The Serial Killer's Wife

by Alice Hunter

  Easy for him to say. His entire life isn’t unravelling in front of him like mine is.

  Why the hell has this happened now?

  Chapter 33

  BETH

  Now

  ‘She must’ve known, surely?’

  The whisper may as well have been a shout.

  With Poppy’s hand firmly grasped in mine, shoulders back, head held high, I stride past the group of mums standing outside the nursery entrance. Inwardly, my gut twists and I feel sick, but I won’t let them see how concerned I am. I spent most of yesterday in a confused state, fretting about the repercussions of Tom being charged. Trying to second-guess how the yummy mummies would react. How the new development will affect Poppy. I’m glad I had Sunday to pull myself together but now, hearing the whispered accusation, panic begins to surface again.

  I go inside and search out the friendly face of Wanda, one of the nursery assistants I know Poppy has a bond with.

  ‘Good morning, Poppy,’ Wanda beams as she heads towards us. I breathe a sigh of relief she’s here. Poppy is reluctant to let go of me, and I wonder if she’s sensing my anxiety.

  ‘We’ve not had a great night,’ I say, quietly. Wanda coaxes Poppy to let go of my hand and take hers instead.

  ‘Give us a second, Mrs Hardcastle. I’ll be back.’ She offers a sympathetic smile, then takes Poppy to the book corner where the triplets are sitting, speaks in hushed tones to the teacher in charge, then returns to me.

  ‘She’ll be fine. No need to worry,’ she says, knowingly.

  ‘I’d be so grateful if you could keep a close eye on her today, though. And please call me if she doesn’t want to stay.’

  ‘Of course, of course. I had a very quick word with Zoey – she’s a little busy right now, but she suggests you stay behind at pickup to have a chat?’

  ‘Thank you, yes, that would be helpful.’

  ‘Good,’ Wanda says. ‘We can work together to make sure Poppy isn’t negatively impacted here at nursery.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I say, relieved. It’s the strangest conversation – nothing is said, yet an understanding is reached, meaning she knows already. I imagine there will be a few of these types of conversations over the coming days. Weeks. Months even. With this realisation, my pulse stutters and I make a hasty retreat before my body reacts further.

  The mums are still huddled together like a coven; they’ve moved outside the gate now and I won’t be able to pass by without acknowledging them. The ‘she must’ve known’ comment echoes in my mind, and now, as I near them, another snippet carries through the air.

  ‘You can’t be married for that long and not know.’

  For a split second, I speculate that they’re talking about something entirely unrelated. Perhaps it’s my own emotional instability making me certain that people will gossip, jump to conclusions and immediately believe the accusation. Maybe I’m paranoid. They could be talking about anyone – someone who’s having an affair, maybe?

  They aren’t, of course. Nothing else interesting is happening in Lower Tew.

  This is about me. And their faces confirm it when I reach them. A few have the decency to look embarrassed and turn away, but others make eye contact defiantly. Julia is among them. For a horrifying moment I think I’ve lost her support too, but then her face softens, and she steps away from the group.

  ‘Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry to hear the awful news,’ she says, putting both hands on my shoulders then pulling me into a hug. It takes me a few uncomfortable seconds of this embrace before I move my arms away from my sides and reciprocate. Should I be crying? Will that make them feel differently, I wonder? But tears do not come. My tear ducts have run dry; there are no more in reserve even if I wanted to put on a show.

  ‘Thanks, Julia,’ I say, gently extricating myself from her arms. ‘What a mess, eh?’

  ‘Yes, yes. So shocking,’ she says, turning back to the others. ‘We were just saying that, weren’t we ladies? What a terrible shock it must’ve been for you, poor thing.’

  That’s not what they were saying, but I have to go with it. Julia’s disingenuous concern is what I expected, really. I’m still classed as a newcomer – I haven’t immersed myself in village life beyond chatting to people at the café and offering limited support to local events – and they barely know Tom. For two years I’ve been focused on my family and business, and now that’s going to come back to bite me. So, despite knowing their reasons aren’t entirely genuine, I need these women. I need their support, however superficial. I can still build a real friendship if I try hard enough, even in these grim circumstances.

