The Marriage Trap: A completely addictive psychological thriller

by Sheryl Browne

  FORTY-ONE

  JASON

  Replacing the phone in its cradle, Jason glanced up the stairs, glad Karla hadn’t heard the phone ringing, or worse, answered it. It had been a reporter. There’d been rumblings in the papers, hints about a certain businessman’s nefarious activities. It wouldn’t be long before the story broke, the guy had said. Did Karla have any comments, he’d wanted to know? Jason had said he thought not, but had given him a choice one of his own.

  Christ, how would she handle it when it did break? Robert Fenton deserved all he got, but Karla didn’t deserve any of this. Their kids didn’t. He’d have to warn them about answering the phone.

  Checking his watch, he realised they were late – again. He headed back to the kitchen, fetched the juice from the fridge and slammed Josh’s porridge into the microwave. He was retrieving cutlery from the useless dishwasher to wash when he realised he’d forgotten to time the porridge correctly.

  Dammit. Jason swung around to grab it before it was cremated, and then – ‘Shit!’ He cursed loudly and shook his burned fingers as the hot dish hit the floor.

  ‘Daddy, language,’ Holly chastised him, from where she sat at the breakfast table.

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ Jason shrugged apologetically. She looked tired, he noticed. Her hair was a mess. She’d had two buns on top of her head when she’d come down, which Josh had felt obliged to point out made her look like Mickey Mouse. Holly had growled at him and decided on two braids instead, which she’d asked Jason to help her with. She might as well have asked him to knit her a jumper.

  Unimpressed with his hairdressing skills, she’d finally settled on a simple headband instead, dragging it through her hair without actually utilising the brush. She wasn’t looking any more impressed now – unenthusiastically stirring her porridge, which had probably solidified.

  Grabbing up the milk, Justin carried it over and tipped some in her dish. He noted the despairing roll of her eyes as he did. ‘I’ll do better tomorrow,’ he promised, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

  Answering with a small nod, Holly dropped her gaze and gave the unappetising sludge another stir. She was upset, wondering what was going on with him and Karla. The arguments they’d been having lately were loud, the silences in between louder. Jason felt his heart ache for Holly and Josh, both. They didn’t want him to make breakfast tomorrow – or any day, for that matter. They wanted their mother doing what she always had, being her efficient self, feeding them edible food. Karla was the epitome of organisation, or she had been. Jason had tried, but more often than not he failed, setting off with the kids for school minus their lunchboxes, forgetting half the stuff on the shopping list. They didn’t need him; they needed Karla, joking with them or chivvying them on when they dawdled, issuing threats if they didn’t ‘get their skates on’, threats they knew she wouldn’t carry out. Their children wanted familiarity, normality. With Karla lying in bed, recovering from another hangover, they were about as far from that as it was possible to get. He’d begged her not to go out.

  ‘Tell me you’re not leaving me, and I won’t,’ she’d said, her tone weary with exhaustion, her eyes… haunted.

  Jason hadn’t. He couldn’t. ‘I’ll stay for a while,’ he’d said uselessly instead.

  Karla smiled; a smile filled with such defeat and such soul-crushing sadness, he’d almost blurted out there and then why he couldn’t. What would that have done to her?

  ‘Sorry, tiger.’ Swallowing back his guilt, Jason offered Josh an apology for his failed porridge. ‘Fancy some toast instead?’

  ‘Coco Pops. I’ll get them,’ Josh said, sliding off his chair with a world-weary sigh and heading for the cupboard.

  ‘Cheers, Josh.’ Jason went to grab a cloth to clear the mess from the floor. ‘Can you leave a drop of milk in the carton for Mum?’ he asked him. ‘She’ll be thirsty.’

  Dehydrated, no doubt. It had gone three o’clock when she’d arrived home last night – or rather, this morning. They didn’t share the same bed any more, but Jason hadn’t been asleep. He’d come through from the spare room to see what was happening after he’d heard the front door open, followed by a crash in the hall. ‘Karla, everything all right?’ he’d called down, concerned when he saw that she was unsteady on her feet.

  ‘Fine,’ she’d said, precariously repositioning the upturned statue on the hall table and retrieving one of her boots from the floor. ‘Couldn’t be better. Been nightclubbing.’

