My Perfect Wife: An absolutely unputdownable domestic suspense novel

by Clare Boyd

  ‘Lucas?’ Sam Stone said.

  ‘Sam. Poppy. Great to see you. This is Elizabeth, my wife.’

  Sam held Elizabeth’s hand. ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek.

  They settled at the table and ordered two whisky highballs, which reminded Elizabeth of a novel she had once read about a couple living in 1960s suburbia whose loveless marriage was propped up by highballs – until the husband began murdering his wife’s lovers.

  Sam yawned, almost lying down on the banquette. ‘I need a pick-me-up.’

  The yawning continued, frequent and undisguised, and Elizabeth wondered if he might fall asleep. Next to him, Poppy crossed one arm across her ribcage and locked her hand at the other elbow, as though barring entry.

  ‘We’re a little jet-lagged, I’m afraid,’ she explained.

  The two men began their talk about business.

  Elizabeth and Poppy tried to make conversation of their own. Elizabeth wasn’t sure why it was such hard work; whether it was her fault or Poppy’s.

  During their starters, she broached the all-important question. ‘Can you come next month?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To our party.’

  ‘The invitation! We got it today when we dumped our bags.’ Poppy slipped her hand into her clutch bag, brought out the gold strawberry card and waved it in the air.

  It caught Lucas’s eye. He stared, mesmerised, stopping mid-sentence. Elizabeth couldn’t swallow her mouthful. She wanted to snatch the invitation from Poppy’s hand.

  ‘I was going to tick this for you now,’ Poppy said, pushing her half-finished plate aside. ‘Saves me having to post it. Have you tried Paperless Post yet?’

  A reply to that question never made it out of Elizabeth’s mouth. One look from Lucas told her to keep very quiet. A sick-making heat spread across her cheeks.

  Poppy ticked the box for ‘Yes, we’re coming!’ Unaware of what she had revealed, she scribbled along the line that asked for allergy information. Elizabeth could make out vegan, dairy-free and gluten-free.

  ‘Such beautiful invitations,’ Poppy said. ‘But the stationer doesn’t have a website. I checked on the way here. You must forward me her number.’

  She handed the RSVP card back to Elizabeth, who swiftly put it away in her handbag, into which she wanted to vomit.

  ‘I will, of course. I’m so pleased you can come,’ she managed, avoiding Lucas’s eye.

  Sam said, ‘I hope there’ll be dancing!’

  Poppy stabbed at the roast aubergine on her plate. ‘You don’t want to witness that, believe me,’ she said, smiling at Elizabeth for the first time. Elizabeth attempted to smile back, but her lips had forgotten how.

  She tried her best to be entertaining and light for Sam and Poppy, but her thoughts were taken up by the invitations.

  * * *

  Lucas had booked a driver to pick them up from outside the club. The car had slippery leather seats. Elastic pouches were stocked with high-end magazines for the passengers. Chilled water bottles glowed in the neon-lit drinks holders.

  Elizabeth climbed into the back. Lucas sat in the front. The driver, who wore a suit, pulled out into the traffic. She was relieved it wasn’t Piotr.

  ‘Successful night?’ she asked Lucas, testing the waters.

  He didn’t respond.

  She leant forward and repeated the question. Again he didn’t respond. She sat back and reached into her handbag for some liquorice.

  ‘Matt, how are the kids?’ Lucas asked the driver.

  Throughout the journey, Lucas talked to Matt or read on his phone. He did not speak to Elizabeth, nor did he look at her.

  She continued to chew on her sweets.

  * * *

  When they undressed in their bedroom at home, she tried again to talk to him about the evening. She offered snippets of her conversation with Poppy, lacking the courage to bring up the invitations. To everything she said, a muscle in his jaw twitched, but it stayed locked.

  Lying next to him in the pitch black, in the silence, she feared that she did not exist at all.

  The next day, late morning, she knocked on the door to his study.

  Standing in the doorway, she said bravely, ‘I am so sorry I didn’t tell you about the invitations, Lucas. Isla wanted them so much. It was emotional blackmail. She thinks everything she does is stupid. Or she thinks we think that.’ She was rambling now.

