The Other Woman: A gripping debut psychological thriller that will keep you turning the pages

by Sandie Jones

  Adam laughed as he took the glass from her and guided her by the elbow to our table. Pammie’s joyless face could only follow. You had to hand it to her. She’d already created an atmosphere without barely saying a word.

  ‘So, you all ready?’ Mum asked eagerly, even though the answer remained the same as the three other times she’d asked me that day. But she was excited, and it was infectious. I’d rather that than be bearing the heavy load that Pammie had walked in with. Adam could carry that burden.

  ‘Yes, we’re all ready,’ I said. ‘There were a few niggles at the beginning of the week, but we straightened them out, and I can’t see what can go wrong between now and Saturday.’ I touched the wooden underside of the table. ‘There’s only one day left.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too confident,’ interjected Pammie dourly. ‘The day I married my Jim, the band didn’t turn up. We’d booked an Abba tribute act, only to find out after dinner that they weren’t coming.’

  Adam laughed, no doubt trying to lighten her mood. ‘So, what happened, Mum?’

  ‘They sent a replacement along,’ she went on, her voice level, without its usual lifts and lilts. ‘But they were something akin to Black Sabbath.’

  The table fell about laughing, but Pammie’s face didn’t crack. Her abject misery was a formidable feat, even for her.

  She looked down into her lap, wringing her hands. Here we go, I thought to myself, though there was every chance I said it out loud, as Adam turned to look at me.

  Pammie doing what Pammie does best.

  I wasn’t going to validate her attention-seeking by asking what was wrong, but Mum, naive to her ways, asked the question instead.

  ‘Oh, Pammie, what on earth’s the matter?’

  She shook her head and wiped away an errant tear, the only one she could manage to squeeze out.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she bleated, in her unique ‘don’t worry about me’ way, that I was now adept at translating into ‘everybody worry about me’. I was beyond bored of it.

  I drained my champagne saucer, and the attentive waiter was refilling it before I’d even put it back on the table. ‘Oh well, chin up, P,’ I said, raising my glass, ‘it could be worse.’

  ‘Emily,’ chastised Mum.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ murmured Pammie, her voice barely audible.

  I laughed theatrically, like a pantomime dame. ‘Why’s that then?’ I asked, putting the spotlight directly on her, right where she liked it. Let’s give it to her, I thought, get it over and done with, and move on with the evening. Maybe then we can make it about Adam and me, like it’s supposed to be.

  ‘Em,’ said Adam quietly. ‘Knock it off.’

  ‘No, come on, Pamela,’ I went on, ignoring him. ‘What’s up?’

  She looked down again, supposedly embarrassed by the scene she was causing.

  ‘I wasn’t going to bring it up tonight,’ she said. ‘It didn’t seem right.’

  ‘Well, we’re all ears now, so you may as well,’ I said.

  She fiddled nervously with her necklace, her eyes not meeting any of ours, darting instead over the busy restaurant beyond.

  ‘I’m afraid I have some rather bad news,’ she croaked, working extra hard to push another tear out.

  Adam let go of my hand to hold hers.

  ‘What is it, Mum? You’re scaring me.’

  ‘I’ve got cancer, son,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to tell you tonight. I didn’t want to ruin your special evening.’

  The table fell into stunned silence. Mum sat there open-mouthed, and the rest of my family looked away awkwardly. James bowed his head, as if he was already privy to this information. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘Oh my God.’ I couldn’t tell who the words had come from. My world had become hazy, everything moving in slow motion.

  ‘What? How?’ It was Adam.

  ‘It’s breast cancer,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s stage three, so there’s still a sliver of hope.’

  ‘How long have you known? Who – where have you been?’ asked Adam, his questions all merging into one.

  ‘I’m being well looked after, son. I’ve got a wonderful consultant at the Princess Royal Hospital.’

  ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘They’re doing all they can. They’ve done lots of tests, and I’ve had a biopsy.’ She grimaced and put a hand to her chest for added effect. ‘They’re still not sure how far it’s spread. I really didn’t want to mention it tonight. Come on, let’s not ruin this special evening.’

