Diane pushed her cup out of the way and leaned forward onto her crossed arms. ‘You told me that Red had given you my address,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘But I was at the dry cleaner last week. The one near the charity shop is the only one in the area so I had to go there, and I bumped into her.’ She dropped her eyes for a moment and then looked back at Anne, holding her gaze. ‘She didn’t give you my address, did she? You already knew it.’
Anne looked taken aback, and suddenly much older. She pulled back from Diane’s stare and folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself. When she didn’t say anything for a few minutes, Diane knew she’d have to push more. She wasn’t leaving until she knew the truth. ‘How did you know?’
A pause, and then a sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve always been intensely curious about people,’ Anne said. ‘I suppose it’s part of being a writer.’ Uncrossing her arms, she rested both on the table, mirroring the way Diane had sat moments before. ‘I like to know the nitty-gritty; the stuff people don’t tell you about themselves when you first meet. To put it in more unflattering terms, you’d describe me as a nosy parker.’
‘A nosy parker?’ Diane repeated. It wasn’t what she had expected to hear. It sounded so mundane.
‘To get right to the point, I was curious about you and read your personnel file.’
Not so mundane. Diane looked at her in disbelief. ‘You read my personnel file? How?’
Anne shrugged. ‘Red often leaves the shop and never locks the office; we all have to have access to it in case someone comes to pick up all the black bags of stuff that are stored there. She keeps her files in the locked drawer of her desk but the keys hang on a hook in the footwell. I think probably everyone knows they’re there.’
‘But not everyone would take advantage of that fact and read confidential documents.’
Anne didn’t look embarrassed. ‘No,’ she said, ‘probably not.’
‘So that’s how you knew my address?’ It wasn’t a big conspiracy, just a little, sordid nosiness.
‘I felt so sorry for you that day,’ Anne said, shuffling in her chair. ‘I’d intended to call around anyway, but when Red discovered the cash was correct, she wanted to apologise. But then something came up and she didn’t have time. When she heard I was going to visit you, she asked me to tell you she was sorry. She probably assumed you’d given me your address. When you asked, it seemed simpler to say she’d given it to me. I didn’t think it mattered all that much.’
It was more likely that she didn’t think she’d be found out. ‘I see,’ Diane said. There wasn’t much else to say. ‘Well, I’d better be going.’ She didn’t add it had been good to meet her, didn’t suggest they meet again; was unsure if she wanted to. Suddenly, Anne’s outfit, which had looked so bohemian and exotic when she’d arrived, just looked ridiculous.
‘There’s something else. Please wait, just a moment,’ Anne pleaded.
‘Just a moment then,’ Diane agreed, ‘I can’t be late collecting Emma.’
‘You told me you’d applied to three places and took the charity shop because it was the only one who replied, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, that’s right, so?’
‘And not because your husband and Red are friends?’
Diane frowned, and clenched her bag tightly. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It says in your personnel file that Red employed you on the personal recommendation of Paul Andrews.’
‘That’s impossible,’ Diane said, standing. ‘You’re nosy, and a liar. Goodbye, Anne.’
Anne reached out and gripped Diane’s arm. ‘You may not think much of me right now. And yes, I’m a terrible busybody, or whatever you want to call me, but the one thing I’m not, Diane, is a liar. I don’t know what’s going on, but what I’ve told you is the truth. Red knows your husband.’
Diane held her hand up and backed away, turning and pushing through the crowded café. Red knew Paul. There was no reason for Anne to have lied this time, after all. And if she knew him, there was no way she wouldn’t have told him about what happened, and about her quitting the job. But he couldn’t say anything, could he? Couldn’t admit that he knew, because then he’d have to admit to knowing Red.
Her head spinning, she sat into the car. Hadn’t Paul been more interested in her work recently, asking probing questions about what she did, how many customers they had? Questions she thought were trying to show interest. Now, she wondered exactly what he was trying to do; to catch her out in a lie or to try to force her to admit the truth; that she didn’t work there anymore.
In frustration, she banged her hands on the steering wheel. What the hell was going on? How was she supposed to clear up her mess of a life when, every time she tried, it just got worse? She’d pulled Anne up on her lie, only to discover a bigger lie underneath.
Twenty-One
She picked Emma up without a word to anyone, taking the child’s hand, returning to the car, strapping her in, all the time thinking of Paul and Red. She remembered the laidback interview, her lack of surprise when she’d admitted she’d had a breakdown. Was it because she’d already known everything about her? Red, with her glossy red lipstick, sloe-eyes and vibrant red hair, so very glamorous, so very attractive.
