Our Little Secret: The most gripping debut psychological thriller you’ll read this year

by Darren O’Sullivan

  ‘Fuck.’

  Chris knew when Julia didn’t call back, Steve would go digging. It was only a matter of time before he would find out she was not on sabbatical like he had said and then Chris would be questioned as to why he lied.

  Putting it in the cupboard under the stairs he buried it under some shoes and the hoover. It wasn’t as discreet as in the shed, but it would have to do. There were only just over three days left. Three difficult days. He knew Steve suspected something. He’d watched him crawl past his house, him and his wife looking in. He also knew Steve wouldn’t understand if he tried to explain. He wouldn’t see it from his perspective.

  Tiptoeing back into his bedroom Chris wondered how he should respond. He was tempted to ignore it, but that would arouse suspicion. Instead he composed a short message that would hopefully throw Steve off of the scent.

  ‘Steve, nice to hear from you. Sorry I’ve not been in touch. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I need you to understand I need more time. Please don’t contact me again.’

  ***

  As he climbed into bed Sarah stirred but didn’t wake. Or so he thought. He didn’t know she had been awake since he cried out in his sleep moments before he got up. He didn’t know she faked her mumble and controlled her breathing until he left. He didn’t know she watched him carry a heavy box from the shed into the house and she was planning how she was going to find it.

  Chapter 35

  Julia’s diary – January 2015

  Mum’s been gone now for over a year and it still doesn’t feel any easier. I’ve been a wife for a similar amount of time, and, if I’m truly honest with how I’m feeling, it’s just as hard. They don’t tell you that once you’re married things change. It’s almost like putting on the ring and the dress means that you don’t have to try any more.

  I’m not talking about Chris here. I wish I was; it would make this easier to write. He still works on us. He gives surprise gifts and wants to talk all night about silly little things. He is still calm and reassuring about my mum’s house, despite me knowing that he wants me to sell it. He’ll never say, but I can see it in his eyes whenever he is about to leave to do the monthly visit to my mum’s house, trips I cannot do with him. He makes sure the old place hasn’t fallen down.

  He’s waiting, hoping I’ll tell him I’m ready. Don’t get me wrong, since we’ve been married I’ve seen his flaws. He takes up the whole bed and can’t sing (despite always doing it), he is a terrible drinker, and sometimes when he does I can see a rage behind his eyes. It’s never directed at me. But it’s there.

  Once or twice I’ve had to calm him from hitting someone after a few on a night out. Him usually wanting to because some guy has tried it on with me. It’s great that he’s protective, and sober he handles it well, but drunk, not so much. I’m not unrealistic. I know we all have flaws. I most certainly do. Chris isn’t the issue in our marriage. I am.

  Because I’m bored.

  I question why. It’s only been a year and I thought people didn’t get these feelings until the itch in the seventh. The problem is, our relationship started at a time of turmoil. It was a marriage born out of a waiting grief. I wonder if I would be married at all if Mum hadn’t died and I think Chris asked me so she would know. And it’s wonderful that he did. It says more about him than anything I could ever say.

  But, I feel it may have been the wrong thing to do, for me at least. There was still a part of me that needed to explore the world, meet new people, and do things a married woman doesn’t do. The problem is that I was so caught up in seeing my mum happy, keeping the man I’m married happy too, that I didn’t stop to try ensure that the happiness I felt doing so was enough.

  I don’t regret falling for Chris; I really don’t. But married life is one without adventure, or risk. It’s about trying to manage two houses with all of their bills whilst juggling work commitments (although still being part-time his are far more committing than mine), and spending quality time together. It’s about being normal. It’s normal to be married. It’s now normal to be a woman whose mum has died. And normal isn’t what I want. The ring on my finger has kept me safe and I wanted that. I still do, I think. But surely life is about a risk or two along the way?

  And I don’t want to end up like my mother: alone, sad. A life full of moments past and life missed. She stayed at home to raise a small family as Dad worked, and then he left and her want for adventure left with him.

  I love that I’m Mrs Hayes and I know my husband is a good man, a man who loves me and wants to protect me. I know I am lucky. I just needed to get it out of my head. Then I can accept that life isn’t a fairy tale like I read as a child. I can be happier that my adoring husband is breaking himself at work to make sure we have enough. But, even now, despite me saying all of this, I still need some excitement in my life that is beyond what being a wife is. I need an adventure. I need to be a little more like my dad and a little less like my mum.

  And it frightens me to know it …

  Chapter 36

  2 days left

  5.42 a.m. – London Road, Peterborough

  It was nearly six when he began to stir, stretching, yawning. His back to me. I knew he had only been asleep for a handful of hours because I hadn’t slept at all. I spent the night wondering about him. Wondering what was inside that box he carried in from the shed. Wanting to know its contents.

  I don’t know if it was my sleep-deprived mind but things weren’t adding up. I couldn’t work out why a man who wanted to kill himself only weeks ago now seemed happy with me being beside him. I started to question if I was a rebound fling.

