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

by Deborah O'Connor

  I was about to go and sit back down and wait for Jason when I saw a thin line of silver poking out from the armchair’s seat cushion. Vicky’s mobile phone.

  I couldn’t help myself. Wedging it out of the sofa, I flipped it open, found the envelope symbol and clicked.

  Most of the messages were from her mum and friends. I opened a few but they were all fairly boring and meaningless. I went to scroll down, but I must have pressed too hard because the texts went zooming up the screen and before I knew it I was looking at messages from a few weeks back. I was about to start the laborious process of scrolling forward when I noticed a text message from someone called ‘Jason’. I tried not to let it worry me. I knew that Jason had to stay in touch with Vicky because of Barney. The text was dated Sunday 3rd October. The day after our wedding anniversary.

  ‘Are you OK? What Mandy said about you going back to see the doctor – is it true? Anything I need to be worried about?’

  Vicky’s reply was there, right beneath it.

  ‘Am fine. Mandy shouldn’t have said anything. Just had a rough few days, that’s all. xxx’

  It meant nothing. Of course he’d checked to see if she was OK. It was in his nature.

  I closed the message and returned to her inbox. She seemed to have saved lots of messages into a separate folder. I opened it. They were all from someone she’d entered into her phone as ‘MG’. DS Martin Gooder.

  I opened the most recent exchange. They were the usual texts you’d expect to see between a romantic couple. They were either busy arranging their next tryst or reminiscing about their previous time together, but then I came across an odd sequence of messages. The first was dated a few weeks earlier and was from Vicky to Martin.

  ‘It’s getting worse. I need to do something.’

  Below was the detective’s response.

  ‘No. You can get through this.’

  Vicky’s reply followed.

  ‘I keep thinking about how old my baby would be now.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. None of it.’

  There followed more messages of reassurance from the detective. It seemed she was having a particularly hard time of it at the moment. It sounded like the disappointment of the Turkish sighting a few weeks ago had more than left its mark.

  As I wedged the phone back into the armchair cushion, I noticed the time. It was almost three. I’d been so engrossed in my snooping that I hadn’t realised how long Jason had been gone.

  ‘Jason?’ I called out as I climbed the stairs. Silence. ‘Jason?’ I said again. The whole house was fitted out in a thick cream carpet that muffled the reach of my voice. ‘Where are you?’

  I made my way across the landing to the only open door. Inside was a small bed with a blue spaceship duvet cover and a plastic bumblebee night-light on the table next to it. Barney’s room. Sitting cross-legged on a rug by the window was Jason, reading a well-worn copy of Where the Wild Things Are. It was as if I’d stumbled upon a grown-up version of Barney, come home at last.

  ‘You OK?’

  He looked up from the book with a dreamy expression, but then went back to his reading.

  Coming to sit down next to him, I began stroking his back, softly at first and then with more pressure. The room smelt of polish and the rug beneath us bore the telltale stripes of having being recently hoovered. I looked around. On a low-level brass hook on the back of the door was a small blue-and-red fleece dressing-gown.

  I wanted to lean into Jason for a cuddle, but I couldn’t because of the way he had his legs crossed. Instead, I began tracing my thumb over the burn and scorch-mark scars that pocked his wrists: a hangover from his welding days. He’d explained how these burns couldn’t be helped. That, no matter how hard he’d tried, there was always a bit of neck or that thin, delicate skin on the underside of his wrists that would end up exposed to the sparks that flew back from the welding torch. He’d said that, when they hit you, they felt like tiny stings.

  ‘I love you. Do you love me?’ I asked, trying to get my face in his line of vision.

  I kissed him on the cheek and then the neck, but still he kept on reading. Waiting until he’d turned the page, I kissed him on the mouth and began unbuttoning his jeans. He tried to stop me, but I kept going. I reached down to his boxers, slipped the flat of my hand underneath the elastic waistband and began rubbing at his penis. I could tell he was trying to fight it, that he wanted his body to ignore me, but he was becoming harder.

