Trust Me: An absolutely gripping and unputdownable psychological thriller

by Sheryl Browne

  He leaned towards her as the door closed behind Ed. ‘Er, they are plastic ducks, aren’t they?’ he asked worriedly.

  Emily laughed at the thought of Jake imagining himself wading down the river in pursuit of the flapping feathered variety. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed, to his relief. ‘I imagine the RSPCA would have something to say if they weren’t.’

  ‘You’re racing plastic ducks?’ their receptionist asked, one eyebrow raised dubiously as Emily went back to the desk.

  ‘It’s called having fun, Nicky.’ Emily couldn’t help but smile at the unimpressed look on the girl’s face. Having moved to the small village of Earlslip from London with her family a little over a year ago, Nicky often seemed bored, and just the tiniest bit contemptuous of the community’s twee way of life. ‘You should come along, let your hair down and enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Er, right.’ Nicky looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure wading about in wellies in freezing-cold water is my idea of fun, but thanks anyway.’

  Walking back to his office, Jake exchanged amused glances with Emily as Nicky got to her feet, teetering around the desk in her preferred footwear to check the self-sign-in system. Her heels were at least five inches high and Emily couldn’t help but wonder how she walked in them. She’d worn her own fair share of stilettos in her errant younger days. Still did whenever Jake and she went anywhere special. But for negotiating the treacherously uneven cobbled high street to the surgery? Sooner Nicky than her.

  Jake’s smile slipped as Tom emerged from his own office. He was also taking in Nicky’s shoes, Emily noticed, along with every inch of leg above them. Wincing inwardly, she shot Jake an empathetic glance, to which he shook his head in a combination of despair and anger. Emily understood why he would be agitated by his father’s behaviour. He’d seemed reluctant to disclose much about his family history when she’d first met him, other than that he’d lost his mother in his teens. As they grew closer and he’d felt able to let his guard down, he’d confided that his father had always been a womaniser. That his mother had turned to drink when he’d left her, renting a flat in the same village, which must have been soul-crushing for her. Jake had found himself in the role of caring for her. He felt he’d failed her, and Emily suspected he’d never been able to forgive himself for it. Her heart had stopped beating as she’d imagined the horror he’d felt walking through the front door of his house to find his mother hanging like a limp ragdoll in the hall. He’d been just sixteen years old. How did one recover from that?

  He’d gone to his father’s flat afterwards, he’d told her, determined to confront him. Incoherent with grief and rage when he’d found he was with another woman while his mother took her last breath, he’d accused him of driving her to suicide with his infidelity. Emily’s heart had bled for him as she tried to imagine his insurmountable pain.

  His father had apparently blamed his affairs on his wife’s drinking, begged Jake to try to understand. Jake had turned his back, walked away before he could do something he would regret. He’d left the village almost immediately after that. He and his father had never discussed the matter since, as far as Emily knew. They avoided anything emotive, in fact, even though they worked in the same practice together and could hardly therefore ignore each other. Watching Tom now, it was obvious he still had a roving eye, confirming all that Jake had said about him. A silver-fox charmer, the man was an obvious flirt. Leopards and spots, Emily supposed.

  ‘Quick word about the practice budget when you have a second, Jake,’ he said, his mouth curving into an appreciative smile, his gaze still on Nicky.

  Aware of Tom’s attention, Nicky smiled back. Emily had no idea what else she was supposed to do other than blank him, but she couldn’t help thinking Tom would be encouraged by the girl appearing unconcerned about his ogling. She really was going to have to have strong words with him.

  ‘No time like the present,’ Jake said tersely.

  ‘Is it okay if I go now, Emily?’ Nicky asked as Tom dragged his gaze away and turned to follow Jake to his office. ‘It’s just I’ve already worked ten minutes over and I’m meeting up with someone in Pembridge this evening.’

  Emily checked the clock. ‘Gosh, yes, of course. Sorry. You go. Take an extra ten minutes in the morning if you like. I can manage. Going anywhere nice?’

  ‘The Fish and Anchor for a meal.’ Smiling in anticipation, Nicky headed back around the desk to grab her bag. ‘It’ll take me ages to get ready.’

