The Affair_A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Sheryl Browne

  ‘Oh dear, poor sod’s legless, ain’t you, mate?’ someone said tauntingly, close to his ear.

  Justin felt his collar being clutched and tugged tight to his throat. An arm slid around his upper torso. They were obviously going to kick the shit out of him, he guessed, his gut turning over. He would stand no chance of fighting back against three of them. All he could do was pray they stopped before they killed him.

  Justin guessed wrong.

  Jesus Christ, no. Seeing the sharp glint of the blade in his peripheral vision, he felt sweat prickle his skin, saturating the shirt on his back, as he realised what was about to happen.

  ‘Don’t,’ Justin begged, swallowing against the arm now constricting his airway. ‘Please, don’t…’ His words died on his lips as he felt the knife going in, sliding slickly under his ribs, then a sharp, violent twist, before the blade was pulled out.

  Please, God, no. Justin sank from his knees to all fours as the men backed away. This wasn’t happening. Please don’t let this be happening. Sophie. As searing pain ripped through his side, Justin blinked the perspiration from his eyes and struggled to get to his feet, only to find the use of his limbs had deserted him.

  He stared at the pavement and sucked in a breath. It stopped painfully short of his chest. Nausea churned his stomach. His heart thudded, loud and sluggish in his head.

  No! He started counting.

  Tried to control his involuntary shuddering as the crimson stain on the hall floor seeped towards him. Shaking his head, he blinked against the bright light that shone through the cracked mirror. Then blinked again, hard, as blood seeped from the cracks, rich red globules, tears for his children. Warm blood. His blood.

  His mind screaming, he attempted to shut out the sounds – melodic laughter, chimes tinkling. But they weren’t chimes. They were church bells. And his baby was singing.

  Justin jolted, gulping back the salty taste in his throat as the dark closed in around him.

  Fifty-Six

  JESSICA

  Finally, Jessica thought, tearing the note of the address Justin had given her from the pad and slipping it safely into her handbag. He was a typical man, bottling up his emotions, trying to be macho when his poor heart was steadily breaking. But he’d reached the point where he needed to share, and she would be there for him.

  She wouldn’t tell Alicia, obviously. She had brought it all on herself, but she was utterly devastated, poor soul. She’d come home soaked through to the skin and covered in mud. Jessica’s supposed-to-be-amusing quip about her having been rolling around with a rugby team hadn’t raised even the smallest of smiles. Quite the opposite, in fact. She handed her their usual cure-all cup of tea, and Alicia had promptly burst into tears.

  Pouring herself a glass of wine, Jessica supposed she ought to go up and check on her. She’d been worried she’d drowned herself in the bath at one point. Now, since she hadn’t heard a peek from her – not so much as the squeak of a floorboard since Alicia had gone to her bedroom – she was worrying she might have taken more than the one sleeping tablet she’d suggested might help her rest.

  Five minutes later, a tray in her hands, Jessica nudged the spare bedroom door handle down. ‘Only me,’ she said quietly, in case Alicia was sleeping, and then went on in.

  Oh, not sleeping then. She saw her sister silhouetted against the window. What on earth was she doing standing there in only her skimpy pyjamas? She’d catch her death of cold after coming home soaking wet. She really was a worry.

  ‘Ali?’ she said, placing the tray on the dressing table. ‘Are you all right, sweetie?’

  Alicia didn’t answer. She simply continued to stare up at the stars, as if looking for the answer to the universe.

  Uh-oh. She was swaying on her feet, Jessica noted, her gaze shooting to the bedside table and an almost empty bottle of wine. Oh dear, it looked like Alicia was attempting to anaesthetise the pain again – as if alcohol ever could, particularly if you didn’t partake on a regular basis. And Alicia didn’t. Or at least she hadn’t for a very long time. Obviously, she’d snuck the bottle up in her bag. She really ought to let Justin know about this, Jessica thought. Alicia obviously wasn’t coping at all.

  Sighing, Jessica went across and placed an arm around her. ‘What are you doing, sweetheart?’ she asked kindly. ‘You know drinking doesn’t help anything. It only ever brings things into sharp focus.’

