At that moment, I knew Will was right. However much I despised him for lying to me, for not doing what seemed like the right thing at the time, I saw his logic. I knew he’d never harm anyone on purpose, but then if the only man I wanted to have a child with was in prison, I’d never be a mother. Ever.
Nothing could change what had happened, and the woman hadn’t died, after all.
‘I don’t like it, Will. Not one bit,’ I said, falling against his chest, burying my face. He stroked my hair and we stood there together for what seemed like hours, the morning sun creeping through the front window, casting a corridor of light around us.
Forty-Two
Now
It’s just as Jo turns the key in the ignition after she’s left Simon’s house that she notices her handbag isn’t on the passenger seat. Puzzled, she feels around underneath the seat, swinging round to look in the back. Turning off the engine, she gets out and goes to the boot, opening it – only seeing her suitcase and her dirty boots in there. She swears she put it in the car.
‘Maybe I left it inside,’ she thinks, looking at Suzanne’s house. She had everything in the hall ready to go, had put the animals in the kitchen safely before loading up the car. It’s possible she could have left it on the hallway floor or at the bottom of the stairs. Her mind was frazzled, after all.
Sighing, not wanting to go back inside, she heads towards the house, patting her coat pocket to check she has her phone. She does. But something else jangles in there – and it’s not her car keys because they’re in her hand. ‘Oh great,’ she mutters. She was so shocked to see Simon in police uniform that she forgot to leave the stolen keys to Hawthorn Lodge at his place. She’d intended to hide them somewhere, make it look as though he’d lost them himself. ‘Damn, damn, damn…’
But then, when she realises that she’s left her own keys to Suzanne’s house on the kitchen table, along with a note saying goodbye, she’s grateful she still has this set. She’ll go back in quietly, retrieve her bag and then leave. As an afterthought, she decides she’ll hide the stolen keys down the side of Suzanne’s sofa, so that when they’re eventually found, it’ll look as if they fell out of Simon’s pocket. And then she’ll get out. Get home.
Jo puts the key in the lock, turns it and goes into the hallway. She hears Spangle’s claws on the tiles as he trots to the other side of the kitchen door as he lets out an excited bark. Please be quiet, she thinks, looking around for her bag. But it’s not in the hallway. Jo curses under her breath, glances up the stairs to where she left Suzanne resting. All seems quiet up there.
‘It must still be in the kitchen,’ she whispers, exasperated with herself. She just wants to leave now. It has been the opposite of a relaxing break. She wants her own little home back, her friends to confide in, her job, her sewing – everything familiar. She doesn’t even want to find out what’s happened to Will now. Her mind is veering down routes she doesn’t want to contemplate and, after everything, it’s safer not knowing. It’s time to move on.
Slowly, Jo opens the kitchen door, not wanting to let Spangle out as his nose pushes through the gap. ‘Go back, boy,’ she says quietly, reaching her hand through to take hold of his collar. His tail wags furiously as she goes in.
‘Hello, Jo,’ Suzanne says, looking up. She’s sitting down with Jo’s bag in front of her on the kitchen table, the entire contents spilt out.
Jo jumps, taking a moment to register what’s going on. At first, she’s just relieved to see that Suzanne seems normal again, that her episode has passed. But then her eyes narrow – trying to absorb what else she’s seeing – especially when she spots the contents of her purse spread out, everything including her debit and store cards, her driving licence, her donor card, a few notes and coins. And the small photograph of Will she keeps in there – which is directly in front of Suzanne on the table, her forefinger resting on top of it. Tapping lightly.
‘What are you doing – again?’ Jo says. ‘That’s… that’s my handbag. My personal stuff.’
‘I know,’ Suzanne says. ‘I took it from your car. You shouldn’t leave it unlocked, you know.’
‘What?’ Jo can hardly speak, barely breathe. She takes a step towards Suzanne, wondering if it’s some kind of joke. While she knows that now probably isn’t the time to think the best of people, she can’t help it. It’s her nature. The poor woman isn’t well. ‘Thank you… thank you for keeping it safe, Suzanne. Anyone could have stolen it. I’m sorry everything seems to have fallen out, though. Let me tidy up.’
