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

by Kerry Wilkinson

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘Husband couldn’t live with the guilt of what he did to a little girl, so he killed himself and his wife. It’s a tragedy, I know.’

  My phone buzzes and a text from Harriet appears on the screen. I reach for it but Gavin whispers a solid ‘don’t’. It doesn’t matter because the message was short enough that I could read it anyway. When I lean backwards away from the phone, Gavin must see something in my expression.

  ‘What did it say?’ he asks.

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to read it.’

  He frowns, knowing I’m lying – but then he apparently reasons that it has no bearing.

  There’s a moment of silence until Richard moans and tries to roll onto his side. Gavin looks between us and raises the gun.

  Behind him, unseen by anyone but me, there’s movement from the gate at the side of the house. It’s not surprising, I suppose. Not after what Harriet texted me. Not with the way the lights will be beaming out towards the road.

  ‘Did you mean to do it?’ I ask.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Did you mean to hurt Alice?’

  Gavin lifts the rifle and levels it towards Richard, who is on his back once again: wheezing but not moving. It’s easy to think of people as good guys or bad – and Gavin’s doing a very good impression of a bad guy. He has all the power here and yet, when he looks to me and sighs, the only thing I see is sadness. It could be for himself but perhaps it is for that little girl. Nobody wanted this.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘I never meant to hurt her.’

  It’s the truth – and it’s also the words that finish him.

  The shadow creases across him but by the time Gavin turns, Gemma is already upon him, having heard every word. Harriet’s text of ‘Alice is dead & Gemma’s missing’ meant there was only one place she was going to come. Gavin tries to spin the gun around towards the flailing, hissing beast that leaps upon him – but it’s far too late for all that.

  Gemma is possessed.

  The rifle clatters to the ground, closely followed by Gavin and Gemma. Intermingled limbs flail as she ends up on top of him and then connects with three or four sharp punches. She’s wailing and shrieking. There are no words there, only fury and grief.

  I shuffle across towards Richard and cradle his head. I should intervene, I could intervene… except that I don’t.

  Another punch rattles into Gavin and his head bounces onto the floor. He’s not fighting any longer.

  ‘Gemma…’

  She’s straddled across him and it’s like she’s in a trance. She’s focused entirely on Gavin and starts slapping his chest as she screeches a banshee-like scream of ‘No’.

  ‘Gemma…’

  If she hears me then she doesn’t react.

  I make a movement towards her but her focus has switched from Gavin to the thing that’s on the floor next to her.

  The shears.

  I’d discarded them after cutting through the rope holding Richard and, before I can say or do anything, she picks them up. I see it happening a moment before it does. Blue spinning lights now swirl at the side of the house and there are more figures in the garden. Someone in a uniform, a man in a suit. They all see what I see – and we’re each equally powerless as Gemma grips the handles and then slams the point of the shears down into Gavin’s chest.

  Thirty-Nine

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  If frost counts, then it’s a white Christmas in Leavensfield. The wintry blanket descended through the early hours of Christmas Eve – and the thermometers haven’t troubled anything above freezing since. With the patches of ice stretching across many of the roads leading both into and out of Leavensfield, there’s something of a bunker mentality in the village at the moment.

  When my phone beeps, I look through the front window and then give the figure at the end of the drive a small wave before I head through to the kitchen. Richard is sitting at the table, with his walking stick leaning against an empty chair. He’s not one of those men who’ll insist that any degree of medical help is a slight on his masculinity. When they gave it to him, I think he was secretly upset he wasn’t going to get a wheelchair.

  He removes his glasses as he looks away from his book and takes me in.

  ‘I’m popping out for a walk now,’ I say.

  ‘Is that with—?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Richard bows an acknowledgement and then returns his glasses to his head. ‘It’s cold out,’ he replies.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Not going to warm up until January, they say.’

  ‘I won’t be long. I was thinking you and I could maybe go down to the village later when the pub opens?’

  He doesn’t look up although he freezes momentarily. ‘Maybe,’ he says.

  It’s an obvious ‘no’ – and perhaps it isn’t a good idea, except that he’s not left the house since we got back from the hospital. That will be a conversation for a day that isn’t today.

  I head into the hall and put on my coat, scarf and gloves before heading out into the cold. Harriet is waiting at the end of the drive. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the night of the winter ball, although we have been messaging. I was so wrong about her, although I guess it’s too late for any of that. There are no designer goods on show now – only jeans, a heavy coat, wellington boots, and a beanie hat.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ she says – although the forced smile is obvious. Hard to blame her for that, although I don’t know how I never saw the front before. It was Zoe who brought it up.

  ‘Merry Christmas to you, too,’ I say.

  Harriet leans in and we hug awkwardly before we turn to the road. ‘Where would you like to walk?’ she asks.

