The Ex (DS Jenna Morgan)

by Diane Saxon

  The Ex

  Diane Saxon

  To my mum, Margaret Ann Saxon, without whom the art of exaggeration may well never have been gifted to me.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Acknowledgments

  More from Diane Saxon

  About the Author

  About Boldwood Books

  1

  Saturday 10 July 23:25 hrs

  Emily Shenton punched open the door to the deserted ladies’ room with the heel of her hand and stormed inside before it rebounded off the wall and slammed shut behind her.

  The emptiness inside still failed to block out the rhythmic thud of music and only dimmed the laughter and conversation of over eighty people at the company’s summer ball.

  She hated them. Every single one of them. The gossipmongers who couldn’t wait to spread their vileness under the guise of good wishes and happy vibes. When they knew. They all knew.

  Temper spilled from her. A foetid pus spreading from the core of her in a boiling, seething mass.

  She tipped her head back and drank straight from the full bottle of rosé she’d swiped from a deserted table on her way past. No one would notice, no one would care. She’d no idea why the company insisted on paying for so much wine – red, white and rosé – when most of the men wanted beer, for God’s sake. The women preferred red or Prosecco and the rosé was left for the waiters to sweep away at the end of the night. Lucky bloody waiters.

  She stepped into the oversized disabled cubicle and balled up the skirt of her black gown with one hand as she slapped her back against the chill of the wall and slid down until her backside met the floor. Sweat slicked the back of her knees as she pressed them flat to the floor tiles to absorb every bit of coolness. Heat pulsed through her chest and up her neck as she tore into the fine organza material of the overskirt, ripping weak nails until they were jagged. Tears burnt the back of her eyes as she ground her teeth and took another slug of wine.

  She wished she’d never come. Wished she’d never overheard it. That’s why she avoided these functions like the plague. She hated the gossip, preferred to keep to herself and block out the voices. But she’d felt good. Strong.

  So strong, she’d decided not to take her medication.

  Again.

  Tears filled her eyes and washed over her vision.

  It wasn’t lack of medication that had her temper surging. It was the damned infernal gossip.

  Bastards!

  Why couldn’t they keep their mouths shut?

  They had to know she’d been stood on the edge of the circle when Chris Whittington raised his glass and hee-hawed like the ass he was as he brayed his drunken words. ‘Here’s to Zak Cheetham-Epstein and his new wife, Imelda.’

  Nausea clawed the back of her throat.

  How was it so many of them knew Zak, had evidently kept in contact?

  Zak. The love of her life. The only man she’d truly loved.

  There’d been others before him, of course there had, but they’d faded into insignificance in the heat of her adoration for Zak.

  The bottle clinked as she placed it on the tiled floor at her side. She covered her face with her hands, a helpless moan slipped from her lips as the familiar hissing sound swirled around her head. ‘For God’s sake!’ She tried to push it back, but it was insistent. The sound of a seashell shushing, filling her mind so she could no longer concentrate. She rolled her head from side to side, her hot, florid face couched in the palms of her sweaty hands.

  She’d never forgive him for leaving. Leaving the company.

  Leaving her.

  But she knew. Knew he still loved her. He had to.

  Memories nudged in with cruel disregard and she raised her head to stare through the open door of the cubicle at the row of white porcelain sinks in front of the glare of oversized mirrors.

  She’d caught him flirting with the girl in accounts. The skinny emaciated little bitch with too much make-up and those tattooed eyebrows. The girl hadn’t stayed at the firm long, not after it emerged she had a night job as a topless waitress servicing private parties.

  It wasn’t difficult to gather information on anyone. Facebook was the go-to stalking site. It was even easier to get that information into the public domain where assumptions were jumped to, judgements made.

  Zak had taken umbrage. Said she was unreasonable. She’d lost her mind. Insisted she move out when she’d only just moved in.

  He hadn’t meant it, of course. His mother had influenced him. Emily knew the woman didn’t like her. The feeling was mutual.

  There was no denying Zak and Emily loved each other. He was her soulmate. Her destiny. Convinced of it, she’d told him enough times.

  Begged.

  Pleaded.

  Even after he announced he’d found a new job and put his notice in, she’d continued to try and persuade him, right up until he left the company, claiming every holiday owed to him instead of taking them in lieu. Almost two years ago. She wanted to give him space back then, but he’d consumed her mind.

  She’d checked the HR records under the pension scheme for his new address when he moved out of the flat they’d shared together. Started to set up home together. The one he’d already made her leave. Their little love nest he’d broken apart, with the help of his mother.