It suddenly felt as if the ground had opened up beneath her feet, the bustle of the nursery silenced around her as she finally saw with blinding clarity what she’d been missing all along. She’d thought all this time that things were different with Paul because she was still recovering, that when she was better they would return to how they used to be – passionate, spontaneous, independent, carefree – but the awful truth now staring her in the face was that things were different because they had changed.
There was no reason for Paul and Red to keep their relationship a secret unless they were having an affair. Her eyes narrowed. Or was there? It was curious that of the three emails she’d sent, Red was the only one to reply. She’d given the links to all three positions to Paul and he’d seemed happy that she was looking for something to do – but maybe he wanted to keep an eye on her and had made sure the others hadn’t replied? He kept insisting she was doing fine. Perhaps she wasn’t doing well at all. Hallucinations, blackouts, paranoia. And now this.
The car behind blasted its horn and she looked up startled. She pressed the accelerator too fast so that the car jumped forward and then stalled. The car behind leaned on the horn for longer, startling Emma and making her cry. With pandemonium erupting all around her, all Diane could do was stare at the steering wheel in front of her, her mind a blank, unable to remember how to start the car and, for several seconds, she had absolutely no idea what to do.
It would be easier to shut them all out; Emma, the car behind, Paul and Red, the charity shop, the whole damn all-too-confusing world. Emma’s cry hit a new pitch and shocked her back into the present. A quick glance in her rear-view mirror told her the traffic was building up behind her. Turning the key, the engine started immediately and she moved on, indicated and pulled into a parking space. Undoing her seatbelt, she climbed over into the back seat, pulled Emma to her and soothed her as best she could. It took a while, but the tears calmed and the promise of ice cream eventually brought a smile back to her sweet face. Diane took in her daughter’s perfect mouth, her button nose and big brown eyes. No, she decided, smoothing Emma’s curls back and dropping a kiss on them. This time, she wasn’t going to shut everything out, this time she was going to pull herself together and fight for what was most precious in her life: her daughter.
Back at the house, with Emma asleep on the sofa, she sat at the table and tried to put her thoughts in order. Was she getting near to the truth? Either Paul had arranged for Red to keep an eye on her and their relationship was all above board, or they were having an affair. In either case, he would know that she didn’t work there any more. The thought that he knew and was amused at her lies made her stomach heave.
She suddenly felt weary beyond words. Too weary to face a trut
h that should have been obvious. She remembered the phone call. Had that been her? Hadn’t she known, deep down, that things just weren’t right?
But with everything that was going on, she wanted proof, she needed something solid to confirm her suspicions and make them real. Then she remembered the locked office door and her eyes narrowed; she’d have to get inside.
A quick glance towards Emma to see she was still asleep, she moved quickly, unlocking the back door and crossing the garden to a shed they rarely used. Most of the stuff stored inside predated her occupancy of the house. In fact, she guessed, some of the stuff predated Paul’s purchase several years before. But she remembered seeing a rusty old biscuit tin full of keys. Nobody had been inside since and it was just where she’d seen it.
Brushing off the cobwebs, she grabbed it and headed back to the house. The utility room had a counter stretching along one wall. A handy place for folding and organising laundry. Today, it was empty. She put the tin down and looked inside.
There were at least fifty keys of various sizes and shapes. Taking a dirty towel from the washing machine, she laid it along the countertop and emptied them out. Working methodically, she’d soon discounted and removed keys that couldn’t possibly work.
It left her with twenty, or so.
Surely one of them would fit. She threw them into a bowl and took them with her.
Checking on Emma, who was still fast asleep, she went up to the office and tried the door. It was definitely locked. Examining the lock, she tried to identify the most likely key from the selection she had. Trying one, then another, then another. The fourth key turned with a loud click. Holding her breath, she turned the knob and pushed the door open.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find. It wasn’t even that long since she’d been inside, a week or so ago, saying goodnight to Paul. She remembered he’d barely looked up from his computer. The blinds on the room’s one window were closed, so she felt for the light switch, turned it on and squinted in the dazzling light as she waited for her eyes to adjust.
