The Wife: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist

by Shalini Boland

I don’t even know why I’m going down this rabbit hole. I can’t believe I’m thinking these things. There could be any number of reasons why Toby and my sister-in-law met up today. So why did he lie to me? And why is Madeline not returning my calls or messages? Something’s up, and I need to find out what.

  Seven

  EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO

  The rain lashes against the plate-glass windows as pedestrians are buffeted along the pavement, their clothes and hair frenziedly whipping around them. Inside, as I sweep the floor of the salon, the sound of the vile weather is drowned out by the whine of hairdryers and the thump of music.

  I’ve had my Saturday job at Waves Salon for almost a year now, and it’s been great to earn my own money and have respite from studying. Especially now that it’s just me and Dad at home. Although it may as well just be me with all the conversation I get out of my father. I’m also trying to recover from the fact that my younger sister Dina has just gone off travelling. She only gave us one week’s notice that she was leaving, and Dad didn’t even seem that bothered about it. Just told her to stay out of trouble.

  I can’t say I’m surprised that she left. She was always going on about how she couldn’t wait to get out of Shaftesbury. But it’s still a shock. Her leaving makes me feel like I’ve failed somehow. Like I’ve let her down. Like I’ve let Mum down. Like I didn’t do enough to keep our family together. I guess it’s kind of a slap in the face.

  I could never imagine going off and leaving my home town. I love it here. I’m in the final year of A-levels at sixth form college, but my plan is to train as a hairdresser once I’ve finished. My boss, Jennifer, has agreed to take me on here full-time and I’m looking forward to it. Put it this way – I have no clue what else I’d do if I weren’t doing this.

  One of our stylists, Debbie, beckons me over to wash her client’s hair, a smart-looking brunette woman who I vaguely recognise from college, although she isn’t one of my lecturers. The woman smiles and I lead her over to the basins at the rear of the salon. She puts her handbag on the floor by her feet and sits down in one of the leather chairs.

  ‘You go to the college, don’t you?’ she asks as I drape a towel over her shoulders.

  ‘Yes, I’m doing my A-levels.’

  ‘My name’s Sally Bennet. I run the marketing department there.’ She leans back over the basin.

  ‘I thought I’d seen you around. Is that comfortable for you?’

  ‘Yep, fine thanks.’

  I switch on the shower head and let the water run for a moment before testing the temperature.

  ‘What A-levels are you doing?’ she asks.

  ‘English, Art and History.’ She’s obviously a talker. Some customers just want to relax while they’re having their hair washed. But other customers, like this lady, love to chat. Jennifer says we have to take our lead from them, and only talk if that’s what they want. I start soaking her hair. ‘Does that feel okay? Not too hot?’

  ‘No, you’re fine. You’d never believe it was May, would you? It’s horrible out there.’

  ‘I know. I’m not looking forward to walking home later.’

  ‘I read a piece about the salon in the local paper last week, written by one of the staff here I think. Do you know who that was?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that was me.’

  ‘Really?’ She pauses. ‘Well it was very professionally written.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It’s a good thing she can’t see my face, because I can feel my cheeks turning pink.

  ‘Did you have any help writing it?’ she asks.

  ‘Jennifer – she’s the owner –gave me a few bullet points to include. She knows I’m doing an English A-level and that I enjoy writing, so she let me do it.’

  ‘So the article was all your own work?’

  ‘Uh, yes.’ I turn off the water and reach behind for a bottle of coconut shampoo.

  ‘Impressive. The piece in the paper said you also organised a fundraiser recently.’

  ‘Yes, just after Christmas. The salon was a sponsor. It was in aid of the local cancer hospice.’ I squirt a couple of blobs of shampoo onto her wet hair and start massaging it into a lather.

  ‘That’s a great cause. How much did you raise in the end?’

  ‘Just over three and a half thousand.’ I can still hardly believe we raised that much.

  ‘Wow, that’s fantastic.’ Sally sounds genuinely impressed.

  ‘My mum died of cancer five years ago and I wanted to do something as a kind of memorial. It wasn’t just me though. My friend Cassie helped, and a few others.’