  I look up the hill and it’s impossible not to identify the spot where Alice was attacked, close to the woods, at the end of the track. Everyone now knows where and how it happened now – and the end of the lane is a quilt of flowers.

  Not that way.

  ‘Daisy Field?’ I say.

  Harriet doesn’t reply but she turns and heads off along the verge. I follow in single file and it’s hard not to remember this is how it all started, with Atal and me walking this same route. It’s only a few minutes until we head through the gate and emerge onto the field. We end up side by side as we amble towards the stream on the far side.

  ‘How’s Kylie?’ Harriet asks.

  ‘She’s gone to Zoe’s for the morning to help give Frankie some sort of Christmas treat. She’s been there a lot this week.’

  ‘I didn’t know they were friends.’

  ‘They weren’t. I guess sometimes people just get on.’

  Harriet doesn’t reply, although it feels like she wants to. I wonder how many friends like that she’s ever had.

  ‘My two are with Mum,’ she says. ‘Mum and Dad have been staying over this last week – but they’ve taken them back to their house for a couple of hours.’

  The stream has frozen, which is only a surprise in the sense that I didn’t expect it. If it had been like this on that night Richard was driving Alice home, then her body would never have drifted down to here. There are so many what-ifs. Harriet must notice it, too. We’ve both gone silent because what is there to say? In the space of a week, a twelve-year-old girl was killed – and then her mother ended up on a murder charge for impaling the man responsible.

  Harriet’s lost her husband and her best friend.

  It’s the story of two affairs: Gavin’s with Sarah – and Richard’s with Gemma twelve years ago. So many secrets in such a small place.

  ‘I’m not allowed to visit Gemma,’ Harriet says.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If it goes to trial then I have to be a witness. I asked about seeing her last week but they said it can’t happen at the moment. You won’t be able to visit her either.’ A pause and then: ‘Not that I’m saying you should.’

  Gemma’s parents died a few years ago and she now has no next of kin. She is the end of the
line. Harriet and I will have both heard the rumours about temporary insanity pleas and the like. It all feels a long way off but the Leavensfield grapevine has cleared up some things for me. Gemma was in James’s car during the winter ball when her phone rang. He only heard one side of the conversation, although everybody knows what was said by now. Someone from the hospital asked if she could go there right away. Gemma immediately replied with: ‘Is she dead?’ – and the moment of silence was enough for her to have her answer.

  She jumped out of his car while it was still moving and then dashed off into the night. I more or less know the rest. She came to my house, followed the lights around to the back… and then she did what she did. Everybody seemingly knows that part, too – even though I haven’t told anyone in the village about it.

  Harriet and I follow the curve of the frozen stream as we arc down towards the village. If we keep going, we’ll end up at the stile to the side of her house.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Harriet says.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘How did you know I dropped those clothes off?’

  I’m surprised that this hasn’t got around yet. I’ve told the police – and given them the device – but I guess the leak isn’t them.

  ‘A phone was put through my letter box,’ I say. ‘Gavin was texting me, pretending to be Richard.’

  ‘Oh…’ We keep moving for a few more steps and then: ‘I told him about Gemma wanting me to get rid of them and he suggested I go to the recycling banks after dropping off the kids at school.’ She sighs. ‘I don’t get why he was texting you.’

  ‘I think for a degree of trust. To let me see something I shouldn’t.’

  ‘But you already thought it was your husband…?’

  I start to answer and then stop myself. It’s not clear in my own mind. ‘I was sure and I wasn’t. I think I wanted it to be him. It was seeing you that had me sure it was Richard. I was probably going to skip the ball until he texted and convinced me to go. Gavin needed me away from the house so that he could get Richard into the shed.’

  ‘He was making it look like suicide…?’

  Harriet makes this a question, although she probably already knows. Theresa definitely does – and she didn’t hear it from me.

  ‘Right…’

  We are almost at the bottom of the field but, instead of crossing the stile, Harriet keeps walking past it, following the line of the hedge, where the ground is crusty and hard. It doesn’t feel as if either of us are ready to stop talking. I think we’ll do a lot more of this in the months to follow. She’ll need a friend who understands what she’s going through and I suspect I will, too.

  ‘I’m just so angry…’

  Harriet lets it sit but it isn’t only words. They’re spat through clenched teeth and I can hear the righteous fury bristling through her.

  ‘He can’t hurt you any more.’

  ‘Not him.’ She hisses the reply and then quickly adds: ‘I can’t believe she stayed quiet after everything Gavin did.’

  That’s the other family destroyed. It’s not only Sarah’s affair, it’s concealing the crime that Gavin committed. I’ve not seen, or spoken to, James since it all came out but I can’t imagine he’s taken it too well – and then there is their kids.

