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

by Darren O’Sullivan

  ‘May 2015

  ‘I don’t know how it happened but it has now, and I cannot undo it. There is no delicate way to write this so I’ll just say it as it is. I’m leaving nothing unsaid in these pages.

  ‘I’ve gotten close to James from work. I have been since before Mum died and last night I lied to Chris, telling him I had to work late, so I could see James. Now, despite everything I believe in, everything I have been taught, I’m a woman having an affair …’

  He rubbed the ball of his free hand against his eyebrow, despite it not being the first time he had read it, her words hitting him hard. She hadn’t disguised it, or tried to soften it. Just laid it out, bare and painful. He wanted to throw the book on the track, wait until the next train passed and watch it be obliterated, her deeds and words dying for good. But he took a deep breath. He wasn’t being rational. He knew he had to carry on.

  ‘… I never intended for it to happen. It just did and I’m not sure how much longer I can live with the lies I have to tell to my husband. I feel so ashamed. Despite his flaws he is a good man, a loyal man who doesn’t deserve this. But I cannot help how I feel.

  ‘It’s different with James. It’s like how Chris and I were like in the beginning but amplified. He’s kind-hearted and patient and I know I shouldn’t make excuses as I’m completely in the wrong but with Chris the urgency is gone. He works so hard for us, but I’m bored …’

  Looking up at the smoke-stained bridge that crossed over the track Chris took a deep breath. He knew what was coming next. He knew how much it was going to hurt.

  ‘… I love my husband. I truly do and despite the fact that I know I will one day end what James and I have, our marriage will also come to an end. I need to tell him. He deserves the truth, but I am worried about what will happen when he finds out. I’m worried it will break his heart …’

  Dropping the diary on the floor as if it was burning his hands, Chris stood and stepped away from the bench towards the platform’s edge.

  The rain became deafeningly loud and Chris needed to feel it on his skin, so he walked the length of the platform until he was no longer stood under its shelter. His white shirt became translucent in the deluge. His hair stuck to his face and rainwater ran through his matted beard, dripping onto his shoes.

  In the distance he could hear the rumblings of a thunderstorm. He hoped it would come overhead. Taking a deep breath he smelt the world becoming wet, the smell of dry soil turning to mud. The same smell from that night nearly a year before when he and Julia sat under that tree on the A605.

  Chris snapped himself out of his memory, unable to let himself remember what came next. He wasn’t strong enough. Looking up he was surprised to see the London train was sat on the platform. It was either early or he had lost track of time. Glancing to the station clock he realized thirty minutes had gone missing. On the nearest carriage to where he was stood, sat an old man on his own. Chris blinked rainwater from his eyes and as he focused he saw the old man was looking at him.

  He watched Chris quizzically, probably wondering why he wasn’t stood under the shelter, wondering what was running through the young man’s mind. Chris wanted to look away but couldn’t. There was something in the stranger that mirrored him. The man nodded at Chris but he couldn’t nod back.

  As the train pulled out neither blinked until they could no longer see one another. A sadness dripped down him with the rain. A loneliness coming over him. Sitting on the bench he picked up the diary and wiped damp leaves off. Taking his phone out he scrolled down to the train girl’s number. He hoped she wouldn’t be asleep.

  For the first time in just under a year he didn’t want to be alone. He needed a distraction more than ever. He needed to forget about time, and the train girl somehow managed to do that for him.

  Chapter 39

  11.57 p.m. – London Road, Peterborough

  Steve rubbed his eyes, fighting off sleep that his body screamed for. Refocusing, he – for what felt like the thousandth time that night – looked to Chris’s house for any sign of movement. Still nothing. He wondered if he was ever coming back. He hadn’t intended it to be a stake-out.

