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

by Kerry Wilkinson

  Then there’s the fact that Richard wants me there.

  I pick out something simple to wear and hang it from the curtain rail. I’m not quite sure how it makes for ‘winter magic’ – but Harriet’s themes are only usually for herself anyway. I’ve never been much of a princess and am not ready to start now.

  With plans for the evening apparently in place, I feel a calm that I’ve not experienced in days. I get a bit of writing done, even though it might never see the light of day professionally. After that, I help Kylie as best I can – despite the fact she’s already better than me at using the sewing machine.

  I’ve not stepped a foot outside and, before I know it, the daylight has gone. I think there were even a handful of moments in which I forgot that my husband is missing – and that a hospitalised young girl was last seen getting into his car.

  One of those moments is when I see Kylie in her ridiculous dress. It’s taken her most of the day to stitch, cut and sew. Instead of the long, light blue gown of a princess, hers is low-cut at the top and short at the bottom. She’s interwoven black into the blue and has gone about sixty per cent goth for the occasion. She doesn’t look like herself – but I suppose that’s the point.

  I drive us down to the village hall and park at the front, before we both get out of the car. Someone’s hung a large banner across the front of the hall that reads ‘Winter Magic’. It could be tacky – but it isn’t.

  There’s a buzz in the centre of the village; something almost indefinable, unless a person has lived here for long enough to spot it. I see it in the way people are getting out of their cars and then stopping to point at whoever’s closest and compliment them on whatever they’re wearing. Some have gone all-out with the theme and are wearing wintry white or light blue dresses, while others are like me and have gone for something straight and simple.

  It’s impossible to undersell how big an event it is for the village – and churlish not to mention how important Harriet is for that. She makes events happen, she organises people – and she raises money. She does those things time after time. Sure, it has a bit of the trains-running-on-time-1930s-Germany vibe about it all – but she deserves credit.

  We’ve not even made the front door when there’s a shriek from off to the side. Zoe is crossing the car park and has spotted Kylie. Zoe’s in something black and similarly gothic, albeit intercut with a purple shawl and ginger streaks in her hair. They point to one another and then link hands as they do a mini twirl.

  ‘What do you think?’ Kylie asks.

  ‘Freaky.’

  She grins and then goes to drag Zoe towards the hall – except that Zoe isn’t ready to go.

  ‘Can you take Frankie in for me?’ she asks Kylie.

  Her son is at her side, dressed in a pair of black trousers with a white shirt and dark tie – like all the other boys. He wriggles, uncomfortable, but he won’t be the only one. I’d worry about any young lads who actually enjoy wearing this sort of thing. They’re the sort that will surely grow into the type of suit-wearing smart-mouths who bankrupt nations.

  Kylie looks quizzically between Zoe and me. ‘I didn’t realise you knew each other…?’

  It’s Zoe who answers. ‘We know each other a bit…’

  Kylie hovers for a moment more but doesn’t question it any further as she takes Frankie’s hand and leads him inside.

  I watch her go and quickly blink away the thought of my daughter with children of her own. It’s there and gone.

  ‘Is this awkward?’ Zoe asks.

  ‘What?’

  ‘If I’m friends with your daughter?’

  ‘No…’ I shake my head but I suppose I don’t know what I feel. There was a moment in Zoe’s kitchen when it felt like we were kindred spirits. She sits in that bracket that’s halfway between my age and my daughter’s. She could be friends with either of us, both, or neither. It’s like being back at school and courting the friendship of the most popular girl. I should be too old for all this.

  ‘I’m embarrassed,’ Zoe says.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘It wasn’t Richard that I saw at the shack. I caught a couple of teenagers up there earlier. They’re not even from the village, but they’ve been recreating some sort of Bear Grylls survival thing they saw on YouTube. They’ve been half freezing to death every night. That and smoking weed.’

  ‘Oh…’

  She gives a sad, consoling smile. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to waste your morning yesterday. I enjoyed the chat, though…’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Maybe we can do something similar again soon? When all this is sorted…?’