  ‘It doesn’t,’ Alicia said, reluctant to let go of the glass Jessica was attempting to prise from her hand. ‘It just makes everything more fuddled.’

  ‘Muddled,’ Jessica corrected her, steering her gently away from the window.

  ‘Blurry.’ Jessica nodded, allowing herself to be led to the bed. ‘It’s like there’s two voices in my head. One’s saying, “Stop doubting yourself.” And the other one’s saying—’

  ‘You’ve drunk too much, Alicia. You really shouldn’t—’

  ‘Exactly.’ Alicia plopped down. And swayed. ‘I’m a lush. A drunken slush. Someone who gets para… paral… as drunk as a fish and then throws herself at the nearest man.’

  Oh God. Jessica sighed again, heavily. Now she was slurring her words. ‘A skunk, Ali.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Alicia closed one eye and looked at her askew.

  ‘It’s as drunk as a skunk or drinks like a… never mind.’ Jessica smiled tolerantly. ‘Come on, tuck up under the duvet and have a nice sleep, why don’t you? I’ve brought you some toast.’ She tried to tempt her in hopes of getting something down her to soak up the alcohol. ‘You’ll feel better for a bite to eat and a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘No. Uh-uh.’ Alicia shook her head and got unsteadily to her feet. ‘I’m going on Facebook.’

  Jessica watched, perplexed, as Alicia groped for her phone and jabbed randomly at it. ‘Do you think I am?’ She looked back to Jessica after a second, her eyes slightly unfocussed and full of uncertainty. ‘A drunken trollop, I mean. I bet Justin thinks I am. Do you think I am, Jess?’

  Definitely worried now, Jessica felt her heart sink. She didn’t want her going gaga on her. Justin was bound to ask how she was and she could hardly lie to him about that. He might well talk to Alicia. She couldn’t tell him she was fine if she wasn’t. ‘No, Ali, I don’t think you’re a trollop. And neither do you. It’s just the drink, lovely. It’s making you emotional.’

  ‘Justin will think I am though, won’t he?’ A tear spilling down her cheek, Alicia went back to her phone. ‘So, c’est la vie.’ She shrugged and tried to focus on the screen. ‘I might as well live up to my reputation, mightn’t I?’

  ‘Right.’ Jessica heaved in a breath. ‘Alicia, what are you doing exactly?’ she asked, as Alicia continued to squint at her phone.

  ‘Picking up a man,’ Alicia supplied, with a determined nod, which was completely at odds with the tears now streaming down her face.

  ‘From Facebook?’ Shaking her head, Jessica eyed the ceiling. ‘I think you need a bit more practice, sweetie,’ she said, reaching to ease the phone from her hand as Alicia plopped back down on the bed – and almost missed it.

  Damn. Jessica swallowed as a thought occurred. ‘You haven’t taken the sleeping tablet I gave you, have you?’ she asked worriedly.

  Wiping her hand under her nose, Alicia shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, her voice full of anguish. ‘They make me feel ill in the mornings.’

  Thank God for that. Jessica blew out a sigh of relief. Having to ring Justin in his medical capacity to tell him his wife was popping pills and washing them down with wine wasn’t something she would have relished doing. Then again, should she tell him, for Alicia’s sake?

  ‘You need to lie down, Alicia,’ she said firmly, as her sister leaned precariously to one side, ‘before you fall down.’

  Encouraging her to lie back, Jessica played mother – not that it was a role she wanted right now. ‘There we go,’ she said, making sure her feet were in and then fluffing up her pillows and tugging up the duvet.

  Flicking on the be
dside lamp, she fetched the tray and offered her the toast.

  ‘I can’t, Jess.’ Alicia shook her head, looking a little green around the gills. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Jessica huffed inwardly. She had her hair to wash and her nails to do. She didn’t want to be playing nursemaid half the night. ‘All right,’ she relented. ‘But you have to promise to eat something in the morning. You need to stay strong for your family.’

  The last came out a little more stridently than she’d intended, and Jessica felt a bit guilty as she watched another tear slide down her sister’s cheek.

  ‘Come on, Ali,’ she said, holding on to her patience and smoothing her hair away from her face. ‘Things will look better in the morning.’

