The Missing Wife

by Sam Carrington

  Once they got back on the path, they took off their mud-caked shoes, placing them in the bin liner, and put on the fresh ones. Tiff’s. A strange sensation passed through her as she walked in her dead friend’s shoes. They left the church via the small, rear, stile-like stone that led to the steps on the other side, rather than pass the illuminated side of the church again. The road was dark, with the moonlight only revealing a small area in front of them. They backed against the high wall as they moved cautiously away from the church.

  At the end of the lane, which opened up to the road leading to Tiff’s house, they went in separate directions. Louisa walked towards home. Melissa, carrying everything they’d used, walked back to the top entrance of the church where the car was parked. She was going to drive the car along the back lanes to Torquay to avoid any CCTV cameras. Not that there were many, but it was better safe than sorry. At some point, she was going to set fire to the car, and its contents: the bin liner, the shovel and spade – and that’s as far as Louisa knew about the next step of the plan.

  They didn’t speak when they left each other. There were no words that could convey the desperate act they’d both played a part in. Louisa didn’t know what Melissa would do now. Go home to Yorkshire? Stay and make a home here? She wondered how she was going to explain her disappearance. There were so many questions remaining, but Louisa didn’t have the strength to contemplate any of them right now.

  Letting herself in the back door, she crept inside and sat at the kitchen table to gather her thoughts before sneaking upstairs. She hoped Noah had stayed asleep, that no one had heard her come home. If they did, she had the excuse of staying out late with one of Tiff’s friends, reminiscing and trying to come to terms with her death.

  Not that she could even imagine being able to come to terms with the events of the past month.

  Or with what had been in box three, when she’d unlocked that padlock in her mind.

  The thunking sound of a head hitting granite.

  Blood-covered tiles.

  Desperate for a shower, but aware that would wake everyone, Louisa undressed downstairs and bundled Tiff’s clothes into the washing machine. She quickly pulled a nightie over her head and made her way up the stairs. A gentle snoring greeted her as she reached the top stair. She sneaked inside her room, gently pulling open the drawer beneath the bed. She listened for movement from Brian, but he was dead to the world. One less worry. Louisa took out the mobile phone that lay next to the photos of her at college. The light glowed as she pressed the button to bring up the texts. The battery icon flashed – it was going to run out soon. That was good. But she had to delete the message dated the day of Tiff’s death first.

  You’d better have a fucking good explanation. I know you’ve lied to me – you and Brian disgust me. You’re meant to be my best friend, but I’d be better off without you. I’m coming over now. Be there. Be ready for the repercussions.

  She pressed delete, but before replacing the phone in the drawer alongside the packet of photos – her lost memories – she used the glow from the screen to illuminate the top photo. Oliver and her. She flipped it over and read what she’d written.

  Don’t trust Oliver.

  She’d been right to be wary.

  A shiver ran the length of her back when she saw the words she’d scrawled beneath that. Ones she didn’t remember writing:

  Don’t trust yourself.

  She quickly replaced the packet and slid the drawer closed, and then crept back out of the bedroom. Emily’s door was shut, no light showing beneath it as she passed. She tiptoed into Noah’s nursery and took a seat in the chair. Noah’s soft puffs of breath relaxed her.

  She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she?

  As she thought about Tiff’s upcoming funeral, her eyelids fluttered closed.

  I’m under water – box three ahead of me now.

  I swim to it, and after several heaves, more than it’s taken to open the first two, the lid opens …

  This box contains the newest lost memories, those I’ve only just secured in a separate compartment, there to be buried along with the others that might harm me:

  I’m walking up the side of Tiff’s house. There’s a fogginess in my head, one that is getting denser as I think about her with Brian. They’ve been talking about me since Noah’s birth. That’s bad enough.

  But it’s what happened before that, that bothers me.

  How could she do it to me?

  She lied to my face.

  It’s not all she’s lied about.

  There she is, standing in her immaculate kitchen, her back to me.

  She knows I’m coming, but she hasn’t heard me – her attention is elsewhere.

  Looking down. At something in her hands.

  She drops it as she turns abruptly, both hands flying to her chest in shock as she realises I’m there.

  She looks guilty – as though she’s been caught out.

  But it’s her who accuses me. ‘I’m glad you’re here. I know what you did,’ she says, her voice quiet.

  ‘And I know what you did,’ I say, anger attaching itself to my words like venom.

  ‘We should chat over coffee.’ She takes a bottle of water and unscrews the cap as she has a hundred times before. Only this time is different – and suddenly a dark veil descends over my eyes.

  I hear shouting. Words echoing around the room.

  An argument.

  She’s enraged. But not about what I did, back then – it’s about now. About Brian.

  ‘I know you’re upset, but you’re wrong about me!’ She bangs the water down on the granite surface. It tips, water pouring out and onto the worktop, the floor. She rights the bottle although there’s very little left inside now. ‘I have done nothing but protect you, Louisa. More than once, actually.’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ I scream.

  She lurches to the side of the island unit – to calm me down? To grab me?

  I step back, and she slips as she moves towards me.

  The deep thud sends a chill through my body. My stomach knots.

  Blood.