  I couldn’t even form the words I wanted to say in my head, let alone attempt to say them out loud, but that was probably for the best.

  ‘So, when will they know more?’ said Adam. ‘When will we know what we’re dealing with?’

  ‘I’m going to have treatment, for sure,’ she said, ‘but they don’t yet know how long for.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Or if, indeed, it’s even worth having at all. But you’ve got to take everything they throw at you, haven’t you? Who’s to say what little miracles might happen.’

  Adam’s head dropped into his hands.

  ‘But come on,’ she said, suddenly upbeat. ‘Let’s forget about all that now. This is Adam and Emily’s time. We won’t know any more until you’re back from your honeymoon.’

  ‘We won’t be going anywhere until you’re through this,’ said Adam.

  ‘What?’ I heard myself ask.

  Adam turned to look at me, an exasperated expression on his face.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ She smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘There’s nothing you can do. The pair of you must go on your honeymoon. Everything must carry on as planned.’

  ‘But what about treatment?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m having chemotherapy, starting on Monday. I put it off until after the wedding, in case my hair fell out.’ She gave a half-hearted laugh. ‘I need to be looking my best.’

  She looked at me and smiled pitifully. I locked eyes with her, daring her to show me a glimmer of guilt, a snatch of remorse for what she’d just done. But there was nothing but a self-satisfied glow, emanating from deep within her.

  28

  Unsurprisingly, after Pammie’s earth-shattering news, dinner had come to a premature end, and both Adam and James had insisted on taking her home and making sure she was settled.

  Mum had come home with me, whilst Dad went back with Stuart and Laura.

  ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea,’ said Mum, busying herself in the kitchen as I sat numbly on the sofa. ‘It’ll make us feel better.’

  Will it? I don’t know why us Brits always think it will.

  She was still in shock at Pammie’s announcement; so was I, but for an entirely different reason.

  She brought two steaming mugs into the living room, and set them on the coffee table. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I can’t quite get my head around it, can you?’

  I shook my head. ‘It does seem rather unbelievable, doesn’t it?’

  If she noticed the intonation in my voice, she didn’t mention it. She pulled out a tissue from the sleeve of her navy jacket, which she’d bought especially for this evening, and blew her nose. ‘It’s just so difficult to comprehend. One minute you think you’re fine, and the next, you’re being given news like that. It just doesn’t bear thinking about, what’s going through Pammie’s head right now.’ She bowed her head. ‘Poor Pammie.’

  I looked at my mum, my proud mum, who had only ever had mine and Stuart’s best interests at heart, who had looked after my dad, who had put her own career as a nurse on hold to care for us all, and who had excitedly got her hair blow-dried for tonight. And then I thought of Pammie, who was so consumed by jealousy that she had set out to destroy me for her own warped amusement.

  This wasn’t right. Pammie could do her worst to me, but to do this to my mum? I wasn’t prepared to let that happen.

  I moved up the sofa to sit next to her and took hold of her trembling hands in mine.

  ‘Mu
m, I’ve got something to tell you. Something that I really need you to listen to.’

  Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she looked up at me, the worry and fear of what I might be going to say etched on her face. ‘What? What is it?’ she said.

  ‘Pammie doesn’t have cancer.’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’ she asked, shaking her head in confusion. ‘She’s just told us she has.’

  ‘I know what she said, but she’s lying.’

  ‘Oh, Emily,’ she gasped, as a hand flew up to her mouth. ‘How could you say such a thing?’

  ‘Mum, please listen. I don’t want you to say a word until I’ve finished, and then you can say whatever you want. Okay?’

  I told her everything. I started at the very beginning, from Boxing Day, right through to what she did with Charlotte at my hen weekend. Mum sat there open-mouthed, unable to articulate whatever it was she wanted to say. She kept trying, but the words wouldn’t form.

