What My Husband Did: A gripping psychological thriller with an amazing twist

by Kerry Wilkinson

  All perfectly explainable… except he told me he was meeting a friend, who ended up knowing nothing about it. That can’t have been an accident. Whatever Richard did on Sunday was planned – and kept secret from me.

  I head over a second bridge to get to the other side of the water and then it’s a long, meandering route back to the car park before recrossing. My cheeks feel flushed from the cold and the chill is tickling my nose – but the walk has been worth it to clear my head. There’s a focus that I didn’t have before and the cloud of exhaustion has passed.

  It’s almost 12.15, and the doors of the pub are open. Inside, and the immediate warmth is as welcome as a cosy armchair after a long day and I follow through a second set of double doors until I’m in the main area.

  There’s a large carvery hatch against the back wall, with a second sign and an arrow pointing to a ‘vegetable station’. This is the type of place that will be rammed with people throughout a Sunday afternoon as families pour in one after the other to fill their plates with meat and gravy.

  I sit at one of the high stools at the bar and grab a food menu, so that I don’t look completely out of place. There’s seemingly only one barman working, although there are no customers, other than me. He’s got that shaved sides and stubbly thing going on that all young men seem to copy at the moment.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asks.

  ‘Do you do coffee?’

  ‘Only from a machine.’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll have a cappuccino.’

  I pay and then he drifts off to the other end of the bar, before returning a couple of minutes later with a frothy cup, plus a small biscuit.

  ‘I’ve never been here before,’ I say, unsure what to talk about.

  He picks up a glass from behind the counter and starts to wipe it down with a tea towel. ‘Where do you live?’ he asks.

  ‘Leavensfield. I suppose I should venture further afield…’

  He smiles in the polite way waitstaff do when someone’s boring them. I don’t blame him.

  ‘Were you here on Sunday?’ I ask.

  He puts down the glass and picks up a second, which he begins to dust. ‘That was my day off.’

  ‘Is there anyone in who might have done?’

  ‘Only my manager.’

  ‘Can I speak to him, please?’

  The barman gives me a quizzical frown and I sense he’s almost about to ask ‘why?’ before he thinks better of it. ‘Sure,’ he replies, before adding that he’ll be right back.

  He disappears through the door on the other side of the bar, leaving me alone in the pub. The flashing lights of the quiz machine near the door flicker on and off and there’s a distant hum of some inoffensive music that I don’t recognise. I pass the time by scanning the menu, until a man in a suit emerges behind me.

  He offers his hand for me to shake, introduces himself as Darren, and then says, ‘I gather you wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘Were you working on Sunday?’ I ask.

  ‘Most of the day.’

  I take out my phone and load a photo of Richard, before holding it up for Darren to look at. ‘Did you see this man?’ I ask.

  His expression turns into a scowl. The recognition is obvious and I have to resist the urge to jump in too keenly by asking why my husband is so familiar.

  Darren checks over his shoulder before ushering me away to a booth in the far corner of the pub, leaving my coffee abandoned on the bar.

  My heart is thundering as I sit. There was no squinty look of confusion. Darren knows Richard for a reason. He slots in next to me and glances to my phone again.

  ‘I don’t want any trouble,’ he says.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Darren looks from the phone to me and then straightens himself. ‘Who are you?’ he asks.

  ‘This is Richard,’ I say, holding up my phone. ‘He’s my husband.’

  Darren’s eye twitches and he stays quiet as a couple enter through the main doors. There’s a silver-haired man in a suit with a woman who’s a good fifteen or twenty years younger than him. They dither nervously at the front before noticing the ‘please seat yourself’ sign. They then spend a good thirty seconds tripping over one another in not making a decision about where to settle. I wonder if they’re having an affair. The pub is remote enough that it’s unlikely any aggrieved partners might find out where their husbands and wives happen to be.

  ‘I’ve already been through this once,’ Darren says.

  ‘Through what?’

  ‘The police were here yesterday.’

  This stops me slightly – although I suppose it isn’t surprising. I’m always bemused by those mystery dramas where some random bloke will always be two steps ahead of the authorities, who have almost limitless resources at their disposal. Once the police heard about a link from Alice to Richard – not to mention my lack of clarity about where he was on Sunday – they’d have been trying to find out his location. If they didn’t do the same thing as me by checking our bank statement, they might have seen him on a traffic camera. There are probably other things I wouldn’t know about, too.

  ‘What did the police ask?’ I say.

  Darren stands abruptly and pushes himself away from the table. ‘I shouldn’t say.’

  I slide sideways out of the booth and follow him across the floor. ‘You can at least tell me what he was doing here…?’

  ‘You should leave.’

  I glance across to where the couple from before have finally decided on a table in the furthest corner, far away from prying eyes.

  ‘I can ask a lot louder…’

  Darren stops and I can see him weighing it up. He could definitely get me removed from the premises, but is it worth it? He glances towards the couple and then back to me.