  Emily’s mind boggled at that. The girl always looked as if she’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. ‘Enjoy. See you tomorrow. Not too hung-over, I hope,’ she added as Nicky went to fetch her coat, a trendy black leather biker jacket similar to one Millie had. They seemed to be everywhere at the moment. Emily quite fancied one herself, but couldn’t help thinking she might look like mutton dressed as lamb.

  Nicky smiled sheepishly and tugged the jacket on. ‘I won’t be,’ she promised, lifting her lustrous dark hair from the back of the jacket and allowing it to fall in loose waves over her shoulders. ‘I don’t generally drink during the week.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Emily smiled knowingly back. Nicky had come in so hung-over once she’d barely been able to function. As she’d been out celebrating her birthday, and aware of her own propensity to judge people who leaned on mood-enhancing drugs, alcohol being one of them, Emily hadn’t been too hard on her, but she had warned her not to make a habit of it.

  She felt less forgiving, however, when she noticed that the girl was about to leave the surgery with her computer screen still lit and showing confidential patient data.

  ‘Haven’t we forgotten something, Nicky?’ she asked, drumming her fingers pointedly against the desktop.

  Knitting her brow, Nicky gave her a puzzled look.

  ‘Your data protection training, possibly?’ Emily’s eyes slid towards the computer.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Nicky clamped a hand to her mouth, her huge brown eyes growing wide with alarm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, flying back towards it. ‘I was distracted.’

  By Tom, no doubt, Emily thought, now feeling considerably peeved.

  ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’ Leaning over the keyboard, Nicky quickly exited the patient files and closed the computer down.

  ‘Please make sure it doesn’t.’ Emily softened her tone, despite her annoyance. ‘We operate a clear-desk policy for a reason. Making sure there are no files left lying around and exiting all computer screens is essential. Anyone could access private medical information otherwise: a member of the public, the cleaning staff, the postman – even delivery or maintenance people, for goodness’ sake.’

  Nicky looked contrite. ‘I know. I really am sorry. I’ll put a Post-it note on my screen to remind me, and a note in my handbag.’ Her eyes flicked down and back again, and Emily saw she was on the brink of tears. She felt like an old witch but couldn’t let it slip. The waiting room was open to all and sundry, and protecting patient confidentiality was paramount in a doctor’s surgery. As practice manager, she was entrusted to keep people’s personal details safe, and she took her responsibility very seriously.

  ‘And one on your desk to remind you to put the note on your screen?’ she suggested, with a small smile. ‘Try not to forget, Nicky. It’s extremely important.’

  Nicky nodded. ‘I know. I won’t.’

  ‘Go on, off you go.’ Emily sighed tolerantly. The girl had clearly got the message. ‘See you in the morning,’ she said, going back across the surgery to lock up behind her.

  ‘Will do. I’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and making sure to pay attention to detail, I promise.’

  Emily hoped so. Watching in bemusement as the girl negotiated the steps with ease and clip-clopped off, she closed the door and walked back to do her usual check of the waiting area. Having established there were no items left behind by patients, she was walking back to reception when she heard Tom’s tones drifting through Jake’s open office door. ‘I see all the young f
emale patients are switching to your list,’ he said amusedly.

  Emily guessed from Jake’s silence that he found this more annoying than amusing.

  ‘Can’t say I blame them. You’re definitely a chip off the old block,’ Tom went on, oblivious. ‘Suave, good-looking. I hope you’re not stepping too literally into my shoes, though.’

  Emily sighed at the man’s attempt at a joke. She very much doubted Jake would aspire to do that. Undoubtedly handsome, he’d definitely been a magnet for female patients when he’d first joined the practice. He wasn’t his father, though, or anything like him. Her vivid dream popped into her mind, reminding her how easily Jake could attract the attention of a woman, and the intense heartbreak she’d felt when he had. But that was years ago. She tried hard to dismiss it, but couldn’t quite manage to.

  ‘I have no intention of stepping into your shoes,’ she heard Jake reply brusquely.