  ‘But you organised it, yes?’

  ‘Well, yes, it was my idea, but I had a lot of help.’

  ‘Of course. It takes a lot of work to put on those kinds of events.’

  I start rinsing the shampoo from her hair. The smell of coconut always reminds me of summer – Mum used to wear a sun lotion that smelled similar.

  ‘How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘Ah, so you’re in your second year. How’s the studying going?’

  I shrug. ‘Okay. It’s all a bit intense though.’

  ‘Do you know what you want to do afterwards?’

  ‘Yes, I’m going to train to be a hairdresser. Jennifer’s going to take me on full-time once my A-levels are over.’ I get a warm feeling as I tell her my future plans. I’m so glad I’m not like a lot of my friends, who have no idea what they want to do next.

  ‘Oh.’ Sally sounds surprised. ‘I thought you might have applied to uni.’

  ‘That was the original plan, but I’ve realised that I don’t want to study anymore. I want to start earning, get my own place. And I enjoy working at Waves. I think I’d like being a hairdresser.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  I spend the next couple of minutes towel-drying her hair, applying conditioner, and massaging her head. She’s quiet for a while and I let my mind wander, thinking about the long summer holidays ahead and whether I’ll have saved enough money to go away with my friends.

  ‘That feels great.’ Sally interrupts my daydream. ‘If you’re half as good at cutting hair as you are giving head massages, you’ll be a top hairstylist.’

  ‘Thank you. Everyone loves having their head massaged. I think it’s because our scalps are usually so neglected.’ I start rinsing the conditioner from her hair.

  ‘Actually… I’ve just had a thought.’

  ‘Oh? Do you want me to get Debbie?’

  ‘No, it’s not about my hair. Like I said earlier, I run the marketing department at the college.’

  ‘Sounds like an interesting job.’ I’m unsure as to where she’s going with her conversation.

  ‘The thing is, my department’s just created a new role for a trainee PR officer. Only we haven’t had many decent applicants.’

  ‘Oh. That’s a shame.’

  ‘Does it sound like something that might interest you?’

  ‘Interest me? Sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.’ She must think I’m such a dork.

  ‘Would you be interested in applying for the job of trainee PR officer?’ she explains.

  ‘Um… I don’t know. What’s a PR officer?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, PR stands for public relations. Making sure the public has a good perception of the college. Generating positive publicity. That kind of thing.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I reply, as though I know what she means.

  ‘After hearing about the success of your charity event, and reading your brilliantly written article, it’s occurred to me that you might be the perfect candidate for the position.’

  ‘What? Me?’ I realise I’ve sprayed water over the top part of her face. ‘Oh, sorry, let me wipe your forehead.’

  She blinks as water runs into her eye. I get the corner of the towel and dab her face, apologising and praying Jennifer isn’t looking over this way.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ Sally says generously. ‘We’d train you up and t
ell you exactly what was expected. But the idea is that you would eventually be a self-starter, creating opportunities and networking locally to raise the profile of the college. Does that sound good to you?’

  It sounds absolutely terrifying. But also strangely exciting, and so grown-up. It would be an impressive thing to do. ‘I… I don’t even know what to say.’ I turn off the water for a moment, my brain whirring. ‘I’m flattered that you think I could do it.’

  ‘Zoe, I think you’d do a great job. And I’d be there to help you. Like I said, it’s a position for a trainee, so you wouldn’t be expected to know everything. But I see potential in you to learn the role. We’d also pay for you to study one day a week at the college. The salary would be modest for the first year but could possibly rise quite sharply.’

  I try to imagine what it would be like to get the job. It feels so daunting. Working full-time at Waves would be the safe option. The comfortable option. I know it so well. I know the people. I enjoy it. Taking this PR job would be scary, and I might not like it. I wrap Sally’s hair in a towel, and she sits up and turns around to look at me.

  ‘Oh bless you.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘You look just a little bit terrified! It’s a lot to take in, I know. But the deadline for applications is next Wednesday, so let us know if you’re interested by then. Preferably beforehand.’

  ‘Wow. Thank you.’ The more I think about it, the more interested I become. This could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And if it didn’t work out or I hated it, I’m sure I could retrain as a hairdresser.

