The Forgotten Wife
A heartbreaking family drama with a stunning twist
Emma Robinson
Books By Emma Robinson
The Undercover Mother
Happily Never After
One Way Ticket to Paris
My Silent Daughter
The Forgotten Wife
AVAILABLE IN AUDIO
The Undercover Mother (Available in the UK and the US)
My Silent Daughter (Available in the UK and the US)
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
Chapter 47
Epilogue
My Silent Daughter
Emma’s Email Sign-Up
Books By Emma Robinson
A Letter from Emma
One Way Ticket to Paris
Happily Never After
The Undercover Mother
Acknowledgements
For my sister Caroline
With love x
1
Shelley
The removal men had only been gone for about an hour when they returned to the house, so the new neighbours couldn’t have come from far. Shelley prised open the wooden blinds with two fingers: who was moving in?
It was inevitable, of course. There was only so long the house next door could remain vacant. Still, it had been an unwelcome surprise that morning when the large, square van had squeaked to a halt outside and two burly men had swung themselves out of the front cab, unrolled the shutter at the back with a clatter and started to unload furniture. Modern, expensive furniture. Was it too much to hope for that her new neighbours would be quiet, keep themselves to themselves and rarely be at home?
It was beyond pathetic that a woman in her mid-thirties had nothing better to do than spy out the window on a sunny Saturday, but there it was. She didn’t have long to wait. A small red car drew up behind the van, and a man around her age jumped out and scooted onto the pavement to open the passenger door. He helped someone out of the car, obscuring them from Shelley’s line of vision, then just stood there. Were they kissing? When he stood back, he had his arm across a woman’s shoulders; they both looked up at the house, her hands on her stomach. Beautiful, in love and pregnant. Shelley came away from the window; she’d seen enough.
It wasn’t until two hours later, when she was taking some rubbish out, that they first met. She jumped at the sound of a confident female voice.
‘Hi.’ The neighbour was standing in her own front doorway, hands resting once again on the top of her stomach in the way that all pregnant women seemed to stand. ‘Sorry, I was just getting used to the view. I’m Lara. My husband and I have just moved in. It looks like we’ve chosen a lovely street.’
Shelley glanced down the ordinary road lined with 1960s brick-built semi-detached houses. Was it lovely? Maybe she’d thought so too when they’d first moved here over a decade ago, but she hadn’t paid it much attention lately, apart from the two seconds it took her to get into her car for work in the morning and back out again in the evening. When she looked back, Lara was in front of her, the other side of the low wall separating their front gardens. Leaning across, she took Lara’s outstretched hand for a surprisingly firm handshake.
‘Nice to meet you. I’m Shelley. Hope you’ll be very happy here.’ As Shelley spoke, she could almost hear Mrs Williams’ voice saying the exact same thing to her and Greg when they’d moved in. And they had been. Until he’d gone and ruined it, of course. Hopefully, now she and Lara had met and introduced themselves, she could disappear indoors and – like old Mrs Williams before them – keep neighbourly relations to a nod in the morning and signing for each other’s postal deliveries.
However, Lara seemed keen on getting to know her better. She spoke with an eagerness and speed as if to keep Shelley there with her words. ‘Matt, that’s my husband, has gone to get some food shopping. He doesn’t want me to start unpacking anything else until he gets back. I can’t even make a cup of tea because I have no idea which box the kettle is in.’ She paused, her brown eyes hungry as if waiting for a response.
Was she waiting for an invitation? Shelley’s stomach tightened; this was the last thing she wanted but it would be rude to leave her standing there. The least she could do was offer her a drink. ‘Would you like to come in to mine for a coffee?’
Lara’s eyes widened. Dammit, Shelley had read her wrong. She didn’t want to come in at all. But now she’d feel obliged in return. Sure enough, she recomposed her face and smiled. ‘Oh, er, thanks. That’s very kind of you. I don’t drink coffee anymore, but I’ve got some special tea in my bag.’ She waved her thumb in the direction of her lounge and disappeared inside, leaving the front door open. Shelley wanted to kick herself. Why had she taken the rubbish out at that precise moment? Ten minutes later and she could have avoided even saying hello. Now this Lara was coming in for at least as long as it took to make and drink a cup of ‘special’ tea. Whatever the hell that was.
Lara reappeared with a box of suspiciously healthful-looking tea bags. ‘Is it okay to just step over the wall?’
