‘I don’t understand what you want from all of this,’ I say. ‘I get the idea of revenge. You wanted to make me think David was back and to drive me mad. Then what?’
Jane weighs the gun in her hand before placing it back on the table. There’s something about the way her shoulders slump that says she isn’t going to use it a second time. I don’t think she’d necessarily thought so far ahead. She was going to use David as something to hang over me for months. Something to enjoy until she eventually revealed herself.
The next time we lock eyes, it feels as if something’s changed. There’s a cold determination in her stare.
‘I want you to go away,’ she says, almost mechanically. ‘That’s all I want.’
I almost laugh because of the simplicity of it all. She isn’t after my death or any great suffering. There’s no big, grandiose gesture to bump me off or frame me for something. The car crash was an accident on her part. All she wants is for me to go away.
‘I’m sick of looking at you,’ Jane adds. ‘Sick of hearing about your success and everyone feeling sorry for you. I want you to go and live somewhere else a long way away from here.’
Deep down, it’s not even that unreasonable. Imagine someone sleeping with their best friend’s husband. There’s not only the betrayal – but then that person is there all the time. To disappear is the least someone who was actually sorry could do.
Jane slips down until she’s sitting on the dining chair once more. I take the seat on the other side of the table from her. We sit a short distance apart while barely acknowledging the other’s existence. A minute passes and neither of us says anything. Longer. I know that what happens now will shape who I am. Is the world full of good guys and bad guys, or are we all shades of grey? And, if so, how dark does my grey run? I know I should go and give us both a second chance.
Except nothing can bring David back and I already know who I am.
‘What if I don’t?’ I say. ‘What if I want to stay?’
‘Then I’ll tell Andy about you and David. About how you were pregnant, whose baby it was, and why David ran off.’
‘Then you’d be admitting what Ben did.’
Jane nods. She suddenly seems exhausted. ‘I can live with it. Norah’s too young to understand if it gets out – and we’ll get by anyway. You’re the one whose life and career is built around, “After all she went through”. You’ve got way more to lose than me. I’ll be the one getting sympathy.’
She’s probably right. Once word goes around, the conference and speaker invites probably will dry up. Membership at the studio might drop. My personal clients might look elsewhere. It’s the world in which we live. Perhaps my life and career will fall apart. People will forgive all sorts – but sleeping with a best friend’s husband is probably not one of them.
All of which means I have a decision to make.
Except I have already made it.
‘I’m not leaving,’ I say.
‘Then I’ll tell everyone.’
‘No, you won’t.’
Jane peers up, taking me in across the table. I can’t tell if she’s angry or resigned. ‘Why do you think I won’t?’ she asks.
‘Because you’re wrong.’
Her eyes narrow: ‘Come on. I know you slept together.’
‘Not about that,’ I say. ‘We did that and I regret it. You’re wrong about David. He didn’t leave me.’
Jane cranes her neck backwards a little and frowns, obviously not believing me.
‘So, where is he?’ she asks.
This time, I don’t hesitate. It’s been so hard to hang onto the secret for this long and it’s a relief to get the words out.
‘David’s dead,’ I say. ‘I killed him.’
Forty-Eight
Jane stares at me, her mouth open and her eyebrow twitching. ‘You… what?’
‘I killed him,’ I say, composed and calm. Perhaps I learned that from David? ‘I didn’t mean to – but I did get rid of the body. I did that knowing exactly what I was doing. Then I told everyone he ran away.’
Jane continues to stare, as if she’s frozen. She’s known me long enough to realise that I’m telling the truth – but it’s only now that she must know how badly she’s misjudged the situation.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I say. ‘You know what I’m capable of – and you’ll never be able to prove what happened to David. You can stay around if you want. I won’t interfere in your life. I will never speak another word to you, if that’s what you want. But you won’t tell anyone about Ben and me – and you won’t tell anyone about what happened to David.’
Jane slips further into the chair and the fight has left her. She thought one thing was going to happen and, instead, it’s something completely different.
‘If you do,’ I say, ‘just remember that your end game was for me to move away. Mine was to get rid of my husband’s body, hide the evidence and spend two years convincing everyone that I was the wronged woman.’
I wait for her to look up. To make sure she is looking into my eyes when the truth is finally known. When I know she fully has my attention, I stand and move my way around to the door before speaking to her for the last time.