  ‘What do you think?’ she presses. ‘No, actually, that’s not fair of me, putting you on the spot like that. Think about it, okay?’ She bends to retrieve her handbag from the floor.

  ‘I think I might be interested.’ I inhale and give her a cautious smile.

  Sally echoes my smile. ‘I knew you would be! Great!’ She reaches into her bag and pulls out a bunch of forms, taking the top one and handing it to me. ‘Here’s an application form. But you can also apply via our website if you prefer. Remember, the deadline is Wednesday. Interviews will be held in two weeks’ time, and the job start date is September.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I take the form, fold it in two and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans. I have the feeling that this is one of those life-changing times. One of those events where I’ll look back in ten years and say this was the moment that launched my career, my life.

  My heart beats faster as I consider the opportunity before me.

  Eight

  NOW

  ‘Come on, you two. Out you get!’ I chivvy the kids along. Why do they always take so long getting out of the car? I prefer walking to school, but in typical Monday-morning style we overslept this morning, so had no choice other than to drive if we wanted to avoid being late. Plus, I wanted to get to the playground at a reasonable time so that I could catch Madeline. But with the time it took to scrape the ice off the windscreen and then the nightmare parking, we may as well have walked.

  Once Alice and Jamie are on the pavement with their backpacks over their shoulders, I slam the door to my blue Vauxhall Corsa and click the lock. I’m still no closer to finding out why Madeline’s avoiding me. And I didn’t have the courage to ask Toby what she was doing with him in our house last week. I gave him every opportunity to tell me about it. I said what a shame it was that he and I couldn’t meet for lunch that day, but he just compounded his lie by apologising for being so busy at work. There’s definitely something going on, but I’m not in the right frame of mind to deal with it. I feel so wobbly at the moment. Fragile.

  The kids and I hurry along the icy roads to school. It looks like the gates opened ages ago. Most of the parents have dropped off their kids and are leaving already.

  ‘Hi, Zoe!’ I turn to see a couple of the mums, Ellen and Liz, with their three kids and adorable chocolate lab.

  ‘Boots!’ Alice runs to give him a hug.

  ‘Come on, Alice, you’re going to be late.’ But I can’t resist stroking Boots either.

  ‘Hi, Ellen, Liz. You okay?’

  ‘Usual Monday morning madness.’ Liz raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

  ‘Same here.’ I smile.

  Jamie and Alice head into the playground with their friends and we watch until they’re all safely inside the building.

  ‘We’ve gotta run,’ Liz says with a wave, ‘work calls.’

  ‘But let’s catch up with a cuppa soon,’ Ellen adds.

  ‘Definitely. And hopefully Georgina can make it next time.’ As my friends stride away down the pavement with Boots tugging on his lead, I half scan the streets around for any sign of Madeline, but I must have missed her. I was going to play it casual and ask about her weekend away. Act like I wasn’t hurt at her treatment of me. But if she’s not here, I can’t do any of that. I’m destined to spend another day wondering and brooding.

  Wearily, I turn away from the gates and head back to the car, more slowly this time. Monday’s my day off, so I don’t have to rush to the salon. Up ahead, a familiar looking vehicle comes down the road – a dark-green delivery van. Madeline’s dark-green delivery van. As she approaches, I catch her eye, smile and wave. She purses her lips, gives a small nod and keeps going. Okay, so I didn’t imagine that. She snubbed me, which means she definitely has some kind of issue. I clench my fists and stride back to the car.

  This is ridiculous. I’m not going to spend the whole day stewing about my stroppy sister-in-law. I’m going to drive round to her house right now and ask her what’s going on. If I’m supposed to have done something wrong, the least she can do is allow me to defend myself. I get into my car and do a clumsy five-point turn, earning dirty looks from a couple of impatient drivers. Eventually, the car’s facing the right way and I head towards my sister-in-law’s house, trying in vain to compose myself. But my right hand is shaking and the rest of me is all tensed up.

