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

by Nikki Smith

  I look out of my window. I’d stood a few metres away from this spot, so close I can almost touch it. I remember walking there. Holding her. Making sure her blanket had been tucked around her to keep her warm from the wind. Cars stopped. Someone shouting. It’s as if I’m remembering a different person, a different life. I have no sense of the desperation I must have felt to stand on the side of this structure and step off.

  ‘You OK, Alison?’ Sarah asks.

  I daren’t look down, I keep my eyes fixed on where the river disappears into the horizon. I nod.

  ‘The crematorium isn’t much further. We’re going to be early, but we can always wait in the car.’

  We drive under the tower and off the other end of the bridge. It’s only a road; stone and metal. It doesn’t possess any of the power I’d attributed to it in my nightmares.

  The crematorium car park is packed. Sarah has to drive round three times to find a space, so by the time we’ve stopped, the service is due to start. I take a deep breath as I open the door. It’s cold outside after the warmth of the car and I shiver, adjusting my grip on my handbag. Sarah’s waiting for me and, though every part of me screams not to go any further, I know I need to do this. To put him to rest.

  We head inside the building, already full of mourners. There’s an Order of Service on every seat and I pick one up as we sit down at the back.

  Sarah smiles, her hand on my arm. ‘He was a popular man,’ she says, as she gazes round the room.

  My head is full of images of him. Holding my hand. Smiling at me when I told him I was pregnant. Stroking Tilly’s face. I try to swallow the lump that rises in my throat but can’t manage it. We’d been through so much.

  Sarah pushes a tissue into my hand as the music starts. ‘Unforgettable’ by Nat King Cole. One of his favourites. I try to focus on the Order of Service and take deep breaths. The words swim before my eyes and despite Sarah’s hand on my arm, I wonder if I’m going to be able to make it through this.

  Someone edges along the pew so they’re standing next to me.

  ‘Is it OK if I sit here?’ they whisper and I nod my head, not taking my eyes off the Order of Service. There’s a feeling of something solid, something comforting in their presence. Like coming home after a long time away. I daren’t look at them. I’m not sure if I’m imagining things. The vicar stands up at the front of the room and there’s silence apart from the rustle of paper and tissues as the music finishes.

  ‘Welcome, everyone. We have come here today to remember before God, our brother Edward Alfred Locke, and give thanks for his life. To commend him to God our merciful redeemer and commit his body to be cremated and comfort one another in our grief. Let us pray.’

  I look up at the photos of my dad that are positioned on top of the coffin and beside where the vicar is speaking.

  At least we’d had the opportunity to talk when he visited me at the unit. My first visitor. At least he’d been able to tell me how much he loved having Tilly with him, how much she enjoyed hearing stories about me, and how much she was looking forward to meeting me again. At least he’d been there for her over the past couple of months when Jack had disappeared, unable to cope. He hadn’t felt any pain; it had been a heart attack. Not something anyone could have predicted. He’d been visiting Em with Tilly and I was glad he’d been surrounded by people who loved him, that he hadn’t been alone. I just wish I’d had a chance to say goodbye. To thank him properly not only for looking after my daughter but also for doing his best to protect me in the aftermath of Mum’s death, despite his own grief. I didn’t need to tell him I loved him; he knew that. Though perhaps not enough.

  As we bend our heads to pray, the person standing next to me passes me a piece of paper. I take it without looking and put it on top of my Order of Service and read it as the vicar’s voice echoes round the hushed room.

  Ali,

  I am so, so sorry about your dad. I’ve missed you. Can we talk afterwards?

  Jack

  I tuck the paper inside the Order of Service and reach out my hand, feeling his fingers beneath my own. Although I’m sure I recognise his familiar touch, a part of me wonders if he’s actually real, and I nod in reply without looking at him, not able to process the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. We stand together, our heads bowed, and on the other side of me I feel the rough skin of my dad’s cheek press against mine as he kisses me goodbye.

