My Husband's Son: A dark and gripping psychological thriller

by Deborah O'Connor

  While I was gone, he’d moved on to the theory part of the course, the part for which he expected to come under particular scrutiny come his assessment in December.

  ‘So,’ he began, cueing up a DVD. ‘We all have different chances of survival in different situations. Our relative age, fitness and health can massively affect whether we live or die.’

  He gestured at the TV screen. Paused on an American news bulletin, it showed a female newsreader about to speak. To the right of her head was a small picture of the next story: a snowy riverbank and the flashing red lights of an ambulance.

  ‘Children are massively resilient. With children, accident or disaster situations can be a whole different playing field.’

  Jason waved the remote at the screen.

  ‘Take the case of Jake Schneider. He was only four years old when, while playing with friends, he slid down a bank and fell into a freezing lake in Canada. He couldn’t swim.’ Jason paused, letting the frightening reality of the situation sink in. Once he was satisfied that everyone was suitably anxious, he carried on. ‘It took twenty minutes for the fire services to get there and pull him out. Twenty minutes. So what do you think? Did he survive, or not?’

  The woman in the pink poodle jumper raised her hand.

  ‘The human brain cannot survive any longer than four minutes without oxygen, so there would be no way he lived,’ she said.

  Jason nodded.

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? To argue otherwise would be daft, right? To argue that a four-year-old child who couldn’t swim would go on to live after twenty minutes under water in a freezing lake would be mad.’

  He got to his feet.

  ‘Let me tell you what actually happened. As soon as Jake enters the water,’ – he mimed something going from a great height onto the ground – ‘he starts gulping in mouthfuls of liquid. But then, as his body submerges, the mammalian dive reflex kicks in, shutting off his windpipe and preventing any further water from entering his lungs or stomach.’

  Jason let his hand sink to a spot just below his hips, symbolising Jake lying at the bottom of the lake.

  ‘Now Jake is under water and he is freezing. And, as would be the same for any of us here, his heart rate and brain function all shut down as a way of preserving his core body temperature.’ He motioned to his own chest, mouth and head to illustrate his words. ‘In its rapidly cooled state the brain doesn’t need very much oxygen and can remain undamaged much longer than the usual four minutes. In effect, the body goes into suspended animation. However, despite all of this, if any of us adults had been at the bottom of that lake, we would have died. But what happened to Jake?’

  He looked around the room.

  ‘Anyone?’

  The class was mute. He grinned in anticipation of the crescendo he was about to deliver.

  ‘Children have larger heads relative to the rest of their body than adults, much larger, meaning they lose heat more quickly. Add to this the fact that children’s temperature regulation systems aren’t as well developed as they are in adults and you have the reason that Jake lived to tell the tale.’

  A few of the students looked at each other, confused.

  ‘Let me put it simply,’ continued Jason. ‘If an adult had gone into that lake for that length of time, they would be dead. However, four-year-old Jake’s body went into suspended animation almost immediately, which meant that his organs and brain were protected and preserved almost immediately, which meant he could stay down there for much longer than four minutes without being brain-damaged, which meant he could be brought back to life.’

  There were still a few puzzled expressions.

  Jason spoke his next words very slowly.

  ‘The combination of Jake’s age, the coldness of the water and the fact that when a child is going to drown they usually submerge very quickly means that a cold child drowning has a fifty per cent better chance of survival than any adult in the same situation.’

  The woman in the poodle jumper raised her hand in the air again. It seemed that, despite her earlier knock, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

  ‘Mr Thursby?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Isn’t it true to say that Jake wasn’t drowning? I mean, if he lived, which you say he did, then he wasn’t drowning was he, he was merely underwater?’

  Jason frowned.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I started to feel nervous. This woman was challenging a fable Jason had clung on to and nurtured for God knows how long. She was saying his story was flawed.

  The woman shimmied her shoulders.

