The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘Hi,’ he says when she finally manages to turn, setting eyes on him. ‘Will…? I… Sorry, will I what?’ he adds with a laugh, approaching her with an outstretched hand. ‘Will I let you in, I should imagine you were going to say,’ he says with a broad grin. ‘Have you been here long? I’m Simon. So sorry I haven’t put the keys under the pot yet. I meant to come round earlier, but things ran on down at the Crown and, well…’ He trails off when he sees Jo’s face. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispers. ‘You must think I’m an idiot.’ Jo quickly gathers herself, clearing her throat. ‘Yes, I’m fine. A bit tired, that’s all. I just got here.’ She lets out an unconvincing laugh.

  She takes his outstretched hand, giving it a light shake in return. Mainly, she wants to yank his arm off because he’s not Will, scuff gravel at him for making her think he was. She hates him already for not being her husband. In her head, his voice sounded exactly like Will’s. But now, in reality, she can hear it’s not. And neither is he anything like Will to look at, standing within the dim cone of light from the lamp above the door. ‘Oh, and yes, I was just saying “Will you let me in?”’ She clears her throat again.

  The man, tall (about the same height as Will at least, she supposes), stares at Jo for a moment before rubbing his hand nervously through his sandy hair. ‘Oh, sorry… of course.’ He fumbles in his coat pocket, finally pulling out a set of keys. He immediately drops them. When he bends down, he staggers sideways. ‘Not drunk,’ he says, laughing and peering up, his hands patting the gravel. Jo flicks at her phone and illuminates the area with her torch.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says, glancing up again. ‘I only had three. Well, maybe four pints,’ he adds. ‘Pool match,’ he explains, standing up and waving the keys in front of Jo. ‘But I’ve got a couple of days off, so I’m allowed.’

  He needs to stop talking and just open the door, Jo thinks, seeing something familiar in him. Herself.

  ‘And did you win?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replies with a smile, pushing the key into the lock. It won’t turn. ‘Damn,’ he mutters, wiggling it, trying to get it out. ‘Actually, we lost. Comprehensively.’ He makes a face. Rolls his eyes.

  ‘Shall I try?’ Jo offers after a while.

  Simon stands aside and Jo turns the key gently one way, then the other, lightly lifting it a little as she slides it out. ‘There,’ she says softly, blinking through watery eyes. Not Will… This man is not Will. ‘Shall I try this one?’ she says, holding up another key. Without waiting for an answer, she puts it in the lock and turns it easily, pushing the door open. Immediately, something is on her – something warm and furry bouncing about at her feet, half jumping up at her, knocking her off balance while letting out excited whines and half-barks.

  ‘Spangle, get down,’ the man says, lunging at the dog, making an apologetic face.

  ‘It’s fine, he’s fine,’ Jo says, grateful for the distraction. She bends down, cupping the dog’s face in her hands, feeling his long silky ears. His eyes are wide and glistening, looking directly into hers as his entire body wags along with his tail.

  Has Will petted you, boy? Has he taken you for walks, groomed you, fed you?

  ‘Well, you’re a beauty, aren’t you?’ she says, meaning it. He’s a fine-looking dog – his tan and white coat soft and shiny, his teeth gleaming and his lolling tongue bright pink.

  ‘By contrast, you’ll find old Bonnie rather aloof,’ Simon says, pointing to the end of the hallway. A black and white cat presses up against the door frame, slowly winding its way closer, its tail twitching vertically.

  ‘Hey, puss,’ Jo says, thinking both animals seem harmless enough. She’s sure she can do a good job looking after them while she’s here. In fact, they’ll be good company. Since Will went, she’s wondered whether to get a small dog. It would get her out and about more, take the focus off herself and her own misery.

  ‘Do you have much stuff to bring in?’ Simon asks. ‘I can help.’

  ‘Oh, that’s fine. Don’t worry. Just one small suitcase.’

  ‘Honestly, allow me,’ he says, slipping her car keys from her hand. ‘It’s no trouble,’ he adds, going back outside. A moment later, he returns with Jo’s case. ‘Tell me you didn’t prang your car on the way here?’ he says, winking.

  Jo freezes, eventually giving a little shake of her head. ‘No,’ she says quietly. ‘It’s… it’s an old dent.’