  I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the vicar at the front of the church for the entire service, other than a couple of occasions when I risk a glance at Sarah, who I can see is also staring straight ahead. As the chords of the last hymn fade, the congregation rises to its feet and I allow myself to look at the man standing beside me. It is him. A slimmer version of the man I last saw over a year ago. He smiles at me, the creases next to his eyes deeper than I remember.

  ‘Hi, Ali.’ It’s a familiar greeting, but there’s a warmth to his tone. I don’t sense any anger or bitterness, but it’s so long since I heard his voice I wonder if I’ve misread the nuances that I was once certain of.

  ‘Hello, Jack,’ I reply.

  We file out first, past the deep red velvet curtains that hang across the windows in the grey entrance hall, and he doesn’t let go of my hand. Or perhaps I’m not giving him the chance.

  Sarah smiles at me as I look back at her, and I watch as she starts a conversation with the person behind her to give me some space.

  ‘Are you going to the wake?’ he asks.

  I shake my head. ‘I can’t face … No.’

  He nods. ‘I’m so sorry I disappeared.’

  I open my mouth to speak, but he interrupts me before I can get out the words.

  ‘Please, Ali. I need to explain. I didn’t desert Tilly. I just had to get away for a while. Your dad was already looking after her whilst I sorted myself out. I’d never have left her otherwise. I thought I’d only be away for a couple of weeks, but it ended up being longer.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were?’ I ask. I feel the pressure on my hand tighten ever so slightly.

  ‘I just needed some space to think things through. I wasn’t allowed to see you and I ended up drinking far too much and being cautioned by the police after I crashed our car. I couldn’t face speaking to your dad. I haven’t even spoken to my mum. I left a message on her answerphone to let her know I was OK. She kept trying to call me, but I never answered and I turned my phone off.’

  We continue to walk a short way down the gravel path towards the entrance to the car park, away from the other mourners. The cold air bites at my cheeks, but I concentrate on the warmth of my hand in his.

  ‘I gave Dr Henderson your silver bracelet before I left,’ he says. ‘Did she give it to you?’ I nod. ‘And I wrote you some letters.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘I read them.’

  He stops walking, turning to face me, taking my other hand in his. I don’t normally like people touching me, but I’ve missed this. I wish I could shrink my whole body and curl up in his palm instead of standing on the tarmac with every part of me exposed.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ali. I should have realised you weren’t well and done something more quickly. Asked for help. I thought you were trying to leave me and all I wanted to do was make you stay. I thought we could sort everything out on our own. I know what happened wasn’t your fault …’

  I cut across him. ‘It was. It was my fault. I should have told you how I felt. What I thought I heard. But I was convinced I was protecting Tilly. I never meant to hurt her.’

  ‘I know that. I know how much you wanted to be a mother.’

  Tears which had been absent throughout the funeral service slide down my cheeks leaving me unable to speak.

  ‘I contacted Em a couple of days ago, just to let her know where I was,’ he says, ‘and she told me about your dad. I had no idea she’d been looking after Tilly since he passed away or that you’d got so much better over the past few weeks. If I had, I’d have come straight back
. I just needed some time away after the accident. I was a mess, Ali. I’m still a mess. I know I want us to be a family again, but I have to tell you something first. We need to start with a clean slate, and if I don’t tell you now, I’ll get too scared and I won’t do it at all.’ His hands shake beneath mine and I know what he’s going to say before the words leave his mouth. He looks down at the ground. ‘Before our last round of IVF,’ he says, ‘you know I took some money out of our savings and gave it to my dad. I only did it because he’d threatened to get back in contact with Mum and I didn’t feel I had a choice. It meant we didn’t have enough for the IVF and I didn’t know how to explain that to you, so I lied. I told you I didn’t get a bonus. I should have told you the truth, I’m

  so sorry.’

  I stare at him and let go of one of his hands as I put my fingers over his lips. ‘You don’t have to do this, Jack.’

  He can’t meet my eyes. ‘But I need to explain.’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t want to hear the details. It’s in the past. I just need to know you still love me and you want this to work.’

  ‘I’ve always loved you, Ali,’ he says, looking up at me. ‘I’ve never stopped.’

