The Optician’s Wife: a compelling new psychological thriller

by Betsy Reavley

  ‘No.’ Larry turned on to his side and propped his head up with his elbow. ‘You are my wife and I say no.’

  ‘Why not?’ It’s fair to say it was not the response I was expecting.

  ‘I am the man.’ He scratched his testicles with his thumbnail.

  ‘Yes but…’ my protest fell on deaf ears and I stopped before finishing the sentence.

  ‘No but. Your place is here with the children. Not working beside that hussy Trisha.’

  I wanted to disagree but couldn’t find my voice.

  ‘You know what it’s like growing up without a mother around. Do you really want that for our children?’ He was making sense. ‘Think how different your life would have been if she’d been around. No. I won’t have it.’ He had put his foot down and that was that. He knew best and I wasn’t going to argue. I trusted his judgement.

  I nodded and rested my head on his chest. I could smell the faint whiff from his armpit. Sweat mingled with sex. I slid my hand down his stomach towards his tired penis.

  ‘Not now.’ He swatted my hand away. ‘I’m cross.’

  I rolled over and looked up at the ceiling searching for answers. All I saw were swirls of plaster. Disappointment took over again.

  ‘Clean yourself up and go and check on the kids.’ He didn’t look at me. ‘And I suggest you call Trisha. Tell her you won’t be going back to Woolworths.’

  I sat up, the springs from the mattress sticking into my bottom, and looked at him. Larry pulled the poly-cotton sheet up to cover his man parts. His eyes were firmly closed.

  ‘But why?’ Trisha pleaded down the line. ‘You seemed so keen earlier.’

  ‘I know, but I’ve talked to Larry,’

  ‘Oh here we go,’ she interrupted. I was taken back.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Every time he says jump, you say how high. It’s always the same Debs. I don’t get it.’ She did nothing to hide her frustration.

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Yes it is.’ She paused while she ordered her thoughts. ‘If Andrew ever told me what to do I’d end it. Honest, I would. No one gets to tell me what to do.’ I wondered if this was more about her than it was about me. ‘Look, I like Larry, he’s a great guy but you should not let him dictate. That’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘I’m not sure you are in a position to judge.’ I knew it was inflammatory but couldn’t help myself.

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Her defences had shot up.

  ‘It’s all very well for you with your easy life. Passing judgement. We’re not all like you, you know. You sit there handing out advice. What do you know about my life? What do you know about anything?’ I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been so confrontational. I liked it. It felt good.

  ‘If you want to be a Stepford wife, be my guest. But don’t expect me to like it or keep my mouth shut. I thought you were better than that. You are better than that.’ Her compliment was lost in the moment.

  ‘Go and suck a dick.’ I had no idea where the words came from. It didn’t sound like me.

  ‘What did you just say?’ Her shock echoed down the phone.

  ‘You heard me. Go. And. Suck. A. Dick. Find some scumbag with a nice car to blow and keep your opinions to yourself.’

  Before she had a chance to respond I had slammed the phone down. For the second time that day I was shaking. And for the second time that day I felt more alive than I had done for ages.

  December 5th 1986

  Christmas was just around the corner. The weather was cold and it was getting dark earlier and earlier. I hated that time of year. Christmas meant presents and presents meant money; Money that we didn’t have.

  Over the past few months we managed to make the house a bit more comfortable. Larry brought back bits of random furniture that he found or Eric offered him. He could be so thrifty. Nothing matched but I stopped caring about appearances. We rarely had anyone over to the house anyway.

  Robbie was crawling and Sue-Ann had begun to be able to put words together. She was a slow developer – much like I had been, according to Dad. ‘Daft as a brush,’ he always used to say to me. He said it so many times I believed it was true. Only after I met Larry and got away from him did I realise my own potential. I wasn’t as hopeless as I’d been taught I was. Larry helped me to see that.

  I left the children playing on the floor in the kitchen and went into the lounge.

