The Next Wife: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist

by Liz Lawler

  He laughed as if what she’d said was something funny, and she could only stare at him with hurt confusion. He winked at her and clicked his tongue as if he were letting her in on the joke, or geeing her up like a good little horse.

  ‘It’ll be like old times, Tess. You in your scrubs looking cute, and trying to get me inside a storeroom with you and into your hot little hands.’

  Her face turned beetroot red, her eyes reproachful. Their passionate kissing and heavy petting – up to this moment – had been remembered in her mind as something to cherish and keep unsaid. They’d already slept together and it was this that had made her daring and behave wantonly, but not in a tarty way, not like how he was making it sound. Sordid.

  ‘What’s got into you, Daniel? This isn’t you.’

  It was as if a switch had been flicked inside him. His expression immediately changed, all pretence of humour gone from it. She couldn’t read what was going on in his mind. His eyes had closed shut, his hands pulling at the back of his head to bring it down low, while his upper body rocked slowly in a back-and-forth motion.

  Tess didn’t know whether to stand and watch, or say something. She felt helpless from seeing him like this, at not knowing what was wrong with him. Was he ill? Depressed? It would make sense of his recent behaviour. Or was there another cause?

  His voice was so quiet his first words didn’t reach her. She’d missed something he said and now listened hard. His voice sounded defeated, the volume turned low. ‘Best ignore me when I’m like this, Tess. Best for both of us. Go on up to bed now and forget what I said… about the job. I won’t stop you or spoil it for you. I’m sorry… not just for now… for last night too.’

  Tess studied his form. The back of his neck looked vulnerable with his head bowed so low. She felt his turmoil and ached to ease him, from what though, she couldn’t fathom. This husband of hers was a complete mystery, she was realising. He never spoke of his family or friends; never spoke to them on the phone as far as she knew. His mother made it sound as if it were a once-a-year phone call, to check up on how he was because today was significant. He was so self-contained, wasn’t worried about moving to a new city, moving away from everything familiar. Maybe friends or family didn’t mean that much to him?

  He’d wrung emotions out of her left, right and centre the last few days. Last night she thought his behaviour was appalling, yet now she wanted to walk across the room and hold him. But something stopped her. Something in his stillness said that it might not be the right thing to do. It might embarrass him. She backed away to allow him to be private, and called out softly instead, ‘Goodnight, Daniel. I hope you sleep well.’

  Chapter Seven

  Martha had gone up to bed as cranky as hell, and was lying there now agitated at being unable to sleep and feeling guilty about Jim. She’d been feeling down all day, blaming him for it, for seeing his wooden calendar up on the kitchen wall that morning. If he’d left it alone, instead of twiddling with its knobs to get the day’s date, she might not have been reminded.

  The images came to her easily, crystal clear, as if her mind held only room for them, while other memories from her life were completely gone. She was sure stress was part of the reason why she was forgetting. She had a bizarre thought earlier that none of these images were real but dreamed up by a persuasive mind and had panicked until she remembered Jim’s calendar. It was not false memories she was having, but reminders of that time. Today was an anniversary.

  She remembered the very first time she met that man, thinking him far too suave and wondering why he’d not already married, but she’d kept such worries to herself knowing her voice would never be heard. She should have spoken out. She should have shouted her reservations right from the start.

  She sucked back the cry trying to get free, for if she let it go it would tear her throat apart, and this she couldn’t afford to let happen as it would only weaken her. Her strategy was to stay strong all the while he was still breathing and walking free. Only when he was no longer a danger to others would she let go, and, God willing, be able to then join Ted. She swallowed against the ache in her throat and sat up to drink some water.

  She heard Jim’s tread outside the bedroom door again, and gave a mild huff as it opened and he peered in at her. ‘I’m not dead yet,’ she informed him with a curt tone. ‘So no need to keep checking if I am.’