  My mind wanders to Adam. He always drops Jess off at nursery early – mainly, he confided in me, to avoid ‘Mumsgate’. I don’t blame him one bit. Will he have heard about Tom by now too? He might be the only person I can turn to for genuine support. Part of me wants to call him, but I’m afraid of his response. I want to think he’d be okay; that he’d treat me as before. I’m not the one who’s going to be on trial.

  But maybe that’s not true. Given the murmurings of the mums at the gate, it’s possible I already am.

  Chapter 34

  BETH

  Now

  It feels wrong, somehow, to be at work today. I’m not firing on all cylinders – I’ve already messed up a customer’s order and knocked into the kiln, causing an immediate bruise to form on my upper arm. Maybe I should shut up shop and go home to contemplate the future before I do any real damage. I need to contact Maxwell anyway to ask him what comes next.

  What’s the process when someone is charged with murder and held in custody until a court appearance? I should ask him what part I have to play in the aftermath: whether I’m going to be questioned again. After his phone call on Saturday night, I couldn’t cope with the detail. I didn’t feel I could call him yesterday – everyone needs a day off. That was the excuse I gave myself, anyway. But now, I know I must face it. I can’t bury my head in the sand and pretend it hasn’t happened.

  I let out a huge sigh. Decision made. No one is currently painting any pottery, so when the few customers who are having a morning cuppa and a cookie finish, I’ll call it a day. I’ll pay Lucy for the full shift, regardless. She’ll no doubt be relieved to be getting away from me: she’s been noticeably awkward around me since I came in; her reaction to my news that Tom has been charged with murder was one of horror – although I’m not sure if it was entirely authentic or put on for my benefit. She’d already mentioned how she didn’t want Lower Tew to become ‘a circus’ and now, with the official charge, I imagine she fears that it’ll become just that. She’s probably right. She’s currently out back, brushing off the shelves in the kiln. I won’t disturb her – she’s obviously doing what she can to avoid me.

  I start aimlessly wiping down clean tables to pass the time.

  ‘Are you still planning to start the book club, then?’ I leap at the voice behind me – I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t heard Shirley sneak up.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, my hand flying to my chest. ‘Sorry, Mrs Irish, I didn’t realise you were there.’

  She furrows her brow and continues without waiting for me to answer. ‘Only, given the current circumstances, I imagine you’ve enough on your plate?’

  Heat rushes to my face. ‘Er … I haven’t given it much thought, to be truthful, Mrs Irish.’

  ‘I really wish you’d call me Shirley – there’s no need for such formality. I’m not a teacher.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, a snippet of annoyance taking the warmth from my cheeks. ‘Habit, I suppose, as we don’t know each other well. I only mean to be polite.’

  She gives a humph and opens her eyes wider. ‘So?’

  ‘It’s not due to begin for two weeks, Shirley, so I’ll wait and see. Don’t worry, I’ll update the posters if there’s any alteration,’ I say, heading back to the counter. Thankfully she doesn’t follow. I should expect some frostiness – maybe even straight-up rudeness – because of Tom’s charge. I s
wallow painfully as the thought hits me: what if I receive more than that? There could be animosity, even hate, levelled at me. My husband has been charged with murder. The weight of this reality is beginning to sink in. People might well target their disgust, their abhorrence, at me. The words I overheard at the nursery gates play over in my head.

  She must’ve known.

  I press both hands to my stomach as the griping pain worsens. Word hasn’t spread fast or wide enough yet, but it will. Even if I have some support right now, it may well disappear once this hits the national headlines, once tabloid press come looking for the story – the inside scoop. Nothing good ever comes from their soap-opera stories. The angle they’ll all take will focus on the monster who killed a young woman. Tom’s face will adorn papers and news programmes and there’ll be no getting away from it … and then they’ll turn their attention to me. How many of the people of Lower Tew will rush to give their opinions, their take on knowing the suspect? On knowing me. Will anyone take our side? Will anyone believe that Tom is innocent?

