What My Husband Did: A gripping psychological thriller with an amazing twist

by Kerry Wilkinson

  We’re too far back to hear the starting call but, all of a sudden, everyone sets off in an orderly line that’s up to six people wide at any given time. People are holding their candles earnestly, while walking at a steady pace. We set off as if heading out of the village but then cut along the lane that loops around the back of the school. Nobody speaks and, though I’m usually sceptical of anything Harriet plans, it’s impossible to ignore the significance of what’s happening. Nothing we do here is going to aid Alice’s recovery – except that we’re together as a village in showing support to her mother. That has to mean something.

  There’s a sense of community as Kylie walks at my side and we match the pace of the people in front of us. Theresa and Atal are behind and they do the same.

  After circling the school, we get back to the main road and then head towards the high cross monument that signals the centre of the village. The trail of fire stretches for a good hundred metres and I can only imagine how impressive it might look from the fields above.

  When we reach the cross, people start to mass into a large circle. If anyone were to try driving through the village, they’d have a long wait – but that’s the whole point about Leavensfield. People don’t come here unless they need to.

  Theresa, Atal, Kylie and I slot in close to the wall, where there are hardly any people. Harriet has found a vicar from somewhere, despite the village not having its own church. He’s in the full gown and stands next to the cross as people continue to mass. Gemma and Harriet are side by side in front of the vicar, with the crowd grouping out from around them. I watch as Gavin tries to take his wife’s hand, only for Harriet to gently slap him away. Her gaze remains unflinchingly on the vicar throughout and her expression never changes.

  When everyone has settled, the vicar holds up his hands and asks for silence, which he gets. With that, he asks everyone to bow their heads, before he says a rambling prayer that covers love, understanding and a few other things to which I’m not really listening.

  It’s only as he says ‘Amen’ that I realise there don’t appear to be any journalists covering this. Or, if they are, they’re out of sight. Whatever media life this story had outside our little enclave, it doesn’t seem to have lasted long. I doubt the same would be true if it had been Harriet’s daughter who’d ended up in that stream, instead of Gemma’s. When Harriet stood on the stage at the front of the hall and told everyone to prepare for what could be a media invasion, it was because she was thinking of what would happen had this been her child. The difference is that Alice is a not a blonde-haired, blue-eyed prodigy of a relentlessly upper-middle-class English couple.

  As the vicar continues to speak about what we can all now be doing to support Alice’s mother, I watch Gemma shuffle uncomfortably next to Harriet. The moment where she backed me into that sink was only a day ago and yet the pain has gone and it already feels as if it didn’t happen. If she even wants my forgiveness, I know I’d give it to her.

  I’m so busy watching other people that I somehow fail to notice that the vicar has stopped talking. It’s only when villagers start filing backwards that clues me in to the fact that it’s over.

  Kylie leans in to whisper that she’ll be right back – and then she disappears into the mass. With Atal and Theresa in conversation with another couple, I’m left standing awkwardly, unsure whether I should make a hasty exit. I’ve shown my face, which was the main reason for coming.

  It’s James who catches my eye. With Sarah absent, his kids busy mingling with the others, plus Gavin talking with Harriet, Gemma and the vicar, he’s on his own, too.

  I’m not sure we’ve ever shared more than a casual ‘hello’, but he seems keen to talk as he strides across to join me.

  ‘Not sure I expected to see you here,’ he says.

  ‘Where else would I be?’

  ‘Fair point.’

  He twists to take in the rest of the crowd as we stand side by side.

  ‘How is Sarah?’ I ask.

  ‘She’s resting at home. She’s been a bit poorly recently and we figured being out in the cold wouldn’t be great.’

  ‘She seemed all right yesterday.’

  It takes a second or two for this to sink in – and then he turns to look sideways at me. ‘You saw Sarah yesterday?’

  ‘She came to my house. She said she’d had a chest infection but was feeling a bit better.’

  He pauses, unsure of himself. ‘She came to yours?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His narrow eyes make it clear he had no idea about this. ‘Why was she at yours?’

  I start to answer – and then have to stop, largely because I don’t know.

  ‘For a chat,’ I say. ‘Although I’m not sure. She was waiting for me.’

  He cups his chin with his fingers and then rubs it before looking away towards Harriet.

  ‘Is that a problem?’ I ask.

  ‘No… I just didn’t know you were friends.’

  I almost correct him to say that we’re not – except there is no reason to do so.

  I try to remember the conversation with Sarah, wondering if she’d perhaps given some reason as to why she was there. She said it was to give me tickets to the ball – but she could have posted those through the door. I try to remember whether she’d mentioned her husband at all. He seems even more surprised about her visit than I was.

  There’s no time for any further conversation because he drifts away as Atal and Theresa appear at my side – along with Kylie.

  ‘Atal’s going to cook for us,’ Kylie says – though the grin on her face tells me a lot more than the words.

  ‘My treat,’ Atal adds. ‘A welcome home meal for my future manager!’ He nudges Kylie with his shoulder but she doesn’t take the bait.