She reaches out to gather up her items. ‘I was just next door letting Simon know that you’d—’
‘No!’ Suzanne says, sweeping all Jo’s belongings onto the floor. She hurls the empty bag across the room. The only item she doesn’t discard is the photograph of Will. It’s just a small passport picture, but it’s recent and clear and the one Jo kept on her at all times to show people if she was out searching for him. Plus she liked to have it there, just for her to look at from time to time.
‘Wait… what?’ Jo goes to retrieve her stuff, dropping to her knees to gather it up. But, as she’s on the floor, she feels a hand on her back, then a vice-like grip around her upper arm. She stops, turns, looking up at Suzanne. Her hair is across her face, in her eyes, getting in her mouth as she tries to speak. But no words come out – she’s too shocked. She tries to pull out of her grip, but Suzanne holds on tight. Jo hears Spangle whining across the other side of the room.
‘No need for that,’ Suzanne says, kicking away some of Jo’s stuff. ‘It’s this I want you to tell me about.’ She shoves the picture of Will in front of her face, hauling Jo up by the arm.
‘Oww, you’re hurting me. Suzanne, what’s got into you? If this is another of your strange turns, then it’s too weird for me. You need medical help. You’re scaring me now.’ Jo frees herself and backs away, not caring if she has her belongings any more. She just wants to get in her car and go. ‘I’m going home, Suzanne. Now please, give me that back.’ While she’s reluctant to leave her personal possessions strewn on the floor, she really doesn’t want to leave the picture of Will here.
‘Why do you have his picture in your purse?’ Suzanne says, getting in between her and the kitchen door. ‘Tell me!’
‘Surely I should be asking you the same question,’ Jo says, anger brewing inside her. ‘I’ve seen what’s in your… your…’ Jo’s shoulders heave, her breaths coming in and out faster than she can keep up with. She forces herself to stay calm. ‘Your shrine to my husband. You’re obsessed. You’re crazy.’
Jo can’t believe she’s saying these things. This is not her, who she is, how she behaves, how she treats people. Especially other women who have been hurt. But she’s scared, and Suzanne is still blocking her route to the hallway.
‘Your husband…’ Suzanne says flatly, almost as if she knew all along. Her eyes turn glassy, as if she’s seeing something that isn’t in the room – as Jo has done herself many times. Jo catches hold of the back of the chair to steady herself, not wanting to face the truth – the truth that she’s put to the back of her mind since Suzanne told her about her accident when they’d had lunch in the pub.
‘A hit and run,’ she’d said, so matter-of-factly as they were eating soup, after describing her many operations, the broken bones, the mental trauma, the PTSD, the long recovery which still wasn’t over. Jo hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it at the time – marrying up what Will had confessed with Suzanne’s story. But what she didn’t know was why or how – or the answers to a million other questions she had bottled up. And, right now, with Suzanne’s mood volatile, she didn’t want to know.
‘Yes, Will is my husband,’ Jo says, reaching out to snatch his picture back. But Suzanne is too quick and whips it away, shaking her head, that look in her eyes still. ‘And I want to know how you know him.’
Suzanne stares beyond Jo, a faraway look in her eyes, something softer in there now. ‘Me too,’ she whispers, shaking her head and shrugging, l
ooking over Jo’s shoulder as if she’s talking to someone else. ‘There’s so much hidden in here, yet…’ She pulls a pained face as if something is actually hurting inside her brain. ‘Yet it’s like looking through a thick fog.’
Jo wants nothing more than to sit her down, tell her the truth, what she suspects. She feels certain the fog would lift for Suzanne. But even if Will never returns, by admitting what she knows, what he did, that she didn’t go to the police to report the accident – even weeks after it happened – then she’d also be incriminating herself. It’s too late for that now. She’s the one left to clean up the mess Will left behind, and she’s not about to turn herself in for something she didn’t do.
And then he’s there, standing right beside Suzanne, looking frightened and concerned. Wringing his hands. His mouth moves, opening and closing, but this time nothing comes out.
What were you bloody thinking? Jo snaps, knowing it’s futile. And where are you when I need you?