  Emily had driven past the three-storey Victorian house he’d purchased since he’d left the company. Not something she’d have chosen for their lives together, but confident he’d change his mind, she waited. There would be time enough to persuade him to sell the place. Once they were together again. She just needed to give him some space. Space he needed to realise how much he missed her. How much he loved her.

  She gave him the space. Resisted contacting him, but she couldn’t let go altogether.

  She couldn’t help driving past his house again, and again. In the hope she’d catch a glimpse of him. So many times, until she made herself sick.

  Wanda had made her better. Wanda Stilgoe. Her counsellor. Assigned to her when she had her meltdown a few months after Zak had gone, when the obsession had taken hold and wouldn’t let go. Wanda, the only person who never treated her with disapproval or judgement. But Wanda had been gone for three weeks now and wouldn’t be coming back.

  Nor had Emily been assigned another counsellor yet. They were in no hurry, under pressure and short-staffed.

  She was better, they said. They believed she was better, so she must be. They spoke once a week to her. Reassured her it wouldn’t be long until they found someone
suitable to talk to.

  Emily ground her teeth as she dug her fingers deep into her scalp and wrenched at the perfect coiffure of teased curls tumbling from where they’d been piled on top of her head by Teresa at A-Head. She’d spent good money and time on the hairstyle to make certain it looked the very best of casual elegance. Teresa had accomplished that.

  With a pained yowl, Emily yanked the pins out and hurled them across the stained floor of the ladies’ room of the top-notch hotel the company had held their summer ball at for the past five years.

  No originality or thought around the whole concept of the idea of the ball. A reward. An acknowledgement of the tough work, blood, sweat and tears that went into every day of hard slog. And it was a slog.

  She hated her job, she hated the people.

  Except for Zak. She loved him with her entire being. But he’d been gone for so long and nothing had been the same since. There was an emptiness in her world. A vacuum of nothingness.

  Emily flopped her head down onto her hands and let the anger vibrate from the pit of her stomach until it flowed from her tightened throat in a feral growl. No longer empty but overflowing with fury. A fury she’d not experienced for so long. Not since the medication had flattened everything until she no longer lived, simply existed.

  What the hell had happened? Where did it go wrong?

  She thought she had it in hand. The whole situation. Convinced to stay away, she’d not driven past his house in more than a year, possibly longer. The days had all merged into a foggy passage of time she’d lost a grip on, no longer cared about while the medication lulled her, and her counsellor reassured her.

  Wanda had persuaded her not to check on him. She’d said it would only make Emily sick again. Wanda, her counsellor. Her saviour.

  Emily reached for the bottle of wine and took a good healthy swig before she slapped it back down on the floor again. She tipped her head back and let the mouthful of liquid wash the dryness in her throat away as she let out a little moan.

  Wanda wasn’t there any more to keep the demons away and now they came crowding back in, elbowing their way into her mind, like they did before Wanda, only louder and more voracious. As though the volume had been turned up.

  The tears that threatened washed across her vision and made the over-bright lights in the ladies’ room dance and sway.

  It was a lifetime since she’d seen her beautiful black-haired, violet-eyed Welshman. She’d believed he’d be back when he was ready. She’d thought he’d return to her.

  Wanda hadn’t been privy to that thought. If she’d known, she’d have tried to persuade Emily otherwise, so Emily had kept it to herself. Nurtured it. Sure if she let him have his time, sow his wild oats, he’d realise how much he missed her and come back. He needed to grow up, be ready to settle down.

  Well, he had grown up, he had settled down. Just not with her.

  Emily rolled her head from side to side against the wall, the last of the pins grinding against her scalp.

  ‘Too late. I left it too late.’

  As pain consumed her, she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them as she rocked. Rocked to comfort herself. Rocked to lessen the ache burning in her chest as her heart threatened to explode.

  She tucked her tear-drenched face into her knees and stilled. In the silence, the voice she’d ignored for so long whispered its dark thoughts in her ear.

  ‘Go away. Go away. You’re not allowed here.’ She scrunched her eyes closed and slapped her hands over her ears. ‘You’re banned. Wanda said I’m not to allow you in. Not to listen to you.’

  But Wanda wasn’t there to push it back and the voice didn’t listen. It murmured sweet, sweet encouragement with sly insistence.

  ‘Hello? Are you okay in there?’

  From her sanctuary on the cool tiled floor of the toilet, Emily reared her head back and kicked the stall door closed with the flat brogues no one could see under her ballgown. Spitting, spewing fury burst from her lips as she stared at the closed door.

