DOUBLE DECEIT
Julienne Brouwers
AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS
www.ariafiction.com
First published in the Netherlands in 2020 by Publisher JB Uitgeverij
This edition first published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © JB Uitgeverij, 2020
The moral right of Julienne Brouwers to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781801101127
Cover design: Head of Zeus
Translated by Julienne Brouwers & Sarah Fencott
Edited by Sarah Fencott
Aria
c/o Head of Zeus
First Floor East
5–8 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.ariafiction.com
Contents
Welcome Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Become an Aria Addict
1
My eyes snapped open and I sat bolt upright on the sun lounger. “Where is Tim?”
Oliver looked languidly at me from behind his newspaper. He usually read The Financial Times on a Saturday morning, but here at the holiday park shop, The Telegraph was the only newspaper he could lay his hands on. “I saw him just a minute ago.”
That couldn’t be true. “You were supposed to be watching him,” I snapped. My eyes scanned the seats skirting the pool. Where was my son?
“He was playing with his bucket and spade.” Oliver said, sounding defensive. “I only just picked up my paper.”
I jumped up and felt the painful ridges from the lounger imprinted on my thighs. “Tim,” I cried, looking around. “Tim!”
I held my hand above my eyes and scrutinised the children’s pool, but the huge crowds restricted my search. Everywhere I looked, toddlers were splashing around with their parents or siblings, their chatter echoing beneath the large glass dome that shielded the indoor tropical swimming pool from the cool air outside.
Oliver leaped up to join the search and threw his newspaper on the lounger. “I’ll take a look on the terrace, you focus on the water,” he ordered and strode off between the tables and sunbeds, over which the holidaymakers had draped their towels to claim them.
I hurried along the edge of the shallow pool, past the red mini slide and the blue elephant, which served as a water fountain, to make sure that Tim wasn’t playing behind it.
I returned to my husband, swearing under my breath. He was standing by the loungers with an anxious frown on his forehead. My voice trembled when I spoke. “He’s not in the paddling pool.”
“Not in the seating area either,” concluded Oliver. “I’ve searched everywhere.”
I didn’t know what to do. Fear clouded my thought process and seemed to incapacitate me. “Perhaps he went somewhere else?” Into the deep end, I added silently.
“I’ll go and check the hot tubs and showers. You go search the main pool,” Oliver said firmly.
I was relieved to be given instructions and promptly veered right, while Oliver dashed off in the opposite direction. I staggered to the other pool, muscling my way through the plastic palm trees. A voice boomed over the loudspeaker announcing the waves would be starting at any moment. Surely he hadn’t ….?
My feet thudded with every step I took, while I repeatedly yelled Tim’s name and searched anxiously around me, looking for a little blond head. I reached the shallow part of the main swimming pool and felt the warm water at my feet. Tim was probably just playing somewhere around here, I tried to reassure myself, but I could feel my heart pounding inside my chest.
I waded through the water as fast as I could, but the resistance of the water caused a slowness that only exasperated my nerves. I shouted out my son’s name at the top of my voice, devoid of any embarrassment. Several children looked up in surprise, but I didn’t see Tim among them.
After searching the entire shallow end of the pool, I realised he wasn’t here either. I felt a wave of panic passing through me as the water began to thrash about in the pool. Where, for heaven’s sake, was Tim?
Two girls, about ten years old, stood next to me and held their hands in the air, ready to dive into the rippling water.
My voice sounded tense as I spoke. “Have you seen a little boy with blond, curly hair?”
The girls lowered their arms and looked at me bewildered.
I held my hand at hip height. “He’s two years old, about this tall and wearing an orange life jacket,” I explained.
They looked questioningly at each other and then slowly shrugged.
I had to restrain myself from grabbing and shaking them.
“No?”
They shook their heads sluggishly.
“Okay, thank you,” I muttered.
I pushed myself up on the side, climbed out and scurried across the wet, ribbed tiles along the pool, towards the deep end. I’d have a better view of the water here, I reasoned. I mounted a small step and kept calling Tim’s name while I frantically scanned the heads, surrounded by teens plunging with violent splashes into the water. My eyes began to feel irritated from straining. Would his life jacket keep his head above the water in those waves?
I scrambled off the step and strode all the way around the pool until I arrived at the palm trees, near to where we last saw him. The artificial, stuffy heat combined with the pungent chlorine odour in this enclosed space was overwhelming, causing a tightness in my chest – I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore.
I pressed my hands against my temples and closed my eyes. Stay calm, Jennifer, I whispered to soothe myself, but the shrill and screams from the children playing seemed to only further impair my thinking.