  Poppy must be protected from all of this. She is my responsibility. And if Tom is sent to prison, I’ll be the only one responsible for her. The thought horrifies me. I never imagined having to bring up our child alone. It wasn’t in the plan. Leaning on the counter, I hang my head. I remember Tom’s delight when I showed him the stick with the two blue lines. How he hugged me tightly, then panicked, pulling away, afraid he’d hurt the baby. I’d only been eight weeks pregnant then, but Tom’s need to look after our baby had been so strong right from the off, that I knew he was going to be a good dad. His idea to move out of London was born from his need to protect; his desire to ensure his child grew up in a safe area.

  His excitement in his flat the day we boxed up our old lives to start our life in our dream house was contagious, and we got lost in the giddy anticipation of family life – deciding which things to keep; which to bag up for charity; which to take to the tip. I’d found some of Tom’s university stuff as we packed.

  It was fate that we’d met. He’d gone to Leeds uni and studied Economics and Finance, while I’d studied English Literature at Southampton. It had seemed a lifetime ago, even then – that heady mix of experiencing independence and making an abundance of new friends. Learning almost took second place. I’d had a year out after graduation, gone to France to ski before securing my first recruitment job in London. I’d been there ever since. Meeting Tom that night in Bethnal Green, when I’d first felt that spark, was a moment of serendipity. I’d kept everything back then – receipts from Sager + Wilde as a keepsake of our first meeting, pressed roses he’d bought, silly gifts – even a plastic ring which he’d pretended was an engagement ring as a joke. Of course, I’d also had items from past relationships: a few photos, similar little keepsakes.

  Tom isn’t one to keep things. All that sentimentality annoys him – he didn’t even have photos of his parents and he still doesn’t carry around photos of me and Poppy. He made a fuss about the things I had kept from my life before him. So it was uncharacteristic of him to have kept any of his uni stuff. He had insisted I pack a worn-looking sweatshirt that was clearly two sizes too small, and I had questioned his need for it. I was throwing away all of my old things – partly at his request, partly because I was keen to start afresh. I wasn’t taking any ghosts with me.

  ‘Hello – is anyone serving?’ One of my regulars interrupts my memories. I drag my hands down my face.

  ‘Yep, sorry, Amy.’ I take her drink order, then go to the front door and turn the sign to closed. Once the remaining customers have left, so will I. I need to pick Poppy up and have ‘the chat’ with Zoey, the teacher in charge at nursery. But before that, I feel the need to see Adam. I’m surprised he hasn’t called me to hear the outcome; it makes me think he already knows, and now, despite his initial support, he’s backed off. He’s probably changed his mind – who would want to be associated with the wife of a suspected murderer? Perhaps he had expected Tom to be released without charge, and now that isn’t the case, he’s not willing to put himself in the line of fire. The inevitable fire that’ll come my way.

  Does he think I must’ve known too? Or that I at least should have?

  Knowing how he always puts Jess first, I’m betting he wants nothing else to do with me. But I need to know for sure.

  Chapter 35

  BETH

  Now

  I reach Adam’s house and stand awkwardly as I wait for him to answer the door. I feel as though I’m opening myself up at my most vulnerable – if he turns me away, I can’t say how I’ll react. The door opens and Adam takes a step back when he sees it’s me, but it’s not to let me in. It’s shock at seeing me standing here. He recovers – I see him inhale deeply, and I give a simultaneous smile and shrug. My eyes and nose tingle with the onset of tears. He jolts forwards, sticks his head outside, and gives a furtive look up and down the road. I follow his eyes as he checks whether anyone is around.

  Silently, he takes my elbow and pulls me inside, closing the door quickly.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I – I shouldn’t … have come,’ I say, my voice faltering. ‘I understand if you feel too uncomfortable, allowing the wife of a suspected murderer inside your home …’ I turn to leave, hurt by his reaction, but knowing it was inevitable.