  Waving the boot vaguely around, she’d then attempted to tiptoe up the stairs, almost falling up them as she did. Worried she was going to stumble backwards down them when she wobbled at the top, Jason had gone to try to help her.

  ‘Don’t.’ She’d recoiled in an instant, staggering and very nearly doing what he was trying to avoid. ‘Just don’t. Please.’ That had hurt, that she found his touch so unbearable.

  She wouldn’t even look at him.

  Trying not to imagine how she would feel if she knew all there was to know about him, he sucked in a breath and concentrated on his cleaning endeavours, glancing up at their son as he did. Josh was doing as he’d asked, pouring the milk carefully on his Coco Pops and then shaking the carton close to his ear to check he’d left enough milk for his mum. He didn’t ask where she was. Neither of them did. They knew she would make an appearance eventually.

  ‘We’ll be late, Dad,’ Holly reminded him, collecting up her bowl and heading for the bin to scrape most of the contents away. Jason felt for her. He hadn’t realised how useless he was at this. He’d never had to do it, other than the odd few times. He would improve. He had to. Wherever he might end up, he had no intention of losing touch with his kids. At one point, he’d felt they were all he had to live for.

  ‘I know. Don’t worry, I’ll ring the school and explain.’ Straightening up, Jason mustered a smile. ‘Go up and brush your teeth, sweetheart. I won’t be long.’

  Sighing, Holly walked across to the dishwasher. ‘Are you going to shave?’ she asked him, a concerned frown crossing her face as she looked him over.

  ‘I’ll do it in the office,’ he assured her, aware that his own dishevelled appearance was probably as destabilising for them as everything else. ‘Go on, scoot. You, too, Josh. And don’t forget to brush properly – with toothpaste.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Josh said through a mouthful of Coco Pops, as if he didn’t regularly forget. ‘I’m still eating.’

  ‘Well, hurry up.’ Holly shot him a despairing glance as she headed for the hall. ‘Dad has to go to work.’

  Watching her go, Jason felt his heart sink. She was sounding more grown up every day, because she felt she had to be, that it was her responsibility to be adult around grown-ups who were acting like children. Having felt exactly that way as a child, it was the last thing Jason had wanted for his kids, but he had no way to fix it.

  ‘Oh.’ Holly stopped at the kitchen door. ‘Morning,’ she said, sounding majorly unimpressed.

  Following her gaze, Jason could see why. Karla had made an effort, pulling on tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt, but the fact was she looked pale and drawn, and more dishevelled than he did. Jason’s heart sank another inch. As much as he would like to undo all that had happened and take away the horrendous hurt he knew she was feeling, he couldn’t. It simply wasn’t within his power.

  ‘You’d better get your skates on,’ Karla said, with a cautious smile, ‘or you’ll be late.’

  ‘Like you care.’ Her forehead knitting into a scowl, Holly eyed her mother reproachfully.

  ‘Of course I care.’ Karla laughed, taken aback. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t up, sweetheart. I wasn’t feeling too well.’

  ‘Again.’ Holly stepped away from her pointedly. ‘Maybe you should stop drinking so much, and then you might feel better,’ she suggested, oozing sarcasm.

  ‘Holly…’ Bewildered, Karla spun around as Holly flounced past her to the hall.

  ‘I can smell it, Mum,’ Holly informed her, her tone flat as she thumped up th
e stairs.

  Turning back, Karla glanced dazedly in Jason’s direction and then wrapped her arms about herself and dropped her gaze to the floor.

  ‘All right?’ Jason asked, taking a tentative step towards her.

  ‘Fine,’ Karla snapped. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  Josh scooped the last of his cereal into his mouth and scrambled off his chair in record time. ‘I’ll go grab my rucksack,’ he mumbled, wiping his hand over his mouth and skidding out after Holly.

  ‘Don’t forget to brush your teeth,’ Karla called after him.

  ‘I know,’ Josh said over his shoulder. ‘You don’t have to keep bloody well telling me.’

  ‘What?’ Karla whirled around again. ‘Josh, come back here.’

