All in Her Head: The gripping debut thriller that readers are going crazy for in 2020

by Nikki Smith

  I hang up. I’ve found out what I need to know.

  I open my emails to find the reply sent by the DVLA yesterday. The short message sympathises with the loss of revenue I’ve suffered and lists the details I’d asked for in my original request. I hadn’t been totally truthful. I’d told them I’d listed an armchair for sale on eBay, which I had, but the buyer hadn’t driven off with the item as I’d stated on the form. They also hadn’t been driving Sarah’s car, although it was her registration I’d provided. I’d never lied on an official document before, but it had seemed like the easiest way to find out where she lived. The DVLA had provided her address details as I’d said I wanted to pursue her for compensation. It had been worth paying for the fast-track service. It turns out she doesn’t live far from me. I’ll do this first and then pay her a visit. I need to hurry. I want to be out of the flat before either Edward or Mum arrives.

  I grab my jacket, walk down the corridor and push the main door to get out when I hear someone coming up the corridor behind me.

  ‘Can you hold that open, please?’ I turn to see Tom’s wife wheeling a pushchair. A few seconds earlier and I’d have avoided her completely. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve wondered whether the last year would have been different if I’d been a bit quicker.

  I stand with my foot against the door to stop it swinging shut and she smiles as she walks towards me.

  ‘Thanks. It’s tricky to manage when you’ve got one of these.’ She glances down at the buggy as her cheeks colour, perhaps realising what she’s said.

  I let the door slam behind us and don’t reply. I’m not going to play the role of the person who makes others feel comfortable.

  ‘Are you off to the shops?’ she continues, clearly anxious to break the silence.

  I wonder if she’s embarrassed at having to make conversation. Perhaps Tom told her about our exchange the other day and now she wishes she didn’t have to talk to me at all. A few of the neighbours had been like that after they heard what happened. Avoiding eye contact in the corridor. Ignoring me when I’d said hello. I can’t blame them. I shake my head.

  ‘No, I’m off to see … a friend.’

  She nods politely, ignoring my obvious lie.

  ‘I’m taking Gracie to the park,’ she says. ‘We’re going to feed the ducks.’ She points at a bag full of breadcrumbs in the hood of the buggy as she looks at the couple of steps out onto the pavement. ‘D’you mind giving me a hand?’

  I’m irritated, knowing I have a lot to do, but not wanting to be rude.

  ‘I saw her,’ she says as I lift the front of the buggy.

  I frown. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your wife,’ she says.

  I let go of the buggy earlier than I should and it drops to the ground roughly. Gracie’s mum ignores me staring at her and leans over to check her daughter.

  ‘You saw my wife? When?’

  ‘Yes. Just before … before she left. Alison, wasn’t it?’ she asks.

  I nod dumbly. I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t want to know what she saw. I look down at the buggy and concentrate on the wheels as they roll along the damp paving stones, picking up bits of grit, which make a crunching sound as we continue down the road.

  ‘I heard someone outside our flat that morning,’ she continues. ‘I’m often up early with Gracie and I looked out of the window to see who it was. I didn’t speak to her. I’m so sorry. If I’d have known …’

  The buggy gets stuck on a kerbstone and I walk ahead as we negotiate a gap in the railings. I pray she’ll stop talking. I don’t understand why she’s telling me this now. A year too late. A year in which she’s obviously harboured a feeling of guilt, a burden which she thinks I’m going to relieve. It might ease her suffering, but it doesn’t help me. It makes me feel worse. Perhaps it’s her way of trying to tell me there’s something I should have seen, that I could have done.

  She stops briefly at the end of the road to adjust the strap on the buggy which has come loose and I step away from her, at a loss as to how to end the conversation.

  ‘We’re heading this way.’ She points towards the park.

  I seize the opportunity. ‘My friend lives over there,’ I say, tilting my head in the opposite direction. I need to get away from her. I don’t want to hear anything else she has to say. Each revelation about Ali pierces my skin like a knife. I don’t want a stranger telling me things I didn’t know about my wife. I walk away as fast as I can, my guilt feeling heavier with every

  step.

