The Stranger in My Bed: An utterly gripping psychological thriller

by Karen King

  No ‘How are you, Freya?’ Just a ‘hope you are looking after him’, the same words her mother told her every time they saw one another. ‘Look after Phil. Men like being looked after.’ Well, Freya liked being looked after too, and Phil hadn’t exactly looked after her, had he?

  She wondered what her mum would think if she knew the truth about Friday evening. About their ‘happy’ marriage. She’d blame Freya, of course. She was glad her mother had been looking after Daisy and Mark’s twins this weekend or she would probably have been over like a shot, wanting to check how Phil was, no doubt trying to move in with Freya until he was recovered. Mum had actually asked Daisy if Mark would bring her back too when he’d picked the twins up but luckily Daisy had managed to persuade her that Freya needed space right now.

  Phil was fond of her mother – and no wonder as Mum waited on him hand and foot and hung on his every word – but Freya didn’t want to see her until she had made up her mind whether she was going to give her marriage another chance. Besides, if Phil didn’t remember the past two years, her mother would be almost a stranger to him – he’d only met her twice before the wedding. Mum had been annoyed that they’d got married abroad and robbed her of her chance to show off to her friends, being mother of the bride and lording over a big wedding. She’d blamed Freya, of course, accused her of being selfish and not thinking of how her family would have liked to celebrate with her.

  It hadn’t actually been Freya’s idea to go off and get married abroad, it had been Phil’s, but that didn’t matter to her mother. Phil, with his twinkling blue eyes, gorgeous smile and that sexy Irish lilt, had her mother wrapped around his little finger. Women were always like that with Phil. They adored him and he knew it. If they split up, he would tell her, then there would be a queue of women ready to take her place.

  Perhaps one of them would make him happier than she did.

  She went into the kitchen to make another coffee then sat and drank it slowly, nibbling at her sandwich as she wondered what Phil’s family were like. She’d never met them. He didn’t even have photos of them. Phil had walked out years ago because he was sick and tired of how they favoured his younger brother, Graham, constantly belittling Phil and putting him down. He’d never gone back and none of his family had attempted to get in touch with him since. She found it strange to be so completely cut off from your family like that.

  Had they heard about the car crash, though? It had been on the local news and there had been a big spread in the local paper because Phil wrote for them but she guessed that if his parents didn’t live in Birmingham they probably wouldn’t have heard about it. She didn’t know where they lived, didn’t even know their first names. Phil refused to talk about them at all, and she had no way of contacting them to let them know that their son had almost died and was now lying injured in hospital with amnesia. Mind you, Phil would be furious if she did.

  What kind of parents are they to not bother with their son for all these years anyway? Freya found herself wondering, not for the first time. Although Freya had a difficult relationship with her father and her mother drove her mad, she couldn’t imagine cutting them completely out of her life, or them doing it to her.

  Phil had told her how all his life his parents had made him feel worthless, and he’d confessed that Freya made him feel like that sometimes too. Because of the way she didn’t trust him, wouldn’t let him make any decisions without an argument. She hadn’t meant to do that. She admired Phil: he was intelligent, talented, articulate. She’d thought all she was doing was sticking up for herself yet whenever she offered her point of view, Phil said she was argumentative and confrontational. It was like he only wanted his point of view to matter.

  Her coffee and sandwich finished, she went upstairs to shower and change. As she walked into their bedroom, the framed photo on the bedside table caught her eye. It was taken on their honeymoon, a beautiful photo of her and Phil, looking madly in love, enjoying a romantic dinner on the beach. They’d been so happy then. What had gone wrong?

  Another message pinged on her phone. She glanced at it and saw it was from Daisy. Sitting down on the side of the bed, she opened it up.

  What time are you going to the hospital tonight? Do you want me to pick you up? Or meet you there?

  It was good of Daisy – she really had been a rock these last few days – but tonight Freya wanted to see Phil alone. She needed to talk to him. To decide what to do.