  ‘I think I’d like that.’

  We step to the side to allow a family to pass. There are two young sons in identical little suits. Both skip alongside their parents, who are bickering about who should look after the car keys for the evening. Small, stupid things.

  ‘Have you heard anything about…?’ Zoe tails off.

  ‘No.’

  I think of the mobile that came through the door and is now in my bag. It promises answers this evening, although I can’t possibly comprehend what they might be.

  Zoe nods towards the doors. ‘Shall we head in?’

  I follow her onto the red carpet and we pass a trio of vertical ‘For Alice’ banners hanging from the ceiling. The hall itself is incredible. As well as the work done last night, a group of people must have been here all day. The ceiling is covered with silver, white and pale blue streamers that reflect the spinning lights beaming up from below. Along with the glittering tree on the stage, there’s a pair of inflatable snowmen at the back of the hall, plus a dusting of white along the edges.

  Slade or Wizzard or someone like that is playing through the speakers – though the volume is gentle. Every man that I can spot is in varying levels of suit – either a basic two-piece with a tie, a three-piece with the waistcoat, or a full-on dicky bow get-up. The women range from ballgowns to expensive-looking princess dresses, to something more simplistic, like mine.

  Zoe heads off towards the children’s area next to the snowman. Frankie is there with a couple of other boys – but there’s no sign of Kylie. The hall is crowded, but she should be easy to spot given her outfit… except that she isn’t.

  I do a lap of the hall but she’s nowhere in sight. I end up asking one of the women manning the appetiser table if she’s seen a young woman in a short blue and black dress, only to get a blank look. I keep asking until someone points me towards the front of the hall, saying they saw someone like that heading towards the stage. The ball hasn’t officially started yet and the stage itself is clear of people. I’m yet to see Harriet herself.

  I’m through the door on the way to the toilets when I hear the shouting. I know what’s happening a moment before I see it. Gemma is in the same spot as she was last night, next to the fire exit.

  Except, this time, instead of talking to Gavin, she’s pinning Kylie to the wall by her throat.

  Thirty-Four

  ‘Where’s your dad?! Where is he?!’

  Gemma’s forearm is across Kylie’s windpipe as she presses her into the wall. My daughter’s eyes flare wide as she spots me and tries to gasp something. I can only see her from the back but Gemma is wearing a smart, sparkly silver dress that I suspect belongs to Harriet. There doesn’t seem to be any weapon in her free hand – but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something unseen.

  ‘Gemma…’ I move closer, saying her name and watch as the tension dips in her shoulders. There’s a burning furnace of fury within me that someone has dared put their hands on my daughter – but the slightly louder voice tells me that calm is what’s needed here.

  Slightly louder.

  ‘A lot of people really want to help you today,’ I add.

  Gemma turns to glance over her shoulder. She’s still got an arm across Kylie’s front – but it’s dropped towards my daughter’s breastbone and there’s little pressure now.

  ‘It’s a stupi
d winter festival.’

  I take a moment, pushing away the anger. Keeping my voice level. Ignoring my trembling hand. ‘People care about you.’

  ‘Do you think I care about the money? This stupid fundraiser? I want my daughter.’

  ‘I know you do. I’d like mine, too.’

  Kylie is trying to catch my eye but I’m focusing on Gemma as I edge nearer. They’re only a metre or so ahead of me now. Gemma’s arm has dropped completely, although she remains between Kylie and me. Her chest bobs up and down rapidly as she pants for breath. Her eyes are wide and unfocused, and I suspect she might have taken something.

  ‘Why did he do it?’ Her voice is lower now, slightly more focused.

  I keep moving forward until I’m in a position where I can sandwich myself in between Gemma and Kylie.

  ‘I wish I had answers for you,’ I say.

  Kylie slides around behind me and sidesteps along the hall until she’s out of the way. I mouth the word ‘Harriet’ before she nods and shuffles off towards the main hall, leaving Gemma and me alone in the alcove by the exit.