  I’m not sure I want to spend any longer in public – but the empty house doesn’t feel appealing, either.

  With that, the four of us walk back towards the Fox and Hounds car park, where Atal has parked on the next street over. Parking in front of someone’s house would usually instigate a strongly worded note being left on the windscreen – but everyone’s on their best behaviour tonight.

  He drives us up the hill on the opposite side of the village to where Richard and I live. It’s the road that ultimately leads to Beaconshead and Atal’s restaurant is based a short distance past Leavensfield’s boundary. A few decades ago, it used to be a second pub in the days when a village of this size seemingly needed two places to drink. Atal bought out what was a largely abandoned site before I moved here and has since converted it into the somewhat originally named ‘Atal’s’. It’s got a rating in the high-fours on both TripAdvisor and Google, which is what matters nowadays.

  It’s clear something is wrong the moment he pulls into the car park. Two police cars are parked at the building’s entrance and there’s an officer standing in the doorway talking to a member of staff. ‘Atal’s’ shines brightly above them.

  Theresa manages a ‘What—?’ before Atal jolts the car to a stop.

  ‘Wait here,’ he says.

  None of us moves as he unclips his seat belt and gets out of the car, before crossing the tarmac. We watch in silence as he approaches the officer who was talking to the member of staff. I’m sitting behind the driver’s seat, watching Theresa in the passenger seat. She’s hunched forward and I’d swear she hasn’t breathed since the moment her husband got out of the car. It’s one of those moments in which it feels like nothing good can happen.

  The conversation with the officer and Atal goes on for perhaps a minute until they turn and head back down the steps at the front of the restaurant and round the police car.

  Theresa finally breathes out as it looks like he’s on his way back to us… except that he isn’t. The officer opens the rear door of the marked vehicle – and Atal ducks and gets inside.

  Theresa doesn’t hesitate this time. She’s out of the car before I can unclip my seat belt. I only catch her as she’s bearing down on one of the other offi
cers. As best I can tell, both sets of officers are set to leave.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asks.

  The officer eyes Theresa, then me, and then the approaching Kylie.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asks.

  She points towards the car, in which Atal now sits. It’s impossible to see him through the glare of the windows. ‘I’m Theresa Bhamra. I’m his wife.’

  ‘Oh…’ The officer glances sideways, looking for help that isn’t there. ‘I’m afraid I can’t give you any details now.’

  ‘Details about what?’

  ‘Your husband has been arrested.’

  Theresa is so shocked that she stumbles backwards into me. I end up supporting her as she tries to regain her balance. She’s gasping for air, or perhaps the words.

  She manages a breathy: ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘We’re taking him to the police station at Beaconshead.’

  ‘Why are you arresting him?’

  ‘I’m not in a position to say at the moment.’ The officer pauses for a second, gesturing towards the driver in the car containing Atal. ‘Now, if you could stand aside…’

  Twenty-Five

  Theresa and I sit in the same waiting area that I eyed when I was at the police station to look at the clothes that may have belonged to Richard. When I was here earlier for the appeal, I was brought through the back door – but it’s still my third visit in a day and a half. Not bad considering I haven’t done anything wrong.

  ‘I can’t get my head around it,’ Theresa says. It’s roughly the twentieth time she’s said this since we arrived, although I don’t blame her. My head’s spinning, too. We must be thinking the same thing, although neither of us are brave enough to say it. I’m certainly not – although there’s another voice within me that would take whatever this is if it means Richard can be exonerated.

  ‘He found Alice’s body,’ Theresa says.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You were there.’

  ‘I was… but not at the beginning.’

  Theresa spins to take me in with wide, veiny eyes. Our drive here was more of a manic rush to follow the police cars than it was any sort of conversation. Kylie remained at the restaurant to get a lift home with one of the restaurant staff members she knows.

  ‘I wasn’t there,’ I insist. ‘Atal knocked on the door and asked me to call the police because he’d forgotten his phone. He was out walking Lucky.’

  ‘Lucky…’ Theresa repeats the name and then mutters that she hasn’t fed the poor dog this evening. It’s only a few seconds until she’s back in the room. ‘What happened after he knocked on your door?’

  ‘I called the police. I was on the phone to them as we walked back towards Daisy Field and the stream.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘You already know. We got there together. There was the girl in the red coat. Atal said she wasn’t breathing. I was going to check – but then the police turned up.’

  ‘There must be something else…?’

  I start to say ‘no’ as an automatic reaction – but then remember something I’d dismissed at the time.

  ‘Only that Atal’s bottom half was wet,’ I say. ‘He said he’d dragged Alice out of the stream. His trousers and his feet were drenched.’

  Theresa nods along, although it’s hard to tell whether she already knows. There’s nothing overly odd: if he did drag Alice from the water, then he was going to get wet. I suppose the one thing that always stuck with me is that he thought she was dead when she wasn’t. He had left her to come to my house and, in that time, she actually could have died.

  We sit quietly for a few moments before Theresa pushes herself up and crosses to the counter. I don’t hear what she says – but I do see the palms-up, apologetic body language of the woman on the other side. It’s not long before Theresa sits back down next to me.

