into her bedroom. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the form of my daughter in the pale light of her nightlight. Her pink Build-A-Bear – her childhood comfort toy – clutched to her chest, she is curled into a foetus-like ball, looking lonely and fragile and small.
Oh, sweetheart. My heart squeezing inside me, I wipe a tear from my face, lest it land on my baby girl’s cheek to mingle with those I have no doubt she has silently cried, and lower myself to crouch down beside her. We’ll fix this, my darling. Gently, I brush a strand of her beautiful blonde hair from her eyes, press a light kiss to her temple and ease the duvet up over her. Mummy will make things right, make Daddy stay. I promise you, angel, I will make all of this go away.
I’m tempted to lie down beside my little girl, curl my body around her and never let her go, but I caution myself not to. Holly needs to sleep. I need to check on Josh, who will be as bewildered by all that’s happening as his sister. Easing myself up, I walk quietly to the door, pulling it to behind me, and creep along the landing to Josh’s room.
Stepping inside his partially open door, my gaze goes instinctively to his bed and I stop dead. The duvet is thrown back and tangled. There’s a soft hollow in his pillow, an empty space where my little boy’s body should be. My eyes shoot to his bedside table, my panic subsiding a little as I realise his glasses are there. His iPad, too. He wouldn’t go far without either of those. He’s with Jason. Has to be. Backing out, I turn on my heel and fly to the main bedroom.
Please let him be there. Please, God, let him be there. My heart battering against my chest and terrifying scenarios screaming in my head – my ten-year-old son, wandering the cold, unfriendly streets on his own – I press down the door handle, and t
hen I start breathing again. Relief flooding through me, I move quietly towards the bed. My husband is lying on his back, one arm thrown across his forehead. Tucked safely in the crook of his other arm is Josh, sleeping soundly, his head pressed against his father’s chest, listening to the reassuring thrum of his heartbeat. As I so often did, feeling secure and needed and wanted.
Was that really such a short while ago?
I won’t let him go. Can’t allow him to. I have to make Jason see that, whatever it is he craves, whatever he thinks is missing in his life, he will find it right here, with his family. As long as we have each other we can survive. We can do more than survive; we can fly, if only I can open his eyes.
THIRTY-THREE
DIANA
Robert looked bleary-eyed when he came down to the kitchen – unsurprising, given the time he’d come in last night. He’d obviously been hard at it at work, which had necessitated time to de-stress at the golf club, the bar of which had closed a good hour before he’d arrived home. He’d driven, of course, despite the weave to his walk and the fact that he’d reeked of whisky when he rolled in. Diana curtailed her rising contempt, preferring to remain calm until she was certain her suspicions were correct. She’d been the epitome of calm throughout their marriage, skilled in the art of maintaining a composed façade. As the wife of a prominent businessman who liked to move in the right social circles, she’d played her supporting role well, tolerating his behaviour at first. After losing Sarah, she was so broken, and she didn’t have the strength to walk away. Starting over, fighting him in court – it had all seemed too daunting a task. She’d stayed rather than cause any further upheaval in Karla’s life. And then, once Karla was married, she stayed because it suited her to do so until she was financially secure. The bonus of being with a wealthy man who didn’t care to notice her was that she could do exactly as she liked, which meant seeing Michael whenever she wanted, a fact Robert would wake up to one day. One day very soon.
‘You’re dressed early,’ he said, blinking and looking slightly disorientated. Possibly because Diana hadn’t dutifully brought him his cup of tea that morning, or his newspaper, the headlines of which he would browse before taking his shower and going off to his office to make his staff’s lives completely miserable. She’d made a mistake in staying with him. A dreadful mistake. Robert’s final cruel attempt to destroy Jason’s life, thereby robbing his daughter of her happiness, had brought that sharply home.
Diana regretted not having the will to walk away sooner, but there was nothing to be done about it. She couldn’t undo her life and get the years back. All she could do now was set her plan in motion. It was a pity, though, that she wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing Robert’s face when he realised the headlines were about himself.
‘I had some things on my mind. I couldn’t sleep,’ she informed him, walking across to the work surface to fill up the kettle.
‘Oh?’ Robert said, behind her.
He sounded guarded, Diana noted. Clearly, he thought she’d been up half the night tearing herself apart about where he’d been until the small hours, and who with. That she might be about to demand explanations. As if she hadn’t given that up years ago.
‘Tea?’ she asked him.
Glancing behind her, she noticed a flicker of surprise cross his face. Robert didn’t take long to recover himself though. He rarely did. He was a man whose confidence bordered on intolerable arrogance. Diana often wondered whether he realised the young women he bedded wouldn’t look at him twice if he wasn’t flaunting his wallet.
‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ he said, an exasperated edge to his tone, indicating his disgruntlement at not having his tea served to him in bed. The bed he’d made for himself, and which, Diana had decided, it was high time he was left to lie in.
‘I had some things to do, so I thought I might as well come down,’ she said, turning to face Robert as he seated himself at the breakfast table.
Diana watched him glance around with a perturbed look on his face, as if wondering why there were no breakfast preparations underway. ‘Some old acquaintances to catch up with,’ she added cryptically.