  She’s trembling.

  ‘Why did he do it?’ she repeats, the words slurring into one another.

  ‘I don’t think Richard did do it…’

  The words feel dangerous, except that something has changed in Gemma. Whatever anger she had moments before has faded as she steps backwards and slides down the wall until she’s sitting on the floor.

  ‘She’s not getting better…’

  Gemma’s words are a whisper and I can’t help but flash back to Alice and her red coat lying next to the stream.

  ‘They keep saying positive things at the hospital – but nothing’s changing. She’s in a coma. They say she was hit on the side of the head.’ She clamps her fingers into a fist and grinds her teeth together. ‘Someone hit my little girl on the head.’

  I’m on the ground next to Gemma, unsure what to say – but knowing more than ever before that this wasn’t Richard. Whatever he is, he’s not a man that would do this sort of thing. I can’t be that wrong about a person.

  ‘I hate being there,’ Gemma says. ‘I know it’s wrong. I should be at the hospital – but I can’t stand seeing her like that.’

  I’m dumbstruck. I can’t pretend I know how she’s feeling and I doubt she’d want to hear it from me anyway.

  Gemma shifts abruptly and grabs my hand, clasping my fingers into hers. ‘He had nothing left to lose. That was the problem. You’re free when that happens, aren’t you? You can do whatever because you’ve lost hope anyway.’

  I try to absorb what she’s said but there’s a lot to unpack. Gemma squeezes my fingers so tightly that they throb. Her eyes are so wide that it’s like they might pop right out of her head. I can smell booze on her breath.

  ‘I pushed him too far. I know that. I left him with nothing to lose – but Alice didn’t deserve what happened. I know it’s my fault. Can you tell him that I know I was wrong?’

  I don’t know what she’s talking about.

  ‘Tell… Richard?’

  Gemma’s words blend into one another now, as if her mouth can’t say them quickly enough. One long, slurred sentence. ‘I know you must be in contact with him. I don’t blame you. I know what it’s like.’

  It’s the way she squeezes the word ‘know’ from the depths of her soul that lets me finally see it. Perhaps I already suspected at some level? It’s the same mystical infatuation that I once had with Richard. Perhaps the one I still do. It’s why, when Keith said that Richard ‘always had an eye for his students’, I knew it was the truth.

  People don’t understand unless they’ve been there, too. The closest thing I can compare it to is being a child, when someone shows a magic trick for the first time. There’s that sense of fascination and mystery. Meeting Richard was like that.

  ‘You and… Richard…?’

  Gemma shakes her head. She speaks quietly and croakily. ‘Not recently. He said he was with you and asked me to respect it. Said he’d lost one wife he loved and couldn’t lose another.’ She sniffles away a bubble of snot and then gulps. ‘Sorry about your door.’

  I suppose that answers one question. I wait, and then: ‘Were you one of his students?’

  ‘A long time ago.’

  ‘How long?’

  I already know. Gemma shakes her head and doesn’t answer.

  ‘How old is Alice?’

  Gemma dips her head and rests it on her knuckles. ‘Twelve,’ she says. ‘Alice is twelve.’

  *

  LAST SUNDAY, RICHARD

  Gemma twists in the passenger seat to take in her daughter in the back of the car.

  ‘Put in your headphones,’ she says.

  Gemma has spoken with the kind of tone that makes Richard wish he could put in his own headphones. The noise-cancelling ones that Maddy bought for him the Christmas before – almost a year ago now. They only fit into one of the three turntables at the house but he has to admit that the precision of every groove from the vinyl sounds spectacular with them. He’s been able to listen to his records in a way that wasn’t possible before.

  Another argument is about to happen.