  A few weeks earlier Larry came home with a surprise. It was a television he’d bought on credit from a shop in town. He was so generous and I admired that about him. It was a really modern one that looked expensive. The large set sat pride of place in the lounge. Until then I’d read books to pass the time while I waited for him to get back from work. Having a television to watch felt like luxury. Every spare penny we had was used to make the mortgage payments and I worried we wouldn’t be able to afford the television as well, but Larry assured me it wasn’t a problem. ‘I’ll take care of everything,’ he used to say and I believed him.

  My favourite programmes were Blockbusters and Blankety Blank. I still read a lot but I liked the noise of the television. It made me feel less alone and helped to block out the sounds the children made.

  I sat staring at the set, not really taking in what was on, and replayed a conversation I’d had about Christmas with Larry. I’d suggested we had Dad and Dawn over for lunch on Christmas Day. We never saw each other and rarely spoke on the phone. I had this cosy idea of the family all sitting round together, even if we didn’t always all get on.

  We had a proper house at last, the kind of house that people did gather in to celebrate. I liked the idea of being able to host them. To show them both that I wasn’t a failure and that I’d made something of myself.

  ‘It’s a nice idea, Dee,’ Larry scratched the back of his neck with his dirty fingernails, ‘but the food will be expensive. And you don’t want to have the hassle of all that cleaning up afterwards.’

  He was right, of course, but I was still a bit disappointed.

  ‘Do you think we’ll be able to get a tree?’

  ‘Sure.’ He cupped my chubby face in his hands. ‘Eric has got some he’s selling to make a few extra quid. I’ll get him to give us one at a discount.’

  That made me happy. We didn’t have decorations but it didn’t matter. I could make some. It would be something to do. I was good at recycling stuff.

  I started to collect jar lids to turn into ornaments I could hang from the branches. We didn’t drink alcohol very often but when we did I would save the corks from wine bottles and bottle caps. I dipped them in glue and glitter. They would look pretty on the tree. I used clothes that the children had grown out of to sew little stockings with and put them around the small fireplace. I wanted that Christmas to be special for us.

  Although I loved our home I couldn’t help but feel we were living beyond our means and the onset of Christmas only solidified my fears.

  When Larry came home after work he was fuming. I’d never seen him so angry.

  ‘That bastard,’ he shoved a chair across the kitchen floor before kicking a cupboard.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I wiped yoghurt from Robbie’s face. His little blue eyes were wide and watching the tirade cautiously.

  ‘Bloody John Boyle. Who does he think he is? Marching into Rook’s and demanding money from me. If old Mr Rook hadn’t been there I would have punched his lights out.’

  ‘Calm down,’ I soothed. ‘Who is John Boyle and why does he want money?’

  ‘The fucking television.’ Larry spat. ‘I missed last week’s payment. I told him I only needed a couple of days when we spoke on the phone yesterday. Then this afternoon he comes into the shop and picks up a pair of glasses, one of the expensive pairs, and he snaps it in half, right there, and drops the bits on the floor. Luckily Mr Rook was out the back and I managed to hide it before he saw. But then John started shouting that he was going to make me
regret it if he didn’t see the money owed him by tomorrow.’

  Robbie had stopped eating and sat silently in his high chair watching his father rant. He looked scared.

  ‘Can’t we just give him the television back? He could sell it to someone else.’

  ‘It’s not that easy.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because John Boyle is a loan shark.’

  I would never have thought that a television could cause so much trouble. Larry and I sat up late into the night coming up with a plan to keep Boyle at bay. Larry went out and got some beer to drink. He wanted to drown his sorrows but it seemed to me that spending money on beer was not the answer. Still, I bit my tongue and let him get on with it. He had never let me down before and I had no reason to doubt he would then.

  I told him I’d sell my wedding ring, a simple gold band. Larry wouldn’t let me. He was a proud man.

  ‘This is my problem and I’ll find a way to fix it.’

  ‘We are in this together.’ I reached across the grubby kitchen table and held his hand. He pulled it away and opened his fourth can of beer. The suds bubbled up over the lip and spilt on to the table. The liquid pooled on the table. Neither of us made a move to clean it up.