That got his attention. Robert was looking at her now, puzzled. And well might he be.
‘What did you say to him?’ Diana asked him bluntly.
Robert looked confounded at that.
‘Jason,’ Diana clarified. ‘Karla thinks he’s about to leave her.’
Robert furrowed his brow. He did his best to look perturbed, but Diana noted the glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
‘She thinks it’s because of something that passed between you and him at the meeting you had. What did you say, Robert, that had such a devastating impact on him and Karla?’
Now he looked dismissive. ‘Not that again, Diana,’ he said, with a heavy sigh, and reached across the table for the newspaper. ‘I’ve told you, he—’
‘What did you say to him?’ Diana bellowed, causing his attention to snap back to her.
Taken aback, he eyed her warily for a moment and then shook his head in despair. ‘You really are determined to paint me as the villain in all of this, aren’t you, Diana? Did it not occur to you that “can do no wrong” Jason might have always intended to turn down the substantial amount of money I offered him?’
Diana laughed, disbelieving. ‘Why? Because he wanted his business to fail?’
‘Because he’s been looking for a way out of his marriage,’ Robert supplied, preposterously. ‘Because he has been for some while, but being the weak specimen he is, he was looking for a way to blame everyone else for his own failings!’ he finished, his voice going up several octaves. He stared angrily.
And now Diana was truly incredulous. Was he really going down this route? Could he not see that she was giving him an opportunity to redeem himself in one small way and tell her a truth she’d always known? But he would continue to treat her as if she were a halfwit, pile lie on top of lie and ruin Jason’s life, Karla’s life, in order to substantiate those lies and save his own miserable skin. Unbelievable. ‘You bastard,’ she said, shaking her head.
He pulled in a long breath, his nostrils flaring, and got to his feet. ‘On the basis that you’re obviously upset, I’m going to overlook that, Diana,’ he said, his voice tight with suppressed rage. ‘But please do not ever call me—’
‘I know!’ Diana took a step towards him, eyeballing him furiously.
He scanned her eyes, his ridiculous bluster faltering for a second. Then, ‘Know what, exactly?’ he said flatly.
He was bluffing. Waiting for her to spit it out. Diana could see the uncertainty in his eyes. Smell his fear. He knew damn well what.
‘You’ve gone too far,’ she said evenly. ‘And this time, I will see that you pay.’ Dragging her gaze disdainfully over him, she turned to walk away.
‘Know what?’ Robert shouted after her. ‘Diana! Fuck!’
Diana heard the loud crash behind her, meaning that he’d taken his frustration out on whatever was closest to hand. Of course, he would then blame anyone and everyone for causing his frustration. Robert rarely felt that he was to blame for losing his temper, for any damage he caused, be it emotional or physical. For that, he would need to have a conscience. And a man who sailed through life, destroying anyone who might pose a threat to his business or his reputation – even his own children – clearly did not.
Diana didn’t consider herself a vengeful person, but her fervent wish was that one day Robert might discover he did have a conscience. She wished more fervently that by then it would be too late. That he would already be on his way to the gates of hell.
THIRTY-FOUR
JASON
Waking with a jerk, Jason reached instinctively for his phone on the bedside table, only to find it wasn’t there. Heaving himself out of bed, he checked the dresser and quickly scanned the rest of the room. He was sure he’d brought it up with him, ready to grab should, God forbid, there be an emergency phone call. But he’d been s
o bloody tired last night after another late meeting at the office to fine-tune the details of the sale of the company. He wanted the handover to go as smoothly as possible. Mark had been with him from start-up, when they’d worked together in one poky room. It was thanks to Mark they’d sold their first ever computer software package. Looking at the ideas he had for future expansion, the customers both he and Rachel were working all hours to secure, he deserved this to work.
The kids had also been exhausted, having spent the evening in the office with him, yet again. After talking to Jessie and then waiting up another hour, worrying about where Karla was, hoping she would come home, he’d been incapable of thinking straight. Then Josh had woken up with a screaming nightmare. The poor kid had been so petrified, Jason had tucked him into the main bed and then crawled in there with him. He could have left his phone anywhere. Possibly in Josh’s room. Glancing in his direction, he saw he was still sleeping and decided he would give him ten more minutes, while he got breakfast.
Massaging the crick in his neck, he headed downstairs, turned towards the kitchen and stopped in his tracks.
Karla?
Fear twisted Jason’s stomach. Cautiously, he moved towards the slim figure slumped on the hall floor, against the wall. What in God’s name was she doing there, fully dressed and fast asleep?
Christ, he hoped she was asleep. Crouching beside her, Jason hesitated and then gently shook her. ‘Karla,’ he said softly.
She didn’t move, causing his heart to almost stop beating. ‘Karla!’ He called her name more urgently and shook her again, relief crashing through him when she finally stirred.
‘Whoa, hold on. Give yourself a second.’ Jason reached out to help as, her eyes springing wide, she attempted to scramble up.
The Marriage Trap: A completely addictive psychological thriller Page 18
