The Stranger in Our Bed

by Samantha Lee Howe

  ‘Didn’t you read the instructions? You’re not supposed to have these with any alcohol.’

  I handed the phone back to Tom. He spoke to Louise a little longer then he hung up.

  ‘I take it you haven’t drunk anything alcoholic while I was away?’

  ‘No. You know I barely drink.’

  ‘Sweetheart, I just don’t know what I can do to regain your trust. This is breaking my heart. All I want to do is have my wife back. A normal life. Is that too much to ask for?’

  Tom was in tears so I went to him. I choked out an apology, but it just didn’t seem enough. When Tom kissed me, I knew what would make things right. And even though my heart and mind fought a battle with my insecurities, I had to smooth things out.

  It was true that I had become paranoid but was I losing my mind too?

  Chapter Fifty

  I was sick of myself. So tired of fighting against what appeared to be inevitable. I promised Tom I would make an appointment with Louise’s colleague who was based in Surrey. In the meantime, I forced myself to have as normal a weekend with him as possible. I didn’t have any wine and afterwards, when I took my pills, I wasn’t blacking out, or groggy and sickly in the morning. The pill just soothed me into a normal sleep.

  When Tina and Sara returned on Sunday we had fallen back into our old patterns before all of the troubles. I went through the motions of appearing to be happy. I let it be natural to reach for his hand, and allowed him to hold mine without being awkward about it.

  ‘Look at you two lovebirds!’ Tina said after Tom kissed me goodbye just before he left again with Stefan. ‘You had a nice time together then?’

  I smiled at her words. By the end of the weekend our time together had been sort of nice. I’d forced myself to stop analysing everything Tom did.

  It was easier to enjoy Tom’s company when I didn’t ‘think’, and he had loved spending time with Melody. I told myself that all it took was for me to chill and stop looking for problems where there weren’t any.

  ‘You’re gonna be all right,’ Tina smirked. ‘I can tell!’

  Tom sent me a text when he reached the London flat.

  Missing you already xxx

  He phoned me before bed that night too and chatted about Melody and his plans for work that week. He kept in regular touch that week, texting, phoning and sending me silly selfies. There was something romantic about the amount of energy and attention he spent thinking about me instead of the company, even though he was there all week.

  By the next weekend I was actually looking forward to Tom’s return and we began a process of healing again that I hoped would be the end to all of our troubles, as Tina had predicted.

  The weeks went by. And then, as Melody turned four months old, Tom decided he could work from the Manor.

  ‘I’m missing you both too much,’ he said.

  By then I was pleased to have him around. I was no longer behaving like I expected a blow any minute, and for this reason Tom started to appear less threatening. Perhaps my behaviour had brought this constant tension into our lives. I didn’t blame myself for everything, instead I began to accept that we had both made mistakes and we could rectify it if we tried.

  Life normalized. It was what I wanted more than anything else. Tom was a great father and I knew he could be a wonderful husband. Especially as he was trying so much to make me happy. I stopped feeling guilty about everything, trying to focus on the present and future only.

  Despite Isadora’s role in ruining Tom’s life, I still remembered her words about ‘choosing to be happy’ and I did. Perhaps it was easier than the alternative of living with paranoia. Some might say I’d rolled over and offered my belly as sure as a docile cat would. But, living in a state of flux and unhappiness had made us all miserable. This was the best and only way forward.

  Tom stopped seeing Louise, and because I was now fine, I dropped the pills and didn’t, in the end, take up her recommendation to see someone she knew. Now the anxiety had receded there didn’t appear to be any need. I was convincing myself that all was well. It wasn’t that difficult to do in the end, once I’d made up my mind to improve things.

  I woke one morning with a good lift in my mood and I knew then that the depression was gone. I’d turned a corner. There was no longer any fear or anxiety and Tom was being thoughtful and loving all of the time. His behaviour showed me there was nothing to panic about.

  I was lulled, but then, on our fifth week in the house, everything changed.

