Obsession: A shocking psychological thriller where love affairs turn deadly

by Amanda Robson

  ‘Look, Mother, I need to talk to you. Tomorrow we’re all going away on a surprise holiday. A surprise for Rob. And you’re coming with us. Sharon’s sorting things out at the surgery. I’ve come home to book it.’ She looks surprised. I push on. ‘Top secret.’ I put my fingers to my lips. ‘All you need to do is go home to pack.’

  My mother’s eyes gleam with excitement.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asks.

  ‘Somewhere hot.’ I take the dishes from her hand and place them on the counter. ‘Leave the kitchen to me. I’ll phone you later to let you know what time we’re picking you up to go to the airport.’

  She removes her garish apron and hangs it on the hook by the door. The child-like look on her face reminds me that she’s probably not had a proper holiday since my father died. I follow her to the hallway where she retrieves her jacket and handbag. I open the front door for her. She kisses me and skims towards her car as if she is dreaming.

  I sigh and pad downstairs, back to my kitchen, my shoulders aching because I feel so responsible for everyone. I make myself a coffee and sit in front of the computer screen, hands trembling. I finish my coffee and make another one. I prefer coffee to Valium and alcohol these days. Coffee helps me concentrate. Internet sunshine cascades in front of me, dancing on hotels, dancing on villas. With the help of Avios, Secret Escapes and flexible budgeting, I book an apartment in Barbados and early morning flights from Gatwick. I spend the rest of the day tidying the house and packing.

  I hear Rob’s key in the door and rush to greet him. We kiss and his lips feel thin. He is a shell of the person he once was. Rob, but not Rob. What has Jenni done to him? He won’t talk about it, except when he dreams. He punches and kicks and screams your name, Jenni, as if he was fighting you. He wakes up in cold sweats.

  This evening he comes down the hallway and goes upstairs to shower as usual, joking about scrubbing away the germs of Stansfield.

  I am listening to Elbow on the Sonos system and heating up his supper when he enters the kitchen wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower.

  ‘What’s the racket?’ he asks as I place his food in front of him. Nothing special tonight; pork chop, baked beans and mash, slightly enhanced by my mother’s homemade apple sauce – but only slightly. I turn Elbow off with the remote and sit down next to him to watch him push food towards his mouth without any enthusiasm.

  ‘And what’s with all the suitcases?’ he asks.

  ~ Rob ~

  Palm trees sway in paradise. I know because I am there, sitting on the balcony of our new holiday apartment, engulfed by the hiss of the sea.

  Trying to forget about you, Jenni.

  Trying not to feel guilty.

  Guilt is a pointless emotion that drags you down, wastes your time and your energy.

  I stretch my limbs, pull myself away from the balcony and walk towards the white sugar sand beach where a young man brings me a sun lounger and iced drinks. All I need to do today is to rouse myself from crime fiction and sleep, to swim in a sea as warm as bath water – paradise indeed.

  Carly rises from the beach, her soft skin tanning to the colour of toffee, and joins me in the ocean. We wade together through water that caresses our skin like velvet. She tires suddenly and stands up, laughing, pushing her watery hair back from her eyes. She is in my arms, slippery and wet and salty, her firm breasts hot against my chest.

  ‘Let’s go back to the apartment. Mother’s keeping an eye on the children,’ she says, pulling away and smiling the smile she gives me when I know she wants sex. The smile that frightens me.

  We run through the sea, kicking through lace-crested water, along the beach to our empty apartment. We lie together on Egyptian cotton sheets. I hear the hissing of the sea and the happy voices of children playing on the beach. We melt towards one another, but I pull back. Carly looks at me wide-eyed, and I think for a second she is going to burst into tears. But then she rolls on top of me and whispers, ‘Good job we came away. Before the bitch-whore got any worse.’

  ~ Carly ~

  A world away from the red brick police station in Stansfield with its Saturday night drunkards and layers of dust from passing traffic, we sit up in front of Sergeant Anita Berry in our holiday bedroom. This world has floating drapes and a soft sea breeze. Her face is addressing us from the iPad propped up on the dressing table as we sit on chairs filched from the kitchen.