‘I guess the question is whether I should be scared of you, Jane – or whether you should be scared of me.’
Forty-Nine
Six weeks later
Jane and Ben moved away last night.
Nobody has told me officially because I’ve not spoken to either of them since that night at Jane’s house. I heard through various acquaintances that Ben sorted out some sort of job transfer with his bank. Their family of three is off to London for a new life.
Good for them.
I mean that.
It’s strange how we’ve been friends for so long and yet, in the past six weeks, I don’t think I’ve missed Jane. I doubt that she’s missed me, either. That must be who I am. Perhaps I should never have been scared of being alone because, in the end, I thrive on precisely that.
I cross to my kitchen and put the kettle on. My kitchen. I never did move in with Andy. I was doing it for the wrong reasons – and I’ve already gone through that once. It wasn’t anything to do with him googling David. In the end, I figured why wouldn’t he be searching for my husband’s name? If roles were reversed, I probably would.
It’s been a confusing few weeks trying to piece together everything that happened. I found out that Mum got her Lennon autograph from one of the other residents who lives on her row. Veronica called me the morning after everything happened at Jane’s. It’s not a massive surprise because, as I already knew, she’s spent a lifetime telling anyone who’ll listen about the time she saw him on the street. The last time I saw her, she still claimed she’d always had it.
As for Yasmine, I don’t know what to think. She never showed up for another class and the ‘really got it coming to her’ that I overheard must have meant someone else. She could have been talking about that night’s EastEnders for all I know.
Trevor, who Jane hit in my car, is out of intensive care. He’s conscious but still in hospital. I suppose that’s one thing. Mr Patrick tells me there was a sighting of a young man running in the centre of Gradingham at roughly the time of the crash. It’s a new line of enquiry that is, apparently, still open – even if it is nonsense. Whoever they’re looking for didn’t steal my car and didn’t hit Trevor. I can hardly tell the police that – but I’m in the clear anyway. My insurance company are even paying out – and it’ll be more money than my car was worth. What goes around definitely does not come around. I can promise people that.
So it’s over.
I win.
Hurray for me.
Life goes on.
I’m pouring hot water into a mug when the letter box clinks. I pop in a teabag and then cross to where the mail has hit the welcome mat.
There is an IKEA catalogue, something from a bank – and then one letter with my name and address handwritten on the front.
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I recognise Jane’s writing immediately. It’s not changed since school and we sat together for long enough. There was a time when actual, real letters used to mean joy. It would be something from a friend or a penpal. A mate from camp who we’d never see again. Now it’s only bills and adverts.
Except for this.
The pages inside have been torn from a notebook, with the scrambled spiral holes along the left side. The letter doesn’t say much – but it says enough.
Why did ‘you know where’ mean the lake at Little Bush Woods?
Jane hasn’t signed it – but she doesn’t need to. I’d somehow missed that. In believing it was David who was texting me, I’d led the real messenger directly to the place where my greatest secret is hidden. Jane must have followed me. I suppose it would be a fun game with most people to tell them to meet ‘you knew where’ – and then see where they go. How many long buried stories would emerge?
And so she knows.
I’d already led her to the lake and, when I told Jane that I’d killed David, it wouldn’t take much for someone to figure out that the two things are intrinsically connected.
There is no further threat, but I suppose it is implied. Jane knows my secrets – all of them. I suppose this is her way of saying that, if I go for her, then she’ll come for me. That, perhaps, she has already set things in motion. Perhaps an anonymous tip to the police that they should check the lake? Even with that, there would be no proof that I put David there. That’s if he’s still there anyway. He could be bones by now.
But Jane knows – and she’s saying that it’s not only her who is going to spend a life looking over her shoulder. We all lash out when we feel under threat.
I finish making my tea and then take the lighter from the cutlery drawer. I burn the letter in the sink, watching the embers crisp black before I run the tap to wash it all away.
Who’s good and who’s bad?
Everyone might be the hero of their own stories and, whatever others may think, I’m the hero of mine.
If you were totally gripped by Close to You, you'll love The Girl Who Came Back, an unputdownable thriller with an incredible twist.
* * *
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The Girl Who Came Back
A totally gripping psychological thriller with a twist you won’t see coming
Thirteen years ago Olivia Adams went missing. Now she’s back… or is she?