  The night before felt a little like rebound sex. It was completely different to the first time. It was a little rough. At times a little too rough. My hands ached from where he’d squeezed them. I could feel bruises under the skin on my arms where he had pinned me down. Although I was so caught up in the moment it didn’t matter. But it was hard, like sex you had after an argument that hasn’t been fully settled.

  I guessed it was anger, not at me, but directed at his estranged wife. I felt used. But still, the walk before along the river – surely that meant something too? Natalie would know; she always did. I knew I would need to talk to her but after lying about seeing John it was becoming increasingly difficult to try and tell her the truth and I didn’t know how to start such a conversation.

  What I did know after a night of pondering was that I wouldn’t be able to do a thing to help him if I didn’t learn more about the burden he carried. He rolled onto his side to face me, wafting his smell in the duvet as he did. He smiled. I wasn’t expecting it. I was expecting that same difficult to read expression that turned me on and made me feel repulsed in equal measure. There was no confusing it that time. He was happy. He was happy that I was in his bed. Just as I started to smile back it was gone and he was getting up, speaking as he moved towards the door.

  ‘I’ll put some coffee on.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I lay there for a minute not knowing if I should get up, quickly get dressed and join him, or wait for him to return with the coffee. I could hear him downstairs, opening and closing cupboards. Flicking on the kettle. Waiting for it to boil. I wondered what he was thinking.

  Knowing I was on my own in his room I couldn’t fight my urge to snoop and see if I could find anything out about him. I knew what I really wanted was somewhere downstairs, but I decided to look up here anyway. Starting with his bedside cabinet. There was nothing of any interest. The top drawer only contained a book and a blue jumper. The bottom had two loose keys in a small jewellery box. A car key and what looked like a front door key. I put them back quietly.

  Treading as carefully as I could I walked to and opened his wardrobe. There were seven shirts, all white, and several pairs of dark trousers. It screamed office job, although I couldn’t picture him doing a nine to five. There was also something green tucked in the corner, the colour catching my eye, intentionally hidden.

>   I slid his shirts to the left and pulled it out. It was a jade-green dress. Smelling of dust and time. I didn’t know what it meant. But it was clearly something very important to him. I pictured the blond woman from the photograph downstairs wearing it. Knowing she would have looked beautiful. It made me feel a pang of jealousy.

  After putting it back I got on my knees and looked on the floor of the wardrobe. I found some shoeboxes stacked two high. Six in total. I opened the first one. It was full of photos. Pausing to listen I made sure I could still hear him downstairs. I had a few more minutes. I picked up a handful of the photos. Each one containing him and the blond woman. In one they were arm in arm, beaming with smiles in front of an old church somewhere. No doubt a picture of their wedding venue.

  I hastily put the pictures back in the box and quickly looked in the others. They all contained old shoes and phone chargers. Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs I leant forward and pressed my hands on the floor to stand, but something caught my eye under his bed. A card. I reached under to grab it but it was just out of reach so I knelt up and snatched my handbag. I rummaged inside and took out a biro, scattering lipstick and change onto the floor. I cursed myself for panicking so much. Using the pen I managed to hook the card, pulling it into my hand just before he walked into the room. He looked at me puzzled.

  ‘I dropped my purse,’ I said, almost too quickly.

  ‘You need a hand?’

  ‘No, I’m almost done. Clumsy me …’ I laughed, hoping it would hide my panic. It seemed to work as he relaxed and smiled back.

  I picked up my things and put them in my bag, along with the card that was pressed into my palm, before joining him back in bed for coffee. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, thanking me for a wonderful night. It made me feel terrible for looking through his things but also elated that I was beginning to mean something to him.

  We stayed in bed for another hour before I had to get ready to leave. I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay in his bed for ever but I had to get to work. As I left he kissed me on the lips. Saying he couldn’t wait to see me again. I felt like I could have died in that moment.

  ***

  So consumed with playing the part Chris almost believed himself with his parting words to her. He watched her walk down his path, turn, smile, wave, and get into her car. Once her car could no longer be seen he felt the tension he didn’t know he was holding in his shoulders. He knew he had to deal with Steve and his message to Julia, but he needed to hear her first.

  Climbing over loose shoes in the cupboard under the stairs Chris opened the tool box and pulled out her diary. He scanned it and stopped at random: March 2015. Two months before she was murdered.

  ‘I don’t know how it happened but it has now, and I can’t undo it. There is no delicate way to write this so I’ll just say it as it is. I’m leaving …’

  He knew what was coming next and closed the diary carefully. He’d only read this entry once, and he vowed he’d never do it again. However, he knew he needed to. Part punishment, part catharsis. But not then. He needed to read it in a place where it would have the greatest impact, test his resolve. Show his commitment. He would wait for the cover of darkness, drive to March train station, and read his wife’s words after the 10.47 passed.

  Chapter 37

  6.42 p.m. – Kings Road, Cambridge

  After a long and shitty day at work all I wanted was to crawl into my bed and think of him. I didn’t even have enough energy to eat. So when I pulled up outside and could see Nat looking through the window at me I braced myself. She knew something; I could see it in her face. I just didn’t know how much she knew. When I opened the front door both her and George stood. Her hands were on her hips ready for an argument. His arms were crossed, disapproving. I thought Natalie would lead so was shocked when George spoke, his voice deep and wounded.