  Anita Berry’s beamy smile belts across the airwaves. Her sculptured hair rotates a little around her face as she leans forwards to take a sip of water from the glass in front of her. She puts the glass down and straightens her lips, looking squarely at us now. We move our chairs closer together, closer to her, and hold hands.

  ‘I’ve looked into it very carefully and there isn’t enough evidence to start an investigation.’

  The sun pushing through the window behind us is making my head ache.

  ‘But there must be – Jenni’s dangerous,’ I splutter.

  ‘We have no evidence to support that.’

  ‘But what about the similarities between my “accident” and what happened to Craig and his girlfriend?’

  My hand is trembling.

  ‘The coroner concluded that it was a suicide pact between them, and we agree with his opinion.’

  ‘But they didn’t die at the same time.’

  ‘We all are aware of that, Mrs Burton. But we are sure it was suicide. We found notes in both cases.’

  ‘How carefully have you checked the notes?’

  ‘Please don’t insult us, Mrs Burton. We have carefully laid out procedures. We know what we’re doing.’

  ‘Please, tell me, was the handwriting checked?’

  ‘The evidence is consistent. That is all I can say.’

  ‘But Craig was cheating on her, Jenni had a clear motive.’

  ‘She wasn’t the only one who had motive, Mrs Burton.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  She stirs awkwardly in her chair.

  ‘Do you want to continue this conversation some time in private?’

  Rob leans towards the iPad.

  ‘Carly and I have no secrets – but I’m happy to leave the room, and get back to the beach.’

  He stands up. His sandals click across the travertine flooring.

  As soon as he has gone, she continues. ‘You were having an affair with Craig. He dumped you to go back to his wife and then he got a new girlfriend.’

  There is a pause.

  ‘You had a motive too,’ she says. ‘Can you prove you didn’t love him?’

  ‘How can anyone prove they don’t love someone? How is whether I loved him or not relevant?’

  How dare she dig up old emotion? Emotion swept under the bridge?

  ‘You could have been bitter that he went back to Jenni. The new girlfriend could have been the final straw. The sex stuff you’ve told us about could just be a red herring to put us all off the scent.’ There is a pause. ‘You both had access to prescription drugs through your jobs.’

  I sit, head in my hands, the heat of the sun oppressive now, making me sweat. Liquid pools behind my knees and at the base of my spine.

  I raise my eyes to look at her, trying to push back the tears that are pricking at my eyelids.

  ‘Do you really think this?’ I ask.

  ‘No. I don’t. If I did, we’d be having a much more serious conversation with you. I’m just making the point that it could have been either of you. The coroner firmly believes it was a suicide pact with a delay between actions. We are satisfied with all the evidence. Please accept what I am saying, Mrs Burton.’

  ‘OK. OK. I find that difficult, but thank you, Sergeant Berry.’

  ‘It’s our pleasure. It’s our job – what we’re here for.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  I touch my iPad screen and thankfully she disappears. What’s the matter with the woman, harping back to my fling with Craig? Ice calm inside, I determine to continue my battle with
out police help. I am strong now. I can cope.

  ~ Rob ~

  Walking along the beach hand in hand, sand crunching beneath my toes like crystal. The heady, heavy sun is pressing down on me, making me feel dizzy. Carly. You have been so worked up since Anita Berry called. So aggressive. So full of distrust of Jenni. It breaks my heart after all the good times we all once shared. After all the problems we’ve managed to walk away from together. But you’re my wife. I must respect you.

  ‘When we get back, I’ll ask her to leave,’ I tell you in the strongest voice I can muster.

  You shake your head.

  ‘She won’t go. Even if she does she’ll keep coming back to haunt us.’ My stomach tightens. You pause. ‘Rob. We need to take this seriously. Wherever we go, Jenni will follow us.’

  ‘She’s not dangerous. She can’t be. Otherwise the police would have followed it up.’

  ‘Do you really think that is how these things work?’ you ask.