  I stare over his shoulder, aware of the figures in black that are moving towards us, their gaze fixed on us, and I shudder. It feels like they’re judging me, walking in solemn pairs to pronounce their sentence. There’s nothing they could say that would make me feel more guilty than I already do. Sarah follows them slowly down the path, stopping to talk to other guests to delay her arrival. I don’t deserve Jack’s forgiveness. Seeing him makes me realise I almost destroyed him as well as our daughter and I’m not sure how we can live with that. I don’t want to leave, but I know I have to go back to the unit.

  Jack puts his arm round my shoulder as he sees Sarah approach and pulls me towards him. ‘I’m here for you. We’ll be OK, Ali. You, me and Tilly. We’ll work it out.’ I put my arms round his waist and bury my head in his shoulder, desperate to believe what he’s telling me is true.

  AFTER

  Alison

  The house isn’t large. If you measure the floor space, it’s probably smaller than our old flat. But I love it. The floorboards creak, the front door doesn’t shut properly when it rains, but from the moment I walked inside I knew I belonged here. Not the part of me that worries about paint colours and large bowls full of decorative rattan balls, but the real core of me. The one with all the flaws.

  The move had been Jack’s suggestion. Away from the town where what I’d done was embedded in the architecture itself, a constant reminder each time we drove over the bridge. He’d been the one to suggest the family name change too. He’d known without it we’d have to live in the shadow of what I did, and neither of us is strong enough yet to cope with that. People have accepted us as another new family in the village, and although we haven’t deliberately lied about what had happened, we haven’t chosen to reveal it either. One day maybe.

  I look out of one of the small leaded windows to where Tilly’s playing in the garden with Jack; kicking the leaves he’s swept into a pile and trying to climb onto the plastic swing we’d bought second-hand a few months ago for her third birthday after it had been advertised in the local post office window. If you ignore the fact that there’s a small bald patch by my ear which I try to cover with my short, bobbed, dark hair, we’re a picture of domestic bliss. But I’m not asking for perfection; no family has that.

  There had been a letter waiting for me with my dad’s things when I’d got out of the unit, with the rest of my redirected post. It had been from Jack’s father. I’d read the first couple of sentences and then thrown it away without looking at the rest. I didn’t tell Jack. He’s had enough to deal with and I don’t want to give the man I’ve never met the opportunity to hurt his son any further.

  The sound of crying comes through the speaker on the baby monitor. I walk upstairs and pick him up out of his Moses basket. Archie Edward Reid. Four weeks old today. He’s an unexpected addition to our family. No IVF. No injections. Not planned at all. I hadn’t even realised I was pregnant until I was over three months gone. Jack had been terrified. I’d seen it in his eyes when I’d finally told him. The pools of brown liquid reflecting the fear I tried to bury beneath my smile. I hadn’t told him I’d spent the previous week considering whether to go ahead with the pregnancy at all. After the initial shock, we’d devised a battle plan. I’d read more articles than I thought possible and we’d armed ourselves with helpline numbers and spoken to Sarah who organised an on-call psychiatrist. And waited with a feeling of dread that grew in size each month along with the baby.

  Archie had arrived in a calm, darkened room at four in the morning. I’d handed him straight to Jack and had refused to hold him until the psychiatrist came down to the ward to reassure me I was fine. I’d lain with him in my arms in bed and had listened for the voice. All I could hear had been other mothers with their babies. Feeding, crying, talking. I thought it had left me in peace.

  For the first few days after he was born, I overanalysed every thought that came into my head. Was that me? The true me? Were the doubts that crept around in my mind part of being a mother or were they something more sinister? The first stirrings of an attempt to take control? I was conscious of having constant company. No one had taken their eyes off me for more than a few minutes. The midwife had insisted on helping me bathe him, studying my reactions when he’d cried. Jack had been allowed to stay past normal visiting hours; I’d discovered him huddled in the corridor with the psychiatrist on more than one occasion, stepping apart quickly when they saw me, pretending it was a casual chance encounter.