  His expression of mild amusement was telling her he was taking no notice – regardless of her grumbling he was coming in to see her. He sat down on the side of her bed, mindful of where her legs were, placing his hands in his lap, regarding her.

  ‘Why can’t you sleep?’ he asked. ‘It’s nearly midnight.’

  ‘Ooh, I’m so scared,’ she sang out in a mock-scared voice, waggling fingers at him to look spooky. ‘I might change into a bat and fly out the window.’

  He softly chuckled. ‘You’re already a bat, and you fly off the handle when you want.’

  Had she a mirror she would have seen her small wrinkled features resemble a wrinkly baby-faced monkey, with her large rheumy eyes luminous and her sparse hair fluffy around her forehead. He shook his head at her mildly, his voice barely telling her off.

  ‘You came home very cold, Martha. Any colder and you would have had hypothermia, then it would have been the hospital for you.’ He felt one of her hands. ‘You’re still chilled. How long were you standing there?’

  She pulled the sheet up to her eyes like a naughty child, mumbling an answer that might be true. ‘Not too long. His wife saw me out the window.’

  ‘And how long were you standing there before she noticed you?’

  Giving consideration to how cold she’d been, she hazarded a guess. ‘Maybe an hour, maybe two? Not in the same spot, mind. Don’t want someone calling the police on me thinking I’m looking to rob the place.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone would mistake you for a robber,’ he pronounced dryly. ‘Maybe for being batty standing there, maybe getting concerned and then calling the police.’

  Her eyes turned mournful. ‘It’s the twelfth today, Jim.’

  He nodded, to show he was aware. ‘I know. I realised too late I should have left the calendar on yesterday’s date.’

  ‘You forgot, I suppose,’ she replied, letting out a small sigh, rubbing a finger against the bridge of her nose to ease an ache. ‘Otherwise I’d have been none the wiser. It happened on a day like today. Blustery. Cold. If I’d seen him today who knows what might have happened, if I’d had a knife in my bag?’

  She said it quietly, impassively, as if the idea of carrying a knife in her bag was no big deal and Jim’s face showed his alarm. His voice was firm. ‘Martha, don’t ever do that. Never carry a knife in your bag. Regardless of your age, you could get locked up for that, so don’t be under any illusion age would save you.’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t matter much if that were to happen, now would it?’ she replied gruffly. ‘If he was dead, it would be a small price to pay for putting something right. It sickens me that he’s free. That woman he married can’t be aware of who he is, which is why I’m still going there. I need to let her know about the man she married.’

  ‘It’s not him, Martha!’ he declared forcefully, letting her hear his frustration. ‘Please trust me when I tell you that!’

  Martha turned her head away, not listening to him anymore. He was a stubborn man, refusing to believe what she could prove if he just went to that house and saw for himself.

  ‘It is him!’ she cried belligerently.

  Jim had nothing to say to that. He sat there beside her now in silence, staring off into space in his own thoughts, and his quietness rattled her. Would he stop her going there again? Hide things away from her, like he had done with the car keys? She’d looked for them everywhere, in cupboards and drawers, and in the garden shed in case they’d been hidden in an old flower pot. She saw Jim now looking at her again. She could see a rare glumness in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t be getting all huffy on me
, Jim. It’s me who should be huffy. Hiding the keys like that when you know I have to go out shopping? I can’t carry it all!’

  ‘I do the shopping, Martha,’ he calmly replied. ‘And you stopped driving last year.’

  ‘I did not!’ she protested strongly. ‘I drove recently. I sat in the car when it was raining.’

  ‘Illegally,’ he stated simply. ‘You drove illegally. That is why I hide the car keys, why you won’t be getting hold of them again. You were damn lucky you didn’t get caught. Have you no fear of the law?’

  Her answer was arrogant, a little self-righteous. ‘The only authority I recognise is God’s authority. His laws are what I abide by, not man-made laws. We people didn’t create the idea that it’s a crime to murder. God did!’