  She sent a quick text back, explaining that she was going back to the hospital soon and was fine on her own, telling Daisy to spend some time with Mark and the twins, thanking her for all her support. Then, remembering her mother’s earlier text, she wrote a quick message to her too, saying Phil was still recovering and should be out of hospital soon, promising to keep her updated with his progress.

  She glanced back at the photos on the bedside table. Maybe she should take them; they might jog Phil’s memory. He remembered their wedding and honeymoon, though; it was later photos she needed. She opened the wardrobe and reached for the plush, light blue photo album she always kept on the top shelf. Across the front in fancy silver script were the words Our Memory Book. Phil had bought it the day after she’d accepted his proposal of marriage and painstakingly stuck in photos of their engagement, their honeymoon, trips they’d gone on, evenings out. A record of their perfect married life. Most people didn’t print out photos – they left them on their mobile phones or their laptops – but Phil, the master of the selfie or getting other people to take photos of them – always printed out the best ones and stuck them in this album. ‘Memories are important,’ he said, ‘and I want to record all the happy ones so that we never forget how lucky we are to have each other.’

  She recalled how those words had really touched her, how lucky she’d felt to be loved so much. If only she’d known then what was ahead.

  5

  Freya was pleased to see Phil sitting up in bed and with more colour in his cheeks. It had worried her to see him looking so washed out earlier.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ She leant over and kissed him on the forehead. ‘I’ve brought you some cheese and chive crisps and a bottle of Coke in case you fancy a snack.’ She took them out of her bag and placed them on the cabinet by the side of his bed.

  ‘Thanks. I’m glad to see that they’re still my favourites,’ he said with a weak smile. ‘My headache has eased a bit but I still can’t remember anything about the last two years. And I’m dying for a cigarette, so I’m guessing I still smoke.’

  Freya pulled a face. She hated Phil smoking and had tried hard to get him to stop when they were first married, before realising that the fallout wasn’t worth it. ‘Yes, but you shouldn’t be smoking now, Phil, not with your broken ribs.’

  ‘Well, I can’t in here anyway,’ he said ruefully. He patted the side of the bed. ‘Sit down. I’ve been waiting for you to come and see me again because I wanted to ask you something important… And I don’t want you to be upset… because I know it’s horrible that I don’t remember and I’m sorry…but do we have any kids? I feel awful that I can’t remember.’

  She should have guessed he would ask her that… It’d be a question that would be uppermost in his mind. She ignored the space on the bed he’d suggested she sit on and pulled the chair over instead before answering. ‘Don’t feel bad, it’s not your fault that you’ve lost some memories. But no, we don’t. We decided to wait a while before we start a family.’ That wasn’t strictly true. Phil was eager to have children, the sooner the better, and had mentioned it regularly since they had got married. It was Freya who wanted to wait. She didn’t want to bring a child into the volatile relationship their marriage had become.

  He looked disappointed. ‘I was hoping, seeing as we’ve been married two years, that we’d have had a baby. A little son or daughter.’ He glanced at her, suddenly awkward. ‘Oh God, I haven’t put my foot in it, have I? We can have children, can’t we? There isn’t a problem?’

  ‘No, don
’t worry. We decided to enjoy a bit of time together first, but it’s definitely on the agenda.’

  ‘The doctor asked me some questions about what I could remember, and filled me in a bit on what’s been happening in the last two years – still no peace in the Middle East, I see.’

  ‘I wish!’ she said. ‘I don’t think the world has changed that much, Phil. Same old tensions, no miraculous inventions that I can think of.’

  He put his hand over hers, his expression intense. ‘No, but my world changed. We got married and I can’t remember any of our marriage. Can you imagine how devastating that is?’ Then he looked guilty. ‘I’m sorry, it must be horrible for you too, to think I can’t remember such precious years.’

  She felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny so focused her gaze on his ears rather than his piercing blue eyes – a trick she’d been taught when she went for her first interview. It looked like you were still focused on the person you were talking to but didn’t feel so awkward. ‘Don’t apologise, it isn’t your fault. It must be really frustrating for you. The doctor said that your memories will probably come back though.’