  ‘Do you think?’ Alicia emitted a strangulated laugh at that.

  Jessica actually didn’t think they would. And Alicia would definitely be feeling ill after drinking that lot on top of no food. She did hope she wasn’t going to have a complete breakdown. Her eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and, frankly, looked like two peepholes in the snow against her pallid complexion. She’d lost an awful lot of weight – Jessica felt the tiniest bit peeved about that, having been struggling to lose even a pound over the last two weeks. She’d barely uttered a word since she got back, and when she did speak it was distractedly, with a glazed, faraway look in her eye.

  Jessica sat with her a while. When, at last, Alicia’s eyelids finally grew heavy, Jessica was hugely relieved. She had things to do.

  Fifty-Seven

  SOPHIE

  ‘What did you say this was again?’ Sophie asked, referring to the classical music he was fond of playing while she helped him clear up after their meal. It had been pasta again – which it seemed he was also fond of – but without the meat. Garlicky mushroom penne he’d said it was, and it hadn’t been bad.

  ‘Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata,’ Paul supplied, wiping down the cooker, which he kept meticulously clean. Sophie stacked the dishwasher, making sure to put everything in the exact order he’d specified, since she’d apparently stacked it completely wrong last time. ‘I find this one particularly calming. It’s scientifically proven that calm classical music is an effective way to alleviate stress. Did you know that? Listening to soothing music has a relaxing effect on the body and mind. It mesmerises you.’ He paused in his rigorous wiping. ‘Captivates you, almost. Allows you to explore your emotions, delve deep inside and…’

  Sophie watched him interestedly as he narrowed his eyes, glancing off somewhere.

  He obviously sensed her watching him. ‘And you don’t really like it, do you?’ He looked at her with a tolerant half-smile.

  ‘I do,’ Sophie refuted. ‘I like most music, but…’ She screwed up her nose. ‘It’s a bit maudlin, isn’t it? This particular track, I mean.’

  Paul sighed and shook his head, clearly despairing of her musical ignorance. ‘So, what mood-inspiring music do you fancy then?

  ‘Adele?’ Sophie suggested hopefully.

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Adele it is,’ he said, instructing Alexa accordingly.

  ‘Brilliant.’ Sophie grinned and turned back to her task. ‘I’ve missed my music… without my phone.’ Dropping a subtle hint, she sneaked another peek at him.

  Paul’s sigh was longer this time. ‘Go on then,’ he said, retrieving a credit card from his phone wallet. ‘Go and order one online,’ he said, offering it to her.

  Sophie stared at it agog. ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, you obviously can’t live without one.’ Paul shrugged good-naturedly. ‘But run it by me before you hit purchase,’ he said, as Sophie gleefully grabbed the card.

  ‘Will do.’ Sophie smiled, delighted. ‘Cheers, Paul.’

  ‘No worries. Get yourself some shoes, while you’re browsing. Can’t have you running around in your socks forever, can we? It’s not very hygienic.’

  ‘Yes. Right.’ Sophie furrowed her brow. She hadn’t heard that one before. ‘Small problem,’ she said.

  Paul arched an eye curiously.

  ‘I don’t have anything to browse on,’ Sophie pointed out.

  ‘Ah. Of course you don’t.’ Paul downed his cloth and went to the dining area, where his jacket was hanging on a chair. ‘You can use my laptop,’ he said, retrieving his study keys to go and fetch it.

  ‘No dipping into files, though, Sophie,’ he said, coming back with the laptop and setting it up on the dining table. ‘I have confidential client information on here, remember?’

  ‘I won’t,’ Sophie assured him, her eyes straying to the jacket pocket he’d dropped his keys back into. He’d kept the study locked since he’d found her in there. She supposed it was fair enough, since he had all that confidential stuff. She still wanted to know what was in those desk drawers he’d been so concerned about, though, and why it was her mother’s photo he kept on his desk.

  Fifty-Eight

  ALICIA

  Alicia couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Justin had called every day since Sophie went missing, but today she hadn’t heard a thing from him. Her useless attempt to explain why she’d taken a decision to ruin his life had driven him to some darker place than he had already been in. She would never forget the emotion in his voice when he’d confirmed that Sophie had given him something worth living for.