  ‘Maybe we could just kill him.’ Larry laughed but his expression was serious.

  ‘There has to be something we have that he wants.’ I ignored his last comment.

  ‘The only thing John Boyle likes is money and pussy.’

  December 6th 1986

  The next day I woke up feeling sick. Everything was so uncertain. I didn’t know if our plan would work. I lay in bed wondering how long Larry had been up. He usually slept in on Saturday mornings. I looked at our little plastic alarm clock and saw that it was only seven. It was still dark outside. I rolled over and pulled the duvet up over my head. It smelt of sex and stale sweat and I couldn’t remember the last time I washed it. Robbie was crying in his cot in the other room and moments later Sue-Ann joined in the cacophony. I put my fingers in my ears and lay there in the darkness for a while thinking about what I’d agreed with Larry. The plan was simple.

  Eventually I dragged myself out of bed and went to check on the children. Sue-Ann had quietened down but Robbie was still screaming at the top of his lungs. When I picked him up he stopped crying and I noticed the baby grow was sodden. His nappy had leaked. The smell then hit me and I put him back down. He immediately started to cry again. Sue-Ann was standing in her cot shaking it and calling me. Ignoring her I went over to the disorganised chest of drawers and searched the top drawer for a dummy. Eventually, right at the back I spotted one and shoved it into her mouth. Her dark brown eyes looked sad as she sat back down in her cot and cradled a threadbare teddy.

  Robbie continued to cry. I left them both upstairs in their room while I went downstairs to make myself some coffee. I couldn’t deal with stinking nappies until after I’d had my caffeine fix.

  Larry was sitting at the kitchen table his hands wrapped round a steaming mug of tea. I padded over to the kettle and flicked it on. The sound of screaming water quickly filled the silence. As I turned to pour coffee granules into my chipped mug I felt Larry’s hands around my large waist.

  ‘Morning, Mrs Miller.’ He grabbed one of my breasts through my nightdress and caressed my nipple. His erection was sticking into my lower back. ‘Remember what we talked about last night?’ his face was in my hair and I could feel his warm breath on my neck.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Good girl. Just remember what you have to do.’

  ‘I know.’ I stirred the water in and watched the instant coffee dissolve.

  ‘Is that Robbie?’ Larry pulled his head away from mine and listened.

  ‘Yes. His nappy leaked all over him again. I’ll do it in a bit.’

  ‘OK. I’ll call Boyle and arrange the meeting then I’ll get dressed and nip out. There are some things we are going to need for tonight.’

  At eight o’clock sharp there was a knock on the door. I sat stiffly on the sofa in living room while Larry answered it. Boyle was prompt if nothing else.

  Through the top half of the window, that didn’t have dingy netting across it, I could see a few scattered stars in the sky. The night looked black and oppressive. It seemed appropriate.

  On the coffee table in front of me sat a bottle of red wine and three glasses. The lighting in the room was low with only the table lamp next to the television turned on. Through the closed door I could hear muffled voices and I felt myself tense. This was my moment and I didn’t want to let Larry down. I heard the front door close and two sets of heavy footsteps approaching the lounge.

  As the door opened I felt myself holding my breath. Larry entered first his eyes burning into me. A small ginger haired man with a beard and red cheeks followed him in. John Boyle was older than I was expecting, probably approaching fifty. His small eyes looked shocked to see me sitting there.

  ‘This is my wife.’ Larry introduced us and I got up from the sofa to shake his rough hand.

  ‘Nice to meet ya.’ His voice was gruff and he looked distinctly out of his comfort zone. I felt empowered by his weakness.

  ‘Have a seat.’ I sat back down on the sofa a patted the spot next to me. ‘Wine?’ I offered, pouring Larry and myself a glass.

  Boyle stood for a moment looking at me before turning to Larry. He didn’t accept my offer to sit down.

  ‘I’m here for my money, Miller.’

  ‘John, John, relax please. Let’s be civil. Have a drink. Take a seat.’ I admired how cool Larry was being. He was so at ease. So manly.