  ‘Sarah, where were you last night?’

  ‘I told you, with John.’

  ‘John, as in your ex John?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I cannot believe this.’ Natalie walked away. It was clear she knew I was lying. I tried to say something but she was gone, the door behind her that led to the kitchen closed. I couldn’t help but hang my head in shame. George spoke, making me jump, his tone softer, but no less annoyed.

  ‘So then why did he call today asking to speak to you?’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Yes. Sarah, what is going on?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Does that matter? What matters is he called your sister, saying he’s been trying to get hold of you and wanted to make sure you were okay. He said you’d not spoken in weeks. It was a good job you weren’t home.’

  ‘Was she angry?’

  ‘Was she … Sarah, you need to tell us what has been going on.’

  ‘Shit. Look, I’ll tell you everything, I will. But can it wait? I’ve had a rough day.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Sarah. Do you know how much you’ve hurt Nat by lying?’

  ‘I could guess.’

  ‘Yeah, well, even guessing you’re miles off.’ He paused for a moment. I could see him thinking of the most diplomatic way to handle the situation. ‘You look like shit.’

  ‘I’ve not slept much.’

  ‘She’ll want answers.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Go get in the shower or something and freshen up. I’ll do our dinner and then make you a coffee. It’s time for no more bullshit.’

  ‘What about Nat?’

  ‘Just go; I’ll calm her down.’

  ‘Thanks, George.’

  I wanted him to give me a hug in that big brother way he sometimes did, reassuring me everything would be all right. But instead he nodded and headed for the kitchen, no doubt to hug Nat. It was so selfish of me to expect anything else. I thought about how much they did for me and how I’d been lying, so I went upstairs and did exactly what was asked of me. Knowing it was time to come clean.

  Half an hour later there was a hot cup of coffee waiting on the kitchen table. Natalie couldn’t look at me as I sat down and George just looked at me in a way that told me not to fuck it up. Seeing my sister so hurt by my actions was a kick to the stomach. I had been so caught up in my feelings and what I wanted I had neglected hers.

  So I told them everything. How I lied to return the stone and ended up in his bed. How I messaged his friend to find him again and how I had spent the night once more. They both said that it was stupid and dangerous as he was suicidal, but I told them I had gotten through. He was just a damaged man, like I was a damaged woman.

  When they asked me about John I told them I didn’t care. I could see George liked that but Nat told me I was replacing one fuck-up with another. It wasn’t like that. Chris was sore, wounded, but not a fuck-up. I didn’t tell them I saw a future with him but they could see it. They could also see I wasn’t going to stop seeing him because they were concerned.

  Nat was too angry to see it from my perspective, and I didn’t blame her. I was angry with me too. But George had calmed and made me promise, no more lies. If I was going to see him I had to say, so they both knew where I was.

  I then had to write his address on the calendar. I felt it was a little unnecessary but I was in the wrong so did as I was asked without question. George then got up and left, leaving me with my sister. It was clearly something Nat had asked him to do before our talk had begun. The room shifted from one of open discussion to something sadder. She still couldn’t look at me so I sat patiently waiting. Eventually she looked up, her eyes red and puffy.

  ‘I need you to grow up and start taking care of yourself.’

  Before I could respond she left. It broke my heart to upset her as much as I did. But I knew what I was doing, and I knew one day she would understand I wasn’t as stupid as she thought.

  Chapter 38

  10.45 p.m. – March train station

  Chris felt ill knowing that he wa
s stood once again on the platform where he should have ended his life weeks before. He had no note to place under the bench this time but he held his wife’s diary, knowing he would read the entry he’d started earlier that day, after the train passed.

  Chris came at this time knowing his train would come. He did it to cement his resolve and commitment to his wife after his failings and affair. He knew that when it passed it would hurt, and that mattered. He hoped she was watching, seeing him suffer, knowing his regret.

  It had been twenty-seven days since he failed. It felt like twenty-seven years.

  It was as quiet as it should have been that night in May, besides the sound of raindrops hitting the old tin roof. As the pre-recorded voice-over announced that a train was coming he noted the irony of the fact that right then he could do what he set out to do but at the same time he couldn’t. As expected the realization that with one small step it would all be over for him was a step he couldn’t take.

  As the train rushed past, not stopping on its way to wherever it was going, Chris looked up and hoped Julia was watching him and could see what he was doing for her, and he hoped she would forgive his weakness.

  Once the noise had passed and the tail lights were disappearing into the distance he calmed slightly, allowing himself to feel how he truly felt. Beaten, beaten by time, beaten by his weakness with the opposite of sex, beaten by the grief of his wife’s death. He wanted nothing more than to give in to the fight, to throw in the towel. He knew that coming back early would test his resolve, but he could do it. He was sure of that. Part of him, a quiet part, suddenly thought about a different future, one that contradicted his plan.

  He couldn’t believe he’d thought it.

  He wanted to say something to her, something new, but there was nothing new to say, not until she could respond in a way that wasn’t through memory. So, instead he quietly sat, noticing how much he shook in doing so. Opening the diary he began to read.