* * *
When six-year-old Olivia Adams disappeared from her back garden, the small community of Stoneridge was thrown into turmoil. How could a child vanish in the middle of a cosy English village?
* * *
Thirteen years on and Olivia is back. Her mother is convinced it’s her but not everyone is sure. If this is the missing girl, then where has she been - and what happened to her on that sunny afternoon?
* * *
If she's an imposter, then who would be bold enough to try to fool a child’s own mother – and why?
* * *
Then there are those who would rather Olivia stayed missing. The past is the past and some secrets must remain buried.
* * *
An absorbing and gripping psychological thriller that will have you holding your breath until the final page.
* * *
Get it here!
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Books by Kerry Wilkinson
Standalone novels
Ten Birthdays
Two Sisters
The Girl Who Came Back
Last Night
The Death and Life of Eleanor Parker
The Wife’s Secret
A Face in the Crowd
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The Jessica Daniel series
The Killer Inside (also published as Locked In)
Vigilante
The Woman in Black
Think of the Children
Playing with Fire
The Missing Dead (also published as Thicker than Water)
Behind Closed Doors
Crossing the Line
Scarred for Life
For Richer, For Poorer
Nothing But Trouble
Eye for an Eye
Silent Suspect
The Unlucky Ones
* * *
Short Stories
January
February
March
April
* * *
The Andrew Hunter series
Something Wicked
Something Hidden
Something Buried
* * *
Silver Blackthorn
Reckoning
Renegade
Resurgence
* * *
Other
Down Among the Dead Men
No Place Like Home
Watched
Available in Audio
Two Sisters (available in the UK and in the US)
The Girl Who Came Back (available in the UK and in the US)
Last Night (available in the UK and in the US)
The Death and Life of Eleanor Parker (available in the UK and in the US)
The Wife’s Secret (available in the UK and in the US)
A Face in the Crowd (available in the UK and in the US)
A Letter from Kerry
Around five or six years ago, one of my good friends, an ex-work colleague, put up a photo of himself on Twitter. He was entertaining his kids and, in the process of this, was wearing a full-body fox onesie.
Little did either of us know that one photo would start a chain reaction that would one day lead to this book.
I downloaded that picture, did a quick Photoshop cut-out around him and have spent the entire time in between dropping him into various photographs, before posting it on his Facebook wall.
It’s more or less the only reason I go on Facebook nowadays.
Remember the photo of Theresa May at her election count, with Lord Buckethead at her side? I dropped my friend into that. How about the staged picture of Boris Johnson making up with his girlfriend in a field? Yep, he’s in there. Or the background of JFK in that car in Dallas, 1963? Or numerous Donald Trump images? Or the back of mutual mates’ wedding pics? Or Avengers posters?
I essentially do this to amuse an audience of one (me) or, at best, two (him). It’s been going on for so long now, that any major news image that doesn’t include him somehow feels wrong.
Anyway… this is a long-winded way of explaining that my quick two-minute Photoshops of him gave me the idea for this book. If someone was to use this ability for nefarious purposes, where could it lead?
I should also point out that I don’t actually use Photoshop itself – but that I’ve adopted it as a verb for this book in order to hopefully make it a bit more universal. An in-depth explanation of how Pixelmator works doesn’t feel like good material for a novel.
The question authors get asked the most is always: ‘Where do you get your ideas from?’ – and I can now reveal that, for this book at least, the answer is: ‘Immature, long-running jokes with former work colleagues.’
After hearing that, I’m sure everyone reading this must now realise they have a book within them.
If you did enjoy it, and want to keep up to date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
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Thanks for reading.
Kerry
www.kerrywilkinson.com
A Face in the Crowd
Lucy gets the same bus every day.
* * *
She hopes to get a seat to herself, tries to avoid eye contact, and, if she’s really lucky, reads a chapter of her book.
* * *
But it�
�s a Friday – and the bus is always crammed at the end of the week. Personal space doesn’t exist. She keeps her elbows close and clings to a pole at every juddering stop.
* * *
When she gets off, something feels different.
* * *
An envelope stuffed with thousands of pounds is in her bag.
* * *
Is it the answer to her prayers, or the beginning of a nightmare?
* * *
Because, in the end, everything has a price.
* * *
A compulsive read that will have you absolutely hooked and reading late into the night.
Order it now.
The Wife’s Secret
A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-stopping twist
Close to You (ARC) Page 25