  ‘To say that someone is drowning would mean that the end result is death and so, well, wouldn’t it be more accurate to say a cold child under water has a good chance of survival?’ She sat up a little straighter. ‘To say he was drowning, if you were to look at the meaning of the word, it tells us how things turned out, it tells us that the boy died.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Jason, ejecting the DVD. ‘But the official medical definition of the word drowning does not equal certain death.’

  He put the DVD back in its case and began pacing up and down the room, a curl of a smile on his face.

  ‘A cold child drowning.’ He said the words carefully, absorbing the feel of them in his mouth, and then, quoting the definition he’d learnt off by heart, ‘Drowning is the process of experiencing respiratory impairment from submersion in liquid. It does not imply fatality, or even the necessity for medical treatment.’

  He moved in close to the poodle-jumper woman.

  ‘So, you see, the end result is not death. His fate is not already decided.’ His face was glowing, beatific in the late morning sunshine. ‘It’s all still to play for, all of it.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  While Jason packed up his classroom, I went to wait in the car. I got into the passenger seat and pulled out my purse. I’d forgotten all about Mark’s business card until he’d mentioned it this afternoon. I found it tucked between my driving licence and Tesco Clubcard.

  Jason had just appeared through the double doors of the college when my phone began to ring. Thinking it might be something to do with work, I answered quickly.

  ‘Heidi Thursby speaking.’

  ‘It’s me.’

  Tommy.

  ‘I hadn’t heard from you. I wanted to check you were OK?’

  ‘I’ve been busy.’

  ‘Heidi the busy bee.’ He laughed to himself.

  Jason would be getting into the car at any moment. But then, when I looked, I saw that he was still standing outside the college. He’d been accosted by the poodle-jumper woman from his class.

  ‘I’d like to see you,’ continued Tommy. ‘Pick up where we left off.’

  My breath caught in my throat. I had thought that, after the way I’d behaved the other night, he’d want nothing more to do with me.

  I checked back on Jason’s progress. He had his head cocked to one side and seemed to be genuinely interested in whatever it was the woman wanted to talk about.

  ‘What do you say?’ pushed Tommy, a wobble to his tone I hadn’t picked up on first time around. ‘Shall we arrange another get-together?’ And there it was again, that giveaway lilt. ‘Heidi?’

  Jason had extricated himself from the poodle woman and was back on the move. It would be only a matter of seconds before he was at the car. I kept the phone pressed to my ear, Tommy’s breath crackling down the line.

  I left it as long as I dared. Holding out until the very second Jason appeared at the driver’s door. And then with that, I pressed the red button, cutting Tommy off, and turned to Jason with a smile.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘Thanks again for coming today,’ said Jason as he stowed his teaching materials on the back seat. He got in beside me and, after hooking his arm around the back of my headrest, reversed out of the parking space. ‘I need to make a quick stop.’ He pulled onto the main road. ‘I’ve got to drop Barney’s fire engine at Vick
y’s.’

  I shook my head, not sure I’d heard him right.

  ‘You’ve got the fire engine with you?’ They usually exchanged the toy every other Monday, like clockwork. Today was Tuesday.

  ‘I’m late getting it back,’ he went on, ‘and she’s not best pleased.’

  We pulled up outside Vicky’s house and Jason went to retrieve the toy from the boot. I’d just relaxed back into my seat when I noticed Jason beckoning for me to join him. I raised my hands in the air to signal my confusion. I’d never been into Vicky’s house before and she had never been into mine. It was an unspoken rule and, I felt, quite normal, in fact, for the divorcée and the new wife never to enter each other’s territory. Right now though, Jason seemed to feel differently. He marched back round to my side of the car and opened the door.

  ‘I want you to come with me,’ he said, unable to meet my eyes.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Please. I’ll explain later.’ Reaching in, he undid my seat belt, helped me out and began pulling me down the garden path.

  ‘Jason, what is this about?’ I asked as he rang the doorbell.

  Before he could answer, Vicky appeared.

  ‘You’re a day late,’ she said. ‘A whole day.’