  By the time I’d finished, I was sobbing, and she held me to her, rocking me back and forth. ‘I had no idea,’ she cried. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I knew you’d worry about it,’ I said. ‘I’m only telling you now because I can’t bear to see you like this.’

  ‘So Pammie brought Charlotte to the hen party?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Even after everything I told her?’

  I nodded. ‘Yep.’

  ‘If I’d have had any idea what was going on, I would never— What about those poor boys? Who would do that to their own children?’

  ‘I’ll look after Adam,’ I said.

  ‘Will you tell him?’ she asked. ‘Will you tell him what you know? Are you sure you’ve got this right, Em? It’s one hell of an accusation to be throwing around, and if you’re wrong . . .’

  ‘I’ll handle Adam in my own time,’ I said. ‘Let’s get the wedding over and done with and then I’ll work something out. I’ve tried to tell him, but he just can’t see it. She can do no wrong in his eyes. Something will happen, though. If I give her enough rope, she’ll hang herself.’

  ‘Are you sure you should be going ahead with the wedding, if you’re not sure . . . ?’ she said.

  ‘I love Adam with all my heart, and I can’t wait to be his wife. I’m not marrying his mother, she’s just something I’m going to have to find a way to deal with.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Em . . .’

  ‘I’ll work it out,’ I assured her. ‘And besides, Charlotte and I are talking again, so it’s not all bad.’

  We offered each other weak smiles and hugged. I felt a million times better already.

  29

  By the time Adam appeared, Mum had reluctantly gone home. ‘Promise me you’ll be all right,’ she said on the doorstep. ‘I’ll stay if you want me to.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ I said. ‘I just need to make sure Adam is okay, and I’ll see you at the hotel tomorrow afternoon. You know what you need to bring, don’t you?’

  She smiled. We’d been through it a hundred times. ‘I’ve got my list,’ she said, waving as she got into Dad’s car.

  Adam looked broken, like a man who had been crushed into a thousand pieces. I so wanted to take his pain away, but I had to wait. I had to be patient. I couldn’t just steamroll in and say everything I’d told my mum. He was different. This was his mother we were talking about, and I had to be very careful how I played it.

  ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ he said, as he sat at the dining table with his head in his hands.

  I went and held him from behind, but he was rigid in my arms. ‘We’ll get through this,’ I said soothingly. ‘Once the wedding and honeymoon are over with, we can work out a plan.’

  ‘How can I go to Mauritius and lie on a beach, when Mum’s back here fighting for her life? It’s not right.’

  ‘But we don’t know what we’re dealing with yet,’ I said. ‘By the time we get home, we’ll have more information.’ I didn’t anticipate her being able to keep this cruel farce up for much longer than that.

  ‘Maybe so, but if it’s her first round of chemo on Monday, I want to be here for it,’ he said.

  I could feel my chest tightening and willed myself to stay calm.

  ‘We’re getting married . . . tomorrow,’ I said, checking my watch. ‘Let’s deal with this one day at a time.’

  ‘Right now, I don’t even think the wedding can go ahead,’ he snapped. ‘It just doesn’t feel right to be celebrating, when Mum could be dying.’

  I didn’t say a word. I just calmly walked away, leaving him to see the sense in what I was saying. When I got into the bedroom, I silently pummelled a pillow in frustration.

  By the time he came in, I was dozing, but I came to as he slid into bed.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked. ‘Better?’

  He let out a heavy sigh. ‘I think we should postpone the wedding.’

  I sat bolt upright, my head spinning. ‘What?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think we, I, can go ahead under the current circumstances. It’s such a huge shock, and I need time to think this through.’

  ‘Are you being serious?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Honestly, for real?’ My voice was getting louder and going up an octave with every syllable.

  ‘It just doesn’t feel right, Em. Admit it. This is not an ideal situation to be getting married in. We don’t want our wedding to be a blur, do we?’

  If he was looking for validation from me, he’d come to the wrong place.

  ‘Your mum has cancer.’ I put the c-word in inverted commas with my fingers.

