The Husband Thief

by M J Hardy

  The

  Husband

  Thief

  by

  M J Hardy

  Copyrighted Material

  Copyright © M J Hardy 2019

  M J Hardy has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the Author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  Contents

  Note from the Author

  Quote

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  The Girl on Gander Green Lane

  Have you read:

  Quote:

  Anybody can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way - that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.

  Aristotle

  1

  Tom & Karen

  The storm crept up and took me completely by surprise. It arrived with no warning and the devastation was life-changing.

  The blue lights that illuminated the street weren’t unusual, there was no siren just the flashing lights behind the curtain announcing their arrival.

  Like most other people the sight of them fascinated me. They spell danger and excitement and offer the promise of something different in a usually mundane life.

  However, these lights were different for a reason much closer to home. They stopped outside my door.

  Strangely, the first thought that came to mind was what the neighbours would think. The curtains would be twitching as everybody breathed a sigh of relief when they saw they had been spared - this time, anyway.

  Briefly, I wish Jack would wake up to see this. He would love the fact that a proper police car was parked outside his door. He would stare at it wide-eyed with awe and amazement as the uniformed officers walked up to our path. However, like most little boys his age, he is firmly tucked up in bed, fast asleep and hopefully dreaming of innocent things.

  I hear them approach and my heart starts banging in time with their footsteps. There is no conversation just the sound of the metal gate squeaking as they open it and the crunch of gravel as they make their way up the path.

  In those brief moments when one life changes for another, I wonder what it can be. It must be Tom; it can’t be anything else. He’s late and his tea is growing cold in the oven as it waits for him.

  Although he is two hours late, it’s not unusual and there have been many meals growing cold over the last few months. The only emotion I felt before was irritation as I ate my tea alone, imagining my neighbours sitting down with their own loving husbands who came home at the same time every night and settled into a routine that only changes on holidays and weekends.

  It’s only as I anticipate the sound of the doorbell waking my sleeping child that I spur into action and race to answer the door. Whatever this is, he must be spared for a little while longer because like all mothers, I do everything in my power to make my child’s life happy and stable.

  I wrench open the front door and my heart beats a frantic dance inside me as I stare at the officers in shock. Of all the scenarios that raced through my mind in those brief seconds, it didn’t include this. Accompanying the two police officers is a sight that shocks and yet brings so much relief I can’t explain it.

  “Tom!”

  He raises his eyes wearily and a brief shadow of a smile passes across his bruised lips. “Hi, Karen.”

  His voice is weak and yet brings tears to my eyes as I move towards him, my arms reaching for the man I once couldn’t live without.

  He stumbles through the door and as I stare at him, the tears burn a hot trail down my cheeks as I take in the sight of him.

  I gasp, “What happened?”

  The officer clears his throat and says in a deep, strong, voice. “He needs to sit down.”

  On autopilot, I say breathlessly, “Of course, please come through.”

  I feel helpless as I watch Tom wince with pain as he moves towards the living room. It’s obvious he’s hurt and not just because of the blood and bruises on his face. His normally immaculate clothes are dirty and torn, and he walks as if each step is painful and difficult to do.

  He groans as he eases himself gingerly onto the settee and looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, darling.”

  I stare at him in disbelief and not because he apologised for something that didn’t need one. I stare because of the look in his eyes. My breath catches as I see that something has changed forever in those eyes. They are filled with devastation and the promise that life will never be the same again.

  One of the officers clears his throat and says kindly. “I’m sorry Mrs Mahoney. Tom has been the victim of a mugging that took place when he left the railway station this evening. As you can see, he is badly shaken and could probably do with a nice cup of tea for the shock.”

  I stare at the officer in surprise and say in a whisper, “He was mugged?”

  The officer’s eyes are kind and he smiles reassuringly. In some ways, those words should bring me relief. After all, Tom is alive and although a little bruised, he will survive. However, I know my husband and this will change him. Once the bruises fade and the cuts heal, he will appear normal on the outside but his life will never be the same again.

  Nodding, I jump into action, just glad of something to distract me from the shock of seeing my husband so – vulnerable and head into the kitchen to make the drinks. It’s funny how we always think a nice cup of tea is the answer to life’s problems. The standard British response to a situation that we need time to process. It’s no different now as I wait for the kettle to boil, my mind racing out of control as I try to come to terms with what’s happened.