  ‘No, no. You don’t have to go, Beth. I’m just concerned what people will think.’

  ‘Right. Course. But if you’re that worried, I should go. I don’t want to put you in an awkward position.’

  ‘I’m worried how it will look because I’m single and I’m letting a woman whose husband is in custody into my house. It might look, you know … dodgy.’

  I frown, not really following.

  ‘People might think we’re having an affair,’ he says, whispering the last word like someone might hear him. I laugh.

  ‘Really, Adam? Why on earth would people jump to that conclusion?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. I always feel like Camilla’s group of friends are particularly keen to keep tabs; whether that’s because they’re being protective of me, or of Camilla’s memory, I don’t know. And then there’s the fact that it’s a tiny village and people like to talk?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m beginning to understand that.’ We’re still standing in the compact hallway. Adam’s so close I can smell his aftershave – a spiced, woody scent. ‘Really, I can go. I realise I’ve put you on the spot turning up like this.’ I gaze down at the floor.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ His voice is calmer now, and his posture is relaxing.

  ‘If you’re sure, then yes please. I haven’t got anyone else—’ my voice catches, ‘—to turn to. I’m sorry.’

  Adam nods. ‘I’m glad you felt you could come here.’ He tentatively places his hand on my shoulder, then leads me down the hallway into his home.

  Chapter 36

  KATIE

  Eight years ago

  She twizzled the ring around on her finger, mesmerised by the light refracting off the diamond, and then she removed it, placing it back inside the red velvet box. She’d been overcome when Tom had flipped the lid open to reveal the shining, antique single diamond-set ring at the picnic. She had been torn between excitement and apprehension. But she’d been careful to only show Tom her excitement. He’d gone to a lot of trouble; she couldn’t very well refuse it. Instead, she’d covered her shocked reaction with a display of affection.

  ‘It’s the beginning of our future together, Katie. I’ve got money saved; we could get married this year,’ Tom had said, his words passionate, but also rushed, as though he’d consumed a dozen coffees. ‘It’s the best I could afford. That’s all I want for you: the best. Always.’

  Katie hugged her knees as she recalled his words. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he had the best surprise for her, but she never imagined he’d be proposing. She’d been contemplating her relationship with Tom lately – where it was going; if he was right for her. This sudden move on his part should feel a
mazing: it should fill her with joy, not trepidation. Were they in the right place to make such a huge decision about their future? His love for her was obvious, but she couldn’t be certain hers for him was enough.

  But she’d said yes.

  She could change her mind later. It wasn’t as if the date had been agreed. People break off engagements all the time. And she might come around to the idea yet. She should give it some time to sink in. Maybe get her friends’ opinions.

  While he was at work, Katie sent a group text to her friends. Keen to make up for letting them down on their usual plans, she hammered out a message that she hoped would help justify her choice to spend the bank holiday with Tom, not them.

  You’ll never guess the surprise Tom sprung on me … only a bloody engagement ring! Squeee! Sorry for not spending the time with you guys, but he’d had it all planned. K xx

  She tapped her mobile anxiously as she awaited some responses. Finally, several dings alerted her to messages.

  Oh, that’s really great, hun – so pleased for you. Had no idea you were that serious xx

  Sammie’s message made Katie squirm a bit, but it was Isaac’s she was more concerned about.

  Really? Wow, that is a shock. What did you say? Xx

  Isaac’s reply could be taken two ways. Katie thought it came across a bit sarcastic, but it was difficult to attain meaning from text – intention and tone could be misinterpreted.

  It was a surprise, most definitely. I didn’t see it coming. I said yes. Xx

  After a few more questions and a promise to get together for a proper chat they signed off, telling Katie to let them know when she and Tom were both free so they could begin organising an engagement party.

  On the whole, they’d appeared happy for her, which she was relieved about. She wondered if they’d question her decision; talk about it behind her back. Discuss whether they thought she was rushing into it. No doubt it wouldn’t be long before they called her individually to gain a fuller picture. It’s what she’d do if one of them announced a sudden engagement.