  ‘What the fuck does that mean?’ He leapt up, naked except for his boxer shorts, and raked a hand through his hair. ‘She’s got cancer, Em. God!’

  I looked at him, pacing the floor, and could literally feel the helplessness and rage emanating from him. He looked like a battery hen, cooped up with nowhere to go, nowhere to let off the steam that was building up within him. I could go some way to easing his troubles, at least, by lifting the lid on the pressure cooker he’d put himself in. I could tell him that I thought she was lying, knew she was lying. I could share my belief that she’d made it all up to stop the wedding. But that sounded so ridiculous. Who would do that? No normal, sane person could even imagine telling such a vile and wicked lie. I could tell him everything she’d done and said to me since we’d been together, how she’d moved mountains to split us up, undermined me at every turn, and had now resorted to this, her all-time low, in eight months of bitching and bullying. Would he believe me? Unlikely. Would he hate me? Most definitely. Would she have won? Undoubtedly.

  No. There was nothing to be gained by telling him the truth, but I’d be darned if I was going to let her get her own way with her vicious lies. We were getting married, whether she liked it or not.

  ‘Calm down,’ I said, lifting myself off the bed and going to him.

  ‘Calm down? Calm down? I’m supposed to be getting married tomorrow, and my mother has cancer. How the hell do you expect me to calm down?’

  ‘We’re getting married tomorrow,’ I said, correcting him. ‘We’re in this together.’

  I went to hold him, to put my arms around him, but his hand flew up, blocking me.

  ‘We’re not in this together at all,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve made no attempt to disguise your feelings for my mother, and, if the truth be known, you wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire, so let’s not pretend you actually care and that you’re feeling my pain.’

  I stepped back. ‘You’re not being fair. Don’t make this about me. Your mother has gone out of her way to make me feel unwelcome from the day I met you, and I have tried so hard to get along with her, but do you know what, Adam? She’s made it impossible!’

  His hand flew up and, for a split second, I thought it was going to bear down on me, but he turned and smashed his furled fist into the wardrobe. The hat boxes that I kept my mementoes in slid off the top and emptied themselves as they hit the floor.
/>
  I stood, frozen. I went to open my mouth, but the words wouldn’t form.

  ‘I’m sorry, Em,’ he cried, falling to his knees on the floor. ‘I don’t know . . . I just don’t know.’

  The part of me that loved him wanted to kneel down beside him and rock him in my arms, but another part felt strangely detached, as if I was witnessing a desolate stranger scrambling around, trying to pick up the broken pieces of his life. To discover this side of the man I loved, a side I’d never seen before, on the day before our wedding, unnerved and terrified me in equal measure.

  I sat back down on the bed and waited. I needed to take my time to process what was going on, to ensure that I stayed in complete control, because the desire to unload everything that was in my head was overpowering. But so was the panic that was caught in my chest, as the realization that he might well call the wedding off began to sink in.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Em,’ he began again, half crawling towards me and resting his head on my knees. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’

  I stroked the back of his head. ‘Everything will be fine. I promise.’

  ‘How can you? How can you promise? She might die.’

  I wanted to scream at him. She won’t die, because she’s not even ill. Instead I said, ‘We’ll look after her. She’ll be okay.’

  He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot. ‘Do you think?’

  I nodded. ‘I think she’d want us to carry on with the wedding. In fact, I know she would. She wouldn’t want us to create a fuss and call everything off.’ I could almost hear myself laughing.

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘People are diagnosed with cancer every minute of every day.’ Even as I said the words, I hated myself for putting Pammie in the same vein as the millions who were truly fighting the hideous disease. ‘And their chances are good now.’

  He nodded miserably.

  ‘So much better than they used to be. They’ve made real advances.’

  I could tell by the glazed look in his eyes that I wasn’t getting through.

  ‘People survive this, millions already have.’ I reached for his hands and squeezed them. ‘There’s every chance that she’s going to be okay. Let’s see what we’re dealing with, and support her through it.’