  What he wanted was for Chris to answer the door when he knocked and for the pair of them to talk. He wanted Chris to know he knew he’d been lying about work and hoped he would offer an explanation. He wanted to talk about Julia, about what really happened between them and why she’d left. He wanted to raise the point that he had tried to reach Julia and couldn’t. He wanted to say he had rung her work and they told him she was gone. That she’d handed in a typed and unsigned letter of resignation, posted eleven months before, and that everyone knew why she had resigned. The affair was public knowledge in the office, but no one had heard from her since.

  That was the first time he had heard of Julia’s affair. Yet another lie. Her affair was awful, and a shock, but what was more troubling was Chris saying for nearly a year Julia was on a sabbatical to see her father when she had just quit.

  He couldn’t work out why Chris would lie like that. Yet more unanswered questions. He wanted to ask them eye to eye with Chris to gauge his response. See what his friend’s body language told him. But then when Chris didn’t answer and appeared not to be in, Steve had decided to wait, to watch, and see what happened next.

  Whilst waiting he tried to call Julia again and again it went to voicemail. This time he didn’t leave a message. Instead he logged onto his Facebook and typed her name in the search box. It wasn’t the first time he had done so. In the months after Julia left he checked her page periodically to see how she was and if there was anything that might indicate when she was coming home. Each time there were no updates to her page.

  Her profile picture remained one of her and Chris. She hadn’t posted anything new on her wall. Her last being a comment reading: ‘I love my work friends. Thanks for a great night.’ He had read it before, several times, but this was the first time he checked the date. It read the 27th of May 2015.

  It seemed innocent if you didn’t know. Julia had never been massively into Facebook, and people gave it up all the time. But in his gut he knew something was wrong. She had stopped posting days before she left to go see a father who had been absent for so many years. Or so Chris told him, and there seemed to be no trace of her since. It seemed as if Julia had completely disappeared off the face of the earth.

  It was believable to some extent: she may have had a breakdown and that was her reasoning for leaving, but all the information about her doing so had come from Chris, who Steve now knew had lied about what he was doing with his days. He didn’t want to, but Steve couldn’t help wonder, if Chris could mislead so easily about one thing, what else was he lying about?

  Steve’s eyes were beginning to sting and he was about to throw in the towel when a Toyota Aygo pulled up outside his house. He didn’t know the car but he could see two people inside. Chris was the first to get out, soaking wet and shivering. He walked towards the front door and as he opened it he removed a book from under his shirt and put it somewhere behind the door before gesturing for the other person to join him. As the other person got out he recognized her from her profile pic. It was Sarah.

  Watching them both disappear into the dark house, Steve knew he had to say something. But he didn’t want Chris knowing, not until he understood a little more. Going into his messages on his Facebook page he brought up the conversation he had with Sarah and typed.

  ‘Don’t tell Chris I’ve messaged you. Not all is as it seems. Chris isn’t the man you think he is. He is hiding something about his wife. Be careful.’

  Chapter 40

  1 day

  2.18 a.m. – London Road, Peterborough

  I was just beginning to fall asleep, the deep, dreamless, content kind after sex. Not the rough kind like last time but like our first time, when I felt a movement beside me. At first I thought he was turning over, but then I heard the soft thud of his feet hitting the wooden floor. He was leaving again. On one of hi
s nightly walks to the shed. I heard him go downstairs, thirteen in total, before the world fell silent again. I got up and snuck to the window, waiting to see him outside. I then remembered his box wasn’t in the shed any more. My attention turned from the window to his door.

  Quietly I moved to the doorway and looked downstairs through the railings in his banister. There was light coming from the kitchen. Not a lot, but enough. I could hear pages being turned. He was reading, no doubt it was the book I saw in his arms when I picked him up from the station.

  I wanted to confront him, tell him I had watched him sneak off each time he had, but if I did he was likely to ask me to leave. It was his secret. I couldn’t barge my way into it, and I had to be patient, play the long game, so I climbed back into his bed. Unable to switch off and knowing if I strained to listen it would end up with the likelihood of me losing my patience despite needing it. I picked up my phone. Logging onto my Facebook I saw I had a message. Steve’s stark warning about being careful made me feel sick. I decided to message him back.