  ‘I suppose I do. Yes.’

  ‘We need to keep her close. Befriend her. If she really understands how we feel she will let us go. She might leave us alone.’

  ‘You’re confusing me, Carly. Running away to Barbados? Keeping close. What are you planning?’

  You drop my hand. You pick up a pebble from the beach, a round pink pebble and spin it into the sea. It jumps off the surface of the water three times before it falls. You turn to me, blue eyes turned up to their highest wattage.

  ‘I know what I’m doing. Play along with me, please.’

  ~ Carly ~

  I leave you on the bed where you are sleeping, after making love with me in the afternoon heat. In sleep, the lines that age your face are gone. You are the man I fell in love with so many years ago. Your skin is burnished, toasted to hazelnut by the sun. Your lips are red, and slightly parted. I want to wake you and kiss you, and start again. But I need time alone to think, and so I let you sleep.

  I pull my negligee over my shoulders, walk to the window and open the curtains a little so that I can see the white sand and the cobalt sea. The palm trees swaying in front of our window. I close my eyes and listen to the sea; it pushes through every crevice of my mind and soothes it.

  Down on the beach, Matt and John are playing; throwing a ball to one another in the sea, aping about, laughing as the waves slap against their legs. Pippa is running after them, trying to supervise them. Trying to get them to leave the sea to help her build a sandcastle on the beach.

  My mother is lying on a sun lounger reading a novel. She has hardly moved for nearly two weeks. She doesn’t even bother to go into the sea. Resting her joints, she says, so that she will still be able to use them when she gets older.

  ‘Never mind your joints – if you don’t start exercising your arteries will clog up and you’ll have a heart attack,’ Pippa told her, pointing her forefinger at her, head on one side.

  Being here is giving my mother time to relax fully, something she deserves after working so hard for so many years. She used to help you too, didn’t she, Jenni?

  Most of all being here is giving me time to think about you, Jenni. The past, our friendship, moments, highlights, all pushing towards me with cinematic clarity.

  Our ‘friendship’ at nursing college was only an acquaintance from a distance; I was on the degree course, you were studying for a diploma. You’ve pulled yourself up a lot since then, haven’t you, Jenni? Back then, degree girls didn’t usually associate with diploma girls, but for some reason you ended up living on the same corridor as me, in a rather downbeat hall of residence. Do you remember, Jenni? Bedrooms so small you could stand in the middle and touch both sides. The kitchen that no one cleaned except you. The rubbish that built up outside.

  We were so different, you and me. You didn’t drink. You didn’t screw anyone. No wonder we didn’t hook up. Even then you used to haunt me with your eyes, disapproval simmering when I came back to the corridor late at night with a guy to find you in the kitchen, making jam, or praying; or something challenging and exciting like that. You never went out back then – not even on Saturday nights.

  The rest, as they say, is history; Stansfield, in the local NCT, where we finally caught up. I was pregnant with John and you were expecting Mark. As soon as you looked at me I recognised your mud brown eyes, but they no longer seemed to be brimming with disapproval – after all, we were both married women now. We were pushed together by the fear of childbirth, passing through a moment in time together. Not friends that transcend time.

  Do you remember the hospital maternity classes? Lectures from midwives on giving birth. Lolling about like beached whales on mats on the floor, not sure why we needed to make such an effort to relax. Do you remember being bitchy about the new mothers on the maternity ward, who came to the hospital shop in full view of all the outpatients, hobbling along in slippers and dressing gowns, looking pained and frumpy? In the end, when it was my turn, I wasn’t even strong enough to visit the shop.

  Do you remember talking to a new mother who told us she had driven herself to hospital alone, whilst in labour? We gasped audibly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I drove over the fly-over between contractions, and in case I broke down, I had my bike in the back.’