  I head down the road, crossing over to walk up the hill towards the bridge. I haven’t been here for a year and I’d forgotten how intimidating the concrete tower at the entrance is. It sticks up out of the landscape like a castle in a game of chess. I keep to the left of it to reach the pedestrian path that runs alongside the road. It’s narrower than I expected. Walking out to the middle of the bridge, I stop and look out over the metal barrier. The view stretches for miles, the trees in the distance merging into one dark green blur. The river looks as if it’s motionless from this height, reflecting the road and buildings along its length like a pane of glass. I can’t bring myself to look straight down. It’s too far. Way too far.

  I put my hand in my pocket and pull out Ali’s bracelet. The silver strands sparkle in the sun. I remember how her face had lit up when she’d unwrapped it. That’s how I want to remember her. And us. Not what happened after. I shut my eyes. The image in my head evaporates as I remember Em’s words. It’s only a matter of time before someone else finds out. She’s right. And once Edward, or my mum knows, everything will be different. They’ll never let me see her. I don’t have long. I hold the bracelet over the edge of the barrier, feeling the breeze on my fingers. It would be so easy to let go. But I don’t. I’m not giving her a way out that easily. I turn back the way I came, stopping on the small patch of grass at the end of the bridge to sit down on

  a bench.

  I check my watch. It’s only ten o’clock. I have an hour before anyone arrives at the flat. I check my phone. No messages, but I know my mum will text me before she leaves. I need to see Sarah. Once I’ve talked to her she’ll tell me how I can find Ali. And then we can be together. Ali will understand how sorry I am for what I did when I’ve had a chance to explain.

  I swallow the things I don’t want to remember. The things that make my stomach twist into a knot with guilt. How I’d agreed to meet him in that bar after work. How I’d hoped he’d be different. How he’d stared at my wedding ring as I’d handed over the money. How I’d lied to Ali about it when I’d got home, and then the lies had grown ever more complicated, trapping me between layers of deceit until there hadn’t been a way out. How nausea burned in my throat like acid whenever I thought about it, trying to dissolve the words that had already been spoken.

  I wish I’d brought a drink and some painkillers with me; my head is thumping and I’m so thirsty. Opening my palm, I stare at the bracelet and then put it back in my pocket. I’ll buy Ali a nicer one when I see her. We can choose it together. One she can wear all the time. I think she lied to me about the one I gave her. If she’d liked it that much, she’d have taken it with her.

  I punch Sarah Henderson’s address into my satnav once I’m back in my car. She won’t be expecting me.

  It’s a house with a name rather than a number, so I have to drive up and down her road twice before I find it, slowing down so I don’t scrape the exhaust over the speed bumps. A wooden sign is attached to a tall fence which is partly hidden by an overgrown bush. I park and walk up the brick driveway that’s surrounded on either side by flower beds filled with large rhododendron bushes. The purple flowers are out in bloom. Ali’s favourite colour. It’s a sign.

  Her car is parked next to the house. I’m pleased she’s home as it means I don’t have to wait for her. I’m tired of waiting. I press the antique-looking doorbell and there’s a tinkling noise inside. I can hear footsteps and the large wooden door swings open.
She’s standing in front of me, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

  ‘Hello, Sarah,’ I say. ‘I think you’ve been avoiding me.’

  Her smile fades the instant she recognises me. She tries to close her front door, but it’s too late, I’ve put my foot in the frame to stop her wedging it shut.

  ‘Why didn’t you give Ali that envelope?’ I ask.

  ‘Mr Reynolds, you need to leave. You shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be if you’d done what I asked,’ I reply.

  She doesn’t move. Her green eyes stare at me through the narrow gap.

  ‘I can’t talk to you,’ she says. ‘I explained that when I wrote to you. And I can’t tell you what I did with your letters. It isn’t personal. It’s a matter of confidentiality.’

  ‘It’s personal to me,’ I reply.

  ‘Have you been drinking?’ she asks. I don’t reply. She must be able to smell it on me. Or maybe my dishevelled appearance gives it away. ‘Please move,’ she says.