  ‘Heidi, no,’ he said, his eyes coming into focus. Once more, he tried to brush my hand away, but this time I held his wrist tight. With my other hand I took the book off him.

  ‘No. Not here,’ he said, his eyes closing.

  I pushed him down so that he was lying flat on the floor and straddled him. Pulling down his boxers, I pushed my knickers to the side and then we were together. I looked at the bumblebee night-light. After all this time, had the bulb inside stopped working or did Vicky make sure to replace it? I started rocking faster and then slower, taking him to the edge and then bringing him back again, over and over.

  I came a few seconds before he did. I took a moment to get my breath and then, my limbs loose and lazy, I rolled off and onto the floor next to him. As Jason tidied himself back into his jeans, I looked up at the ceiling, my dress still around my waist. Decorated with those stars and moons that glow in the dark, it seemed to be the only part of Barney’s room that Vicky had forgotten to keep clean. Cobwebs furred with dust hung down in clumps from the lampshade, and grey streaks marked every corner.

  Jason got to his feet and, without waiting for me, thundered out of the room. The cobwebs swayed in the temporary breeze. A few seconds later and they’d resettled, back into the position they’d held for years and years.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I placed the lasagne in the oven, poured myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and took a seat at the table. Soon, the air was heady with the smell of baked garlic and tomato.

  Jason was upstairs, revising. He wanted to study right up until dinner and so, to kill time, I reached for the local free paper. But the words and pictures did not interest me and soon my thoughts began to drift, back to the text messages I’d seen on Vicky’s phone. On the face of it, the exchange between her and Martin was straightforward. Barney went missing when he was in Vicky’s care. She, quite understandably, still felt guilty. That was hard to live with. But there was something about their exchange that didn’t sit quite right, something I couldn’t put my finger on.

  Abandoning the paper, I decided to make a start on the salad. I chopped the lettuce, cucumber and tomato and arranged the mixture on two plates. I dressed Jason’s portion with olive oil and salt and pepper and, as usual, left my portion untouched.

  I’d struggled with my weight ever since I was a teenager. Until Lauren went missing and the subsequent loss of appetite, I’d been what was politely referred to as a ‘big girl’ and I’d been OK with that. I liked to eat and as my dress size used to testify, I never denied myself. Lauren had revelled in my pillowy stomach and thighs. Whenever she saw me in my underwear, she’d grab hold of my midriff and with the same screwed-up face people adopt when they marvel at a chubby baby, she’d declare, ‘Mummy, you are so lovely and squishy!’ But Jason had only ever known me like this: slim and fit. Of course, he knew what I used to look like, but our relationship had been predicated on me as I was now. We’d never spoken of it, but I sensed that it would never do to break those terms.

  The salad sorted, I started to lay the table. I’d wait right up to the last minute before calling him down to eat, give him as much time as possible. He was so committed to passing this exam and to his subject. It was hard to imagine what he was like in the years before we met, when he still worked as a welder. The steel was in his blood – a family trade – and had, by all accounts, been a huge part of his social life. Yet after Barney went missing, he’d left it all behind without, it seemed, a second glance.

  I looked at the two fire-bla
nkets and portable defibrillator fixed to the wall next to the cooker. On occasion, his passion for his new profession had bordered on obsession. The defibrillator had not come cheap but, within weeks of moving in together, Jason had insisted we invest. A square red case, it had curved edges and a black carry handle. Not unlike the carry-on luggage favoured by 1950s air hostesses, it was emblazoned with a white heart symbol, a slice of lightning through its middle. As soon as it had arrived, Jason had given me a tutorial. Inside was a surprisingly simple-looking kit: a pair of scissors to cut off clothing or underwired bras, two pads with adhesive stickers and the machine itself. A small grey box, it had two buttons: one green, one orange. Jason had reassured me that if I attached the pads to a person who was not, in fact, in cardiac arrest then the machine would not fire. He’d said that the pads were designed to check for arrhythmia before administering a shock.