  It was a Friday afternoon. Tina and Sara had both gone for the weekend. Tom and I were alone. This was the usual routine and I was very comfortable with it.

  Work had continued on the mini-playground at the back of the house, even though Melody was years away from using it, and Tom was outside overseeing this as his own personal project.

  By then I was in a regular routine of running all of the estate’s finances and payroll. Every day I checked the Manor emails and on Fridays, when Melody was safely in her cot having her afternoon nap, I did the paperwork associated with salaries. That Friday, while Tom was outside, I entered the office as usual.

  It was huge, but it only had one main desk. Tom had ordered another one that he would set up to work on when he was at home; however that day he was still using the antique mahogany desk, which stretched six feet wide in the corner. The Manor desktop stood on it and so now did Tom’s laptop.

  I sat down at the desk and turned on the computer. The laptop lid was open but the screen was dark. I picked it up, moving it aside so that I could pull the desktop keyboard and mouse closer. My finger nudged the mouse pad on the laptop and the screen lit up. I glanced at it.

  It was open on Tom’s work emails. Nothing unusual in that. I placed it down at the other side of the desk, then I looked back at the desktop monitor.

  The running software was still loading. I’d mentioned to Tom how slow it was, and we were planning to update the machine. Then I heard a ping from Tom’s laptop and I glanced back at the screen.

  An email had arrived. I glanced at Tom’s laptop in reflex. I froze.

  The email was from Abbott’s detective agency.

  I told myself it was probably nothing, but the subject header said ‘Charlotte’.

  The suspicion returned in a rush of apprehension. I felt my face flush and my heart jolted in my chest. My trembling hand reached out with a mind of its own and before I could stop myself, I was operating the mouse pad and double-clicking on the email. My mind screamed at me not to look, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  The message opened up with the note, ‘Copies attached as requested’.

  There was a zip file attached and I clicked ‘download’. It took a moment and then a box came up asking if I wanted to ‘open’ or ‘save’. I clicked ‘open’. Inside the folder were hundreds of jpeg files. I hesitated for a split second and then I opened the first one.

  It was a picture of me with Daniel Evans.

  The blood rushed harder into my face. Flustered, I rifled through the other images: this was a digital version of the folder of photographs that Tom had previously destroyed.

  But why? Why did he want them?

  Outside I heard the builders’ trucks leaving and I knew that Tom would come in at any moment. I took a deep breath and quelled my nerves. The best course of action was not to run away scared, but to face this and learn what it meant. We’d had such bad communication and it had led me several times down the road of misunderstanding. I’d never asked Tom why he had done anything before I reacted – often rashly. This was a perfect opportunity to show some maturity and to confront my phobias at the same time.

  Tom came into the room.

  I stayed in the chair, behind his laptop and I looked up at him. He was smiling.

  ‘Builders have gone now for the weekend, but we have a delivery of stuff coming in the morning.

  Tom glanced at me, and then his laptop and his face changed.

  ‘What are you doing?’

>   ‘I came in to do the accounts. As usual.’ I was calm. ‘Your laptop was open …’

  ‘I need to get some more work done. I’m afraid our evening can’t start just yet.’

  He walked around the desk and then he saw what I was looking at.

  ‘Why do you want copies?’ I asked, my voice as neutral and calm as possible.

  I looked up at my husband standing beside me. What I expected to see wasn’t there. Gone was the loving husband. Instead I saw the man that had hit me after Isadora’s funeral.

  He walked back towards the office door and closed it, turning the key in the lock. He turned to face me. Tension oozed from him even as his face went blank. Calm.

  ‘Charlotte,’ he said, ‘why have you been looking at my laptop?’

  ‘I … didn’t intend to. It was open, Tom. Then this came in. Just tell me why? That’s all I ask. Look, I’m not going to make a fuss … I just want to understand.’

  His voice was cold; his eyes flint hard.

  Despite my determination to show no fear my body reacted and I stood up as he walked towards me, knocking the chair over. It tipped to the floor.

  I backed away until my body pressed against the wall.