  He sighed. ‘It’s crazy. I can remember everything up until two years ago: my childhood in Ireland, moving to Manchester with my family, then to Leeds and going to university, getting a job at Birmingham University and moving there, meeting you in the café that rainy day in Birmingham city centre.’ A smile spread over his face at the memory. ‘I was smitten right away.’

  ‘So was I,’ she admitted. Phil had swept her off her feet so quickly, her feet had hardly touched the ground.

  ‘I remember our wedding and honeymoon. Everything. Until the moment we stepped off the plane.’ He rubbed his forehead hard with the base of his palm as if trying to rub away the amnesia. ‘It’s a total blank from then until I woke up in this hospital bed. Why can’t I remember the past two years?’ he asked, eyes troubled. ‘It’s awful not being able to remember anything at all about our married life.’

  He looked so distraught that Freya’s heart went out to him. Although part of her wished she could forget their married life too and start with a clean slate like Phil was doing.

  She reached into the canvas bag she’d brought with her and pulled out the photo album. ‘I thought this might help. Do you remember it?’ She placed it on the bed beside him.

  He nodded, brightening up a little as he traced his hands over the words Our Memory Book. ‘I remember buying it just after I proposed so we could fill it with photos of our happy memories.’

  If only! She wiped the words from her mind. There were some good memories. Lots of them. She cast her mind back to the day Phil had given her the photo album. He’d said, ‘We’re going to fill this with all the good times we have. Then when we’re old we can sit and look through it, remembering all the wonderful things we did, the amazing places we went.’

  It wasn’t a true record of their marriage though. It only held the good memories. The bad ones would be with her forever, even if Phil had forgotten.

  ‘I’ll leave it with you, then you can look through it in your own time. It might jog your memory.’

  ‘I’d like to look through it now, with you. I might remember better that way. And I can ask you questions about anything I can’t remember. Do you mind?’

  ‘Sure.’ It would be selfish to refuse. There must have been so many questions he wanted to ask, so much he didn’t know.

  ‘Come and sit here so we can look through them together,’ he said, shuffling over to make room for her to sit on the side of the bed.

  She wondered if he sensed how awkward she felt. If he noticed that she was holding back and wondered why she wasn’t gushing over him more like a loving wife should do after such a terrible accident. He had no memories of the awful stuff that had happened, the terrible rows, but she did. She knew everything that had happened and she couldn’t just forget it all because Phil had almost been killed.

  ‘I don’t think the nurses like visitors sitting on the beds,’ she said, pulling the chair nearer instead. She leant over as Phil flipped the cover of the album. The first photo was of their engagement: Phil bending down on one knee, holding out the ring, Freya with her hands raised to her face, fingers splayed over her cheeks, an expression of total surprise on her face. When Phil had shown her the photo – secretly taken by one of the waiters – she’d been even more surprised than when he’d proposed. She’d asked what he’d have done if she’d have turned him down and he’d smiled, saying he’d have just deleted the photo but that he’d known she’d accept anyway, because they were meant to be together. He was right to be sure of her acceptance; she hadn’t hesitated in her reply.

  Freya bit her lip, her mind in turmoil as Phil slowly turned the pages: photos of them on day trips out, holding hands, kissing, looking so happy. They both laughed at the photo of them in fancy dress for a 1920s-themed party the Christmas before they got married, Phil looking like a gangster with his dinner suit, spats and pencil-thin moustache, Freya with her silver flapper dress, blonde curly wig and white feather boa.

  ‘I remember this!’ Phil said, chuckling. ‘It was the university Christmas do. Fergus came as a woman with bright red hair and a short dress, stockings and suspenders.’ Fergus was another lecturer at the university.

  ‘That’s right. And one of his suspenders broke and his stocking kept rolling down to reveal his hairy leg,’ added Freya. It had been a fun night.