  He liked to keep the box hanging dead square next to the fire-blankets, but now I noticed it was balanced at a funny angle. It often got knocked as people brushed past. I readjusted it into position, but no sooner had I centred it back onto its hook than it slid down to the right again. Something inside was making it list. I lifted the case off its hook, set it on the table and opened the catch.

  There, wedged in next to the grey box, was a folder I’d seen once before. Jason’s Vicky folder. I stepped back from the table, confused. And then, wanting to check it was in fact the very same as the one I’d found in the filing cabinet, I opened it up. There was the mobile phone bill, with the same two numbers highlighted; there the receipt for petrol from a garage just outside Thirsk.

  Jason had moved the folder. Not only that, he’d hidden it. Somewhere he thought I’d never find it. Why?

  I spread the contents on the table and did a quick inventory. There were two pieces of paper that I couldn’t remember seeing before. Had I missed them the first time round? Or were they new additions to the file? The first document was a calendar for the year 2010. The year Barney went missing. Various dates were circled in red in the months prior to his disappearance. The second document was an invoice. Dated one month after Barney disappeared, it was for a procedure listed only as ‘Event (general anaesthetic)’ from the Nuffield Hospital for £643.

  I heard movement on the floorboards upstairs. Jason was getting ready to come down for dinner. I looked at the papers splayed out in front of me. I had more than enough time to put the folder back together, replace it inside the defibrillator and return it to its usual position on the wall. He’d never know I’d found his new hiding place. But no. I felt a prickle of defiance. I wanted to know what was going on.

  I placed the folder neatly on the table and left the open defibrillator case next to it. Then I sat and I waited.

  A few minutes later and Jason bounded down the stairs. He came into the kitchen and went straight over to the fridge for a beer. I sat perfectly still. Oblivious to the folder, he came up behind me and kissed my neck. Then, as his eyes travelled over my shoulder and down onto the table, I felt him stiffen.

  ‘I get why you hid this before,’ I said, as he started to scoop the documents back into a pile. ‘But why hide it again?’

  The papers safely back inside the folder, he gathered it up to his chest.

  ‘It’s hard to explain.’

  ‘Try.’

  An acrid smell began to fill the air. The lasagne had been due to come out of the oven twenty minutes ago.

  ‘What are the calendar dates about?’

  ‘Can’t I have some things that are just for me?’ He was indignant. ‘Why do you insist on us sharing everything?’

  ‘What are you keeping from me?’

  ‘Keeping from you?’ His face was red. ‘You’re paranoid, do you know that?’ He tapped his finger at the side of his temple.

  The burning smell was getting worse. Thin wisps of black smoke started to snake their way through the thin gap at the top of the oven door.

  ‘Jason, you can tell me anything.’ I softened my voice. ‘I’m your wife. Please, what is going on?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He retreated back out of the kitchen and up the stairs, the folder clasped to his chest.

  I looked at the defibrillator case, abandoned on the table, its cavity exposed.

  At that moment the smoke alarm registered the burning lasagne. Its regular high-pitched shrill began to ring out through the house. I turned off the gas and left the ruined lasagne to cool. The smoke alarm continued to pierce the silence. I didn’t cover my ears.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  We spent the rest of the evening avoiding each other, and by the time I left for work the following day we still had not spoken.

  Early afternoon and I was holding a meeting in the tiny breakout area by reception. Designated for internal, impromptu get-togethers, the space consisted of a square of different coloured carpet, four chairs and a flipchart. And because it was flanked by the receptionist, Hayley, discussions were punctuated by the constantly ringing phone and subsequent ‘Hello-Hayley-speaking-how-can-I-help-you?’s.

  ‘Let’s go through it one more time,’ I said, pushing the flipchart sheets back over the top of the easel. ‘I’ll open, thank them for coming and then, Stacey, Colin and Nick,’ – I pointed to each of them in turn – ‘you three will take over.’

  Stacey and Colin nodded their assent, but Nick kept his head low, focused on doodling in his notebook.