  ‘Fine!’ he says. ‘But don’t say you weren’t warned.’

  ‘Warned about what?’

  ‘He was with another woman.’

  *

  TWELVE YEARS OLD

  I never realised there was a room inside a police station where the walls are the same yellow as the ones on my bedrooms at home. There’s also a pair of sofas in here, which I didn’t expect. I thought I might be in some sort of white room with a table in the middle. That’s what it looked like on a show Dad was watching one time – with a policeman on one side who was shouting at a woman on the other. I didn’t really understand it.

  Nadia – who called herself a ‘welfare officer’ – says this is a special room where they talk to young people. I wonder if that’s why the policeman in front of me called himself ‘Thomas’, instead of whatever police name he has.

  ‘Do you remember the afternoon I’m asking about?’

  I can tell that Thomas is using a voice with me that isn’t his own. He speaks softly but there’s the odd word that he says faster and more deeply. I look to Nadia, who nods at me.

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  ‘What happened on the afternoon?’

  ‘You should ask Dad. He was there too.’

  ‘I’m asking you, Madeleine.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you might have seen something that your father missed.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.’

  Nadia leans closely and whispers, ‘It’s okay’ into my ear. Dad told me I should trust her, even though I’m not sure that I do. He also told me that I should tell the policeman everything that I saw and not tell lies – except that I’m not sure about that either. I can’t explain why but it feels… wrong.

  ‘A man got into the car,’ I say.

  Thomas doesn’t reply at first, although he’s still smiling in a way that doesn’t fit his face. I know he’s faking.

  ‘What about before that?’ he asks.

  ‘When?’

  ‘What happened before the man got into the car?’

  ‘Dad stopped the car to let him in.’

  ‘Did your dad say anything when he did this?’<
br />
  ‘No. I asked if we could pick up the man.’

  Thomas nods a little. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he came into the room. ‘Why did you do that, Madeleine?’

  I don’t like the way he says my name. The first part is louder than the second, like when the girls at school call me Mad Maddy.

  ‘Because it’s good to help people. He looked like he needed help.’

  Thomas looks towards Nadia, although neither of them speak to each other.

  I squish myself further back into the sofa. It’s much comfier than the one at home – but it’s deeper and I can’t bend my legs when I’m at the back. There’s a tape deck sitting on a table at my side, like the one I use to record the charts on Sunday – but bigger. Nadia told me they use this to record everything I say in case they need to check it.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Thomas asks.

  ‘Because people only stick out their thumbs when they need help, don’t they?’

  Thomas nods again, although I wonder if I’m wrong. He’s not said anything but the way he looks away makes it feel as if I might have misunderstood something.

  ‘So you saw the man with his thumb out – and then you asked your dad if he could stop the car…?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘What did your dad say to that?’

  I try to think. I’m sure he said something but I can’t remember what. It feels important – but I don’t know what the better answer would be.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But your dad did stop the car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘He was going to talk to the man – but then the door behind me opened and the man got in.’

  ‘Did you see him?’

  I stop to think, even though I know the answer. I wonder if I should say yes – and almost do – except that they might ask me what he looked like. If they do that, then I won’t be able to answer without making up something else. They’ll know that I’m lying about that – and then they might not believe anything else I say.

  ‘No.’

  Thomas nods again. I thought he might write something down but he doesn’t have a pad or a pen.

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘The man started smoking.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I could smell it – and the smoke came into the front.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Dad told him he couldn’t smoke in the car.’

  ‘That’s good, Madeleine. You’re doing very well.’ Nadia rubs my back gently but I don’t like it, so I wriggle to the back of the seat, even though it makes my legs uncomfortable. She takes her hand away and whispers a soft ‘sorry’.

  Thomas is still watching me. ‘What happened after your dad said the man couldn’t smoke in the car?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  There’s a gap and Thomas glances momentarily towards a mirror on the wall to the side. I follow his eyeline, though can’t see anything other than the reflections of me, him and Nadia.

  ‘Nothing at all?’ he asks.

  ‘Nothing at first. Dad stopped the car and then got out and opened the back door. He told the man he had to get out.’

  ‘Did the man get out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you see him get out?’

  It feels dangerous to answer, although I don’t know why. It’s like there’s something in the room that I can’t spot. Something’s tickling the back of my neck, even though there’s nobody there.

  ‘I was looking the other way…’

  Thomas looks towards the mirror again and I follow his stare. When I turn back to him, he’s watching me again.

  ‘Did you turn to look?’ he asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you hear anything after your dad opened the door?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘But the man definitely ended up out of the car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Thomas shifts in his seat and it’s Nadia who speaks next. ‘You’re doing really great, Madeleine.’

  ‘Is it going to help my dad?’

  There’s a momentary pause. ‘I’m sure your dad would want you to tell the truth.’

