The Stranger in My Bed: An utterly gripping psychological thriller

by Karen King

  Sweat poured off him as the image faded. The insurance company were right: his brakes had been tampered with. He had tried to stop the car and hadn’t been able to.

  Someone definitely wanted him dead.

  Who? Why?

  He thought over Daisy’s words. What if by some remote chance he’d lost leave of his senses and they had been having an affair, then Mark found out? Could he have tampered with the brakes for revenge? From what he remembered of Mark, he seemed easy-going, but you never knew how people would react when they were up against it.

  Or Daisy herself? He shook his head. She wouldn’t want him dead if they were having an affair, would she?

  Could it be Freya? The thought struck him with a jolt. He mulled it over. It was possible that she found out about his affair with Daisy and wanted revenge. That could have been what the row was about.

  Then he remembered how close Daisy and Freya had been at the hospital. If she had found out he and Daisy were having an affair, surely Freya would have had it out with her and banned her from coming to the hospital?

  He shook his head; none of it made sense.

  Who else could it be? A colleague? His head was throbbing as if it would explode any minute. He had to remember. He had to. Someone was out to get him and he had to figure out who it was before they did him serious harm. Killed him, even.

  He took a mouthful of whisky, coughing as it hit the back of his throat, the liquid burning as it slid down. He wanted to down the bottle, to drink himself into oblivion so he wouldn’t have to try and fathom it all out, but what was the use of doing that when he would still have to face it tomorrow?

  The back door opened and Freya stumbled out, looking half-asleep, still dressed in the cute shorts and vest she wore to bed. Her hair was mussed up – she must have woken up, found him gone and come down to find him. How he longed to confide in her, to ask her all the questions that were churning around in his mind, to tell her what Daisy had said and about the note he’d found on his desk, but how could he when he didn’t know what the hell he had done to upset someone so much?

  ‘Are you okay, Phil? Couldn’t you sleep?’ she asked softly, sitting down beside him.

  ‘I just kept thinking about what that police officer said, that someone tried to kill me. Then I had a flash of memory about the crash – I remembered trying to brake and I couldn’t.’ He related his vision to her, his eyes fixed on her face, now lit up by the porch light, wanting to see her reaction. ‘Why would someone want to kill me, Freya? Why?’

  She shook her head, putting a comforting hand on his arm. ‘I don’t know. Maybe the insurance company have got it wrong. Maybe the brakes just failed.’

  ‘They have to have some evidence to back it up, surely? The police will be investigating now.’ His eyes held hers. ‘Please be honest with me, Freya, even if you think it might hurt me. You’re the only one I can trust. You said I… hit you.’ He swallowed. ‘Was it bad? Did I ever really hurt you?’

  She clenched her hands in her lap and looked down at them, her voice trembling a little. ‘It was frightening, and I had some bruises, a cut lip, but nothing that needed treatment if that’s what you mean.’

  Bruises! A cut lip! What the hell had their marriage been like? ‘I’m so sorry.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I can’t believe I could have done that to you. I love you so much. I’m really, really sorry.’

  ‘I know you are. It’s okay. It’s in the past,’ she told him, not quite meeting his gaze. He didn’t deserve her. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him – how could he treat her like that? How could he risk losing someone as wonderful as Freya?

  ‘Do you know anyone who might have a grudge against me?’

  He scrutinised her expression. He had to know if she was lying, hiding something from him. She shook her head. ‘I’m as flummoxed as you are, Phil. I have no idea why anyone would mess with the brakes of your car.’

  ‘And…’ He wasn’t sure whether to ask her this, didn’t want to put the doubt in her mind, but if she knew, then he would see it in her eyes. ‘I didn’t cheat on you, did I?’ He licked his lips. ‘I mean, I’m sure I didn’t, but I need to know so I can put things right between us.’