  ‘Nick, is that clear?’

  He continued to scribble for a few more seconds – long swirly lines that spread across the page like leaves – before looking up.

  ‘Crystal,’ he smirked, raising his pen to his temple.

  ‘Remember,’ I said, taking care to speak loud enough for them all to hear but not so loud that I disturbed the rest of the office, ‘when it comes to our pricing structure, we don’t want to put them off, but we don’t want to mislead them, either. If we get it right, this has the potential to be a huge contract.’

  Stacey and Colin leant forward in their seats, eyes wide at the prospect of such a big win. Junior sales reps, they were both at least ten years younger than me and dead keen. However, although they worked hard, they seemed to lack the shark-like ambition and confidence of someone like Nick. I tried to encourage them as much and as often as I could.

  ‘Colin, you’re next up.’ I motioned for him to come and take my place by the flipchart. ‘Would you like to take us through the differentials and then –’ Before I could go any further, I was interrupted by my mobile. I’d balanced it on top of a pile of folders on the floor and as I let it ring out to voicemail, it vibrated its way off the side and toppled onto the carpet.

  ‘The figures involved are critical –’ I said, trying to regain my train of thought. But once more, my phone’s electronic trill cut me off mid-flow.

  ‘Do you need to get that?’ asked Nick. ‘Seems important.’

  Picking it up off the floor, I checked the screen. I didn’t recognise the number. Keen to avoid any more distractions, I turned it off completely.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, my hands fluttering around my neck. ‘Where was I?’

  ‘The figures,’ said Nick.

  ‘The figures, yes,’ I said, forcing my hands down to my hips. ‘We need to show we can deliver for under ten per cent and Colin has worked out a way we can do that.’ Colin had just got to his feet when the reception landline blared.

  Hayley answered and, after a brief exchange, she held the phone towards me.

  ‘It’s for you.’

  ‘Take a message?’

  Hayley returned the phone to her ear but after a murmured exchange she was soon back to trying to hand me the receiver.

  ‘What is it?’

  Hayley scanned the breakout area, hesitant to verbalise whatever it was in front of the others.

  ‘They say it’s urgent. Something to do with Jason.’ She chewed on her thumbnail. ‘They won’t take no for an answer.’

  Ignoring the shared glances rippling through my team, I to
ok the phone.

  ‘Heidi, it’s Tesh,’ said the person on the other end of the line.

  ‘Tesh?’

  I hadn’t seen him since that night at the barbecue. For a moment my head was filled with the image of him doing the flamenco around our garden, a pair of meat tongs held above his head like castanets.

  ‘I’m in the middle of something,’ I whispered, shielding the receiver with my hand.

  A dash of red bobbed at the edge of my vision. Yvonne. She was standing in the doorway to her office, watching me.

  ‘It’s Jason,’ said Tesh. ‘I need you to get over here right away.’

  ‘I’m at work,’ I whispered.

  ‘I don’t want to get the police involved,’ said Tesh, ‘but if we leave it much longer I’ll have no choice.’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘He got on-site somehow. He’s on the roof.’

  For a moment, everything seemed to pitch.

  ‘He’s refusing to come down.’

  He gave me the address and I handed the phone back to Hayley. Turning to face Colin, Stacey and Nick, I ignored their looks of brazen curiosity and collected my things.

  ‘I’ve got something I need to take care of,’ I said brightly. ‘We’ll pick this up later.’

  Grabbing my bag and coat from my desk, I went over to where Yvonne stood, her mouth twisted into a dense bud.

  ‘I need to dip out for an hour or so.’ I kept my voice light. ‘Won’t be long.’

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Personal emergency.’

  She tutted.

  ‘What about Monday? You weren’t in yesterday and you said you were going to spend all of today and tomorrow preparing.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re all set.’ I shuffled my arms into my coat. ‘And like I said, I won’t be long.’

  I went to leave but I hadn’t gone more than a few steps when I heard another tut.