As she pulled a tissue from her pocket, dabbing at the blood, she closed her eyes for a moment. But all she could see were those five words, etched into the back of her eyelids…
Sean is having an affair…
Two
‘Marion, I’m so sorry we’re late,’ Libby said, breathless. She’d had to rush back inside and wash Alice’s face before leaving. And, while she wanted to laugh off the note, it had rattled her to the core. ‘It’s just been one of those mornings,’ she sighed, going inside the farmhouse when Marion beckoned her in.
‘Poor Mummy – eh, Alice?’ Marion said with a virtually imperceptible raising of her eyebrows as she smiled at her granddaughter. She took Alice’s backpack and coat. ‘Don’t worry, you’re at Nanny’s now and…’ She paused, sucking in a breath. ‘Oh my,’ she said, flashing a glance at Libby. ‘What on earth have you been up to, darling?’ Marion bent down, tugging on Alice’s previously clean sweatshirt, rubbing her hand over the brown stain, gently touching the traces of blood left around her neck.
‘Dose beed,’ Alice said, hamming it up for the reaction she knew she’d get as she tipped back her head to expose her nostrils, one of which was packed with cotton wool.
Marion stood up again, a hand touching her stomach as she winced, trying to hide the pain. If Libby ever mentioned her various ailments, asking if she was OK, Marion always brushed them off. ‘Are you supposed to do that?’ she said to Libby. ‘Stuff things up there?’
‘It wouldn’t stop and we were in a hurry,’ Libby replied, not having a clue if it was the right thing to do. All she knew was that it was gushing blood and, after the third plug, it seemed to slow down, not soaking through the cotton wool as fast.
Marion put her hand on Alice’s shoulder, drawing her up against her legs. ‘Well, there’s no hurry now you’re here, is there, sweetie?’ she said. ‘Your poor mum’s always in one, though. Why don’t you come in for a coffee, Libby? You look quite pale.’
‘Thanks, but I—’
‘Nonsense,’ Marion said, turning and heading for the kitchen. ‘I insist. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.’
For a moment Libby thought about protesting, but she knew she was on a hiding to nothing. She could gulp it down, she supposed, and hopefully still catch the traders before the best produce was gone.
‘Sure, thanks, Marion,’ she said, unable to help shivering. She took off her gloves, stuffing them in her pocket, feeling the note that she’d put in there before she’d left home. She sat down at the kitchen table, her finger tracing the pattern on the tablecloth while Marion made the drinks.
‘Does she get them often?’ she asked when Alice was out of earshot.
‘Sorry?’ Libby replied.
‘Nosebleeds.’
‘Oh. No. Hardly ever,’ she said, touching her forehead. The start of a migraine was all she needed. Or maybe she was coming down with something. There was a virus doing the rounds. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Alice said she bumped her nose on the basin when she bent down to pick up the hand towel.’
Marion gave a little nod, clasping her hands around her mug as she sat next to Libby. ‘And Sean, how is he?’ She took a long sip of her drink then pulled her thick cardigan around her, shuddering and briefly clutching at her stomach again, making another pained face. It was chilly in the kitchen, though Libby knew the coal fire would be going in the other room, that Alice would be warm in there. As long as she’d known her, Marion had chosen to live on the edge of discomfort – preferring blankets and a bedspread instead of an easy duvet, turning the heating off at night in winter, darning Fred’s socks until they were more patching than sock, and the prospect of getting a dishwasher was remote.
Though, oddly, Marion had always been quite happy to advise – no, almost insist – that she and Sean decorate and furnish Chestnut Cottage sumptuously. Luxury by proxy, Libby mused, and she hadn’t really minded Marion’s input when they were renovating – what with her being so generous and helping them out financially with the decorating. They’d have been hard pushed to pay for everything otherwise. Marion had said they should look at it as another wedding present, though she’d implied it should stay secret from Fred. But they both knew Sean wasn’t likely to talk to his father about Annie Sloan Chalk Paint, goose-down quilts and the benefits of underfloor heating anytime soon. So the secret was entirely safe.