Shelley felt mean. This woman was probably perfectly nice: dressed in leggings and a T-shirt, dark blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, smile wide and easy. If only they’d moved in last year, Shelley would have been excited to have a couple the same age next door. Maybe she should warn her straight away that she came as a single these days. Although that would open up another can of worms. This was only a quick drink. ‘Of course.’
Lara followed her inside the house and into the kitchen. ‘These tea bags taste like crap but apparently they are good for me. Feel free to have one but I wouldn’t recommend it. I brought biscuits to disguise the taste.’
Did she always talk this much? It was a good thing that she’d brought her own biscuits, though, because Shelley had nothing in the house to offer her. Now Greg wasn’t there to add cookies and chocolate to the shopping list, she rarely bought that kind of food. Or indeed any kind of food that couldn’t be stabbed with a fork and stuck in the microwave. ‘I think I’ll pass. I’ve got coffee. Go and grab a seat in the lounge. I’ll make the drinks and bring them through.’
At least she could be confident that the room was presentable because she’d spent the morning cleaning, vacuuming and dusting. It hadn’t taken long enough, so she’d even taken the steam cleaner to the curtains.
Now Lara was jigging from one foot to the other. ‘This is a bit embarrassing, but would you mind if I just used your bathroom? This kid is sitting on my bladder right now and I am getting the sudden urge to wee at th
e most inconvenient moments.’
An anxiety prickled in Shelley’s stomach. Which was ridiculous. ‘Of course. Top of the stairs, first on the right.’
One of the many superfluous gadgets Greg had insisted on when they’d redone the kitchen two years ago was an instant boiling water tap, so there was no need to boil a kettle. She’d had a fear of scalding herself, but he’d argued that it was much more practical and economical for only two cups of tea. Even more economical these days now that she was only making one. Had he already thought of that back then? As he’d shown her, she waited for the initial hiss as she turned the tap on, then held a cup of coffee granules beneath it. Just as the boiling water hit Lara’s beige, lumpy and foul-smelling tea bag, there was a loud crash from upstairs. She took the stairs two at a time.
Lara was standing at the doorway to the box room, rubbing her head. ‘I’m so sorry. I clearly opened the wrong door.’ She held up a silver frame. ‘I got hit on the head by this.’
Just inside the door was a pile of cardboard boxes; the frame must have been balanced on the top. The prickling feeling in Shelley’s chest spread further; she needed to move Lara out of there. ‘Are you okay? This room is full of old rubbish. Sorry.’
Lara smiled. ‘No harm done. It was my fault for not listening properly.’ She held up the frame, with the front facing outwards; Shelley couldn’t avoid looking at it. ‘What a lovely photo. I love wedding pics – your hair is gorgeous piled up like that. So, this is obviously your husband?’
Shelley’s hand went to her long dark hair, which hadn’t seen a brush that morning. It was too much effort when there was no one here to see her.
She hadn’t looked at that frame in months. Twelve months to be precise, which was when she’d thrown it in there with the rest of the crap. Even at an angle, she could see her frothy white dress and Greg’s smile as he looked at her. The look of love, her mum had called it when they’d got the pictures back. At the time, she’d preferred these candid snaps to the staged group shots; now their hopeful expressions felt like mockery. Her heart twisted in her chest and she pressed her fist into her breastbone. ‘Was. Was my husband. It’s just me here, now.’
Shelley pressed her lips together. The words had left her mouth before she’d considered them. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with a stranger. It was private. Although maybe it was for the best. A bitter, single woman was a much less attractive proposition than a happy couple; she’d learned that the hard way when the dinner invitations from their shared friends had stopped coming. Lara would probably keep her politely at arm’s length now she’d told her. It was easier that way.
Lara blushed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. My sister’s husband did the same to her a couple of years ago. Just left out of the blue. Some men are so selfish, aren’t they?’
It was exhausting telling people; they wanted to discuss it, get the graphic details. Especially if they’d already heard half the story. But she wasn’t going to explain. What she wanted to do was snatch the frame from Lara’s hands and slam the door closed. She never looked in there except to throw things in. Most of his stuff had gone, but her memories were in those boxes. And she still wasn’t up to dealing with them. Doing all the paperwork, communicating with the lawyer – that had been bad enough. She needed to get better at just shutting these conversations down. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’
Lara looked mortified. ‘Of course. Sorry. I’ll just…’ And she shuffled past Shelley and out into the hallway.
Looking at the room through Lara’s eyes, she could see it was a complete mess. On the floor, plastic storage boxes full of old shoes and paperwork jostled for space with piles of books, magazines and box files labelled with their contents. Reaching for the handle, she pulled the door closed and nodded to the one opposite. ‘The bathroom is over there.’