  Had given him, was the thought that had been plaguing her. Assisted by far too much wine, she’d drifted off to sleep with that thought in her head. Her nightmares had been as bad as her reality. She’d found herself in an Alice in Wonderland, haunted distortion of her house, where she heard her family – voices and laughter and tears emerging from rooms she couldn’t reach, no matter how hard she ran. Stairs – first one flight, then two – stretched before her like elongated rubber.

  She’d left Justin in an empty house as haunted to him as hers was in her dreams, with nothing but the hope he might find Sophie. He’d been working on the studio to keep that hope alive. He would be so desperately lonely, so broken inside. She had to talk to him. If only to hear him say he didn’t want to talk to her, she had to hear his voice, know that he was all right physically, if not emotionally. Hesitating for a second, she selected his number, and her anxiety increased as his phone went straight to voicemail.

  ‘Any news?’ Jess asked worriedly, coming into the kitchen as Alicia keyed in a text.

  ‘No answer,’ Alicia said, fear that something had happened to him gnawing away at her insides. He might have simply decided to stop contacting her – he wasn’t beholden to her now, after all – but the nagging voice telling her something was wrong just wouldn’t go away.

  ‘He’s probably busy. Out searching, possibly?’ Jessica suggested, looking as concerned as Alicia felt. ‘He might be in a bad reception area. Have you tried the hospital?’

  ‘I’m doing that now,’ Alicia said, waiting for the hospital to pick up.

  Finding out he wasn’t there either, apprehension settled like ice in the pit of her tummy. He might not want to talk to her – might never want to ever again – but for him to remain uncontactable when there was even the slightest possibility she might be trying to get in touch with news of Sophie, that just didn’t make sense.

  ‘Give him another half hour,’ Jessica said, looking worried now as she checked her own phone. She knew, too, Alicia thought, that Justin wouldn’t cut all contact under these circumstances.

  He would call. Please let him call. Keying in a text to him, Alicia tried to quash the insistent niggle that told her he wouldn’t. An hour later, she was half out of her mind with worry and incapable of sitting still. She had no idea where he was. He’d been looking for Sophie in the most godforsaken places. He could be anywhere. Lying injured in some backstreet. Unable to get help. Unable to call for help.

  He was adamant he would find Sophie – or die trying. He’d said it. Alicia knew he would go wherever his search took him, with no regard for his own safety.

  She was about to call DI Taylor when her phone rang. Terror gripped h
er stomach as the detective’s number flashed up.

  ‘Alicia, it’s Justin…’ he said, and Alicia reeled as even more of her world fell apart.

  Fifty-Nine

  ALICIA

  Yanked from a fitful sleep, panic flooding every pore in her body, Alicia’s eyes shot to the monitor, and her heart rate returned to somewhere near normal. Reassured by the steady blip, blip indicating his vital signs were stable, she looked to where her hand still lay on Justin’s, her fingers curled softly around his. He hadn’t moved. No movement at all, apart from the rapid flicker of his eyelids as his eyes chased his dreams.

  Or nightmares.

  The cardiothoracic surgeons had worked relentlessly, and by some miracle they’d managed to control the haemorrhaging caused by the knife wound. And it had been a miracle. Even with fast surgical intervention, his chances had been slim. He was weak, but, God willing, he would recover physically. Mentally and emotionally, though, Alicia knew those wounds might be unlikely to heal.

  He still looked deathly pale against the stark white of the sheets. Alicia studied his profile, a strong profile, which so often gave nothing away of the man inside. A good, dependable man, brought to his knees, by her. She desperately wanted to lie next to him, hold him, as he’d held her after the emergency surgery she’d had to deliver their baby boy. He’d been so gentle, so caring, both immediately after the birth and every day thereafter, until little Lucas had been stolen away. Until Paul Radley had walked back into her life and stolen Justin’s happiness away.

  Squeezing his hand gently, she leaned to brush his cheek with a kiss. ‘I never stopped loving you, Justin,’ she whispered. ‘Never.’