  Richard checks the mirror and watches as Alice does as she’s told. She unfurls the earphone cable from the pocket of her jeans and then plugs it into her phone. After that, Gemma turns back to the front. This was all supposed to have been sorted out at The Willow Tree. He’d chosen that pub for a few reasons, one of which was because it was nowhere near Leavensfield; but the other was that he thought the serene surroundings might make Gemma more reasonable. Alice was off playing near the stream while he and Gemma had their conversation.

  It did not go well.

  It’s dark now. The days are so short at this time of year and, with the openness of the area around Leavensfield, they feel even shorter.

  ‘I need more,’ Gemma says.

  It’s a variation on what she’s been saying for twelve years – and a repeat of what she was talking about earlier.

  ‘I told you at the pub – I’m struggling. I can only just afford the mortgage on your house along with everything else. Maddy will—’

  ‘I told you not to talk about her when we’re together.’

  Richard slows for a bend and tries not to let it needle too much. This is his fault, after all. Years and years of mistakes catching up.

  ‘We’re not together,’ he says. ‘Not like that. This is not a relationship. I made a mistake twelve years ago and—’

  Gemma twists theatrically to look towards the back seat. ‘Don’t you dare talk about our daughter like that.’

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant. This is one person blackmailing another.’

  Gemma turns back to the front and crosses her arms over the seat belt. It’s a moment of respite but Richard knows it won’t last long. They’ve been dancing around in these circles for years. Every time he concedes one thing, she wants something else. It’s gone so far past simple child maintenance. He thought it might end by paying the mortgage on a house in the village. She’d been pestering him for ages about moving closer. He wasn’t even necessarily against it… except that he didn’t realise ‘closer’ meant Leavensfield itself. Gemma did all the legwork in hunting down a place that was available.

  Except that, whatever he did, it was never, ever, enough.

  ‘I don’t want to work at the petrol station any more,’ she says. ‘It’s horrible and it’s so cold at the moment.’

  Richard checks the rear-view mirror. The road is empty but he looks at Alice, too – making sure she’s still got the earphones in. Perhaps she can hear them talking anyway.

  ‘I can’t afford to keep you,’ he says. ‘We’ve talked about this. I explained at the pub. The mortgage is so much by itself. I can’t pay for everything else as well.’

  ‘Alice is your daughter. Your responsibility.’

  ‘I know – and I’m paying for a house where you both can live. But Maddy—’

 
‘Stop saying her name.’

  ‘She’s my wife!’

  ‘You had another wife when you got me pregnant and it didn’t stop you then.’

  Richard doesn’t have an instant answer to that. There was an opportunity to tell Maddy about Alice back when they first met – but he missed it. He’d have had to explain about how he cheated on his wife, which isn’t a great way to start a new relationship. Then, before he knew it, it was too late. He was left disappearing to meet ‘work colleagues’ when he was being ‘Uncle Richard’ to his daughter.

  ‘I’ve changed,’ Richard says.

  Gemma turns towards the back seat again. ‘You’d rather we went away.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve got a big house and I need another hundred quid a week. If you can’t afford that, then sell some things.’

  ‘I have sold some things.’

  ‘A hundred a week, or I’ll tell everyone. The whole village will know. Madeleine will know.’

  It’s too late now – but Richard has realised this is why Gemma hunted down that house in Leavensfield. She said he’d be able to watch his daughter grow up – which was true – but it was more about the way she could use the community against him if need be. There have been so many more demands since she moved to the village, even though he’s now paying more than he ever has.

  There’s not a lot more to say after this. He’s going to have to sell some more things to get the money Gemma wants. Maddy doesn’t seem to have noticed the little odds and ends that have disappeared so far but he can make up something about trimming his record collection and then see how much he gets. Longer term, he’ll have to come up with something better.

  Richard pulls in a short distance away from Fuel’s Gold and leaves the engine running. ‘What time does your shift start?’ he asks.

  Gemma eyes the dashboard clock. ‘About ten minutes.’ She twists towards the back seat and waves her hand while saying Alice’s name. Richard twists against his seat belt to watch as his daughter undoes hers and opens the back door.