  ‘I can’t! I’m late,’ Josh shouted back.

  ‘Now, Josh.’ Her expression disbelieving, Karla started towards the stairs, and then stopped as Josh’s bedroom door slammed resoundingly overhead.

  Sighing, Jason kneaded his forehead. ‘Go easy on him, Karla,’ he ventured, as she came back to the kitchen. ‘They’re struggling to understand—’

  ‘Really?’ Karla grabbed up the kettle and shoved it under the tap. ‘You do surprise me. I mean, why on earth would their worlds be falling apart, I wonder. Oh yes, now I remember. That would be because their father has chosen to take up with a trollop!’

  Jesus. Glancing upwards, Jason drew in a sharp breath. ‘Don’t Karla. The kids…’

  ‘Don’t what? Tell the truth? Disillusion them? Don’t you think you’ve already disillusioned them enough for life?’ Karla turned tearfully towards him. She looked worse than he’d realised. Drawn, almost. She was losing weight. She really was beginning to look ill, and Jason had no idea what to do. What he could do. If she asked him to go, he would have to. As things were, though, he was too scared – scared for her, for the kids.

  ‘I know I have,’ he said quietly. ‘I wish… I’m sorry.’ Christ. He ran a hand over his neck in frustration. How pathetic and inadequate did that sound?

  ‘I bet you are.’ Her eyes, burning with anger and humiliation, searched his.

  No idea what to say, Jason looked away. If only she knew how sorry he was. How much he wished he could turn back the clock, only then to be consumed with guilt when he realised he was wishing his children away.

  ‘Just go, Jason,’ Karla said defeatedly, after a minute’s loaded silence.

  Jason nodded tiredly. ‘I’m dropping the kids off on the way,’ he reminded her.

  Her gaze focused on the mug she was heaping sugar into, Karla didn’t answer.

  ‘Will you be all right?’

  Wiping the back of her hand across her eyes, Karla sniffed and nodded.

  ‘Do you need me to pick anything up?’

  ‘Something for the children’s dinner,’ she said, her voice strained. ‘I’ll be at Mum’s.’

  ‘Right.’ Jason hesitated. ‘How is she?’

  ‘How do you think?’ Karla’s tone was flat. ‘I bet you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Finally seeing my father humiliated?’

  Not half as much as I should be, Jason thought. She’d seen the first reports in the newspapers, claims made about a recipient of various UK Business Awards abusing his staff. He guessed she thought it was him who’d leaked information to the media. He hadn’t, though he’d been sorely tempted. After all Fenton had done to him, Jason had desperately wanted some kind of revenge – it wouldn’t have been human not to. Fenton had always aimed to take away what it had taken Jason his whole life to find: the family he’d never had. That had become emphatically clear on the day the man had delivered the news he’d known would bring him to his knees. Jason had wanted the ruthless bastard to know how it felt to lose everything that mattered, the things that money couldn’t buy. Now though, counting the casualties, he dearly wished he’d done what his so-called father-in-law had wanted and walked away years ago.

  ‘I have no feelings one way or the other, Karla,’ he said, heading to the hall for his car keys. He didn’t, he realised with surprise. It was only a matter of time before Robert was named by the press. When he was, Jason would gain no satisfaction from it. He simply couldn’t be bothered wasting any more emotion on the man.

  ‘No feelings full stop,’ Karla threw after him.

  FORTY-TWO

  ROBERT

  ‘Bastards.’ Dabbing at the nick on his chin with a towel, Robert peered furiously through the curtains at the bay window of their bedroom, to find the press already baying for his blood on the street outside. Did they have nothing better to do than harass upstanding members of the public? To hound a hardworking businessman and valuable contributor to society, solely because a few of his staff had had the temerity, despite the rewards of working for him and the astronomical salaries he paid them, to make ridiculous accusations?

  Christ almighty, they’ll be branding us sex fiends if we so much as smile at a woman soon. Fucking MeToo campaign, ruining lives, bringing great men to their knees. Attention-seekers and gold-diggers, the lot of them.