  He was staring at her long and hard, his face as serious as she’d ever seen. ‘I’m making an appointment for you to see the doctor, Martha. I’ll come with you, so you won’t be going alone. You could have got ill from standing out in the cold looking at that house again. It makes no sense to you when I tell you it’s not him, because your mind is playing horrible tricks on you. It won’t allow you to make sense of things, because at the moment everything in your mind has got a bit muddled. Your memories have got confused. And there’s no shame in that and it’s not your fault, but it can be helped. You can see any of the doctors at the surgery, one you like and can trust.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Do it for my sake, Martha. See a doctor.’

  Martha stared at his tired face and saw concern in his eyes and felt an overwhelming fondness for him. Unflappable Jim, kind Jim, always there for her, poor man. He looked exhausted and yet he was sat on her bed at this time of night. She realised she had been selfish and hoped Jim didn’t find her too much, that he wasn’t longing to live somewhere else.

  ‘You’re a darling man, Jim,’ she said to him now. ‘Did I ever tell you that?’

  ‘You did, Martha,’ he answered, rising slowly from the bed, giving his arms and his long back a good stretch. ‘But I appreciate you saying it again.’

  ‘Well, I’m so glad that I did,’ she said. ‘Because it’s true. You have a lot to put up with living with me. I’ll go to the doctors and I promise from now on I’ll try not to give you more grief.’

  His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline, his look saying he was not holding out hope on that happening. ‘We’ll see,’ he commented dryly.

  ‘I promise,’ she said earnestly, with a hurt tone in her voice.

  ‘OK, I believe you,’ he answered quickly, sounding like he now did.

  She looked up at his face, turning soulful eyes on him, holding the look for a few seconds…

  ‘I won’t go looking for your car keys anymore.’ Then a wicked little grin spread across her face. ‘I’ll walk there instead.’

  Chapter Eight

  They had gone for a week without speaking about that evening, leaving what she’d witnessed shut away. Tess carried the image of her husband standing with head bowed, eyes shut and locked in turmoil and had hoped he’d talk about it at some point, but he hadn’t so far. It was as if it hadn’t happened. A line had been drawn underneath all of the upsets of last week and a truce of sorts had formed with Daniel bringing only his best behaviour forward.

  He smiled at her, talked to her, but the conversations were of inconsequential matters, or about people or events that had no meaning to her. She could have these types of conversations with strangers. She in turn responded by taking care of how she looked and dressed for dinner each evening. She put away her flip-flops and boxed up the many pairs of jeans and tops she would no longer wear, swapping her old clothes on the shelves in her wardrobe for her new ones. She was showing him she cared, but inside she felt alone, as while there was a harmony there was also a void. She felt something shut off in him. And yet the day Sara flew to Australia he sent her flowers with a message on a card. Thought they might brighten your day, it said, showing he was aware that this day had been difficult for her. The thoughtful gesture made her feel reconnected to him, until they made love.

  The intimacy was missing in the way he kissed her. He kissed her now with his eyes closed. The light presses he traced along the outline of her lips, the soft pressures and teasing that made her shiver with wanting, the soft groans as he pressed more firmly seeking her warmth as if he needed a part of her to be a part of him, absent from them now. Their kisses for each other were like signatures. Instantly recognisable. He kissed her now as if copying a signature not quite his own. She knew she was not wrong to sense something amiss; it showed in those absent caresses and his closed eyes.

  Tess wondered if Sara would scoff at such a notion. She was in tune with Tess on many levels, but this was a hard one to explain. He had changed in the way he made love since that show of domination, and she wondered if that night had suppressed his passion or if he felt ashamed? She wished it had never happened as it gave her a squirmy feeling inside when she thought about it, like now. She gave her head a little shake as if to physically dislodge it and forced herself to focus on something else: the chores still to do today and the ones to do before starting her new job.