  It takes longer than usual to reach their house, which is on the other side of town. The traffic always seems worse on a Monday morning. Nick and Madeline’s home is a large, square, detached Georgian property. I guess you’d describe it as imposing. Toby mentions it a lot when he’s trying to persuade me that we should move. I agree that it’s a gorgeous house, but I still prefer our cosy cottage. I pull up on the road outside, take a breath and exit the car.

  Madeline’s van is parked in the drive, but there’s no sign of her. I assume she must have gone in already. I walk up the path and pull on the ornate metal doorbell. As it chimes, I try to get my head straight and think about what I’m going to say. But my brain is mush. I’ll just have to wing it.

  After waiting for thirty seconds or so, I tug on the bell once more. The chime sounds again. Perhaps she’s upstairs, or in the loo. I wait for two further minutes and ring again, trying to peer through the semi-opaque front door. But I can’t see any movement in the hallway beyond. I knock on the glass and ring one more time before turning around and heading back to my car. I wonder if she’s in there, hiding from me.

  My first instinct is to call Toby and tell him how she blanked me. But knowing how the two of them met behind my back, I’m reluctant to talk to him about her. I get the feeling he’ll stick up for her no matter what I say. And then something else occurs to me. What if Toby didn’t ask Nick about her like he said he did? What if Toby already knew why Madeline is acting strangely around me? The memory of their parting kiss flashes into my mind, even though I was too far away to be absolutely sure that it wasn’t anything more than a peck on the cheek. But here I am, speculating again. I need to stop this.

  As I slide into my car, I suddenly know what I need to do to get some perspective on this. I need to speak to Celia. I was hesitant before because I didn’t want to put her in the middle of anything. I didn’t think it was fair. But now I feel as if I have no choice. Not if I don’t want to drive myself mad. And I trust Celia to be fair-minded. She loves her son, but she also loves me and the kids. And she won’t want anything to break us
apart. Above all else, she’s family oriented.

  I remember Malcolm telling me about an incident back when Toby and Nick were children. Toby’s teacher had told him to stop crying in class, that he was acting like a baby. But when he got home from school, it turned out that Toby wasn’t being overdramatic at all; he was suffering with appendicitis and in terrible pain. Well, Celia marched into the school the next day and gave Toby’s teacher an absolute earful about it, reducing the poor woman to tears. Celia is the same with Alice and Jamie – won’t hear a word said against them. I love her for that fierce protectiveness. Her family really are the centre of her universe.

  I glance back at Nick and Madeline’s house before starting up the engine, half expecting to see my sister-in-law watching me from one of the windows. But as far as I can see, they’re blank, save for their white cat Minnie sitting on one of the upstairs sills, licking her paws. The house is still. I put the car into first gear, pull away noisily from the kerb and make my way down the quiet street. I hope Celia’s home. She works different shifts at the hospital, so it’s pot luck whether she’ll be there or not. Although she’s cut back on her hours this year, so I’m really hoping she’ll be in.

  Celia and Malcolm only live a few streets away from Nick and Madeline. A couple of years ago, my parents-in-law moved from their large 1930s house to a smaller modern bungalow. At first, Nick and Toby were horrified by the move. They couldn’t believe their mother and father were selling their beloved family home. But Celia insisted that the bungalow was far more practical. Their old house had too many maintenance issues, and although Malcolm is really handy, she didn’t want him spending his days with a toolkit in hand, or up a ladder fixing the roof and gutters.

  I turn left and wait while a woman in gym gear and a high ponytail jogs across the road, pushing a souped-up baby buggy. The woman waves her thanks and I continue down the road, still hardly able to believe that Madeline wouldn’t open her door to me.

  On the opposite side of the road I notice a couple walking towards me, hand in hand. He’s tall and dark-haired with a beard, bundled up in a scarf and thick navy parka. She’s small, wearing a stylish red wool coat and black gloves; her hair is long, dark and wavy. She looks so familiar that I almost don’t register it. But then it dawns on me – she’s the spitting image of my sister! Same height, same face, same way of walking. It’s her. The hair’s a little longer and it’s wavy instead of straight, but it’s been so long since I last saw her. ‘Dina!’ I cry, despite the fact that my window is up and she won’t be able to hear me.