  Do you remember the frightful Gym Play we used to take the children to? Acrylic fumes of wet mould curling up our nostrils to damage the lining of our noses. It was supposed to be good for the children’s co-ordination. Whether it was or not, I don’t know. I think it was just an easy way for the people running it to make money from pushy parents. It was certainly no fun listening to toddlers yelling as they tumbled over benches and crawled through a variety of plastic tubes and hoops, serenaded by nursery rhymes pounding from a poor-quality sound system. The only decent part was the break when the children were silenced by drinking squash with too much sugar and overdosing on cheap biscuits. Oh and the Gym Play coach. Do you remember him? A stocky blond-haired man with muscular thighs. But you didn’t fancy him, did you, Jenni? You never leered at other men until you fell for Rob.

  I remember that delicious feeling of freedom, when it was over, and we escaped from the smelly hall to stand chatting outside. I would put my hand on your arm and we would laugh together, about all the stupid things we had to do because of the children.

  That was all our friendship ever was really, wasn’t it? A school-gate friendship. Transient and meaningless. So meaningless it doesn’t matter, Jenni, that you have destroyed it. Our friendship has been destroyed. That is just part of it. Now, to protect my family, I promise you, Jenni, I’m going to destroy you.

  SEVEN

  ~ Rob ~

  Back home to a world stripped of vibrant colours. To Stansfield’s grey upon grey. To piles of advertising and bills so deep we can hardly push the front door open. To endless patient lists and home visits. And Jenni. The chocolate eyes of Jenni. Watching me when I first arrive at the surgery. Watching me kiss Sharon on the cheek and present her with a gift from Barbados: a lace table cloth. Watching me give out bottles of Mount Gay rum to everyone else. Her brown eyes darkening to black when Carly arrives.

  The beach bum I was yesterday is turning into Dr Burton again, settling back into his consulting room with its faded leather chair, and scratched desk. Being sympathetic to Lily Appleton, a ninety-year-old who is losing her memory. Being patient with a young man who is trying to get signed off work with a back problem. He will be disappointed. I can’t let him get away with it.

  Next up is Shelly Barr. Always in a mess with her contraception – four children with four different fathers, and she is only twenty-two. Living in a council house with her latest boyfriend. I decide to get her a few shiny leaflets advising on contraception. If she can read, one might help. I saunter along the corridor to fetch one from the cupboard at the back of reception. Past the nursing station. The door is open and I can see Carly and Jenni, sitting at the counter checking the samples together before they are sent off. Chatting. Laughing. Girls together a
gain. Carly and Jenni with their schizophrenic friendship. As I pass them on the way back they are quieter, sitting together working amicably. Carly sees me and waves me into the nurses’ station. I step inside. It needs tidying up, as usual. Leaflets, patient notes and directives from the government lie in piles on the lab-style worktops. Pens. Pencils. Pads. Paperweights. A green plastic rhinoceros-shaped dish for paperclips. Carly’s treasures. Carly’s mess.

  The room smells of her perfume; the one I bought her at the airport on the way home. Gardenias drowning the background smell of dust and antiseptic. She pouts at me from beneath her tumbling Botticelli curls. Jenni fixes her eyes on mine for a second too long.

  Be careful, Jenni.

  Now they are both looking at me and smiling. Carly’s smile is so bold, so certain. Jenni’s is tentative, flashing wide for a second and then disappearing.

  ‘Everything all right?’ I ask.

  ‘Carly was just telling me about your holiday,’ Jenni says. There is a pause. ‘And the party.’

  ‘Party?’

  ‘For bonfire night.’

  ‘I’ll fill you in when I get home,’ Carly says, continuing to tighten the tops of urine samples. I leave them and saunter back to my room to call poor Shelly Barr.

  The day continues to progress slowly, burying me in patient notes, referral letters, bad news from oncology departments, budget worries. The local pharmacist phones to question the accuracy of one of my prescriptions. A medical rep is waiting to see me. I ring Sharon.

  ‘Sharon. Get rid of the rep. I’m so stretched today and I’m not interested in another me-too penicillin anyway. But say it nicely.’

  At last, not a second too soon, the evening surgery is over. As far as I can tell from the lack of cars in the car park, everybody else has gone home. I close my blind as the light is fading, sit at my desk and wait.