  He saw the shock in her eyes and realised that this was something she had never considered. She shook her head vehemently. ‘Of course not. We love each other. Yes, you have… had… a bad temper but you would never do that. You told me how much it hurt you when your first wife cheated on you and you learned that the son you loved so much wasn’t yours, and we both swore that we would always be completely loyal to each other.’

  He thought back to Marianne, his first wife. He hadn’t seen her for nearly eleven years. They hadn’t exactly parted amicably, and he had been devastated when he found out that Danny – the child he’d been raising – wasn’t really his son. He’d tried to put the whole terrible business out of his mind and swore that he would never get married again. Then he’d met Freya…

  ‘Why did you ask that? Why would you even think it?’ Freya’s voice broke through his thoughts. She looked worried and he wished he could take back the words. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her suspicious. Daisy was lying. He was sure of it. He didn’t even fancy her – why would he have an affair with her?

  ‘I’m sorry. I needed to make sure. I can’t remember anything of the last two years and it scares me. I’m trying to think of any reason someone would want to kill me, dreading what might come out of the woodwork, what a terrible person I might have become.’

  Freya looked at him warily. ‘Look, maybe it’s a mistake. I’m sure you haven’t done anything awful.’

  She didn’t sound sure. Was she worried what he’d done too? ‘Then why did someone tamper with my brakes? Who wants me dead?’ he asked. It was the question that was burning in his head. He had to find out. His life was in danger. He couldn’t trust anyone. Except Freya. He could trust her, couldn’t he?

  Then he remembered what the police had said: that whoever had messed with the brakes had intended to harm the driver. They had all presumed that someone was after Phil as it was his car, and he was driving it that night, but Freya drove the BMW too. It could be Freya they were after. Maybe the note had been meant for Freya too; whoever had sneaked in might have thought it was her study.

  It could be Freya who had upset someone, not him.

  Because she could tell him anything she liked, knowing he couldn’t remember.

  *

  I see them just in time and step back from the gate, standing in the shadows for a while, watching them. He’s got his arm around her, gazing at her as if he really loves her. If only she knew what he’s really like. The danger she’s in. She’ll find out soon – he won’t be able to keep up the act. I’m surprised he’s kept it up this long. Or maybe she does know but won’t let herself believe it. Maybe she’s taken in by that charming smile, those twinkling eyes, the Irish charm of him, and thinks it must be her at fault. She’s not the only one to be taken in, to think it’s her. It’s time he paid for what he did, but I can’t do anything now. I don’t want to frighten her. I’ll be back, though, when he’s on his own. I’ll wait for her to go to work and sneak in. But I won’t let him see me, not at first, not until he’s really scared. Then I’ll confront him. Remind him what he did.

  24

  Freya

  Two years ago

  The sound of a pop song interrupted her sleep that day. It took her a moment to register that it was the radio alarm clock and another couple of minutes to remember that they were back home. They’d returned late last night from their wonderful wedding and honeymoon in Barbados and were both due in work this morning. She kept her eyes closed for a moment, holding on to the memory of lying on the sugary white sand, paddling in the turquoise sea, walking hand in hand under the moonlight. It had been a perfect two weeks; how she wished they hadn’t had to come home. She opened one eye and looked at the red numbers on the digital clock in front of her. Three minu
tes past six. She didn’t have to be in work until nine but Phil had an early start. He had a meeting with an editor in London today and was hoping to get a regular feature in one of the high-street magazines.

  ‘It’s not six already, is it?’ Phil mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

  Freya turned around and he wrapped his arms around her. ‘I wish we had another couple of hours in bed,’ he said, nuzzling her neck.

  ‘I’ll go and make coffee while you shower and get ready,’ she told him.

  ‘Thank you, gorgeous.’ They kissed then Freya rolled back over and out of bed, reaching for her black silk dressing gown that was draped over the chair, and wriggling into it. Phil yawned and rubbed his eyes. She smiled at him. She loved him so much, she thought as she made her way downstairs into the kitchen.