  I stay exactly where I am, one hand in my pocket, holding Ali’s bracelet for reassurance. I feel the pressure on my foot ease as she stops trying to push the door shut, opening it wide enough for me to see her properly. She’s standing on parquet wooden floorboards in a large hallway. It’s at least three times the size of the one in my flat. The door to the room beside her is shut and behind her is an oak bench with a large mirror above it. My reflection stares back at me. I barely recognise myself, I look so tired. Sarah must see the same thing; there’s pity in her eyes rather than fear as she glances at my pocket, wondering what I’m hiding.

  ‘Do you have any friends to talk to, Jack?’ She remembers who I am. ‘Perhaps they could help?’ She twists the tea towel in her hand.

  I shake my head. ‘I need to give you something,’ I tell her, taking the bracelet out of my pocket and holding it towards her. ‘It’s Ali’s. I want her to have it.’

  She takes it from me slowly, watching my reaction. I can smell something burning. She turns her head as she notices it as well. ‘We’re having people over for dinner,’ she says. ‘I’m cooking the beef bourguignon in advance.’ She hesitates. ‘I should probably rescue it before it’s too late.’ She glances at the room beside her but doesn’t take her hand off the door.

  Ali had stood cooking the same thing in our kitchen just after we’d moved into our flat. She’d been wearing the apron my mum had given her over her white T-shirt, her long blonde hair tied back in a messy bun. We’d invited Harry and Em over as our first visitors. I’d only finished decorating just before they’d arrived and had ended up scrubbing my hands with a nail brush in the shower in an attempt to get rid of the paint. I’d got most of it off, but a thin grey line had lurked stubbornly round the edge of each fingernail. Em had fanned herself with a napkin as we’d sat down at the table.

  ‘Are you too hot?’ Ali had asked.

  Em had shaken her head. ‘It’s just me. Honestly, it’s fine, don’t worry.’ I’d noticed her and Harry exchange looks.

  ‘I can turn the heating down if you want,’ Ali had said. ‘How’s work?’

  ‘I’m off for another three weeks, thank God. School holidays always go too fast.’ Em had covered her glass as I’d tried to pour the wine. ‘Sometimes I think I must secretly enjoy torture.’ Ali had laughed out loud. ‘Anyway,’ Em had continued, ‘I’m making the most of the break. How about you, Jack? Isn’t it your birthday next month?’ She’d looked at me.

  ‘Yes, it is. And, before you ask, I’m not having a party. Unless Ali has something planned, which I hope she hasn’t, as she knows I’m not one for surprises. Do you want a drink?’ I’d indicated Em’s empty glass.

  ‘Ooh, yes please. Just some water would be great. Thanks.’

  ‘We should do a toast. To the new flat,’ Harry had said when I came back with Em’s water. ‘Let’s hope you manage to keep it in better shape than our house at university.’

  I’d smiled at him. ‘I think if you remember correctly, you’ll find I kept that house tidier than anyone else. One of the only reasons you originally agreed to my suggestion to go into business was that you knew I’d be good at the organisation side of things.’

  Harry had laughed. ‘Perhaps. You certainly did enough research to win that first client. I don’t think they knew what had hit them.’ He’d paused as he’d glanced at Em. ‘We have some news as well. Do you want to tell them?’ She’d shaken her head, smiling. ‘OK,’ he’d said, ‘I’ll do it … to the new addition to the Butler family.’

  Ali had covered her mouth. ‘Oh my god, you’re not? That’s why you’re not drinking! Congratulations!’ She’d leant over the table and hugged Em.

  It had taken me a few seconds to comprehend what Harry was talking about and then I’d remembered to smile. I’d stared at Ali, who’d stared back, an unnatural grin fixed on her face. I’d wanted to stand up, pull out her chair and wrap my arms around her to protect her from the words I knew would follow. But I hadn’t. I’d sat, motionless in my seat, leaving her to absorb each one that left a wound deeper than a bullet.

  ‘When are you due?’ Ali had asked brightly. Too brightly.

  ‘February. I’m only twelve weeks. We waited for the scan before telling anyone. So, I’m on the delights of water for the next six months. God knows how I’m going to get through next term without alcohol to help me, but I’ll just have to find a way to manage.’ She’d raised her glass of sparkling water to Ali’s wine glass. ‘And here’s to your flat. I hope you’re both really happy here. And I hope Jack manages to get through the painting.’