  On the other side, the woman she barely knew from accounts, who’d dared to disturb her, whispered to someone else, ‘Do you think she’s all right?’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  Shocked silence followed a sharp intake of breath. ‘I’m sorry.’ The click of the woman’s thin heels tip tapped on the tiled floor. ‘I just…’

  ‘I said. Fuck. Off!’ The voice enunciated it clearly in case the woman was under any illusion that she required her assistance. The deep gravel of it grated through Emily’s throat as it burst out, tearing her lips back from her teeth so the feral snarl flung white frothy spittle to spray over her naked knees.

  A horrified gasp came from the woman on the other side of the cubicle, who fled, leaving the outer door to slam shut in her wake.

  Satisfied, Emily listened for a moment for any further evidence of movement on the other side of the stall door, and then settled back against the toilet wall, the snarl of her lips curving into a sly smile. The voice had spoken. It was back.

  It wasn’t so bad. It was on her side. It knew where her heart lay.

  Control slid with such ease from her. Comfortable and smooth.

  She placed her palms on the cool, dirty tiles and pushed up from the floor, letting swathes of the soft black material of her ball gown swish back into place from where she’d scrunched it up in her fury and desperation, so it pooled around her ankles as she stood.

  Emily cracked open the stall door to double check the ladies’ room was empty before she made her way to the washbasin, reached for the lemongrass scented liquid soap and pressed two squirts into her hand. She rubbed, watching every move as she cleaned thoroughly in between her fingers like she’d been taught, letting the suds turn white before she rinsed them off with water hot enough to scald the flesh from her bones. But she never flinched, never retreated.

  As she drew her gaze from her dripping hands to the mirror in front of her, plumes of steam fogged her image and made it waver in front of her. She stared into her own ice-blue eyes starkly emphasised against the black mascara and eyeliner smeared down cheeks white as chalk.

  Recognition curved her lips.

  ‘Oh, Emily. What are you going to do?’

  2

  Saturday 10 July 23:55 hrs

  Jenna Morgan spread her bare arms wide across the back of the raffia furniture she’d taken delivery of earlier that day and tipped her face to look up at the stars canvassing the clear sky over her back garden.

  The mere whisper of a breeze would be welcome, but despite the nightfall, temperatures soared, making for a sticky, overheated atmosphere and thick air that clung to her skin with wet persistence.

  The gentle buzz of alcohol melted her limbs and loosened her tongue as Domino, Fliss’s Dalmatian, nudged his way onto the brand-new sofa cushion between herself and her sister.

  ‘Soft sod.’

  He circled around, then with a heartfelt groan as though he’d worked hard all day without a break as she had, the dog settled in a tight ball, his arse rammed up against Jenna’s thigh with his head on Fliss’s lap.

  Instead of the twinge of annoyance she would have felt a year ago at him worming his way onto her brand-new furniture, a warm glow spread its golden wings to melt her heart. Jenna moved her arm, so her hand rested on Domino’s black-spotted backside before she stroked the length of the raised scar that ran along his side. A scar he’d obtained the previous year when he’d taken on Fliss’s kidnapper and come off worst in a fight with a large branch the attacker had wielded with force. He’d hit him hard enough so the dog had tumbled down a long, steep hillside in the Ironbridge gorge.

  Jenna sank her fingers into his satin fur. ‘I bloody love you.’ The words slipped in a haze from her mouth.

  Fliss’s soft giggle told Jenna her sister had drunk enough too. Perhaps they should slip off to bed. If only she had the energy to move.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’

  Fliss’s image wavered bef
ore Jenna’s eyes. ‘The daft Dalmatian. Who else?’

  Fliss took a sip of her chilled Sauvignon Blanc and huffed out a breathy laugh. ‘Me.’ Her head gave a drunken roll on her shoulders. ‘I know you do.’

  Jenna laughed up at the stars, her world reeling in soft circles. It was time for bed. In a minute. ‘I do.’ She let her heavy head loll to one side so she could eye her sister. ‘What did you think of the people you’ve interviewed so far?’

  Fliss’s smile stretched wide. ‘I haven’t interviewed them, it was just a quick chat on the phone with a few people.’

  ‘People who you intend carrying out a job for you.’

  ‘Dog walking.’

  ‘It’s a job.’

  ‘It is.

  ‘And you interviewed people for the position.’

  Laughter gurgled from her sister as she tipped her head back and shook her hair, so it spilled over the back of the furniture. ‘Okay. You win. I spoke with three.’ She shot Jenna a sly glance. ‘Interviewed three. I wasn’t keen on the first woman, Lesley. Nice enough but she seemed too much about the business and not enough about the animals. The other two were really nice. Harvey and Gill. Harvey’s coming around to meet Domino on Monday evening. I checked your schedule to make sure you’re available. I’d rather you were there.’

  Jenna checked her sister for signs of self-doubt, but saw none, just a keenness to involve Jenna on the decision.