  ‘I’m trying to be reasonable. Giving you the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘Then why are afraid?’ he said.

  The hairs stood up on the back of my neck and arms as he studied me. He was so cold it was terrifying.

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘Don’t. Please. Just stay there. Let’s talk.’

  He continued walking towards me. Like a cat playing with a mouse. My fear intensified with the realization that he enjoyed seeing my terror.

  ‘Don’t …’ I said again.

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Don’t touch me.’

  ‘I’m going to touch you, Charlotte. I’m going to touch you anytime I like.’

  ‘Tom!’ I held my hand out before me trying to ward him off. But he caught hold of it and yanked me to him.

  I had a flash of a scene from a film we had watched together. Jack Nicholson in The Shining, approaching poor Shelley Duvall with a baseball bat and promising that he didn’t want to hurt her.

  ‘Get off me!’ I yelled.

  ‘You’re mine, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘I’m sick of this game we play where you think you have any say over that at all. It’s time you learnt the truth.’

  He caught hold of me. I struggled, turning my face away as he tried to kiss my lips. But Tom was strong and so much bigger than me. He was able to hold me around the waist with one hand while his other grabbed my hair, yanking it painfully as he forced me to face him. He pressed his lips hard on mine, tongue probing my mouth open. I struggled, lashing out with my feet and hitting him with closed fists, but I was like a fly trying to swat a giant. His tongue was suffocating me. I turned my head, and bit his lip.

  Tom yelped, pushed me away and wiped his hand across his mouth. It came back covered in blood.

  He smiled coldly when he saw the blood. I knew then I had to get away from him and no amount of therapy would ever make me believe again that Tom was sane. He wasn’t.

  ‘You little bitch,’ he said. ‘I’m so going to enjoy cowing you once and for all.’

  All that time I’d known there was something wrong. I’d tried to deny my instinct to run. Now Tom had shown his hand, I had to get away, or I never would.

  Tom was grinning and the blood dripping from his mouth only served to make him appear even more terrifying: and absolutely psychotic.

  I threw my body weight towards him, he stumbled back and I dashed around him and the desk heading to the door. But Tom was too quick for me and he grabbed at my arm, yanking me backwards. He pinned me in his arms, holding me tight around the waist. He glared in my face with an expression of maniacal hatred. I lashed out with my free hand, long fingernails raked his grinning cheeks. Tom yelped again.

  He pushed me away and then his hand moved, backhanding me in the face. The full force of his rage sent pain shooting through my right cheek. I fell back, arms flailing unable to stop my crash to the floor.

  My head cracked against wood. I was aware of the dull crunch of my skull connecting with the mahogany desk and then blackness swooped in around my eyes.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Damp grit hit me in the face. I twitched. I was lying at an odd angle; one arm trapped and numb under my body. I was confused, dreaming. There was a blur of sound. Scraping somewhere above me. Metal hitting stone. Birds? The rustle of leaves.

  My head hurt as I tried to remember where I was. I floated above consciousness. Had I drunk too much the night before? Had the pills reacted with the alcohol … but no. I wasn’t taking the pills and I hadn’t drunk anything.

  A vision of Tom smiling pushed its way behind my eyes. Then the smiling façade fell away and he appeared to grow in size like some comic book villain I’d once dreamed him to be.

  Another smack of dirt fell over me. A drop of a pebble that hit my ankle, shocking me awake.

  And then my half-conscious mind knew where I was. The dream warped into a nightmare. I was in a grave and someone was throwing dirt over me.

  My survival instinct kicked in as my mind forced me to wake.

  I opened my eyes. My vision was blurred and I blinked until it cleared. Then I turned my head and looked up.

  I was in a pit of damp soil. I could see a canopy of trees overhead and then I realized I was in the wood at the back of the Manor, just beside Melody’s playground.

  My arm below my body had gone to sleep; I shifted, freeing it, then stretched my numb fingers out.

  Another shovelful of soil hit me. The shadow of my husband towered over the hole.

  ‘Tom?’ My voice cracked.