  ‘What do you mean be careful?’

  I wasn’t expecting a reply, but within a minute another message popped into my inbox. Something’s not right.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know, but recently, I’ve tried to find his wife. She’s completely disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared?’

  ‘Like she doesn’t exist any more. It’s weird. People don’t just vanish.’

  He was right; people don’t just vanish. Not in the modern world of technology and social media. Everyone’s traceable. In that moment I knew there was more to his suicide attempt. It was something other than depression, something more like grief. I also knew Steve didn’t have that information.

  ‘Do you know he tried to kill himself?’

  ‘What? No, when?’

  ‘Nearly a month ago, at a train station. It’s how we met; I accidentally stopped him.’

  ‘Sarah. We need to meet.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Later today.’

  ‘I’ve got work.’

  ‘After. I’ll come to you.’

  I paused for a moment and listened. In the silence I could hear him mumbling to himself downstairs, reading out loud. Steve’s apparent anxiety began to rub off on me. My heart started racing.

  ‘Can you meet me at Cambridge station: 8 p.m.?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll meet you outside. Sarah, I mean what I said: be careful. Something isn’t right.’

  I locked my iPhone and put it back in my jeans pocket on the floor beside me. Lying back I looked at the ceiling, trying to process what I understood about what Steve had just said. His wife had disappeared. It wasn’t unheard of, but I knew in my gut that whatever was going on was inside that book and I needed to read it. Then, I remembered the key he kept in his drawer so quietly opening it I took it out and put it in the pocket just before I heard his footsteps coming back up.

  Getting back under the covers I closed my eyes and tried to slow my rapid breathing to a sleeping person’s rate. He climbed back in next to me, close, his head over mine. I could feel him looking at me. His face so close to mine I could feel his breathing on my eyelashes. I felt like I was suffocating, but after a few seconds he moved and lay on his side, facing away from me.

  I stayed motionless and listened to his breathing become deeper and deeper until he was asleep. It felt strange knowing that the man I was falling for was hiding something. Something that meant his friend felt the need to warn me. It felt even more strange that I wanted to ignore the warnings. I didn’t feel like I was in danger with him. But still, when I had the chance I knew I was going to break into his house and get some answers.

  ***

  He knew she wasn’t asleep; her breathing was off. There was something jagged about it that suggested she was apprehensive, awake, alert. She was easy to read. He knew she must have seen him with the diary. He cursed himself for his vigilance slipping. It seemed each day closer presented new obstacles. Wanting nothing more than the quiet life he’d managed to create he rolled onto his side and fought fire with fire by also pretending to sleep until the jagged edge to her breathing had gone, replaced with the deep rhythmic breathing he had come to know. In, out, in, out.

  Now, with her sound asleep beside him, he rolled out of bed, looking back to see if it disturbed her. She didn’t stir. He went round the bed and rifled through her jeans until he came across her mobile. He saw a message from someone called Nat. It was locked. But she was predictable. She was someone to whom dates were important. Like him. He punched in 0505. The date he met her, his wedding anniversary. He opened it and read.

  ‘I’ve seen your note. Not impressed by you sneaking out in the middle of the night. Let me know when you’ve got this.’

  It was obvious the note was about him. The fact she wasn’t impressed told him Sarah had talked about him and how they met.

  Another potential obstacle.

  Looking at the train girl, who hadn’t moved, he opened her Facebook and went into her messages. He knew she and Steve had spoken. He wanted to read what was said. But Chris wasn’t ready for what he saw. He knew Steve was suspicious but as he read that he’d been actively looking for Julia Chris new he was in trouble.

  They were going to meet, Sarah and Steve, to talk about him. With so little time left he couldn’t ignore it. He wouldn’t say anything to her. He would wait, and watch and act if he needed to, to make sure the truth didn’t spill.