  Ali’s grin hadn’t slipped as she’d pushed her chair out.

  ‘Just going to the loo. Won’t be a mo’.’ She’d disappeared into our bathroom.

  It hadn’t been their fault. They hadn’t known. But it couldn’t have come at a worse time. We hadn’t told anyone we’d been trying for a baby. And this morning had brought yet another disappointment.

  ‘Shall we start or wait for Ali?’ Harry had eyed the plate in front of him with eager anticipation.

  I’d frowned. ‘You guys go ahead. Honestly. It’ll get cold. I’ll check on her.’

  I’d knocked on the bathroom door and had heard the lock click, letting myself in. She’d flushed the tissue she’d been holding down the toilet. I’d reached out to hug her, but she’d backed away from me.

  ‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ she’d whispered. ‘Don’t touch me or you’ll set me off again.’

  I’d swallowed the lump in my throat.

  ‘You should tell Em,’ I’d said. ‘She’s your closest friend and she’d want to know.’ She’d nodded. ‘Just not tonight. I don’t want to spoil it for her.’

  I’d wished there was something else I could say. ‘The doctor might give us answers when we see him on Monday,’ I’d added.

  She’d looked at me, searching for reassurance that I believed what I was telling her, but I’d had none to give.

  Sarah steps away from the front door and the sudden movement snaps me out of my reverie. I think she’s trying to get away from me and I grab the handle as a man appears from the room beside her.

  ‘You all right, darling?’

  Her husband. I didn’t realise anyone else was home.

  He looks at her, and then at me, sensing the tension.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  I don’t answer.

  He glances at my hand on the door. ‘Is there a problem here?’ he asks, taking a couple of steps towards me, but before he can reach me I turn and run. Back past the rhododendron bushes, the heady fragrance of the flowers merging with my hangover as a wave of nausea washes over me. I need to get to my car. I’m not sure if he’s following me; I don’t want to stop and check. I get the keys out of my pocket, jump inside and lock the doors, looking in the wing mirror. He’s standing about halfway down his drive, watching me, talking on his mobile.

  I can’t catch my breath and have an awful feeling I’m going to be sick. A trickle of cold sweat r
uns down my back. How much had I drunk last night? My hands tremble as I attempt to start the engine and the car jerks forward as it stalls. I can hear his footsteps coming towards me. I turn the key again and put my foot slowly onto the accelerator. I catch a glimpse of him in my rear-view mirror, shrinking in size as I leave him behind, staring after me. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, I indicate to turn left onto the main road. Ten forty-five. I should be back before Edward or Mum arrives. I’m so busy thinking what I’m going to say to them as I pull out that it takes me a couple of seconds after the deafening explosion to realise I can no longer feel the steering wheel in my hands. I wonder why I can hear someone shouting and try to remember when I last filled up the tank as there’s a horrible smell of petrol before everything goes black.

  NOW

  Alison

  There’s a high-pitched humming in my ears as the canteen falls silent. I’m still holding Sarah’s purse as I reach across to pull her bag towards me. I must be mistaken about the writing.

  I look up as someone touches my shoulder. She’s standing in front of me, smiling as she speaks, but my ears aren’t registering any sound and I don’t understand what she’s saying. Her mouth moves in slow motion. She looks at me, her forehead creasing, and waves her hand backwards and forwards in front of my face. I grip the table to steady myself as the hum reaches a crescendo and suddenly the volume kicks back in. I jolt in shock.

  ‘Hello? Earth to Ali? I was saying it would help if I took that with me.’ She takes her purse out of my hand as she picks up her bag, putting it on her seat out of my reach. ‘Are you OK?’ I manage to nod. ‘I won’t be a mo’.’ She heads back towards the cashier.

  I need to see that piece of paper. I glance over at her seat. I can’t reach her bag now without standing up and stretching over the table and she’s watching me as she waits to pay. I have to see if it’s Jack’s writing. Why would Sarah have something from Jack? I only caught a brief glimpse of the letter. It could have been from anyone. But I’m convinced it’s the same as the ones I have at home. My brain isn’t quick enough to come up with a solution to get hold of her bag before she’s back, lifting it off her seat so she can sit down.