  He scratched his cheek, cutting across his mole.

  Finally he replied, ‘You knew we couldn’t afford them. It takes us way over budget and the credit cards are all maxed out.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’ She plucked at the sleeve of her sweatshirt, trying to think up an explanation without tangling her words. Blood rushed through her ears. She heard Agata next door in Hugo’s room, tidying, and she decided she should go and help her, anything to escape her own shame and regret.

  Lucas rubbed his face, ‘Darling, do you think you might be struggling? You’ve been doing so well, but you can tell me the truth. I won’t blame you for feeling overwhelmed.’

  A lump rose up her throat. ‘No, seriously, I can handle it,’ she said.

  ‘You’re sure it’s not too much? First the scratched painting, and then the wrong invitations?’

  She picked at the edge of her thumbnail, fighting back the urge to counter his accusation about Jude’s painting. ‘I made a terrible decision about those invitations. When I was writing them, I started to hate them.’ She had imagined everyone opening them at the breakfast table and sniggering over them as they drank their morning coffee. Tears rushed into her eyes again.

  ‘Well come on now, don’t look so sad. I’ll find a way to pay for them. And Jude’s coming down to fix the painting. It’s all going to be okay.’

  ‘Isla was happy about her gold strawberries at least,’ she murmured.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Speaking of Isla, it’s the parents’ orientation day at Channing House the week after next, isn’t it?’

  Elizabeth’s eyes dried as though a sudden wind had blown into them.

  ‘But you cancelled her place,’ she rasped, horror-struck.

  ‘Well, after all this, it might be wise to keep our options open, that’s all. Is that okay? Just to be safe? I couldn’t handle the kids going through another …’ He trailed off and her knees gave way beneath her. He leapt up. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, catching her under the arms.

  ‘I’m … I’m not feeling too well actually.’

  He hugged her. ‘It’s for the best,’ he said gently into her ear.

  Elizabeth began trembling, as though she were cold. ‘I was sure I was okay. I thought I was okay. I’m okay, aren’t I, Lucas?’

  ‘Shh, shh,’ he said, just like Jude had. She remembered why all this had happened. Disorientated, she mumbled, ‘Yes. Jude’s coming to sort everything out. He misses the kids.’

  ‘Lovely. He’ll be a tonic.’

  After a few moments, she recovered herself. ‘Let’s hope he can fix the damage,’ she said.

  Lucas let her go and returned to his desk.

  Elizabeth left the study, bleary-eyed, passing by Hugo’s open bedroom door. Agata stopped folding Hugo’s T-shirt to stare at her. Sympathy pulled down her mouth; appalling sympathy. It stopped Elizabeth in her tracks. She hesitated at the door, tempted to collapse on Hugo’s small bed, curl up under his duvet and unload her feelings onto Agata. But she raised her chin – though it felt heavy as lead – and walked on.

  Eleven

  I was up a ladder trimming the laurel hedge by the pool. Below me, Agata was sandwiched in between Hugo and Isla on an inflatable. Their legs were splashing about behind them. Agata was giggling at something one of them had said.

  I moved the ladder a foot across and continued snipping at the infernal hedge, listening to their playing, both cheered by it and wishing I could join them. Their laughter was infectious and I realised I didn’t hear much of it at Copper Lodge.

&nbs
p; From the barn, the high-pitched screech of Piotr’s circular saw split the air.

  The saw stopped. I heard Elizabeth’s voice and looked down. She wore a smart summer suit and large sunglasses.

  My ladder clanged as I lost my footing. Her head snapped up towards me.

  ‘Do be careful,’ she said. Then she yelled, ‘Isla! You need to get out right now and get ready for Channing.’

  ‘No!’ Isla wailed. ‘I don’t want to go!’

  Agata remained on the inflatable. Her legs were not kicking, nor were her arms paddling.

  ‘Agata, will you deal with this? Lucas is getting antsy about leaving,’ Elizabeth said.

  While Agata tried to cajole a screaming Isla out of the pool, Elizabeth removed her sunglasses and shouted up at me, ‘Heather, would you come down a minute?’