  Her eyes are wide and blood – viscous, dark – seeps into them, turning the whites red.

  Her hands grasp for the worktop, knocking the bottle. Her body falls: limp, boneless, like a rag doll.

  Bang.

  She disappears from view.

  I back further away, and then out of the patio door.

  I force the lid of box three closed and swim back to the safety of the surface.

  When I wake, it’ll be gone.

  53

  THE FUNERAL

  ‘Hey. I didn’t hear you come home last night. What time did you get in?’ Brian wandered into the kitchen, a shirt over one arm, the other holding up a hanger with his ancient suit on.

  ‘Oh, I’m not even sure. Lost track of time and ended up going back to Amber’s house.’ Louisa got up from the bar stool and filled the kettle.

  ‘Amber? Who’s she?’

  ‘A friend of Tiff’s.’ Louisa found the lie came easily, but then her back was turned. Lying straight to his face would’ve been harder. ‘Don’t you have a different suit you could wear? I swear you wore that to our wedding,’ she said, turning back to face him now she’d changed the subject.

  ‘Ha-ha. I wanted to get a new one, but I didn’t get around to it. This is serviceable, just needs a press.’

  ‘Leave it on the side, I’ll get to it in a minute.’

  ‘Okay, thanks. Your mum said she’d have Noah today, by the way, so we could concentrate on the funeral.’

  ‘Really? She doesn’t even know what to do with a baby, Brian. I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘I think you need to go and see her, and your dad. They were great with him yesterday – not as incompetent as you like to think.’

  ‘I don’t like to think that. I’m only going on what I’ve seen, the actual evidence.’ Her hackles were up, an immediate response when Brian tried to take
her parents’ side over hers.

  ‘Give her a chance, Lou. Life’s too short.’

  He was right – on every count. And as it was, she was glad that she didn’t have to cope with Noah at the church. The entire service was already going to be one of the most difficult things she’d have to go through, and having a crying baby would only compound that.

  ‘Sure. What time are you taking him over there?’

  Louisa noted the subtle raise in Brian’s eyebrows. ‘We. We are taking him over at twelve.’ He smiled.

  ‘Okay. Conceded. We’ll take him. But I’m not going in – I’ll pass him over at the door. One step at a time.’ Louisa handed Brian a mug of tea.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said absently. ‘Good. That’s settled then. Are you doing all right?’ He looked over the top of his mug as he took a sip of tea, his eyes doleful.

  The question threw her off balance for a second. No. She was nowhere close to being all right. But she knew she had to get through this day. Once it was over, she could make a start on rebuilding her life.

  ‘If I’m honest, I just want today to be over with. We can all call it a celebration of her life and laugh and reminisce about our memories with her, but the reality is, it’s going to be a hideous day where all I’m thinking is what a waste of a life, and what I should’ve done – how I could’ve saved her. I don’t see any reason to celebrate.’

  ‘I know. I’m with you. It’s easier when the person is old and had a good, long life. But when they die too young, when they had so much more to give, well, that’s a travesty. But you know, she really would want you to celebrate her life, not feel guilty and mourn her.’

  ‘There’s so much more to this, though, isn’t there – it’s not a simple process to work through. Grief, guilt, love, hate, regret – all tied up in a fuck-off-big messy, tight knot. It’s going to take a lot of time and effort to undo it.

  ‘Wow, Lou. Deep,’ Brian said.

  Louisa sighed loudly and shook her head. ‘Fine. You take the piss. I’m going for a shower.’ She slunk off, away from Brian and his sarcasm. He didn’t have a clue about what she’d been through, what she’d done. And despite his mocking, she hoped to God it would stay that way.

  Tiff’s mum and dad had done a brilliant job with the order of service; the music, hymns and readings they’d chosen were just right. They screamed ‘Tiff’. Even though she hadn’t been particularly religious, Louisa knew she’d loved feeling part of the church’s activities and had always joined in with the children from the school when they did Harvest festival, Easter and Christmas services. She would’ve been proud to see the turnout. Louisa turned around to take in the congregation – almost the entire village’s population seemed to be packed inside the church.

  ‘Here you go,’ someone said, pressing a packet of tissues into Louisa’s palm.

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ She was confused at first, but then realised tears were already cascading down her cheeks. As soon as ‘Amazing Grace’ started playing on the organ, Louisa felt something give. From her position in the pew nearest the east-facing window, she caught a glimpse of the coffin being carried slowly up the path towards the church door. Her chest tightened, her heart feeling as though it too had ceased beating. A wave of anxiety consumed her.

  In that moment, Tiff’s death became real. In that moment, Louisa was immobilised by grief, pain and regret. She lowered her eyes as the coffin was brought in by the pallbearers; she wasn’t able to face it now it was in close proximity to her. The sound of her galloping pulse whooshed noisily in her ears, drowning out the music.

  Hurry up and be over.

  She held her hands together so tightly they turned white. She focused on them, not on her feelings, not on Tiff’s coffin, and not on Tiff’s mum and dad who were walking behind their only daughter. All she had to do was concentrate for another hour and it would be done. Shirley had asked Louisa to read the eulogy but she’d broken down at the mere thought. Realising it would be too much pressure to put on Tiff’s best friend, Shirley had asked if Louisa might write some things about Tiff instead, and ask her other friends to do the same, and she’d give that to the vicar to read.