  She made two cups of coffee, adding milk and sugar to hers, then carried them back upstairs. The bed was empty and she could hear the shower in the en suite running. She hoped the meeting went well – it would be such a good start to their married life if Phil got a regular feature, she thought as she sat on the bed, sipping her coffee.

  Phil came out of the shower, rubbing his hair with the towel. ‘Could you grab me my hair gel out of the case, please?’ he asked.

  Phil was really particular about his hair. He kept it short and spiked up. It really suited him. She let her eyes roam over his naked, lean body. He would be forty next year but had the body of a man ten years younger. He kept himself really fit.

  ‘Freya.’

  ‘Sure.’ She put her cup down and went over to the two suitcases standing underneath the window. They’d got back so late last night they hadn’t bothered to unpack. She laid Phil’s silver case down flat and unzipped it. Everything was packed neatly inside. She unzipped the covered half and took out his black toiletry bag, opening it up to get the gel. There was no sign of it. Then she remembered, she’d checked the hotel bathroom at the last minute, spotted Phil’s hair gel and her hairspray by the side of the sink and slipped them both into her washbag. She moved over to her case, opened it and took out her gold washbag, frowning when she realised it was sticky. Something had leaked. Opening it up, she groaned when she saw everything covered in a sticky goo – Phil’s hair gel. ‘Damn, the top mustn’t have been put on properly and it’s leaked everywhere,’ she told him, taking the bottle out of the bag and holding it by the neck so he could see. ‘Just look at it! It’s all over my stuff!’

  She grabbed a wipe and started to clean the bottle but Phil snatched it from her.

  ‘Bloody hell, Freya! Why didn’t you check that the lid was on correctly?’

  Her check! That was charming when he was the one who’d left the bottle in the bathroom and hadn’t closed the lid correctly.

  He turned it upside down into his hand. A drizzle came out. ‘It’s fucking empty!’

  Freya spun around in surprise. She’d never heard Phil shout or even swear before. He looked furious as he kept shaking the bottle to try and make more gel come out.

  ‘Why the fucking hell didn’t you check the lid? I’ve got no more gel. Now I’m going to go to the meeting looking like a freak.’

  She got to her feet. How dare he blame her? ‘It’s your hair gel. Why didn’t you check it?’ she pointed out. ‘I was the one who found it in the bathroom where you’d left it!’

  ‘Fucking hell, Freya! You were the one who did the fucking packing. Are you thick or something? Anyone with any common sense would check that the lid was on tight.’ He threw the bottle across the room. It hit her make-up bag, knocking it over and spilling the contents onto the floor.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Freya yelled at him, a slither of fear crawling inside her. She had never seen Phil like this. ‘Calm down for goodness’ sake. It’s only hair gel.’

  Phil stormed over to her, eyes bulging, the vein on his forehead pulsing. She instinctively stepped back, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart pounding like a drum. ‘Don’t you tell me to fucking calm down. You know how important this meeting is to me. Are you deliberately trying to mess it up?’

  She swallowed, her eyes fixed on his face, not daring to answer. He shoved past her and into the bathroom.

  Freya stood there shaking as she heard water running, guessing he was dampening his hair. She was totally stunned and freaked out by his behaviour and didn’t intend to be there when he came out of the bathroom, so she went down into the garden, waiting until she heard Phil’s car start before she went back inside. Tears stung her eyes; they’d just come back from a perfect wedding and honeymoon, where they hadn’t had one cross word, and now, it was as if Phil had turned into a stranger. She would never have dreamt that he could act in such a terrible way. She had actually felt frightened of him for a few moments.

  She ran over the scene in her mind, trying to pinpoint what would have caused the mild-mannered Phil that she knew and loved to snap like that. She could understand that he was upset that he couldn’t gel his hair, like she would be upset if she had to go to an interview and had run out of mascara, but that didn’t excuse his behaviour. Nothing excused his behaviour.