  She had yet to notice me standing behind him.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ she said. ‘We agreed.’ She had lost weight in the weeks since we’d last seen her that time in the curry house, and there were pale grey smudges underneath her eyes.

  ‘I left a message. I got held up yesterday,’ said Jason, quietly. ‘Then I had to work.’

  He handed her the bag with the toy inside and she pressed it to her body. After a few moments she looked up and it was then that she registered my presence.

  ‘Don’t suppose there’s any chance of a cup of tea?’ asked Jason, as though me being there was the most normal thing in the world. ‘I’m parched.’

  Open-mouthed, Vicky looked at him and then me, like this was some kind of trick. I held my breath, waiting for the insults to fly, but it seemed Vicky had decided to go with whatever was happening, however strange. Still clutching the bag to her chest, she headed to the kitchen.

  As Jason crossed the threshold, I turned around, intending to bail and go back to the car, but he held my hand firm.

  ‘Heidi, no.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Heidi, please.’

  I let him lead me into the living room. He sat down on the sofa but I remained standing.

  ‘What’s going on? This is weird.’ I was about to continue but was silenced by Vicky coming into the room.

  ‘The kettle’s on.’ Seeing me, she stopped for a moment, as though she’d forgotten I was here, but within seconds she’d righted herself and slumped in the armchair. Realising I had no choice but to sit this one out, I took my place next to Jason.

  ‘Were you teaching today?’ Vicky asked. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and now she took a section of it between her fingers and began twisting it tight like a rope.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been putting in the hours.’ He looked at the room as he spoke. ‘I need to practise for my assessment and the extra cash is good. Especially as we’ve got the holiday round the corner.’

  ‘Holiday?’ asked Vicky. She twisted the hair even tighter; it started to pull at the white of her scalp.

  ‘We’re going to Gran Canaria for two weeks.’ He grabbed my knee. ‘Winter sun. All-inclusive.’

  ‘Gran Canaria.’ For the first time since she’d entered the room, Vicky looked me in the eye.

  ‘We go away on 20th November. The 20th for two weeks, isn’t it, Heidi?’

  He turned to look at me for affirmation and it was then I realised why he’d wanted me to come and watch him teach today. He must have planned it all along. If I came with him to his class then I’d be with him when he dropped off the fire engine.

  He cleared his throat.

  ‘So, Vicky, the two weeks we’re away would normally be my two weeks with the truck,’ he explained. ‘What do you want to do? Do you want to keep it for a month and then I have it for a month?’ I could tell he was working hard to keep his tone casual.

  Jason had realised the date clash a few weeks after we’d booked the holiday. He’d been looking at the calendar and when he worked it out he had seriously considered taking the truck with us to the Canary Islands. But then he’d worried about it getting damaged in the suitcase or being stolen from the room and soon he’d decided that the best solution would be for them to adjust their custody arrangement. This, however, required Vicky to play ball. He was terrified Vicky would insist the two weeks we were away were his, whether he was around or not. I’d assumed he’d cleared it with her ages ago, but now I realised he must have been putting it off for as long as he could. Today, he must have hoped that, if he brought me here, she’d be less likely to make it an issue.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Jason.

  Vicky smiled sadly to herself in a way that I didn’t understand. She was about to reply when there was a loud rapping at the front door. We all started.

  ‘Vicky! Vicky, are you in there?’ shouted a woman through the letterbox.

  Vicky stood up and sighed. She tugged at her skinny jeans and I noticed how much they gaped at the waist.

  ‘What does she want?’ She went to leave the room, but then, remembering we were there, took a few steps back to explain. ‘It’s that Margaret from the end of the road. I won’t be long.’

  As she went into the hall to see to Margaret, Jason and I remained where we were.

  ‘Are you all right, Maggie? What’s the matter?’ She sounded only mildly concerned.

  ‘It’s my hair dye. I thought I’d try the Magenta Sunrise this time, but I think I left it on too long and it’s burning my scalp. Can you help?’