  Louisa had been thankful to be let off the hook. Before the events of the past few weeks, she might’ve had the courage to stand up in front of Tiff’s family and friends and tell everyone how amazing Tiff was – had been. Now, it seemed disingenuous, inappropriate.

  Brian’s arm on hers alerted her to the fact everyone had now taken their seats. Louisa sat down and with the service sheet on her lap, read it through, word for word, front to back. When she finished, she started it again. That was how she was going to get through this service.

  The church air had been cool – it was always that way. But stepping outside now, the change in temperature and atmosphere began to rejuvenate Louisa. She’d become drowsy during the hymns and readings, the constant rereading of the order of service causing her to wilt. She was vaguely aware of being guided, by Brian, around the side of the church. And suddenly, like a smack in the face, Louisa was completely alert.

  They were heading to the graveside.

  Her feet retraced the steps she’d taken twelve hours earlier. In her mind, she watched herself and Melissa dragging the body along the path, across the grass. Her pulse quickened; sweat pricked under her armpits. Brian reached down to take her hand. She snatched it away.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  She nodded, not daring to attempt speech. She couldn’t let Brian hold her hand – he’d feel the blisters and ask how she’d got them. Instead, she balled each hand into a fist, her nails almost piercing the bubbles of fluid-filled pockets of skin. She winced, but wanted the pain. She deserved it.

  Finally, after some shuffling of bodies into spaces around the headstones, they came to a standstill. After casting her eyes briefly around the grave and surrounding area, Louisa hung her head; she couldn’t make eye contact with anyone for fear they would see behind them, read what was in them – they’d guess what had happened here the night before. She fiddled with her fingers, and as she looked at them, her world turned into darkness as her inner voice spoke, telling her what she was trying not to hear:

  I can still feel the mud embedded deep under my fingernails, taste the dirt on my lips. Can still see the eyes: shining like glass, open and staring, deep in their sockets. Dead.

  In my mind I watch the earth piling onto the body, slowly blotting out what’s been done. Finally covering those eyes, so they can’t judge anymore.

  I’m confident no trace of it can lead back to me.

  Part of me feels regret; a sadness that it came to such a drastic act.

  For the moment, my conscience is telling me I’m guilty.

  But I know that can be buried too.

  Louisa swallowed the guilt and blinked the visions of the previous night away. Now, her head raised, she watched as Tiff’s light-oak coffin was lowered into the ground.

  Lowered on top of Oliver’s body.

  With her breath held, she waited until the bearers released the supporting straps before she exhaled the held air from her burning lungs. She’d half expected someone to yell ‘stop’ as they noticed an irregularity in the ground – fingers sticking up from a loose bit of earth. But there was resounding silence.

  How would Tiff have reacted if she knew what they’d done? Buried a murderer beneath her. Louisa’s body shook violently. An arm came across from her right, then enveloped her tightly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lou. This must be so terrible for you.’ Brian gave her a weak smile.

  He’d never know just how terrible.

  THE EPILOGUE

  The Mid-Devon Advertiser article

  dated 21 June 2019

  Archaeological dig uncovers body: and as one mystery is solved, another begins.

  A body found during a local archaeological dig has been identified today as that of a missing woman from 1995. Farmland close to the village of Little Penchurch, the site recently discovered
to be an old Roman settlement, has not only uncovered ancient artefacts but also a tragic twenty-four-year-old mystery. Excavation of the land began in early June and two days into the dig, human bones were unearthed. Exeter Archaeology Group immediately suspended the dig as they suspected the bones to be human, and from recent years.

  The remains have been identified as the body of a local woman, Helen Herbert, who was first reported missing by her parents in February 1995 when she supposedly ran away following family disagreements. Despite extensive police investigations at the time, no evidence was found to suggest harm had come to Helen, and with no leads, the search dwindled. Her family were said to have tried, and failed, to find Helen themselves, finally giving up hope after fifteen years and coming to the devastating conclusion Helen had committed suicide despite a body having never being found.

  Until now.

  Helen’s sister, Mrs Melissa Dunmore, who herself had been reported missing in March of this year and had returned of her own accord in early April, was said to have been glad to finally gain closure for her and her family.

  Helen’s funeral took place last week with a private service for family only. Melissa’s husband was not in attendance. Mr Oliver Dunmore, who’d initially been a suspect in Melissa’s disappearance, has not been seen for over eight weeks. Police say that a letter, addressed to his missing wife, was found at their rented flat. In the letter, Mr Dunmore apologised for his behaviour, which he felt was the reason his wife had ‘run off’ in March without telling him her whereabouts.

  Friends of Mr Dunmore confirmed he’d been experiencing suicidal thoughts since his wife had left. Police investigations have yet to find him, and it’s their belief Mr Dunmore has taken himself somewhere remote and may have taken his own life.

  The archaeological dig will resume shortly.

  Keep reading for an exclusive extract of Sam Carrington’s next chilling thriller … I Dare You