  The trouble with her, she realised, was that she had too much thinking time. From Monday, her new job would put a stop to her obsessive thinking about her relationship. Daniel would have run a mile if he’d known how easily she was made to feel insecure. You complicated overthinker Sara would say if she was there.

  She would say it, and then tell Tess to file her insecurities away in her imaginary filing cabinet and to leave them there, back with her ‘overthinking’ childhood. The filing cabinet in Tess’s mind stemmed from being an unwanted child. She’d imagined a file with her name on tucked away in a drawer with its front cover stamped all over with the word ‘REJECTED’ each time prospective parents bypassed her in favour of another child. Tess imagined that file for most of her childhood, which was why she was feeling so damn sensitive and was resorting to overthinking things and wasn’t ready yet to get pregnant. She wanted to be wanted for herself.

  The last eleven years had seen her grow strong mentally for the simple reason that she hadn’t given anyone her heart. She had boyfriends, but not loved them, so hadn’t cared whether she was loved back. Now it was the most important thing in her life that she was loved and that she had qualities that could be loved.

  Old insecurities were rising that she thought left behind in that file when growing up was all done. She was afraid of being rejected again. She needed to stop thinking this way or she’d find herself on shaky ground with her confidence gone. Daniel hadn’t married her just to have babies. He fell in love with her. She needed to remember that before she ruined her future happiness.

  As if to concur, the grandfather clock in the hallway gave four loud bongs. She laughed at feeling some relief for having her sensible head back on, and was grateful also for being reminded of the time. She still had jobs to do.

  She squirted Pledge on the dressing table and knew she needed to find a cleaner who really liked polishing. It would take a month of Sundays to clean all the silver ornaments and painted ceramics out on display. She hoped all these things did come with the house as Daniel said and that he hadn’t offered to buy the contents, because then she wouldn’t have to feel guilty for wanting to get rid of most of it.

  She wanted to change a few things in this house, especially the colours of the walls. They were all too dark, and probably why there were so many lamps in the rooms. The red wallpaper up the stairwell was overpowering and impractical. The laurel-leaf pattern with its velvety texture was a dust collector which she’d had to vacuum to get clean. She was relieved to be on the last job; the curtains in her bedroom that had been crying out to be cleaned since they moved in. She let the heavy weight of them drop to the floor and was grateful when she heard Daniel home and coming up the stairs. He’d help her put up the spare pair of curtains she had ready.

  The seriousness of his face told her something was wrong. Alarmed she came down
off the ladder.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  His gaze was fixed on the mountain of material lying across the bedroom floor. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I’m just—’

  He cut her off. ‘Why have you taken them down?’

  She stared at him bewildered. ‘Well, why do you think? To get them cleaned. They smell.’

  ‘Well, put them back up again, please!’

  She gaped at him. What the heck was wrong with him to ask such a daft thing? He looked paler than normal like something had happened.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ he said, when he saw her still standing there, making no move to do it.

  She was rooted to the spot, her brain trying to work out why there was a problem. Common sense was telling her to put up the new curtains. Apart from smelling better than the ones taken down, there was no other difference to them as the curtains in every room were identical.

  ‘They’ll be back in a few days once they’re cleaned, and can go up then. They smell of dead flowers, or can’t you smell it?’

  He ignored her, and instead bent down to pick up the bundle of curtains from the floor. He placed them carefully on their bed. ‘Put them back, please, and don’t take them down again,’ he replied in a dreary voice.

  She blinked hard, keeping her eyes on him. His request was downright odd, and she didn’t have a clue why. She heard him breathe in deeply, and then watched how bizarrely calm he became as he smoothed his hand across the material. She had to look away. It was worrying her to see him do that. Was this a mental problem? Did he have a form of OCD, some sort of anxiety disorder if things were rearranged or changed in his absence, which he found difficult to deal with? It would account for this behaviour if he did.

  ‘I’ll put them back,’ she quickly said, wanting to get him out of the room before he tensed up again. ‘Go down and get a drink and I’ll get on with it.’