‘He’s fine, but working as hard as ever. He’s on call again tonight,’ Libby replied, gazing out of the kitchen window. She saw a couple of farmhands shifting some bales on a trailer, likely for a local delivery, the tractor belching out smoke. It was a working farm, and if it wasn’t for Marion’s health, she’d be out there with Fred and the others, grafting until the light went. But as it was, she was happy to take care of Alice, helping her family in other ways. Marion, Libby knew, needed to be needed.
‘He works too hard, I sometimes think,’ Libby added. She took a large sip of coffee, burning her tongue as the sick feeling swept through her again.
Sean is having an affair…
She shook her head and blinked hard, trying to force the note from her mind. But it wasn’t working. The handwriting in neat blue biro was getting more vivid by the minute.
‘Are you worried about him?’ Marion said, sounding concerned as she placed the biscuit tin in front of Libby. Almost as if she’d sniffed it out, despite the cotton wool in her nose, Alice appeared in the kitchen, shoving her hand in the tin. ‘Just a couple, you monkey,’ Marion told her. ‘And go and look under the green sofa. There’s a surprise for you.’
Alice gave a little gasp and trotted off again, each hand clutching a garibaldi.
‘I’m waiting,’ Marion prompted.
‘Oh…’ Libby forced a smile. ‘He’s just been on call a lot lately, that’s all.’ She sipped more coffee. ‘But he’s fine.’
‘I mean I’m waiting for you to tell me what’s wrong wrong.’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she replied, far too quickly. She bit into a biscuit and swallowed, but her mouth was too dry to make it go down. ‘Seriously, I’m fine. Just a bit stressed about getting to the market before they sell out.’ Libby glanced at her watch but didn’t really take notice of the time. ‘I’ve a big job coming up.’
‘Don’t you burn yourself out too, Libby,’ Marion said in that voice of hers. Somewhere between disapproval and knowing better. ‘Surely you don’t have to leave just yet?’
While Sean was a partner in a thriving vet’s practice – the one he and Archie had set up twelve years ago – they still had to be careful with money, particularly after the financial hit Sean took in his divorce settlement. If they didn’t have Libby’s income each month, they’d have to budget a lot harder, especially with the cottage always needing something doing to it. As it was, they got by comfortably enough, but she certainly couldn’t afford not to put in the hours. Besides, she’d worked hard to build up All Things Nice over the past three years and her reputation in the area was growing, with business really having taken off over the summer. She’d been calling on Sasha to help out more and more these last few months.
And anyway, she enjoyed cooking up a storm and serving it fresh in customers’ houses. The stress-free dinner party, she called it on her website, with her regular clients needing no convincing that it was worth every penny to avoid the hassle of shopping, preparing, cooking and cleaning up – let alone any culinary disasters. Libby did everything – even decorating the table and providing dinnerware if needed – allowing her clients to enjoy their entertaining after a hard week’s work. And there wasn’t a shortage of such customers in the area – busy professionals living in beautiful country homes who, at the end of a long commute from London, were quite content to let Libby take over.
‘Firstly, I do work hard. But secondly, I love it, Marion,’ Libby said, finishing her drink and zipping up her jacket. She pulled her gloves from her pocket and was about to put them on, but the note fell out onto the floor. Libby went to pick it up, but
Marion got to it first.
‘Here you go,’ she said, handing it back without looking. ‘Just don’t work yourself to the bone, OK? Sean and Alice need you.’
Sean and Alice need you rang in Libby’s ears as she headed back to her car after saying goodbye to Alice. She waved at Fred across the farmyard as he chugged off in the tractor, the bales on the trailer bouncing behind. He gave a small nod back, as much as she’d ever expect from Fred, and she got in the car, sighing heavily as she started the engine. It would take her at least half an hour to get to the market, longer if she got stuck behind something slow.
Surely not Sean? she thought, driving off up the track, the note still playing on her mind. If her husband’s name hadn’t been written on it, she’d have said it was a case of mistaken identity or kids playing a practical joke.