  Obediently, and reluctantly, I dismounted the ladder and joined her at the poolside.

  Over the noise of Isla’s full-blown tantrum, Elizabeth said, ‘Will you look at Hugo’s stroke? His teachers say he’s a natural, but I don’t know whether it’s because we pay too much in school fees.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, wondering how she could switch off from Isla’s distress, wondering why she was dressed in a suit, and why, if Lucas was getting antsy about leaving, she had time to showcase Hugo’s swimming.

  ‘Hugo, darling. Show Heather your front crawl,’ she said. ‘She can give you some pointers.’

  I waved hello at Hugo, who grinned at me from the side.

  Piotr’s circular saw started up again, obscuring what Agata was saying to Isla. I could make out Polish, angry Polish. Whether it scared or fascinated Isla out of her rage, I couldn’t tell, but she followed Agata out of the pool. Their wet footprints left a path that swerved wide of Elizabeth and out of the gate.

  ‘We’re going to an orientation day at Channing House,’ Elizabeth declared as we watched Hugo thrash his way through the water.

  ‘She’s moving schools?’

  ‘She’s going to board,’ she said, clapping Hugo, who had reached the other side.

  Hugo’s swim, however impressive for a five-year-old, became irrelevant. ‘Boarding school?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I couldn’t help myself; the words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. ‘But she’s only a baby!’

  With a sharp flash of her wristwatch, Elizabeth slapped my cheek. I froze, electrified. It had been so out of the blue and so uncalled for, I couldn’t believe it had happened. Too startled to react, I watched her hurry away on her tiptoes, her heels raised off the ground as though she were stepping through dirt.

  Hugo stared up from the water, sculling to stay afloat.

  ‘I think you’d better jump out and go on up to the house, Hugo,’ I said.

  Hugo splashed around for a bit while I stood there motionless.

  ‘Come on, Hugo. Out you get.’

  When he had gone, I picked up my clippers, which had fallen to the grass; I didn’t remember them slipping from my hand.

  The ladder was a safe place to retreat to, and I made my way up in a daze.

  As I clung to the top rung, paralysed with an attack of vertigo, the wretched saw screeched again. I thought of Piotr working hard on the Huxleys’ conversion and wondered if he had ever been slapped for getting it wrong. When I considered the injustice of it, my right boot inched down to the next rung. And then the left, and on down until I was standing on the grass again. They walked me up the shingled path to find my father and tell him what Elizabeth had done.

  The screaming of the tool hurt my head as I passed the barn. I pictured Piotr bent double.

  My father ducked through the low door frame. ‘Heather, we need a hand.’

  I stood dumbly, staring at him.

  ‘Sometime before Christmas?’ he said.

  In that split second, I had a decision to make.

  ‘Coming,’ I said, walking towards him, lead weights for feet.

  The strain of lifting the beam could have burst thousands of my blood vessels. Even Piotr’s face was distorted as he heaved. We grunted and groaned as we dropped the beam where it needed to be.

  ‘Thanks, love. Meet you on the wall for lunch in five minutes,’ Dad said.

  ‘Sure, see you there,’ I said. I dared to look at Piotr. His eyes penetrated mine. I feared he had noticed the redness on my left cheek.

  Unsure of what to do, I made my way back to the laurel hedge to collect my clippers. I thought about the consequences of confronting Elizabeth. It could destroy my parents’ livelihood, force me and Rob into rent arrears and threaten my relationship with Mum and Dad forever. It wasn’t worth it, but I couldn’t help reassessing my position at Copper Lodge. What had the slap meant? What had it really been about? Yes, I guess I had been out of line, but had I deserved to be hit? Or had her reaction been an unconscious punishment for my past with Lucas? I wondered about how much Lucas had told her.

  Deep in thought, I leapt back a step when I heard Lucas himself.

  ‘Have you seen Elizabeth anywhere?’ he asked me. His eyes seemed to have receded into their sockets, lost and vulnerable. His blonde curls, usually so neat, bounced about in mockery of the smart blue suit and tie that he wore.