  The kind officer follows me in and says in a quiet voice. “This must be a shock for you.”

  I nod and try to muster a brave smile, saying in a low voice, “What happened?”

  “He rang in and reported a mugging outside Surbiton station. By the time we got there the man had gone, and we found your husband slumped in the alley looking as if he had fought a bitter battle. We called an ambulance and got him checked out at the local hospital but aside from a few cuts and bruises, there was no lasting damage. He was luc
ky.”

  He. Was. Lucky.

  Three words meant to reassure but what’s lucky about what happened to Tom? He is broken; I can see it in his eyes. The man that walked in here will struggle to deal with this long after the physical damage has passed. The man I married is used to being in control and calling the shots and this would have hit him hard mentally.

  The kettle switches off and the mother in me switches on. There is no time to dwell on the situation. Action is what’s needed now and I must be grateful that Tom is home and not lying in hospital badly injured, or worse.

  I turn to the officer and say gratefully, “Thank you.”

  He shakes his head. “Thank us when we catch the man who did it. We will be studying the CCTV and making our enquiries and doing everything possible to find him. Nobody should be afraid to walk home after a hard day’s work and be attacked on their own doorstep. It’s not right.”

  Grabbing the tea tray, I smile shakily. Strangely, all I can think about is correcting him on the fact it didn’t happen on our doorstep but that’s typical of the woman I am. I like everything done right and to make sense. However, none of this is right and yet sadly makes perfect sense. You hear of things like this happening all the time but never to people to like us – or so we like to believe.

  As I carry the tray into the living room, I prepare myself for the storm ahead. Tom may be home physically, but mentally he left a long time ago. This may just be the catalyst that changes an already shaky marriage into something that has been inevitable for many months. Tom and Karen are struggling and are at a fork in the road but which path is the least treacherous to follow and will this – mugging - change everything?

  2

  Six months later

  “Did you lock the door?”

  I groan with a longing that never seems to go away. “Yes.”

  My body strains to get closer to the one I appear addicted to. In fact, I just can’t seem to get enough of the man I love with all my heart. My soul mate, the man I married and thought I had lost forever.

  He pulls me roughly on top of him and his clear blue eyes penetrate mine as he growls, “I love you so much.”

  I gasp as he gently nips my neck with his teeth, desperate for the contact I crave.

  Suddenly, we hear a loud knock on the door, “Mum, the door’s stuck.”

  Immediately, I jump to attention and smiling ruefully at the man beneath me, whisper, “Typical.”

  He laughs softly as we struggle into our clothes and I shout, “I’m coming.”

  Giggling at the irony of my words, I smile as Tom pulls me back and whispers, “We’ll finish this later.”

  The longing shoots through me again as I mould my body to his and kiss him briefly on the chest. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Mum, hurry up.”

  “Hang on, nearly there.”

  Racing over to the door, I turn the lock and open it revealing the most important person in my life - our son.

  His little arms cling to my legs as he says fearfully, “I heard a noise.”

  Gathering him in my arms, I carry him across the room and pull him into bed with us. He settles between us and snuggles in and I stroke his hair lovingly. Tom says gently, “It’s ok, there’s nothing that can hurt you in this house.”

  Jack sniffs, “I heard a noise. It was like a ghost moaning.”

  Stifling the giggle threatening to escape, I catch Tom’s eye and he smirks. Unfortunately, I’m quite loud at times and apparently our little boy wasn’t as fast asleep as I thought.

  Tom reaches for the remote and flicks on the set, turning it to one of Jack’s programmes that we recorded. It’s not long before his gentle laughter fills the room with a lot more innocence than was here a few minutes ago and we snuggle down – as a family.

  As we watch, it strikes me how one devastating moment in time changed everything. Tom and I were heading for a fall and then he was mugged.

  The following weeks were hard while he struggled to come to terms with it. He was distant and a shadow of his former self and I urged him to get some counselling.

  That night changed him and it’s taken several months and lots of patience to bring us to where we are now - in a much happier place than we were before. It’s almost as if it breathed new life into him. The man who was drifting away from me came hurtling back and our marriage was shocked into life. Gradually, he started paying me compliments and taking notice of me again. He came home early and helped around the house. He seemed happier within himself and was keen to involve himself in family life – something he had resisted for many months prior.

  They never caught the man who mugged my husband and if they did, I would probably thank him. That night he gave me my husband back and I have never been happier.