  ‘People do strange things when they’re scared of losing everything,’ I say.

  ‘That’s no excuse.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How did you stand by Richard through that week?’

  We reach the next corner and Harriet turns and starts back up the hill once more. I follow, unsure if I’m ready for this conversation.

  She doesn’t get the answer, so Harriet continues: ‘Everyone thought he’d done something terrible and then run off – but you always believed in him.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I did. Maybe…’

  ‘You never let other people get the better of you, though.’

  ‘He still had an affair and a secret child…’

  Harriet doesn’t respond to this. Richard and I haven’t quite had it all out yet, largely because I know he’s grieving from losing his daughter. I don’t necessarily blame him for the affair, because I don’t know what his circumstances were with India at the time. I do blame him for hiding away both Gemma and Alice for all that time. It’s a conversation we’ll have another time. Perhaps our marriage will survive, perhaps it won’t. I don’t think I’m ready to think about that yet. I need to stop seeing Gemma with those shears whenever I close my eyes before I make any major decisions.

  ‘But you believed in him,’ Harriet says. ‘You must have done.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘That’s what I can’t get my head around. You’re so strong-willed.’

  ‘Or it’s because I’ve been there before.’

  *

  SIXTEEN YEARS OLD

  It looks like there are three keyholes as I try to unlock Auntie Kath’s house. My key scrapes around the edges of the lock before I finally manage to get it into one of them. When the key turns and the door shifts inwards, I almost fall inside.

  It’s all very funny and I can’t stop myself from giggling, even though I should probably be quiet. I shush myself – but that only makes it funnier. Auntie Kath is on holiday and because Dad never wants to do anything, it means I’ve had more or less free rein in the past few days. I wish I hadn’t had those final few vodkas at Julius’s party, though. I was already tipsy and that tipped me over the edge.

  There are no lights on in the hall and I presume Dad has long since dozed off on the sofa. He’s been sleeping there ever since he got home and shows no sign of wanting to move anywhere else. Kath says we can’t stay here forever but I don’t know if that means we’ll actually have to move out at some point.

  I creep through the hall as quietly as I can and then move through to the living room. I’m expecting the television to be on, with Dad asleep in front of it – except the room is dark and neither of those things are true.

  Perhaps he’s finally listened to us and has taken himself up to bed? All it took was for me to leave him alone for an evening.

  I move back into the hall and stumble towards the stairs. I’m already on the second step when I realise there’s something blocking the way up. My muddled mind is blank of explanations until I back up and reach for the light switch.

  Something tells me I shouldn’t press it – except my finger is already there – and then it’s too late.

  Hanging from the light fitting above, dangling in the centre of the staircase, is my father’s limp, lifeless body.

  If you were totally gripped by What My Husband Did, you’ll love The Girl Who Came Back by Kerry Wilkinson. Thirteen years ago Olivia Adams went missing. Now she’s back… or is she?

  Get it here!

  The Girl Who Came Back

  Thirteen years ago Olivia Adams went missing. Now she’s back… or is she?

  When six-year-old Olivia Adams disappeared from her back garden, the small community of Stoneridge was thrown into turmoil. How could a child vanish in the middle of a cosy English village?

  Thirteen years on and Olivia is back. Her mother is convinced it’s her but not everyone is sure. If this is the missing girl, then where has she been - and what happened to her on that sunny afternoon?

  If she's an imposter, then who would be bold enough to try to fool a child’s own mother – and why?

  Then there are those who would rather Olivia stayed missing. The past is the past and some secrets must remain buried.

  An absorbing and gripping psychological thriller that will have you holding your breath until the final page.

  Get it here!

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  Books by Kerry Wilkinson

  Standalone novels

 
; The Child Across the Street

  After the Accident

  Close to You

  A Face in the Crowd

  The Wife’s Secret

  The Death and Life of Eleanor Parker

  Last Night

  The Girl Who Came Back

  Two Sisters

  Ten Birthdays

  The Jessica Daniel series

  The Killer Inside (also published as Locked In)

  Vigilante

  The Woman in Black

  Think of the Children

  Playing with Fire

  The Missing Dead (also published as Thicker than Water)

  Behind Closed Doors

  Crossing the Line

  Scarred for Life

  For Richer, For Poorer

  Nothing But Trouble

  Eye for an Eye

  Silent Suspect

  The Unlucky Ones

  A Cry in the Night

  Short Stories

  January

  February

  March

  April

  The Andrew Hunter series

  Something Wicked

  Something Hidden

  Something Buried

  Silver Blackthorn

  Reckoning

  Renegade

  Resurgence

  Other

  Down Among the Dead Men

  No Place Like Home

  Watched

  Available in Audio

  The Child Across the Street (Available in the UK and the US)

  After the Accident (Available in the UK and the US)