  Tom stopped moving and even though I couldn’t make out his features I felt his eyes on me.

  ‘So, you are still alive,’ he said.

  Did he think he had accidentally killed me, then panicked and tried to hide the evidence? If so, then there was a possibility I could survive this. I glanced around and then back up. The hole wasn’t that deep. I could climb out myself, but it would be easier with help.

  ‘You should have listened to me. We could have had a life together.’

  I struggled into a sitting position. My hands grasped at damp dirt and soil. More fell over me.

  My god! He’s really going to bury me alive!

  ‘Tom. I’m your wife …’ I stuttered.

  Tom raised the spade, and I knew my end was about to come.

  ‘Time to sleep, Charlotte,’ he said.

  ‘Wait! At least tell me why.’

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you, Charlotte. You left me. You tried to take Melody but I wouldn’t let you. So, you left alone.’

  ‘Think about this, Tom. No one will believe that.’

  ‘Oh, but they will. Tina knew you were irrational. Paranoid. Then there is Louise. How you accused me of drugging you. You’ve been displaying signs of insanity for quite some time.’

  ‘You planned this. All along. But why?’ I was terrified but had to keep him talking while I tried to think of a way out.

  ‘You’re mine,’ he said.

  ‘I am, Tom. I am.’

  ‘I told Mother you’d betray me. But she said you wouldn’t. Oh, at first it seemed she’d won, and I was about to call my spies off and then … you met him again and went for coffee.’

  ‘You were behind it all … with Isadora.’

  Tom laughed. ‘She didn’t want to do it. Tried to convince me it was wrong. But I had to see what you would be capable of. And I wasn’t disappointed.’

  ‘But, I thought this was all behind us, Tom. I thought you’d forgiven me.’

  Tom laughed harshly.

  ‘That’s just the point. I loved watching someone else fucking you, knowing you’re mine and no one but me can keep you … oh how you screamed in his arms.’

  Nausea. I put my hand to my head and felt dried and crusted blood. I must have been out
for a while. At the very least I had concussion, but I had to keep my wits about me. Had to talk my way out of this hole.

  Think Charlotte!

  I forced myself to be as calm as possible. I had to sound reasonable and placid. I had to appear to be pliable.

  ‘Okay. You liked it. I get it …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Do?’

  ‘I’ll do whatever you want, Tom. We can still be a family. You want that, don’t you? You can keep the photos. I won’t ever look at your laptop again.’

  ‘You’re mine.’

  ‘I am. I really am. But if you … kill me … I won’t be yours anymore. Is that what you want? Me gone, forever.’

  Tom raised the shovel above his head. I covered my head with my arms waiting for the blow.

  Then his hand reached down and grasped my arm.

  ‘Come on,’ he said.

  My other hand dropped and scrabbled at the earth as I tried to climb to my feet. And then I touched something else. Something cold and hard and round. I looked down at my hand and even though I couldn’t see clearly my eyes had adjusted enough to make out the shape of a skull.

  A muffled cry came from my lips. My calm crumbled. There was a body in the grave with me and I was certain that wasn’t a coincidence. Ignoring Tom’s outstretched hand, I looked up again, trying to get my bearings. This spot, near the trees, was already a grave. Tom had known that all along. I had a flash memory of the selfies he’d taken here. Realizing this was his own private sick joke. But why? Who was down here? There could only be one explanation.

  ‘What have you done?’ I said.

  His hand dropped. Tom lifted the shovel again.

  ‘Oh my god,’ I said. ‘You killed him. You really did it.’

  I lost my composure then. Tears leaked from my eyes and I knew this was the end. I couldn’t talk Tom down. I wasn’t getting out of this grave now that I knew Daniel Evans’s body was in it. It was over and with the confirmation that Daniel was dead my will to fight dissolved.

  Images from the past few months flashed behind my eyes. The selfie taken in this very spot. The obsession with building Melody’s playground here. Was it really about our daughter or was Tom building a permanent monument over the body of the man he killed? And now I’d be under it too.