Back downstairs she finished filling Lara’s mug and brought it through to the lounge just as Lara got to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Your home is so lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ It really was a lovely home. Neutral colours had not been her first choice but she appreciated them now. They were restful. Comforting. Safe.
Lara lowered herself onto the sofa. It was a three-seater: large and well-made. ‘This sofa is impressive. You have very good taste in furniture.’
Shelley couldn’t take the credit. It was Greg who’d spent six months researching sofas and giving her options before deciding this one was perfect for them. They’d waited nearly four months to have it delivered from Italy. Despite it being a constant reminder of happier times, she’d been glad of it the last few months, having spent many nights on it after falling asleep in front of the TV.
Time to turn the conversation away from herself. ‘I bet you’ll be glad when your furniture is all organised.’
Lara sipped at her tea before nodding enthusiastically. ‘Definitely. Getting the mattress onto the bed was my first priority. Some afternoons I just need to crash out. And today has really taken it out of me. I’m shattered.’
She didn’t look shattered. In fact, Shelley was the one who was starting to feel worn out by Lara’s constant chatter and positivity. Still, it must be tiring being that pregnant. Not that Shelley would know, of course. ‘It’ll be all right once you get it sorted. I know the box room you’ve just been in might not show it, but I like to have everything straight too.’ She had no reason to be embarrassed about the state of that room, but she was. ‘It used to be more organised. I’ve just had a lot of sorting out to do and everything got chucked in there. A load of it belongs to Greg. I will get to it at some point. Maybe even this weekend.’ Why was she trying to justify herself? As if Lara cared whether she was tidy or not – it was likely to be the one and only time she set foot through the door.
Lara, who had been nodding along as Shelley spoke, folded her arms over her bump. ‘I’m the opposite – Matt says I leave a trail of destruction wherever I go. But we had a huge cull of our belongings before the move and it’s a lot easier to stay tidy when you’ve got half as much stuff. I’ve got a fantastic book that takes you through the process. I’ll lend it to you. It’s a life-changer.’
Shelley hid her face behind her large mug by taking a long gulp. As if she hadn’t had enough life changes this year, adjusting to being a single woman again. A familiar flash of anger heated her face. Greg had left her, after all those years together. Starting over wasn’t something she had wanted, but he’d given her no choice. She did have a choice about who she let in her life from this point on though, and borrowing this book from Lara would only encourage a friendship she didn’t have the energy for. ‘Thanks, but I’m sure I can get it done on my own.’
* * *
Once Lara had returned next door, Shelley didn’t have the urge to take the steam cleaner up to the bathroom and attack the tiles like she’d planned. Lara had only stayed for an hour but her absence made the house seem lonelier than before she’d come. That was the other problem with letting people in: the void they left behind. Before her mind wandered down the path to self-pity, Shelley reached for the remote control and sank down into the space Lara had vacated on the sofa; it was still warm.
Mindless TV was a saviour when she didn’t want to think. Whichever soap she was watching right now – they all morphed into each other, really – had a young woman giving her friend a real talking to about her boyfriend. Just leave ’im, she was saying. He ain’t wurf it.
Shelley had no idea what the boyfriend was supposed to have done, but she could tell the well-meaning friend why this straggly-haired woman might not want to leave him: because then she would be on her own. She would be sitting at home all alone, watching TV. And the well-meaning friends wouldn’t be around anymore because they all had their own lives, and she couldn’t bear their well-meant pity if they did come.
Anyway, in her experience, it was the men who did the leaving and the women who were left behind to pick up the pieces of their lives.
2<
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Lara
Brighter rectangles where frames had been removed from the magnolia walls; a floral carpet with a path worn from the door to the opposite side where the sofa must have been; a mahogany mantelpiece above an electric fire with fake coals. This room was the polar opposite of the lounge in Matt and Lara’s old house. Their angular leather sofa and glass-topped coffee table looked like visitors from another century. As Lara unpacked the surviving books onto the shelving unit Matt had wrestled into place before he’d left for the supermarket, she tried not to mind. It was only decorative. They could change it to their taste. Eventually.
She hadn’t meant to introduce herself to the neighbour so soon either. Matt would be keen, she knew, but she had never been the type to drop in and have a cup of tea with someone just because they lived next door. When she’d still been working, she’d barely spoken to their neighbours, although a detached house had meant that they were more remote to start with. Now they were sharing a wall with this Shelley.
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