  ‘Right,’ Tom said awkwardly. ‘I, er, actually meant I hoped you wouldn’t be taking all of my patients, since I wasn’t intending to fully retire just yet.’

  Jake took a minute to answer. When he did, Emily was taken aback. ‘You never cease to amaze me, do you know that?’ he growled. ‘This bloody innuendo you come out with all the time. Don’t you have any conscience?’

  Tom hesitated. ‘If you’re referring to what I think you are, Jake,’ he said, at length, ‘I do have one or two regrets, yes.’

  ‘Just one or two?’ Jake’s tone was caustic.

  ‘Several,’ Tom admitted. ‘Look, Jake, I know what you think of me. That you’re uncomfortable with some of the things I did in the past.’

  ‘Uncomfortable?’ Jake repeated, astonished.

  Tom was silent for a second, then: ‘It wasn’t easy for me sometimes,’ he said quietly. ‘Things weren’t good between your mother and me, and—’

  ‘You sought comfort elsewhere?’ Jake suggested, his voice edged with disdain.

  ‘Your mother wasn’t well,’ Tom insisted fiercely. ‘She never had been, not really. I tried, but—’

  ‘Shall we talk about the budget?’ Jake cut him short.

  Oh dear. Hearing the anger in his voice, Emily felt for them both. Despite his reservations, Jake had come to work with his father five years ago because Tom had managed to persuade him that, however he felt about him, he would be an idiot to pass up the offer of a partnership, particularly with two teenagers to put through their education. Emily sensed that, beneath his sometimes glib exterior, Tom might be lonely and desperate to mend fences with his son. Jake would never be able to make himself believe his father had ever cared about his mother or him enough to want to meet him halfway, though.

  ‘Fine.’ Tom sighed heavily. ‘I haven’t got long myself, as it happens. I have an engagement in Pembridge this evening.’

  ‘Ah. With anyone interesting?’ Jake asked.

  Emily didn’t miss the sarcasm. Tom clearly didn’t either. ‘Some people from the local medical committee,’ he answered with another weary sigh.

  Quietly wishing that Jake would let his defences down a little for his own sake, and then realising that that was probably impossible, since Tom was still clearly unable to curb his flirtatious inclinations, Emily left them to it and went to clear her desk. She needed to book that pub meal and make a bit of an effort to get ready.

  Heading back to her PC, she made sure she’d exited the patient app – God forbid she should leave anything on display for the cleaner when she came in; Fran Nateman revelled in a bit of juicy village gossip, and wasn’t best known for her discretion – then did a final check of incoming emails. A late email had pinged into Jake’s inbox, she noticed. She didn’t recognise the sender’s address – which began nja123 – but she ought to check it in case it was important. Good job Jake trusted her. Thanks to her job here, she had access to all his various accounts, along with his medical history. She really did know everything there was to know about him.

  Smiling distractedly, she opened the email and her heart stopped dead.

  Unless you want a certain person to find out about your extracurricular activities, meet me in the designated place, 3 p.m. tomorrow.

  Three

  Her hands shaking, Emily typed the address into the email search bar. No previous emails came up. Nausea swilling inside her, she tried to make sense of it. It was some kind of joke, she tried to reassure herself. It had to be. Or else it was meant for Tom rather than Jake. She seized on that as a possible explanation. Might he be having an affair? Could someone be threatening to expose him? Her palms damp with sweat, she searched through Jake’s previous emails, her gaze darting in the direction of the offices lest Jake or Tom suddenly come out. She went back weeks, finding nothing personal of any significance other than emails he had sent her. Drowning in paperwork, his last one had said. I’m going to be at least another couple of hours. Don’t worry about food. I’ll get takeaway. Sorry. Will make it up. Promise. X

  She had worried. She worried constantly about him: his diet, the long hours he worked, his exhaustion. She swallowed hard, saw afresh the image from her dream of her sister’s hand pressed against the window, as if she were trying to reach out to her. She had thought Kara was taunting her, reminding her of Jake’s flirtation with another woman. She’d been angry. She’d thought her sister was jealous. In her mind, she’d been convinced that Kara was trying from the grave to take her man away, as she imagined Emily had done to her. But what if it was nothing of the sort? She recalled the frightened, plaintive look in her sister’s eyes, almost as if she were mourning. What if she was mourning not the loss of years gone, but the loss to come? Emily’s loss? What if she was trying to warn her?