  Fuming, Robert dropped the curtain, pulling the white towel, which was now stained crimson, away from his face as he walked back towards the bathroom to continue his shave. The mob out there would probably be ecstatic if he did cut his throat, trampling each other to death in their rush to get a photo opportunity and try him by press after his death. Tossers. Robert would like to see any one of them attempting to do half of what he’d done. He’d bet there wasn’t a single person amongst them who’d ever done a real day’s graft, working his fingers to the bone to set up a business, which provided employment to people and shored up the flagging economy.

  Did that ever occur to them? That, in putting him out of business, they would be robbing the people they were supposed to be informing of their jobs?

  Not a chance. They earned their fat salaries off the backs of people like him, destroying them and their families without compunction before going back to their cosy little homes to tuck into their dinners. God only knew how they slept at night.

  ‘Bloodsucking parasites.’ Turning to toss the towel into the corner of the bedroom, on top of yesterday’s washing, he caught his wife’s eye as she came through the bedroom door. Diana glanced from him to the pile of dirty laundry and back, with that indifferent expression she wore permanently around him. She’d looked at him like that for years, like she didn’t even see him. It had been bad enough before the appalling circumstances surrounding their loss, and then that had caused her to withdraw from him completely. Up until then, she’d stood by him. She’d never quite forgiven him for the silly affair he’d had prior to their wedding, and he couldn’t blame her for that – he’d been playing far too close to home – but she’d accepted that it was a momentary weakness, that he’d given in to a temptation of the flesh. She’d been aware that her enticing little friend, Julie – who he’d hired out of the kindness of his heart – had her sights set on him. In a close office environment, sadly certain women did develop fixations on their bosses, he’d pointed out. He’d let Julie go, of course, with compensation for her trouble, which he continued to pay out on a regular basis – and which Diana had no knowledge of – but naturally the friendship between the two women had soured. There had been no further questions asked and the episode was consigned to history, which is where Robert considered it should stay.

  ‘I suppose you think I deserve this?’ He sighed heavily and watched as she bent to scoop up the washing, wishing she would look at him now with a hint of sympathy in her eyes. That she would offer him a small smile of encouragement. It was her smile that had attracted him, lighting up her features and cheering his day as he passed through the bookshop where she worked, before he descended into the bowels of the building beneath the shop to toil and sweat and build up his business. She’d been supportive of him then, typing up his correspondence, listening as he’d told her of his plans, his hopes and his dreams. She’d been beautiful when he first met her, and she was still a fine-looking wo
man. Always paying attention to her diet, she’d kept her figure well. Robert had to admire that in a mature woman. He’d been tempted to tell her though, on many occasions, that the scowl would only age her prematurely.

  ‘I don’t think anything, Robert,’ she said, walking past him to the bathroom to put the dirty laundry in the washing basket. ‘At least nothing you would want to hear.’

  ‘Which means what, exactly?’ Robert eyed her with despair as she came back. ‘That you do think I’ve done something to warrant this shit descending on me?’

  ‘I think we both know you have, Robert,’ Diana said, not even glancing in his direction as she headed for her walk in wardrobe.

  ‘Such as what, exactly?’ Watching her reappear, carrying a suitcase, Robert was uncomprehending for a second, and then a sharp knot of panic tightened inside him.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked her, his throat suddenly parched.

  Her back to him, Diana placed the suitcase down on her dressing table, and picked up her handbag, casually flicking through the contents. ‘I’m leaving you,’ she said matter-of-factly, snapping her handbag shut and turning to face him.

  Only then did she look at him. She looked at him full on for the first time in a very long time. And what Robert saw shook him to the core: hatred, unadulterated hatred, her ice-blue eyes hardening to flint.

  ‘But… why?’ he stammered, fear gripping his insides like a vice. But he knew. It wasn’t about this nonsense in the newspapers, which he’d tried to reassure her would disappear once he had his injunction in place. This simmering anger went back to the harrowing events of twenty-five years ago. She’d turned away from him in the bleak days following the funeral, making it clear that she couldn’t have cared less about his pain, the fact that he’d felt as if his heart had been ripped out of him. He’d needed her then, like never before. He’d needed to hold her, if nothing else, but she hadn’t been there for him. Instead, she looked at him with growing disdain if he came home late at night, as if a man was supposed to remain celibate all his life.