‘What?’ Suzanne says, almost as if she’s perfectly coherent again. ‘Where’s who?’
‘Nothing,’ Jo says, just wanting to keep things calm. She has her keys, her phone – that’s all she really needs. ‘Suzanne, I’m going now. I only came back in to get my bag, but that doesn’t matter—’
‘No, wait!’ Suzanne says, a panicked look in her eyes. ‘You don’t know how much I need you here. How close you are to unlocking my mind, clearing the fog. Please… please don’t go. There’s something I want to show you.’ She takes Jo’s forearms in her hands, gripping them lightly but with purpose. Her expression is pleading.
‘Show me what?’ Jo says, wary. From the corner of her eye, she sees Will thumping the side of his head with the heel of his hand, bowing his head as he turns away.
‘Just come upstairs with me.’ She reaches out for Jo’s hand, her fingers splayed, her arm shaking. ‘Then you can go. Please?’
Jo closes her eyes for a second, hangs her head. She remembers the moment at the cottage when Will confessed what he’d done – the guilt exploding out of him. And what, innocently, Jo discovered she’d been a part of – abandoning an injured woman who was as much in the dark as she was. It’s clear that Suzanne had no idea Will was married. That he’d been conning them both.
‘OK,’ Jo says, sighing. ‘But just for a minute. Let me pick up my stuff first though. Please…’
Suzanne nods, doing something at the worktop by the sink as Jo scoops up all her stuff from the floor, shoving it back in her bag. Then she follows Suzanne through the hallway, leaving her bag at the bottom of the stairs ready to go. Halfway up, Jo pauses, catching sight of Will in the hallway below, his hand cupping his mouth in a gesture of silence.
Forty-Three
‘In here,’ Suzanne says, leading the way upstairs to the locked spare bedroom. Jo hasn’t bothered to take off her coat or shoes. She’s not planning on staying much longer. ‘There’s something… something you should see.’ Her voice is quiet, resigned and filled with sadness.
Suzanne holds the door open for Jo, her other arm pulling her cardigan tightly around her, fingers clenched around her waist as if she has a pain.
Once inside, Jo turns round. ‘Look, I don’t know what this is all about but—’
She stops when she sees the knife, shaking and glinting in Suzanne’s unsteady hand – the knife from the breadboard in the kitchen. She must have hidden it underneath her cardigan before they came upstairs, when Jo was gathering up her stuff.
‘What the hell?’ Jo recoils, stepping back and stumbling over a box of papers on the carpet. ‘What are you doing, Suzanne? Just no… please. Stop and think about this.’
Suzanne is in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame, the other pointing the blade directly at Jo.
‘I know you can help me,’ she says, spit spraying from her lips. ‘I just don’t know how yet. I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but as soon as I saw you on Simon’s phone when I face-timed him, I knew I had to come home. You were in my head somehow. Buried. Stuck.’ She takes a step closer, the knife held out. ‘See? It’s him…’ Suzanne points the knife towards the photographs of Will scattered on the bed – the ones that had been hidden under the duvet. ‘They’re the same as him, the man in your wallet. And in that box, there are newspaper clippings. Read them. Look at all the photographs. When you’re ready to tell me who he is, who you are, I’ll let you out.’ She begins to back away.
‘What do you mean, you’ll “let me out”?’ Jo says, her voice squeaking. ‘You can’t do this!’ She heads towards the door, following Suzanne, but the other woman raises the knife at her.
‘Stay here!’ she yells, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I… I don’t want you to go. You know things. You can help me. If you cause a fuss, I swear to God I’ll…’ She raises the knife again.
Jo nods, her mouth dry. She presses her hand against her coat pocket, knowing her phone is in there, and also Simon’s spare keys. She’ll wait for Suzanne to be preoccupied and then unlock the door and get out – but not before calling the police. She doesn’t care about the consequences any more, will face whatever comes her way. She should have turned them both in when Will confessed to what he’d done back at the cottage. But, selfishly, she’d had her hopes set on a baby and if Will had gone to prison, that would never have happened. She was thirty-nine, after all.