  It doesn’t take long before Jack’s gentle snores are music to our ears and Tom gently lifts him out of our bed and carries him the short distance to his room across the hall.

  As I wait for him to return, I thank God for making everything right in the end. Then as he makes his way back, I can think of nothing else but picking up right where we left off.

  Saturday dawns and I stretch out in contentment next to my husband. I love the weekends because we get to spend quality time together as a family. Today we have been invited to Jack’s friend’s birthday party, and it promises to be a good day. Harry and Tina live a few doors away and their son Jamie goes to school with Jack. They are firm friends which is a good thing because Tina is also my best friend.

  Tom is sleeping soundly beside me and I turn to stare at him, marvelling at how different our relationship is now. He was always handsome but now the bruises have faded and the cuts healed, he has grown even more so. Maybe it’s because of the sexy beard he grew in the days after the attack. It adds a certain ruggedness to him that drives me crazy. He is also softer and less anxious. He has learned how to relax and just enjoy the simple things, rather than racing around working every hour possible, always striving to earn more money to keep up with the neighbours.

  Tom was always impressed by money and used to get angry about how other people managed to afford things we always wanted but could never stretch to. Since the attack, his priorities have changed, or so he told me. He no longer cares about other people’s money, or lack of it and just wants to enjoy every minute he has with us - his family. He told me that in those split seconds after the attack, he could have lost everything and that was what worried him the most.

  He opens his eyes and smiles sexily. “Morning gorgeous.”

  Reaching out, he pulls me towards him and kisses me softly and I giggle as his beard scratches my chin. He says softly, “You know, I love Saturdays because I get to wake up with you beside me. There is no work to worry about just lots of quality family time to enjoy.”

  As I pull his lips to mine, I feel the familiar excitement stirring inside. Then, true to form, the door flies open and Jack jumps on the bed, yelling, “What time’s the party?”

  Tom groans and then tickles his son mercilessly for daring to interrupt another intimate moment.

  Rolling my eyes to the shrieks and laughs that surround me as the two men in my life play fight, I slip on my dressing gown and head downstairs to prepare a pot of tea.

  We head off to the party at 1.30. We promised to go a little earlier to help out and only have to pass two other houses before we’re there.

  Tina opens the door and rolls her eyes. “Thank god for the reinforcements. It’s bedlam here.”

  She laughs as Jack charges past her in search of his friend and turns to Tom. “Harry’s in the garden setting up the barbeque. You could always grab a couple of beers if you like and see if he needs a hand.”

  Tom grins and heads off, obviously more than happy with his instructions and Tina sighs. “You know, Karen, children’s parties are hard work. It’s not just the endless planning and preparations they bring, it’s also managing the expectations of a certain man, not a million miles from here.”

>   Laughing, I follow her into the kitchen. Harry is one of those men who has to do everything bigger and better than anyone else. He would have insisted on the biggest bouncy castle and the most toys to keep the children amused.

  Tina shakes her head. “This time he’s excelled himself. We have a Punch and Judy man setting up in the corner of the garden. The party bags contain an actual Nerf gun, so you may want to hide out inside with me when they get distributed. He’s also arranged for a magician to entertain the kids for half an hour, freeing up time for more drinking. Oh, and did I mention that he’s invited half of the boys from the pub and subsequently set up a darts board in the garage where he will be running a darts competition, no doubt accompanied by a spot of gambling and rather a lot of drinking. Meanwhile, I have to entertain all the wives and girlfriends that accompany his open invitation and field the needs of twenty small boys who are even more demanding than the older ones. Would you like a G&T because I’m already on my third?”

  Laughing, I begin unwrapping the food she bought and start laying it out on the serving dishes that appear to have multiplied on every surface in the kitchen.

  She hands me a drink and I say with interest, “So, how many are coming?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  She shakes her head at my horrified expression and takes a large swig of alcohol. “Never again. Next year I’m booking a holiday to coincide with his birthday. In fact, I’m thinking of booking a last-minute one next week.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “The small matter that they are back to school which involves a whole new set of problems.”

  Nodding, I raise my glass to hers in sympathy and sigh. “Yes, hello to all those after-school activities that require mum’s taxi service. Hello to the tears and tantrums as they fall out with every kid in the class. Hello to the disapproving looks of the teacher as yet again their homework is late and hello to insanity as we struggle to get them up, washed, dressed and fed and out of the door by 8.30 every morning.”