  ‘You silly mare,’ laughed Vicky. I could hear her putting on her jacket. ‘Won’t be long,’ she shouted back to us and then we heard the front door slam.

  Out of the window we saw Vicky running down the path behind a woman with a towel round her shoulders, purple dye dripping from her hairline down the sides of her face.

  I waited for Jason to do something. When he didn’t, I decided to take the bull by the horns.

  ‘Shall we go?’ I stood up. I was glad this woman Margaret had come knocking. It gave us the perfect excuse to leave immediately.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jason relaxing into the sofa. ‘I’m not sure if Vicky took a key.’ He tucked a few stray strands of hair behind his ears.

  I looked at the toy, still in its bag, centre stage on the coffee-table.

  ‘Why were you late with the truck?’ I asked. ‘Surely you want to get in Vicky’s good books so that she’ll be nice about the holiday arrangements? She’s not likely to accommodate you now, is she?’

  Jason hung his head.

  ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘I just needed one more night with it.’

  ‘You should explain that to Vicky. She’d understand.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he shrugged. ‘Maybe not.’

  He got to his feet.

  ‘Are we leaving?’ I moved towards the hallway, happy to be on our way.

  ‘What? No. Sit down.’ He directed me back to the sofa. ‘You stay there. I need to check something. I won’t be a minute.’ And with that, he went into the hall with the ease that only comes from having once inhabited a place.

  ‘Check what?’ But it was too late. He’d already disappeared up the stairs.

  Alone in Vicky’s house for the first time, I looked around, trying to imagine her and Jason in it together, living here as man and wife.

  A three-piece brown leather suite, and a beech sideboard and coffee-table dominated the room. The walls, meanwhile, were skimmed plaster, painted magnolia. The cream colour scheme continued around the bay window, where Vicky had hung thick cotton curtains from a chrome pole that had twisty spiral flourishes at each end. I sniffed the air; there seemed to be a Glade plug-in freshener in every a
vailable socket and they gave the room a rich, sickly smell. Apart from a grey vase on the sideboard containing three decorative sprigs of wood, the only other ornamentation were the framed pictures of Barney.

  Curious for a better look, I got up and traced my thumb along the mantelpiece, lined with photos three deep. A few of the pictures had Jason in them. I picked one and took it over to the window so that I could study it in more detail. It was the kind you get taken at a professional studio and it featured Vicky and Jason against a white background with a baby Barney in a nappy on the floor, two milk teeth peeking out of his bottom gum. Jason’s hair was shorter than he wore it now and he was as skinny as a colt.

  I stroked Jason’s face through the glass with my finger. He and Vicky both looked so young. Probably because they were. Having got together at school, everything else followed on from there. They were engaged by eighteen, married by twenty and Vicky was pregnant with Barney at twenty-two.

  They’d celebrated their fourth wedding anniversary a few weeks before Barney went missing. One year later, one year of him being gone, and the marriage was over. Jason told me they’d done everything they could to carry on, but that being together meant they were never able to think or talk of anything else except Barney. It had paralysed them. While on the one hand, Vicky was the only other person in the world who could truly understand what he was going through, on the other, the fact she was Barney’s mum meant he never had any respite.

  We met a year after their divorce. I was under no illusion as to why we worked as a couple. Jason needed someone who could understand his loss and pain, and I did, truly. But, at the same time, my loss was different from his and so, with me, he would always have the space to breathe.

  I put the picture back where I had found it and moved over to the largest photo on display. Positioned next to the armchair where Vicky had sat, it showed Barney modelling a junior Middlesbrough Football Club kit. The shorts were way too big for him and he could barely hold the adult-sized football under his arm, but he looked so proud.

  Was this the boy from the off-licence?

  For a moment I considered asking Vicky for help. I could tell her what I’d seen. Ask her if she recognised the child as Barney. But no. It would be too weird. And besides, to go to her behind Jason’s back with something like this would be such a betrayal. He’d never forgive it.