  She made herself another cup of coffee to calm her nerves and took it upstairs. When she stepped into the bedroom, she gasped at the scene in front of her. Phil had pulled all his clothes out of his wardrobe and tossed them onto the bed. The empty bottle of hair gel still lay on the floor by the wardrobe, her make-up still scattered everywhere. It was a total mess. It was as if a toddler had had a tantrum in there. She bit her lip and fought back the tears. Well, she wasn’t going to tidy up his mess.

  She drank her coffee then picked up her make-up and got ready for work.

  Phil’s actions were on her mind all day and she found it difficult to concentrate. Mid-afternoon a text came in from him.

  I am so sorry, darling. I don’t know what came over me. It’s just I really wanted to make a good impression and you know how I am about my hair. Will you forgive me?

  Freya read the message but didn’t reply. His behaviour was inexcusable. If he thought she was going to message right back saying she forgave him, he had another think coming.

  Half a dozen sorry messages later, each more contrite than the last, she finally texted back and said that she forgave him but hoped he would never do it again.

  I promise you I won’t. I love you.

  She replied:

  I love you too.

  When she got home, Phil had a delicious dinner cooking, had cleared up all the mess in the bedroom and presented her with a bunch of roses: fifteen red ones instead of the usual cream, orange and white. ‘Fifteen roses means I’m sorry, and red for undying love,’ he told her as he wrapped his arms around her. ‘Will you forgive me? Please? I can’t live without you.’

  She nodded, wanting to forget all about it and for them to return to their easy, loving relationship, excusing his behaviour as stress.

  Little did she know then that there was worse to come.

  25

  Now

  Why had Phil asked her if he’d been unfaithful? Freya couldn’t get the question out of her mind. Did he think he had been? Was a memory coming back to him? Or was he simply clutching at straws, trying to find a reason why someone wanted to harm him?

  She tried to imagine not being able to remember the last two years. It would be awful, but it wasn’t that long a period of time, not long enough to change your whole personality, to think that you might have had an affair. They were still in the early years of their marriage, for goodness’ sake. Why would he think he’d cheated on her?

  Unless he had been planning to?

  She shook her head. Phil’s last memory was of returning from their honeymoon, where they had spent a wonderful two weeks in the sun, lounging on the beach, making love in the afternoons, sitting in the hotel bar sipping cocktails and watching the entertainment in the evenings. They had been so happy. Phil had been the one who had been eager to get married, who had pushed for it, swept her off her feet with his
love. Why would he do that if he’d been planning on cheating with someone else? It didn’t make sense.

  Maybe he’d cheated before, when he was with someone else, and thought he might have reverted to form. Maybe he was the one who had cheated in his previous marriage, not his ex-wife?

  She’d been so surprised when Phil had confessed before their ceremony in Barbados that he was divorced; she’d had no idea that he’d been married before. It was years ago, he assured her, and he didn’t like to talk about it because his ex had cheated on him; he’d even found out that the child he had adored wasn’t his son, which had broken his heart. He’d pushed it to the back of his mind, pretended it hadn’t happened. Was it the full story? She sighed. What did it matter? It was all a long time ago.

  What was more important to her was figuring out if she could trust Phil, whether the amnesia was real or if he was he faking it to trick her into staying with him. It was a convenient way of getting her to forgive him for his abuse, or of covering up something she hadn’t found out about yet, something that someone wanted to kill him for.

  She had been planning on phoning Daisy today, checking that she was okay. She’d left it a few days to give her and Mark a chance to talk things through. Hopefully Daisy would have adjusted to the shock news about her pregnancy now. She was a good mother and Freya was certain she would soon be excited about a new baby. She also wanted to tell her sister what had been happening and ask her advice. She didn’t really want to talk about her fears over the phone, though, not when Phil was in and could possibly overhear. He was fast asleep in their bedroom next door now, worn out after his disturbed night. She could see that his ribs were still so painful and he complained of bad headaches. She was tired too, but her mind was far too buzzy to sleep. She would phone Daisy later. If Phil went into his study or the garden, maybe she’d be able to talk undisturbed then.