  ‘She says she can’t tell me much…’

  ‘Do you know if Atal’s lawyer is here yet?’

  A nod. ‘That’s about all she’d say. Mandeep’s downstairs with him now.’ Theresa pauses for a beat and then turns to me. Her next sentence gives me chills. ‘This must bring back memories about what happened with your dad…?’

  I have to turn away because, now she’s mentioned it, the memories feel uncomfortably and painfully close. I spent a lot of hours waiting around for news from solicitors and police officers, none of whom ever seemed to have anything good to say. I thought I was done with police stations and waiting rooms.

  ‘The justice system gets things wrong sometimes,’ I say.

  ‘They’re wrong about Atal,’ Theresa replies. ‘He hasn’t done anything.’

  We sit and we wait. Theresa checks in with the woman at the counter twice more, although there are no updates. The only moment of something approaching action is when a uniformed officer brings in a man whose arms are handcuffed behind his back. He has been arrested for being drunk and disorderly and is seemingly doing his best to prove the point. He hurls around a series of swear words, almost falls over his own feet, and then asks the woman behind the counter if she fancies a drink ‘when this is all over’. He ends up being shunted off to another room for a chat with the custody sergeant.

  We wait some more until, eventually, a large Asian man in a suit appears from the side door. Theresa stands but he beckons her back down as he slots in next to us, putting a case down on the seat. Before Mandeep says anything, he motions towards me but Theresa explains that I’m her friend and that it’s fine to talk in front of me.

  ‘Atal’s going to be kept in overnight,’ Mandeep says.

  Theresa shoots up into a standing position before she lowers herself a moment later. ‘What?’

  Mandeep rests a hand on her arm, possibly to keep her seated. ‘This is perfectly routine.’

  ‘Routine for what? What are they saying he’s done?’

  ‘It’s all a little unclear and I’m not sure I’m best placed to say…’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Mandeep glances to me for a second and then back to Theresa. ‘Atal is my client – and there has to be a certain confidentiality within that.’

  The lack of clarity is as clear as can be. I watch as Theresa tries to makes sense of something that must be impossible for her to understand.

  ‘He’s my husband.’

  Mandeep maintains a tight, controlled smile. He likely learned this on day one of legal training. The measured, wordless apology that isn’t an apology.

  ‘You should go home for the night,’ he says. ‘Check on that lovely dog of yours. I’ll be back here in the morning and there will hopefully be news then.’

  ‘But you can’t— I mean— You must be able to tell me what he’s been arrested for?’

  ‘Perhaps tomorrow.’

  Theresa is understandably stunned. It’s bad enough that her husband has been arrested – but she doesn’t even know why.

  ‘Why can’t you tell me?’ she asks.

  The measured, non-committal smile remains on Mandeep’s face. ‘I can’t tell you anything more than I have, Theresa. I hope you understand. If roles were reversed and I was acting for you, I’d do the exact same thing.’

  ‘Does that mean Atal’s told you not to tell me?’

  Mandeep straightens his suit and stands. He picks up his briefcase from the seat. ‘I really should be going,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back here tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll have some answers then.’

  We watch him leave. Theresa stares through watery eyes and I can only imagine the mix of confusion and aggravation she’s feeling.

  ‘I can drive you back in Atal’s car,’ I say.

  Theresa gazes blankly ahead and then stands, before fishing in her bag for the car keys. She passes them over and we head outside, where we trail along the street towards the vehicle. I get into the driver’s side and have to fiddle around with the seat and mirrors to get everything into position. The windows are misted and I struggle to find the correct controls for the he
aters. All the while, Theresa sits in the passenger seat and stares directly ahead. It’s only as I’m ready to set off that she finally speaks.

  ‘Do you think that they think Atal did that to Little Alice?’

  ‘No…’

  My reply doesn’t sound like a ‘no’, even to me. Why else could they be holding him?

  The drive back to Leavensfield is completed in silence, except for when I get close to Theresa’s house. She tells me to keep driving through to mine and that we can swap, then, and she’ll take herself home. I start to query whether she’ll be all right but then stop myself. I wouldn’t be in the mood for this question and I doubt she is.

  It’s a short drive through the now deserted village and up the hill to my house. I reverse onto the drive, making it easier for Theresa to pull back out, and then yank up the handbrake.

  ‘I’ll check in with you tomorrow,’ I say.

  Theresa nods along and then mutters a low ‘thank you for coming’, before she gets out of the car. We exchange the briefest of hugs as she crosses to the driver’s side – and then I watch as she drives off into the night.

  I can’t reconcile the fact that I’m desperate for it to be true that this is something to do with Atal and not Richard… and yet I don’t.

  Before I head into the house, I check the phone that came through the door this morning. There’s still been no reply since I left the clothes behind the village sign, so I decide to take the initiative.

  Me: Are you okay?

  I unlock the front door and move into the hall, before locking it behind me. I call out to Kylie, asking if she’s home – which gets a ‘yes’ yelled down from above. By the time all this has happened, there’s a reply on the phone.

  Yes. Thank you.