Sean is having an affair…
No. No, he wasn’t.
She absolutely refused to believe it.
Three
The wholesale market was in an open-sided barn, slightly out of town. The small, muddy car park was almost full and Libby waved to several drivers who were leaving as she waited to enter through the gateway, their vans brimming with produce. She recognised them either from local hotels and restaurants, or the plethora of B & Bs that were dotted around. With the popular White House Barns Hotel and Spa at its core, the area attracted a lot of tourists and weekend money from London, not to mention corporate stays and conferences midweek. All good for business, Libby thought.
‘Good for business if only I could get in…’ she muttered, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, relieved when Steffie from the flower shop in the next village finally let her pass through.
She pulled her phone from her bag and stared at the screen, her finger hovering over Sean’s name. She knew he wouldn’t appreciate her bothering him during surgery hours, not unless it was an emergency.
Was it an emergency?
It felt like it – that growing sense of unease bubbling in her gut. She just needed him to tell her not to be so stupid. That the note was a mistake. That everything was fine.
Instead, she dialled a different number, staring out of the window as it connected.
‘Hey, you, what’s up?’ came the breathless voice at the other end. There was clattering and banging in the background.
‘Oh, you know…’ Libby replied. If anyone would understand, it was Fran.
The clattering sound stopped. ‘Okaay,’ she said slowly. ‘You going to tell me what’s up? I’ve got a chest of drawers perched at the top of the stairs and the bloody thing’s about to topple back down if I don’t…’ Fran made a grunting sound. ‘Hang on…’ she said, panting. More noises and another bang, and she came back on the line. ‘What’s going on? You sound… odd.’
‘I am odd,’ Libby said, watching out of the window as people returned to their cars with trolleys of produce. ‘What are you doing later?’ she said, her voice flat.
‘Badgering you to find out what’s up, I imagine?’ Fran replied.
‘Seven o’clock at mine?’
‘Yup. I’ll bring the wine.’
‘Thanks,’ Libby said quietly, before hanging up.
* * *
An hour later, one of the market lads wheeled a barrow out to her car, dragging it through the muddy ruts, helping Libby pack the boxes of food into the back of her VW. ‘Thanks, Stu,’ she said, shutting the tailgate. Thankfully, she’d managed to find most of what she wanted, including the meat, which was what she’d most been concerned about. The best butcher only came twice a month to the market and today was one of his days. He’d been able to provide everything on her list, even supplying three dozen quails’ eggs, which were to be part of a new recipe she was trying out. And she’d managed the entire task without thinking once about the note – until she got back in the car again. She sprayed her dirty windscreen with washer fluid before driving off, squinting through the smears into the bright autumn sun.
I could just throw it away, she said to herself, mulling it over on the way home, Radio 4 chattering quietly beneath her thoughts. And not even mention it to Sean. She turned off the main road towards Great Lyne, wondering if she should even bother mentioning it to Fran. Once it was ‘out there’, once people knew about it, it would seem more real. Even though it couldn’t possibly be.
Could it?
She shook her head, retuned the radio to some upbeat music and made a pact with herself to get on with the day. It was more than likely that Sean would get called out for work later anyway, so at least she had an evening with her best friend to look forward to, whatever they ended up talking about. And whether it was them hoovering up chocolates in front of a movie, or putting the world to rights with their non-stop chatter, she felt lucky that Fran was in her life again. Even though Fran didn’t have everything she wanted in hers any more.
* * *
‘I mean, when would he even have time?’ Libby said with a pained expression, her legs curled beneath her on the sofa. It had taken Libby several glasses of wine and much cajoling from Fran to even begin to speak about what was bothering her, and she was already having regrets. She felt stupid saying it out loud. Giving credence to the impossible. Airtime to someone else’s malice. And she was also mindful that Sean could walk in the door at any moment, or Alice could wake up and come downstairs. This was definitely for Fran’s ears only; by the end of the evening, she hoped to have had the whole thing prised out of her and her face aching from laughter for being so silly.