  Chapter 41

  7.58 p.m. – Cambridge train station

  I sat on a bench outside the station entrance apologizing to an old lady as I did, although I didn’t know what I was saying sorry for. She smiled politely. I tried to smile back but was aware it must have looked like a grimace. The lack of sleep was starting to make me feel sick. I looked away, focusing on people who were so wrapped up in their own worlds they didn’t see each other, bumping shoulder to shoulder sometimes, chest to chest without blinking. Their faces becoming an undefined blur as my eyes lost focus.

  When I thought about it I realized that I’d not slept a full, uninterrupted, blissful night since meeting Chris. I knew it wasn’t healthy, but when are the start of relationships healthy? Weren’t they always filled with anxiety and fear? If you could call what Chris and I had a relationship. I was starting to feel similar to how I had in the past, with John, but I wouldn’t admit it. If I did it would have surely sent me over the edge.

  ‘Sarah?’

  I looked to my left and there he was, stood five feet away from me, a quizzical look on his face. He was definitely the man from the Facebook picture, but as I stood I realized he was much bigger than I thought. His right eye was surrounded by a horrible bruise, deep in colour and clearly new. Not knowing how to greet him I offered my hand and he took it, his large palm encompassing mine, a doll’s by comparison.

  ‘Thank you for meeting me.’

  His voice was deep, in control. Making me feel more anxious. As I spoke my mouth felt dry.

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Can we go for a coffee?’

  I hesitated. There was something that made me feel I needed to stay in the open. But, as I looked at him and the kindness I could see in his eyes I knew I was being irrational. I had no reason to think he would harm me. But his physical presence intimidated me regardless. I thought of our conversation online, how he seemed caring. I remembered his pictures, happy on his wedding day. It settled me a little.

  ***

  Sitting in his idling car forty feet from the train station entrance, Chris opened a small bottle of bourbon, took a long swig, and watched the train girl stand to talk to someone who he couldn’t see from his position. But he knew who it was, and within a minute she turned and walked into the station, Steve by her side.

  They went into the coffee shop and she took a window seat as he ordered. Chris could see her shifting nervously. For a second he thought she looked up and saw him, and despite his car having darker windows hi
s heart stopped. Surely she hadn’t recognized his number plate? She then looked away as Steve returned and sat opposite her with two hot drinks. He paused his thoughts for a moment to consider the possibility that either she or Steve might know it was his car and he wondered why he hadn’t thought about that before leaving. It would have been safer to get a taxi. Yet another slip.

  Putting his car in reverse he backed it up, obscuring it partially behind a tree and watched, seething as Steve talked, no doubt telling her about Julia. Telling her the things he had no right to tell. Their exchange was short, no more than fifteen minutes. And in that time he watched the train girl engage, then look away, no doubt learning about his recent violent outbursts.

  He watched her nod and shake her head, no doubt hearing Steve’s suspicions. He watched her cover her mouth with her hands. He wasn’t sure what was said. Just as she looked like she was going to stand and leave she hesitated and reached into her bag. Then a young woman with a buggy stopped outside the coffee shop to tend to her baby, blocking his view of what the train girl had stayed for. He knew whatever the reason, it wasn’t good.

  ***

  Some of what Steve had told me I already knew: he had a wife; she had broken his heart. But hearing out loud it made me feel sick – that and the fact she had seemingly just vanished without a trace. Maybe Steve was right to be alarmed. Maybe he was right to warn me about Chris. Maybe it was right that I still didn’t want to believe it. And I knew Steve could see my scepticism. I mean, Chris was mixed up and sad, and yes, he did try to kill himself, but being involved in his wife disappearing? I couldn’t quite get there.

  He asked me to ‘report in’ when I was with Chris and feeling disgusted by the idea of effectively spying for Steve I was just about to leave. Then something stopped me and I agreed. After all, we were both trying to help him. It made sense to keep an open line of conversation. Reaching into my bag I pulled out the card I had found in his bedroom. Maybe it would help us help him if I shared it with Steve.