I opened my eyes again and saw Oliver standing in the distance. He shrugged and raised his arms in a gesture of helplessness, his face pale and haggard.
I ran towards him, panting, “I’ve searched the entire pool! I can’t find him anywhere.” I felt panic starting to overwhelm me – the unthinkable had happened.
“I checked all the showers and the hot tubs behind them,” Oliver responded. There was a look o
f anguish in his eyes that I’d never seen before. “I’ve been asking people everywhere. No one has seen him.”
I starting pulling at my lip in desperation and felt my hands shaking. The fear seemed to paralyse me. “I don’t know what to do anymore. Maybe we should alert the lifeguards?”
“Wait a minute,” Oliver said suddenly. “What about the playground, we haven’t looked there yet.” He turned abruptly and ran off.
I went after him across the slippery floor as fast as I could, all the way to the entrance of the pool complex.
In the sandpit a toddler with blond curls was playing happily with his back towards us. I didn’t need to see his face to know he was mine. A mother would recognise her own child in any crowd.
I lifted him and pressed his warm chubby body against my chest, my legs shaking with relief. I buried my face in his neck and breathed in his lovely familiar scent. “I am so glad we found you,’ I said, which was obviously a huge understatement. “Tim, sweetie. Mummy and daddy were so worried.” Tears were pooling in my eyes, as he wrapped his arms tighter around me.
“Tim make castle,” I heard him say cheerfully. He probably didn’t even miss us.
He clambered out of my embrace. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand and looked at him intently. “Will you promise never – and I mean never – to wander off from mummy and daddy again? It is very dangerous.”
He looked at me with innocent eyes and nodded slowly.
I breathed a deep sigh, then I put him down. My heart was still pounding behind my ribs.
Oliver stroked the back of Tim’s head. “Don’t ever do that again, son,” he said.
I took Tim’s hand. “Come on, we’re going back to our loungers.”
He seemed to sense the serious mood and walked meekly by my side.
My feeling of relief gave way to anger towards Oliver. He seemed so light-hearted about the incident. “Do you realise what could have happened?” I hissed over Tim’s head.
Oliver gazed silently into the distance, his jaw set.
“You were supposed to be watching him.” There was a note of ridicule in my voice when I continued. “Which entails actually keeping your eyes on him and not reading a newspaper.”
“Sorry,” he said somewhat vexed. “I was only distracted for a moment. There’s no need to go on like that.”
I snorted with derision. Surely he didn’t expect me to let him off the hook so easily? “That’s not a valid excuse, Oliver.” I said, almost shouting by now. “You promised me you were going to make an effort to work on things, but it’s obvious to me nothing is going to change. Don’t you see that?”
“Shhh!” Oliver said, nodding his head towards Tim.
I swallowed my anger and felt a knot in my stomach, as we walked on in silence.
When we arrived at our loungers, I put Tim in his plastic high chair.
Just when I was about to ask Tim if he wanted some juice, I noticed Oliver was putting on his chinos over his swimming shorts. “I have to go,” he announced, darkness crossing his eyes.
I looked at him perplexed. “What are you talking about?”
He slid his arms into his shirt and buttoned it up. “I just want to be alone for a while Jennifer,’ he explained, avoiding my gaze. “I’m heading out for a stroll around the park. I’ll see you back at the bungalow in a bit.”
I stared at him in disbelief, then closed my eyes for a brief moment and shook my head. “Fine. Whatever,” I retorted.
Oliver gave Tim a kiss on the head and walked away without saying a word.
I pulled myself together and turned to Tim. “Would you like something to drink, sweetheart?”
2
“Where are you?” I asked aloud. I stirred the red pasta sauce absent-mindedly with a wooden spoon that I’d found after a long search between the wine glasses. The contents of the holiday bungalow could be described as sparse at best. Tim was sat kneeling on a tattered rug in the living room playing with a toy car making humming noises. We’d brought a box of toys from home to keep him entertained during our weekend getaway.
I tried Oliver’s mobile again as I doodled in the margins of a map of the holiday park we’d received at the reception upon arrival yesterday. It rang about five times.
“This is Oliver Smits’ voicemail,” I heard again. “Leave a message after the …”
I threw my phone on the counter and cursed loudly.
Why did he not just check in to let me know where he was? I hated not knowing what was going on.
Tim turned his head and looked questioningly at me.
“Sorry, pumpkin,” I said in a loving voice. “You just go and play.”
He didn’t reply and returned to playing with his toy.