  ‘Relax, I was joking,’ he says. ‘I’ll take your bag upstairs in a moment. Suzie asked me to show you around, give you the lie of the land and all the house’s quirks.’

  ‘Great, thank you,’ Jo says, her eyes flicking around, wondering why the owner doesn’t just ask Simon to tend to the animals while she’s away. He seems very familiar with them, and the house.

  ‘Right, living room is in here,’ he says, signalling the door to the left, opening it only a few inches. ‘It’s cosy when the fire gets going.’

  Living room. Fireplace. Mantelpiece… Will.

  Jo feels nauseous.

  But Simon closes the door again. ‘Suzie doesn’t allow Spangle in there unless he’s really dry. He can get on the sofas if he’s clean. And Bonnie just goes where she wants. You know what cats are like.’

  Jo smiles, looking back towards the living room as Simon leads the way to the rear of the house. She doesn’t care about the other rooms. She only wants to go in there, see the photos of Will on the mantelpiece, forensically analyse everything about them – the size of them, the angle at which they’re set, the other things around them, if there’s any dust on them, when they were taken. She will glean what she can from them and then she’ll set to on the rest of the house. Picking it apart for signs of Will. All the while terrified of what she will find.

  Fourteen

  ‘You shouldn’t need to touch the cooking range,’ Simon explains. ‘It stays on all the time and kind of looks after itself. The central heating controls are in the utility room if you need to adjust the temperature. It’s going to cool off in the next week or two, so you might need a boost. Especially if you’ve taken Spangle out for some bracing walks. And trust me, to wear him out, you’ll need to.’ He strides around the kitchen, gesturing to various things faster than Jo can absorb, especially when her mind is on him leaving so she can venture, alone, into the living room.

  To see Will…

  ‘Suzie likes her sitters to feel very much at home, so do help yourself to anything you find in the cupboards. Her casa is your casa, as they say. Oh, and the stopcock is under the sink in case of emergency. There’s a little handbook here that Suzie has put together over the years to help, with her number, my number, other local services you might need – trusted tradesmen and the like.’ He points to a folder lying on the counter.

  ‘So how come Suzanne doesn’t ask you to feed her animals when she’s away?’ Jo pulls out a chair at the small round kitchen table and sits down. ‘You’re right next door. It would make sense.’

  Jo watches as Simon fills the kettle. ‘Tea,’ he says, more a statement than a question, avoiding hers entirely.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says, deciding the living room can wait a little longer. This man may know things. ‘Just what I need after my long drive.’

  She looks around the kitchen – cluttered, yet purposeful and stylish in a rambling country way. There are open shelves on the walls, adorned with a multitude of glass Kilner jars, each filled with different ingredients: pasta, rice, various grains, dried fruit. And several jars of apricots, which she stares at for far too long.

  My mother’s secret ingredient, Will had said, tearing open the packet. Dried apricots… He’d added a large handful along with a bunch of fresh thyme before sliding the huge pot of chicken into the oven. It was a Sunday tradition in winter.

  ‘Here,’ Simon says, placing two cups of tea on the table. ‘Milk and sugar. Help yourself.’

  Spangle twists and wags between them, his tail whacking one or the other of their legs. ‘Lively chap,
isn’t he? Does he ever sleep?’

  ‘For a few minutes,’ Simon says with a grin. ‘But he’s a good boy. Useless guard dog, though.’

  ‘Oh… will I be needing one of those then?’ Jo asks, steering the conversation. ‘I’d have thought what with Suzanne living out here all alone, she’d have chosen a German Shepherd or similar.’

  Simon’s face breaks into a smile, tiny lines fanning out from each of his grey-hued eyes. Warm, kind eyes, Jo thinks. And, if he knew her story, why she was really here, they’d probably turn into pitying eyes.

  ‘Suzie is rarely alone,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Though she’s hardly here these days. She already had the animals when her career took off and she couldn’t bear to part with them. She inherited this place from her mother a few years ago and couldn’t bear to part with that either. She grew up here. The place has history for her.’ He pauses briefly. ‘And she’s had other… issues to deal with lately.’

  ‘I see,’ Jo says, wondering what he means by ‘issues’. ‘Is she married?’