  ‘Fine.’ Boyle sat on the sofa as far away from me as possible and took a glass from the table. I reached over and poured the wine for him, flashing him my most attractive smile. He stared blankly back at me before taking a large gulp. ‘This is all very nice, but where’s my money?’ he slammed the glass down on the table, spilling some wine.

  ‘That’s the thing,’ Larry sat forward in the armchair and rested his elbows on his knees, ‘I haven’t got it.’

  Boyle leant back, crossed his legs and folded his arms.

  ‘Now there’s a surprise.’ He chuckled, clearly feeling as if he’d regained some control over the situation.

  ‘I can get your money, but it won’t be until next Friday at the earliest.’ The men eyeballed one another, neither willing to back down. The tension in the room was tangible and it felt as if it might erupt at any moment.

  ‘That’s simply not good enough, old chum.’ Boyle drank the rest of his wine in one go and stood up. ‘I hate to do this, you seem like a lovely couple,’ his sarcasm cut through me, ‘but it looks like I’m going to have to ask the boys to pay you a little visit.’

  ‘No.’ The word left Larry’s mouth with force. ‘No,’ he put his hands up in defeat. ‘You don’t need to do that, John.’

  ‘You owe me money. You can’t pay me what you owe. It all seems pretty simple to me.’ I noticed how black his teeth were as he spoke.

  ‘How about we come to some other arrangement?’ Larry looked more relaxed again and in control.

  ‘What can you possibly offer me?’ Boyle looked bored.

  ‘Dee.’ Larry signalled to me.

  ‘I stood up and moved closer to Boyle. He was wary at first, until he understood what was happening.

  I dropped my dressing gown on the floor and revealed a polyester silky slip. It was tight around my bust and my waist. Boyle smiled and licked his chapped lips.

  ‘Oh,’ he rubbed his beard with his hand, ‘Now I see.’

  ‘Dee here is going to take you upstairs, John.’

  ‘Is she now?’ Boyle stood there smiling and undressing me with his eyes. I smiled back, doing my best to hide my disgust.

  ‘Do whatever you want.’ Larry appeared turned on by the prospect of his wife sleeping with another man. ‘Then we’re even.’

  ‘You think one session with this whale is enough to cancel
out a debt worth two hundred pounds?’

  I turned to Larry unable to hide my shock. He ignored my stare.

  ‘Have as many goes as you want.’ His eyes were cold and gave nothing away. ‘Come back whenever you like.’

  Boyle stood there looking at me and contemplating the offer.

  ‘Don’t you have kids?’ He was still looking at me. I didn’t answer. ‘I suppose that’s your affair. Fine,’ he turned to Larry, ‘you got yourself a deal. She better be clean.’ He took hold of my hand roughly and led me out of the room.

  April 8th 1989

  It had taken us a while but at last we were financially secure. Larry still worked at Rook’s. He was a pillar of the community. I made money by selling sex. Our spare bedroom became my office.

  Since my first time with John Boyle, it became a regular thing. Boyle knew plenty of men who were willing to pay for it. It was easy money. I didn’t even have to leave the house and I was paid well for what was usually only ten minutes’ work at a time. Some of them were rougher than others but Larry was always in the background ready to intervene if I needed him to. Occasionally he sat on a chair in the room and watched. The punters didn’t seem to mind. Some of them quite liked it.

  Back then I only worked evenings and weekends. It was difficult during the day. Even though Sue-Ann was at nursery some of the time I still had Robbie under my feet.

  I was making good money and Larry, with a bit of help from his brother Eric, had started to deal drugs, heroin mainly. Often my clients became his and vice versa. Neither Larry or I ever touched the stuff though. We weren’t that stupid. We saw what it did to people, how it wrecked their lives.

  There was money stuffed under mattresses and floorboards. We didn’t have to pay the taxman and we bought whatever we wanted and went out more. I got nice clothes and jewellery, things I’d never dreamt of owning. We bought a caravan and used to go away to Norfolk for weekends. The extra income also meant that we could afford a babysitter whenever we wanted.