‘OK, OK,’ Jo says, raising her hands and backing away. ‘Just take it easy with that, Suzanne. I’ll stay in here and I’ll have a look at your pictures. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.’
Suzanne nods, pushing the fingers of her free hand through her hair. She doesn’t look well, as though she’s in pain and on the edge of another of her episodes. That’s the last thing Jo wants with that knife in her grasp. ‘Yes, yes, good…’ she says, backing away, stepping out onto the landing and slamming the door closed behind her. The last thing Jo sees is the sadness in her eyes before she hears the key in the lock turn from the outside.
‘Oh my God,’ Jo whispers, dropping down onto the bed. She cradles her head in her hands, but whips up again, knowing she must stay calm and get help. The woman is very unwell – and clearly dangerous. Jo’s hand shakes as she pulls out her phone and switches it onto silent mode. She doesn’t want Suzanne hearing any alerts and taking her phone away. But then she sees her battery is only at two per cent. She was going to charge it up in the car on the drive home. She’s just about to call the police when her screen lights up with Louise’s name displayed. She answers immediately.
‘Lou, hi,’ she whispers, cupping her hand round her mouth.
‘Hey, I just needed to hear your voice. How’s—’
‘Lou, listen to me… shush a moment. Crazy stuff is happening. Suzanne has flipped and she’s locked me in a room with all these photos of Will and newspaper clippings and… and… well, Christ, she has a knife, Lou, and this mad look in her eyes. I was stupid and should never have come back, but I was looking for my bag after I went to leave the stolen keys in Simon’s house, except I forgot. It turns out he’s a bloody cop! So I went back into Suzanne’s house to find my bag and guess what? She’d taken it, and all my stuff was spread out on the table. She was super-weird about the photo of Will she’d found and then she got a knife and now I’m locked up in a bedroom. I’m going to call the police, Lou. It’s all crazy and…’ Jo feels the tears welling up, fights them back. She needs to stay strong.
‘What the hell? Oh, Jo… listen to me. Firstly, Archie and I…’ Jo hears a choked-back sob. ‘He’s… well, he’s left me.’
‘What? Oh my God, Lou… no, I don’t believe—’
‘Listen, don’t worry about that now. It sounds as though you’re in danger. Can you—’
Then the line goes dead.
Jo stares at her blank screen, presses the home button repeatedly. Tries to turn her phone off then on again – but it is already off. It’s dead. The battery has finally run out.
She lets out a little whimper.
; Archie has left Louise? At thirty-eight weeks pregnant? Surely that’s not true, not on top of everything else.
‘Christ…’ Her heart kicks up, thumping in her chest as though it’s about to burst out. Why the hell didn’t I put my phone on charge? she thinks, pacing about. She goes up to the door, one ear against it, listening out for noises. She hears Suzanne downstairs, clattering about in the kitchen, talking to Spangle as if nothing is wrong. It sounds as though she’s loading the dishwasher.
Jo fishes in her pocket for the spare keys, her hand shaking as she slots the key in the mortice lock. At first she thinks it’s because she’s trembling so much that it won’t go in, but even when she steadies herself, uses two hands to guide it in, it won’t fully insert. She bends down, peering into the keyhole. She can’t see through – but she can see the end of the key in the outside of the lock, preventing her from opening the door this side. She tries to push it out from the inside, but it won’t budge.
She stands up, staring at the door, not knowing what the hell to do.
Then, without thinking, she draws her leg back and kicks it hard, beating it with her fists and screaming.
‘Suzanne, Suz-anne! Let me out of here, for Christ’s sake! Suzanne – let me out!’
The noises in the kitchen stop for a moment and then Jo hears the door downstairs slam and everything goes quiet. Jo feels faint, light-headed and sick. She turns, drops down onto the bed. And that’s when she spots Will, standing over by the window.
‘This is your fault,’ she says to him. ‘Even when you’re not here, even when you’re as lost and missing as possible, you’re still—’
Jo, stop, he says, holding up his hands. You need to think straight and, right now, you’re not. His voice is soothing and calm. Just what Jo needs to hear as the tears finally come.
The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 24