  I think through everything I’ve said. It’s what happened and I can’t see any way that it wouldn’t help him.

  Thomas talks to me next: ‘Did you see anything that happened outside the car?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’

  It’s hard to keep the annoyance from my voice: ‘I said no.’

  I’m hoping Thomas will react to this. Perhaps say that he believes me, or let me leave. He doesn’t: he keeps going.

  ‘How long was it until your dad got back into the car?’

  ‘I don’t know. A minute. Maybe less.’

  ‘Could it have been longer?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  He lifts his wrist and presses something on the side of his watch. ‘Shall we see how long? How about I’ll say “now”. If you think about when the man got out of the car – and then tell me to stop when you think it’s about the time that your dad got back into the driver’s seat.’

  I tell him okay, even though I’m not sure I can remember. Thomas says ‘Now’ and then we sit and wait. He keeps watching me but I don’t want to look at him, so I pick a spot on the floor instead.

  It’s a guess when I finally say ‘now’, mainly because I really can’t remember. It definitely wasn’t long.

  Thomas presses his watch and then has a quick glimpse towards the mirror once more, even though he says nothing about the time.

  ‘Was anything different about your dad after he got back into the car?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps something with his hands…? That sort of thing.’

  I find myself wriggling on the seat and, though it was fine a few minutes ago, it now feels itchy and uncomfortable. ‘I don’t remember.’

  Thomas says nothing, although I can tell from the way he’s watching me that he doesn’t believe this.

  Nadia shuffles and I think she knows as well. I’m not sure that I’m a good liar.

  ‘If you thought a bit harder, do you think you could remember anything?’

  Thomas knows.

  I wonder what will happen to me if he decides that I’m lying. Will I end up in prison? Do people get away with things like this if they’re only twelve?

  ‘Maybe,’ I say.

  ‘Think about when your dad got back into the car. Was there something different about him?’

  ‘I think there was blood.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On his hand.’

  Thomas leans in and I know this is what he wanted to hear. I wish I’d not said anything but it’s too late now. It feels like he can read my mind. ‘Did you ask how the blood got on his hand?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he say how it got there?’

  ‘No.’

  Thomas nods. ‘I need you to think very hard about this next answer, Madeleine. Do you understand?’

  I’m trapped now. It’s like he has me frozen to the seat, even though all he’s doing is looking at me. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did the man in the seat behind you say anything to threaten you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he say anything to threaten your dad?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he do anything that made you feel threatened?’

  ‘The smoking.’

  That gets a nod and one more glance towards the mirror. ‘I’ve only got two more questions for you. You’ve done so well.’

  I say nothing. It feels as if I’ve already spoken too much. Dad told me to tell the truth but perhaps that’s not what he wanted at all. I shouldn’t have mentioned the blood.

  ‘After your dad pulled away, did you look behind?’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My seat belt.’

/>   ‘So you didn’t see or hear anything from the man after he left the car?’

  I’m not sure what to say. It feels like there is no right answer. ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘Last question: Did your dad ever talk to you about what happened in the time he was outside the car?’

  My throat is dry and, even though I haven’t done anything, I feel so drained by all of this.

  ‘No.’

  Thomas smiles one final time and then exchanges a look with Nadia. ‘That’s everything,’ he says. ‘Thank you very much.’

  I turn to Nadia but she’s watching the mirror. ‘Will Dad be okay now?’ I ask.

  Nadia stands and gently touches my shoulder. ‘Let’s get you home,’ she replies.

  Fifteen

  I stare at Darren. The fact he says Richard was with another woman is somehow one of the biggest shocks of my life – and yet not surprising at all. I think the lie about where he said he was going means I had already braced myself for it.

  ‘What did the woman look like?’ I ask.

  Darren tugs at his shirt and winces. ‘I don’t know – a woman. I think she had dark hair, but she was wearing a hat. They were sitting outside and I only saw them once.

  ‘How did you remember him when the police came?’

  ‘The pink shirt – and the fact they were outside. It wasn’t warm out there.’

  I suppose this kills any doubt I might have had for Darren’s story. He has no reason to lie – and Richard was definitely wearing a pink shirt.

  ‘It was busy,’ Darren adds. ‘I didn’t pay them a lot of attention. It was only when the police came yesterday that I thought about it again. 'They wanted CCTV but there are no cameras in that corner.’

  ‘Is that what you told the police?’

  ‘That’s what happened.’

  He takes another step away but there’s something about the way he won’t look at me.

  ‘What…?’ I ask.

  A shrug. ‘I think they were arguing. She was pointing at him and looked kinda angry. I wasn’t close enough to hear anything.’ Darren takes another small step away and then reaches into his jacket before pulling out his phone. ‘I’ve got to take this,’ he says, before holding the phone to his ear. The fact it wasn’t ringing is obvious to us both – but he’s already told me enough.