  Simon tips back his head, another laugh. ‘Suze? Nah… She’s far too, let’s say, independent for that. Though…’ He trails off, thinking better of it.

  ‘Any men on the scene?’

  What am I doing? she thinks. I’m sitting in the kitchen of the woman who may have stolen my husband, grilling her slightly drunk neighbour.

  ‘They come and go,’ he says with a laugh.

  ‘I see,’ Jo says again. Then she remains silent, remembering how her counsellor would sit there, patiently, waiting for her to speak. The fragile silence between them worth more than a thousand words. At first it was uncomfortable, but after a while she grew used to it. Somehow it drew things out of her. The painful things.

  Simon sips his tea. Looking at her over the rim of the mug. ‘Trust me, I’m an actor’ is printed on the side. There are two arrows pointing up at him. Jo freezes, her own mug halfway to her lips.

  Quickly, she looks away, down at Spangle who licks her hand.

  ‘Suzanne has a kind of bohemian lifestyle. Taking off wherever and whenever she wants. Filming, theatre, living her best life and all that kind of stuff. She’s a good woman.’

  Jo doesn’t know whether to like her or hate her.

  ‘But everything’s different now,’ he adds.

  ‘She’s an actress?’ Jo asks, almost choking. An actress who has ripped my life apart… ‘Sounds like she has a great life.’

  ‘Yeah, she is,’ Simon says, tapping the side of his mug. ‘Though she’d say otherwise. An artist in turmoil. Living for her art, yet suffering for her talent.’ He laughs.

  ‘Sounds like you know her quite well.’

  ‘We’ve been friends forever,’ Simon says, adding more sugar to his tea and stirring it vigorously. ‘I grew up in the village too. I’ve known Suze since way back.’

  Jo wonders what it would feel like to move back to her old village. The village where her parents still live. The only word she can think of is stifling. ‘Does she have a partner? Someone special?’ She’s pushing it, she realises, but she’s not sure if she will see Simon again during her stay here. Needs to find out what she can while she can.

  ‘To be honest, I’m not sure,’ Simon replies. ‘I think there may be someone new on the scene after…’ He trails off. ‘If there is, I just hope he makes her happy this time.’

  ‘That’s all anyone wants,’ Jo says, feeling annoyed at how vague he’s being. ‘Anyway, she has a lovely home and I shall enjoy looking after it for the next ten days. She’s very brave, inviting a stranger in. Not sure I could do that.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Simon replies. ‘But Suzie always seems to get good people in. As though she attracts the right things in her life. The last chap she had to house-sit was great but he had to let her down at the last minute. I know he felt awful about it, but a family issue took him away. He was a good bloke. I met him a few times.’

  Jo’s heart clenches. Will. Is he talking about Will? Is that how they met? ‘It’s not something I’d even considered doing until lately,’ she says, trying to keep the conversation going. ‘A friend of a friend suggested it as a… well, as a kind of cheap holiday.’ Jo looks away, suddenly feeling embarrassed. ‘It sounds a bit sad, really, but I love animals and I love the sea,’ she adds, justifying her presence. ‘And I can’t afford anything else right now.’ That’s as close as she’s going to touch on her situation.

  ‘Then you’re in the right place,’ Simons says. ‘Beautiful walks nearby, coastal and countryside. I’m sure Spangle here will guide you. Let him follow his nose and he’ll show you the sights.’

  Jo smiles. Spangle is a good dog, she can already sense that. He’s picked up on something, his nose working overtime around her, never still, his claws clacking on the terracotta tiles as he scoots over to his water bowl, returning for a pat, his mouth dripping.

  ‘Sounds great. So…’ Jo says, her mind in overdrive. If the last house-sitter was Will, surely he wouldn’t have put photographs of himself on the mantelpiece? That sounds more like something Suzanne would do if she was… arranging pictures of her latest love. Jo shudders. ‘What do you do for work?’ She wants to know why Simon hasn’t been asked to look after Hawthorn Lodge and the animals.

  ‘Oh God, don’t ask,’ he says. Bonnie suddenly jumps up on Simon’s lap, digging her claws into his thighs. He yelps, gently lifting the creature and unhooking her from his jeans. ‘Oww, that hurt, puss,’ he says, wincing as he lowers the cat to the floor. ‘So what is it you do?’