I stared into the distance, biting my lip. Oliver had been gone for hours. This wasn’t like him at all. Was he angry with me? Maybe I shouldn’t have exploded like that. Even though it clearly had been a bit careless, Oliver hadn’t lost sight of Tim on purpose. I had to admit, something similar could have happened to any parent.
The sound of the kettle made me jump. Before pouring the boiling water into the pan, I automatically checked whether Tim was still at a safe distance from me. I tore open the packet of macaroni, the only type of pasta we could get our hands on at the mini store in the park, and shook half of the contents into the bubbling water.
While the pasta was gently cooking, Tim and I played together on the rug, but my thoughts were somewhere else.
After draining the macaroni, I took the blender I’d brought from home out of one of the cupboards in the out-dated, pale green kitchen. Purifying his food was the only way to get Tim to eat anything, he didn’t seem to like any of the vegetables I offered him lately. I mixed the mashed sauce with the macaroni and placed the pan on a coaster on the oak table, which was, by the look of it, as worn down as the rest of the interior.
I decided to make a final attempt to get hold of Oliver, but my call remained unanswered yet again.
I lifted Tim from the floor despite his protest and placed him in the wooden high chair. “Come on, baby. Dinner is ready,” I said, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach.
Tim looked at me with his big blue, innocent eyes. “Daddy?”
I went out of my way to sound as normal as possible. “Daddy will eat later.” Tim was used to regularly having dinner with just one of us, so in that respect, nothing was out of the ordinary. As a high-powered lawyer, Oliver was swamped with cases, making long hours while I occasionally had to work evening or night shifts at the out-of-hours health clinic. We sometimes seemed to be leading separate lives.
I scooped a small amount of the hot food onto a plastic plate, cheerfully decorated with Disney characters. “Would Timmy like some yummy pasta? Mummy cooked it especially for you,” I said brightly, but inside this whole situation was grinding me down. Something was terribly wrong.
After I put Tim to bed around eight, I couldn’t help myself any longer. I immediately grabbed my phone and closed the door to the corridor to prevent Tim from overhearing, although these walls, which looked like cardboard, would probably not block out much noise.
I heard the telephone ringing as I paced up and down the room on bare feet across the cold tiled floor.
“Hello,” sounded the familiar voice.
I could hear chatter and laughter in the background. “Lindsey. It’s Jennifer,” I said.
“Hey sweetie, how are you? Having a nice weekend getaway with the family?” she asked in a loud voice, sounding more animated than usual.
I ignored her question. “Where are you? Can we talk?”
“I’m in a restaurant. Paul and I are having a bite to eat.” She remained silent for a moment as I heard the clickity-clack of her familiar, ultra-high heels against the floors while the voices in the background fell quiet. Since the time we’d first met at college, Lindsey always wore stilettos and despite my nervousness at the current situation – or perhaps as a result of it – I gave a jittery laugh.<
br />
“I’m in the hallway now so I can hear you properly,” Lindsey continued moments later. “What’s wrong?” Her voice sounded sober again, and hoarse, as was often the case.
I sucked in my upper lip and bit on it. “Oliver’s gone.”
There was a brief pause. “What are you talking about? You were on a weekend getaway, right?”
My gaze wandered outside, where a sudden autumnal shower made the branches of a row of elm trees sway. I really didn’t like this time of year – the realisation that the days were getting shorter and the temperatures were dropping always filled me with a feeling of melancholy. “He’s not answering his phone.”
Lindsey seemed to sense my unrest. “Hold on,” she appeased. “Tell me from the start what’s going on. Where are you?”
I sighed. “I am in one of those godforsaken holiday parks somewhere in the south of the Netherlands,” I said, wondering why I’d agreed to this. When planning our holidays, our destination was always the subject of debate between Oliver and I. I wanted to go camping, just as I’d done as a child and from which I cherished fond memories. Each year my parents and my aunt and uncle travelled with their caravan all the way to the south of France. My cousin and I would spend three weeks at our beloved campsite exploring the grounds and stuffing ourselves with French baguettes. My mother-in-law, on the other hand, had loved to select a luxury resort from The Marriot or Hilton. I knew deep down why I’d come to this park without grumbling – it had been a final reconciliation attempt on Oliver’s part, which I’d seized with both hands.
“Oliver said he’d just go for a stroll around the block but he hasn’t returned,” I elaborated.
I walked to the television cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Merlot left over from last night. I poured a glass and took a gulp of the red wine, feeling the liquid slowly warming my body.
“How long has he been gone?” Lindsey asked.
“All afternoon.” I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and thought for a moment. After Tim’s afternoon nap we’d decided to go swimming. “He left the pool about five hours ago.”
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