  Her heart racing, she reached for the gold locket she always wore with her sister’s photo inside, trying to find some comfort from it.

  Could it be true? Was this the message she was supposed to take from her dream, that Jake was having an affair? She’d thought that, in frequently working so late, he was being conscientious. She’d admired him for it. When she’d missed him in the evenings, she’d reminded herself what a good man he was, determined to do right by his patients. But an affair would explain his bone-weary exhaustion when he did finally come home, wouldn’t it? His ‘extracurricular activities’ would be a terrible drain on his energies.

  Had she been so wrong about him? Wrong to trust him? She’d loved her first boyfriend – or thought she had. She’d thought he’d loved her back. He hadn’t, other than in some twisted way she would never understand. But she hadn’t trusted him. Somewhere inside her, even as a gullible seventeen-year-old, her instinct had tried to warn her, gnawing away at her consistently. She’d ignored it. She was trying to ignore that same instinct now. But she couldn’t.

  Jake was cheating on her.

  Her mind reeled. Her heart palpitated unsteadily. He couldn’t be. She stared hard at the message that was screaming at her, telling her he could be. God. Looking upwards, she bit her tears back. He would know she’d been crying. What little make-up she wore would be ruined. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to her beauty regime, made more of herself. She hadn’t thought it was necessary for her to look glamorous when she came into work. Jake saw her first thing in the morning and at every stage between waking and sleeping, even worse for wear occasionally after indulging too much on a night out. After childbirth, during childbirth, he’d seen her then, at her absolute worst. It hadn’t seemed to faze him. She remembered how she’d felt his love like a safe blanket around her when, far from feeling powerful as she’d imagined she would be after bringing a tiny human being into the world, she’d felt vulnerable and tearful and depleted.

  It had taken her a while to believe him when he’d told her he loved her; that the woman she’d seen him with all those years ago in the very same bar they drank in together meant nothing to him. As time had gone on, though, and he had been steadfast and caring, she’d felt secure in her relationship again. Finally she’d felt comfortable in her skin, something
she hadn’t been since Kara’s death. He had loved her; with his eyes, with his body, he’d loved her. There had never been a day she hadn’t loved him back with all of herself. But if he was being unfaithful, then his love for her had died. She felt the tears rising, her throat tightening. She didn’t think she could bear it.

  When she’d walked in on her boyfriend and Kara, she’d thought it was the most excruciating pain a person could possibly endure; until the acrid grief of losing her sister plunged her into a pit of despair so deep she’d thought she would never claw her way out of it. Her parents had never recovered from Kara’s death. They’d split up soon after. Emily saw her father occasionally, less over time. There had been no love in his eyes when he’d looked at her, more sadness and disappointment. He’d never actually said the words, but she sensed that his disappointment was because he’d lost the better, prettier, cleverer twin, leaving him with her, the flawed one. It had all been her fault.

  Was this her fault too? Despite striving to be all her family needed her to be, had she never been what Jake wanted? Was she not pretty enough? Not adventurous enough in bed? Was he bored with her? Bored with marriage and the responsibility of fatherhood?

  She’d made herself trust him, but had she truly known him? Could two people ever really know each other? She’d never confided in Jake her deepest secrets, the cruel things she’d said to her sister; the fact that she’d been so naïve she’d agreed to meet the man who’d used them both and who would soon be convicted of Kara’s murder. She didn’t know to this day what she’d been thinking. Her mind had been so muddled, her recollection of the day Kara died hazy. Perhaps she’d hoped he would help her remember.

  They shared a tragedy in common, he’d told her when he’d contacted her. He’d needed someone to talk to, someone who understood that he’d also been damaged by what had happened. He’d said he needed forgiveness in order to move on. She’d felt for him, guessed he would be hurting; believed him. She’d seen him once. Once had been enough to confirm that he was damaged, but not by Kara’s death.