  ‘I could never look at him the same again.’ A big grin spread over Phil’s face. ‘Every time I saw him I kept thinking of that red wig and his stocking rolled down to his ankle.’

  He turned to Freya and kissed her on the cheek, his eyes shining. ‘I might not remember everything, Freya, but I do remember how happy we are and how much I love you.’

  Phil’s eyes were on her and she could feel the expectancy in the air. He was waiting for her to state her love too. She couldn’t say the words he wanted to hear, knowing that she had been about to leave him, but she didn’t want to tell him what a terrible mess their marriage had become either. If he didn’t know, couldn’t remember any of it, then maybe there was a chance they could make a fresh start. If she wanted to, that was.

  ‘I’m glad you remember that,’ she said softly. She turned over to the next page. Photos of their wedding: Freya in her pretty, Bohemian-style wedding dress, with the full-length embroidered veil that loosely framed her face, Phil in his white suit that made him look even more handsome. Photos of their honeymoon: them both lying on the beach in Barbados, their luxury suite, their romantic dinner on the beach, paddling in the sea, dancing – the waiters had always been willing to take photos for them. It had been such a lovely time. The memory of how happy they had been then flooded back to her and a tight knot formed in her throat.

  ‘I remember all of this,’ Phil said softly, the emotion raw in his voice. He turned the page over and gazed at the photo of him carrying Freya over the threshold into their new home, both laughing, looking so happy. They’d bought the house six weeks before their wedding and had spent days decorating it, but Phil hadn’t wanted Freya to move in until they were married. ‘Call me old-fashioned but I don’t want us to live together until you’re my wife,’ he’d said, holding her hand and looking so deeply into her eyes that she’d felt powerless to refuse him. Besides, she’d had to give a month’s notice on the flat she was renting, so what did it matter? Phil’s flat was already under offer – it had been on the market when they’d met. He’d bought it because it was conveniently close to the university but decided to sell it because it was too noisy in the middle of the town. When they’d got engaged, they had looked for a house together, within easy commuting distance to both of their places of work. The sale of Phil’s flat had gone through, so he had moved into the new house, wanting to get it ready for Freya to move into the day they got back from their honeymoon.

  She watched as Phil turned the pages, photos showing them both out and about. Phil wrote articles for several maga
zines so they often spent weekends looking around stately homes, visiting quaint villages or attending exhibitions or events.

  ‘It’s no good. I can’t remember any of it! It’s like looking through someone else’s photos.’ There was a catch in Phil’s voice and the glisten of tears in his eyes as he closed the album.

  ‘I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have brought it…’

  ‘Yes, you should have! It was a lovely idea, it’s just so upsetting that I don’t have any memory of it all. I started this book because I didn’t want to forget any bit of our life together and now I’ve forgotten it all.’ He placed his hand on hers again and squeezed it tenderly. ‘How could I forget the two most important years of our lives?’

  It must be so confusing and frustrating for him, she thought sympathetically. ‘Be patient – you only gained consciousness this morning. Shall I leave the photo album with you? Then you can look over it again?’

  They both turned as the door opened and Daisy walked in. She paused for a moment, her eyes going to the closed photo album and then to Phil and Freya, their heads huddled together, Phil’s hands clasped around Freya’s.

  ‘I’m not disturbing you, am I? I know you said you’d be fine on your own, Freya, but Mark came home early so I thought I’d pop in anyway.’ Her eyes rested on Phil. ‘Well, you look a lot brighter than you did this morning.’

  ‘We’re looking through our photo album. I thought it might jog Phil’s memory,’ Freya told her.

  Daisy nodded. ‘Good idea. Has there been any improvement?’ Her eyes were still on Phil.

  ‘Nope. The last two years are still a complete blank,’ he replied.

  ‘Well, it’s early days yet.’ Daisy walked over to Freya. ‘Mum is desperate for me to pick her up so she can come and visit Phil but I’ve managed to hold her off. I thought you two might appreciate the time together, especially with Phil’s memory loss.’