She and Sean loved each other and that was that.
‘Well I did wonder that,’ Fran replied. She’d just come back inside from smoking a cigarette – her third attempt at quitting this year having failed – and she hadn’t commented much so far, just listened, a curious look on her face as Libby told her about the note. Fran had had her hair cut earlier in the day and the short blond crop accented her perfect cheekbones even more than usual, the highlights making her eyes appear azure. She had an unusual look, but a look that turned heads nonetheless, with no shortage of interested men giving her lingering stares. But either Fran didn’t notice or wasn’t ready to return the interest. Libby knew she was still grieving. What she’d been through took time, and it hadn’t even been a year.
‘He’s either at work or with me and Alice. Or, if not that, he’s just having a pint at the pub with the guys, or he’s at his mum’s. Plenty of people would confirm that, and it’s not as if people don’t talk around here. The community’s far too tight for anyone to—’
‘Have you got it?’ Fran asked, her face deadpan. ‘The note,’ she added when she saw Libby’s puzzled expression.
Libby got up and came back a moment later. After she’d returned with the grocery supplies earlier, unloading them into the courtyard barn – which had been converted into a catering kitchen over the summer – she’d taken the still slightly soggy note from her pocket and pressed it between the pages of a cookbook in the cottage kitchen. She knew Sean wouldn’t find it there.
‘Doesn’t exactly give much away,’ she said, handing it over to Fran. She poured more wine and sat down again, her feet curled up beneath her.
‘And it was on your car this morning?’ Fran turned the crinkly paper over, staring at the writing, frowning.
‘Yep. It was probably just kids on their way to school, thinking it would be funny to cause a stir and put Sean’s name on it. Or one of his mates having a laugh, perhaps? Maybe he upset someone without realising it and they thought they’d take a pop back at him. Though Sean would never upset anyone, of course. Would he? Or maybe it’s not even meant for my Sean, and… and someone asked where “Sean” lived, meaning another person entirely and—’
‘Libby,’ Fran said seriously.
‘What?’
‘Stop it.’
‘Stop what?’
‘Overthinking this.’
Libby looked Fran in the eye. ‘Really? Someone leaves this on my car and you expect me not to think about it?’
She took a large sip of wine, feeling nauseous again.
‘It’s rotten for you, I know. But I’ll tell you what you need to do…’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’
‘Oh. That’s easy, then.’ Libby rolled her eyes and went to take the note back, but Fran snatched it out of the way. She studied it again.
‘Do you recognise the handwriting?’
‘What, you mean the carefully printed capital letters with no identifying flourishes whatsoever?’ Libby said. ‘If Sean’s name hadn’t been on it, I probably wouldn’t have given it a second glance, honestly. But—’
‘I know, I know,’ Fran said, reaching out and rubbing Libby’s knee. ‘But if this is all you’ve got to go on, it’s going to do more harm than good to your relationship if you bring it up. How’s Sean going to feel? Ask yourself that.’
Libby hadn’t actually considered that. She’d only thought about how she was feeling – increasingly consumed by it as each hour of the day had passed. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said, quietly.
‘He’s going to think you don’t trust him, which is frankly awful, then he’s going to start behaving differently, acting in a way that doesn’t upset you or make you suspicious, even though he’s got nothing to hide. Then the resentment will set in when he feels as though he’s treading on eggshells around you. And that, ironically, is when he’s more likely to have his head turned by someone else. When the trust is gone. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.’
‘And you’d know,’ Libby said, thinking back. The two women had met in their early twenties soon after graduation, starting work at the same company. It was just some marketing and advertising agency – neither of their jobs were career-led or even to do with their degrees – but it was a case of needs must in those days, just getting by, seeing where life would take them. Within a month of meeting, they’d ended up sharing a flat together. It made perfect sense – they’d become close friends from the start and sharing was a way to save money. For four years they lived together, until life, loves and careers took them in different directions. But they’d always remained firm friends.
Date Night: An Absolutely Gripping Psychological Thriller With a Jaw-Dropping Twist Page 2