  ‘Oh,’ Jo says, wondering if it was the cat distracting him or if he’s being evasive. ‘I sew. I’m a dressmaker.’

  ‘That’s really cool.’ He sips more tea. ‘Creative, then.’

  Jo shrugs. ‘It’s mainly bridal now. Still some theatre work.’ It’s how I met Will, she wants to say but doesn’t. ‘I love helping people make their big day special.’ Even if it kills me inside…

  Theatre, Jo thinks, wondering if that’s a more likely scenario for Will and Suzanne meeting. They might live in different parts of the country, but Suzanne clearly travels for her work. She could have been in the Midlands.

  ‘Creative and practical, then,’ Simon says, seeming impressed, giving her a look. A look she’s not had from a man in a long while. ‘When Suze messages me, asking what her new sitter is like, I shall tell her she is…’ He clears his throat. ‘I shall tell her she’s picked a good ’un again.’ Simon looks at her. ‘Right,’ he says, standing up. ‘I should be going. Let you settle in. Honestly, call me if you need anything. I’m around the next few days. Any problems, give me a shout.’

  ‘Sure, thanks,’ she says, itching to get into the living room.

  ‘Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?’

  ‘Perhaps. I’m sure Spangle here will have me up and out early,’ Jo says, smiling. ‘I might even take him for a quick walk now, to help him settle for the night.’

  Simon nods, heads for the door. ‘Goodnight, then,’ he says in the hallway, hand outstretched.

  ‘Goodnight, Simon,’ she replies. ‘See you around.’

  He nods and heads off into the darkness, crunching across the gravel. Jo shuts the door, locks it and leans back against it. Spangle bounds down the corridor, giving a tentative jump up at her.

  ‘Hey, boy,’ she says, bending down and fussing him. ‘It’s OK. We’ll be OK.’ The cat lurks near the kitchen doorway again, sizing up her new carer from a distance. Jo makes a chirping sound at her, making the cat’s eyes narrow briefly, as if she’s understood. Then Jo steps towards the living room doorway. She glances back at the front door, knowing it’s locked although still feeling as though she’s being watched. Simon may have another set of keys.

  Slowly, she pushes the living room door open, going inside. The first thing that hits her is the smell. No, scent. Orange blossom and lilies… Lovely, Jo thinks. Evocative and sensual. But she doesn’t like it – doesn’t like her senses being stimulated when she’s bracing herself for h
eartache.

  A big comfy sofa and two armchairs. All of them upholstered in cream fabric with thick sheepskin throws draped over them. A dog’s bed in the corner… lamps, a bookshelf crammed with an assortment of titles, a small side table brimming with bottles – Jack Daniel’s, gins, vermouths, brandy… The glinting colours pale against the vibrant sea-turquoise walls, from which the giant gilt mirrors hang, the drapes heavy at the window. The scene takes Jo’s breath away. It’s beautiful. It’s someone’s home.

  Her husband’s lover’s home…

  Then she turns to the fireplace.

  The stone surround with the black log burner in the middle.

  The large rug on the bare boards.

  Just like in the House Angels photographs.

  Jo dares to cast her eyes up to the mantelpiece.

  Candles. Many unlit candles.

  Strings of fairy lights, also unlit. True to the website pictures.

  Shells, plus a tiny stuffed hummingbird perched on a small branch as if it’s been there all its life, are arranged on the mantelpiece. A small piece of bleached driftwood sits on the hearth, an incense burner beside it. She walks closer to the fireplace.

  Something isn’t right.

  She takes her phone from her back pocket, opening her photo stream, opening the screenshots she’d taken.

  Will.

  She looks between the two. Perhaps a dozen times. Comparing them.

  Spangle weaves between her legs, sniffing, licking, semi-barking, half whining, bouncing and almost lying down, his front legs splayed to get Jo’s attention.

  Jo turns – right round one way, then right round the other, scanning the rest of the room. She pushes her hand through her hair, zooming in on the photos on her phone.

  ‘Oh no, oh no… dear God, no…’ She can’t bear to be wrong. For it not to be true. For everything to be a waste of time. What has she done?