  Hours turned into days and we’d come home. Most of the time there’s silence in my head. Sometimes when he doesn’t think I’m looking, I catch Jack watching me. Studying the way I hang out the washing. Listening to what I say to Archie and paying more attention to me than a husband normally gives to his wife. But if that’s the price I must pay for what I did then I can live with it, it’s nothing compared to my remorse.

  I haven’t told him I’ve heard the odd whisper when Archie and I are alone. There’s nothing to tell. At the moment it’s just a sense that someone’s breathing quietly in my ear, watching me. Not speaking. Not yet. I haven’t had the urge to fill a notebook, write on a wall, or anything so much worse.

  Archie snuggles into my neck and I carry him downstairs and outside.

  Jack looks up when he sees me coming. ‘Is the monster awake?’ he asks.

  ‘I think so. We’ve probably got a ten-minute window before he starts screaming for food.’

  Jack smiles. ‘Em called. They’re coming over next weekend.’

  I nod. ‘It’ll be nice to see her. I know you get to see Harry every day at work, but I haven’t seen Em for ages.’ I blow a raspberry onto Archie’s cheek. ‘It was good of your mum to pop in today. She’s brilliant with Archie.’

  He pushes the swing higher. ‘I’ve got my hands full with this one. She’s going to the moon today, apparently.’

  I look up as Tilly flies through the air, laughing, her head bent backwards and legs stretched out, small plaits trailing in her wake. There will always be moments when the balloon of guilt in my chest expands so much it squeezes all the air out of me and I have to fight to take a breath. But I’ve learned that these moments are temporary, that things will adjust to a normality I can live with. Tilly is still very much a Daddy’s girl but, there are times now when she comes to me first for comfort rather than Jack, so it feels like we’re beginning to build a bond. I know it will take time but I’m working on it.

  I twist my hair out of Archie’s grasp and he squirms.

  ‘Photo, Daddy. I go so high now, I a big girl.’

  I smile. Jack pulls out his phone.

  ‘You’re right, Tils, you’re very grown up. I’ll get one when you’re right at the top.’

  She squeals as she kicks her legs and Jack catches the moment as she rises u
p towards the sharp winter sun; a flying angel silhouetted against the brightness.

  ‘One of us?’ He advances towards me. I don’t like my photo being taken anymore, but I let him put his arms around me and he holds the camera above us.

  ‘Wait. Me too, Daddy, me too.’

  Jack lifts Tilly out of the swing and carries her over.

  ‘Smile,’ he says.

  I smile. Archie grimaces. I look at the screen. I think I hear something whisper in my head, but I look at Archie, then at Jack, and it’s gone before I can work out what it said, leaving me wondering if I ever heard it at all.

  Jack presses the button and we peer at the image of ourselves, frozen in time.

  The five of us and the start of something new.

  Acknowledgements

  This book is dedicated to my daughters, Charlotte and Liberty,

  because being their mum is both the hardest and the best thing that I do. At the grand old ages of thirteen and eleven they have been my most ardent supporters since I started writing ‘All In Her Head’ and I’m so grateful for their unending confidence in my abilities, especially during the many times when I didn’t have any myself.

  So many people are needed to make a book successful.

  Huge, huge thanks to my amazing agent, Sophie Lambert, who had faith in this novel from a very early draft, who gave me the best advice on how to make it a million times better and has encouraged me every step of the way.

  A big thank you also to my editors Harriet Bourton and Francesca Pathak and the whole team at Orion. As a debut novelist I couldn’t have asked to work with a nicer group of people who have all been so generous with their extensive expertise.

  To ‘the girls’, Anna, Ceril, Els, Lynn and Nanna, who I have been friends with for over twenty years and know how much I wanted this. A massive thank you for being there through the best and worst times. Love you all lots. Big thanks also go to other close friends who have all cheered me on through the rejections to get to this point – Zoe, Claire, Charlotte, Kate and Nicole, whose support in so many different ways - from telling me I could do this, to helping with school lift shares, is very much appreciated. Also, to all my Twitter writing friends who have been a great source of encouragement through what can sometimes be lonely times - particularly @LauraPAuthor, @lisforlia and @stupidgirl45.