  ‘We were by the pool,’ I replied.

  ‘When?’

  ‘About fifteen minutes ago?’

  ‘She’s just disappeared into thin air,’ he said, shaking his head, staring at me.

  ‘Have you checked in the barn?’

  ‘I’ve checked everywhere.’

  ‘Maybe she went out.’

  ‘But the car’s there. Any chance you could help me look?’

  My time was owned by him. I would do anything he asked of me. But I didn’t know how I would react to Elizabeth if I saw her.

  ‘Sure.’

  His smile had a sad edge. ‘That would be so great, if you could spare the time.’

  We searched, and he called for his wife repeatedly. ‘Elizabeth! Darling! Elizabeth! We’ve got to go!’

  We reached the meadow.

  ‘This is a nightmare,’ he said, stopping. ‘We were supposed to have left for Channing half an hour ago.’

  ‘You’re looking around a new school?’ I said, feigning ignorance, wanting to ask him why he would even consider sending his sweet seven-year-old to boarding school.

  He squinted at me through the glare from the sun, cupping both hands over his brow to shelter his eyes. ‘This is Elizabeth’s fault. All this,’ he said.

  I stayed silent, confused, knowing it was more than he should have said. His arms fell to his sides and he began to walk back towards the house.

  ‘Sorry. That was really inappropriate.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘None of this is okay.’ His hands were deep in his pockets and his eyes followed the ground as we walked. His energy had changed, as though he had given up hope of finding her. ‘Why would she let the kids go swimming when she knew we had to leave?’

  I put my hand to my cheek. I said, ‘Hugo was showing me his stroke.’

  ‘How ironic,’ he said.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You. Now. With my son. And back then, when I—’

  ‘He’s good,’ I interrupted, blushing.

  ‘Says the pro.’

  ‘No,’ I said modestly.

  ‘I credit myself, of course.’

  My heart leapt high in my chest. ‘It was nothing to do with you,’ I shot back.

  He looked hurt. There wasn’t time to rectify it and apologise. Elizabeth appeared from around the back of the barn, where the camper van sat. She was plucking at her skirt nervily, straightening it. Her cheeks were over-rouged. At least I thought they were, until she got closer, when I realised she was sweating. Her face was on fire, as though she had been running.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Lucas asked, desperate rather than angry.

  ‘Just reminding Piotr to let the marquee people in at twelve. They need to recce the site.’

  �
�But we’ve been looking for you everywhere!’

  She checked her watch. ‘Oh gosh, sorry, is that the time?’ she said airily, pushing her hair off her forehead, avoiding eye contact with me. ‘Is Isla ready?’

  Her fey act didn’t tally with her outburst at the poolside. I began to wonder whether I had imagined the slap.

  ‘Isla’s been waiting in the car for twenty minutes,’ Lucas said. ‘You knew what time we had to leave.’

  She looked at me and blinked in slow motion. ‘Lucas always wants to be five hours early for everything.’

  ‘It’s better than being five hours late,’ Lucas said, storming on ahead.

  ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed, stroking her own cheek, as though she was apologising for slapping herself; biting her lip sheepishly, shrugging, and then trotting after Lucas.

  I watched them go, incredulous.

  * * *

  Dad twisted the can-opener around the tin of mince. We had eaten mince and spaghetti every night for two weeks. Usually we would eat fast after a long day of physical work. Tonight, I would have preferred to go hungry.

  The bowls were put on the table and they steamed in front of us. I listened to the latest gossip about the soup kitchen. How the Salvation Army had begun to take the spillover from London’s homeless into their shelter in Guildford. About the sixteen-year-old who had been kicked out by her abusive mother, and how she had asked a lady at the bus stop for fifty pence to make a phone call and then been arrested for begging. And about an ex-tiler with depression who had been sleeping in the air vent of a building to hide from the police, fearing they would arrest him for vagrancy. He described tales of lives gone wrong, and their backstories of abuse and maltreatment. As we talked, I knew I should feel lucky that I wasn’t one of those people, but I couldn’t hold in what had happened to me for one second longer.

  ‘Dad, something really bad happened today.’