Moving around the desk, she switched the old desktop computer on and waited for it to power up. While she waited, she searched the desk drawers. The top drawer held the usual paraphernalia; paper clips, staples, elastic bands, all in their individual containers. To the front, neatly stacked, their passports. They’d taken out one for Emma the year before with some idea of going to France on a holiday. For some reason that she couldn’t remember, they’d never gone. In the second drawer, there was a thick sheaf of papers. She flicked through them, her eyes widening as she took one sheet out and read it intently.
‘Very interesting,’ she murmured and returned them carefully to the drawer, checking that they looked exactly the same. The lowest drawer held a box file, inside there were more papers, but from a quick glance at the dates they were a little older.
She was just about to shut the drawer when the corner of a blue logo underneath the file caught her eye. Lifting the file slightly, she was able to pull out the two pages. It was an information leaflet entitled, Being Sectioned (in England and Wales). Her eyes flicked over it and then, feeling sick, she put it back carefully and shut the drawer.
She turned her attention to the computer which had booted up and was requesting a password she didn’t have. She tried Emma’s date of birth, then her own, the date they married, the name of the street. No luck.
Giving up on the computer and switching it off, her eyes scanned the bookcase in the corner. There were accountancy, auditing and finance-related books that she guessed were relics of his college days. She’d bet he hadn’t touched them in years. There were also a few folders. She took the first out and opened it on the desk. It was full of household bills. Council tax, electricity, gas, everything. Working as quickly as she could, she opened, flicked through and closed every folder until, at last, she opened the one she’d been looking for. Personal expenses. Every penny he gave her for household expenses was listed. Extra money he’d given her for Christmas gifts and birthday gifts, all with receipts stapled alongside.
Even gifts he’d bought her over the years, itemised and accounted for. The flowers, the diamond and ruby bracelet for their first wedding anniversary that she rarely wore, the simple silver bangle she’d chosen herself for their second. Every item listed, accompanied by every receipt. Wasn’t it just a little bizarre? It showed a side of Paul that she never knew about, a side she certainly didn’t care for. She turned the pages, fascinated. All the itemised expenditure for Emma’s birth, more than three years ago, the furniture, the clothes, everything.
She noticed there’d been fewer and fewer personal expenditures on gifts for her in the last couple of years, with an understandable increased spend on Emma. She hadn’t realised the educational toys he insisted on buying for her were quite so expensive.
Her eyes continued down the page, and then she saw what she’d been looking for. For several minutes, she simply stared at the few simple words that told her their marriage was over. There was a moment of intense pain as her world tipped and spun until somewhere deep inside, unacknowledged and ignored, she realised she’d already known. But still her eyes brimmed with tears as she read the receipt for the very expensive diamond and emerald earrings, purchased two months ago. She would imagine emeralds looked good on Red, and at that price they’d better. Closing the folder, she put it back exactly where she had found it, her mouth a thin line, eyes bleak.
Checking the room to make sure she hadn’t left any evidence of her intrusion, she switched off the light, shut and locked the door. Picking up the bowl of keys, she was about to drop the key back with the rest when she changed her mind. She might need it again. Instead, she went to her room and put it into a drawer, pushing it to the back out of the way. She glanced over the clothes she’d left dumped on the bed early that morning, remembering her worry about looking good for her meeting with Anne. She didn’t know what she’d been worrying about.
Emma was still asleep when she went downstairs. She really should wake her, but she needed a moment to absorb what she’d just learned, and time to put a brave face on it all.
She emptied the keys back into the old biscuit tin and returned it to the shed. Order restored in the utility room, she returned to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. Then, as images of emeralds and diamonds flicked across her mind, she swore softly and reached into the fridge for the open bottle of wine.
Grabbing a glass, she half-filled it and took a mouthful. By the time she’d finished it, a few minutes later, she felt a little calmer. Calm, but angry and unbelievably confused. Why would Paul arrange for her to work with his lover? Why would he take that risk?
Putting the wine bottle into the fridge, she took her glass to the window and looked out over the garden. It was a miserable day, dull and chilly. Perfect weather for finding out your husband was cheating on you and your marriage was over. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead on the window and shut her eyes, feeling the hot burn of tears run down her cheeks.
In the last month, with so much uncertainty in her life, Paul was the one constant, the one dependable. Now it seemed even that wasn’t true. Maybe it never was. She sipped her wine. Was this why she’d had a breakdown? Had she found out or, worse, had he told her he was leaving her and she’d fallen apart? It was a horrible thought to think she’d been that weak, that dependent. Suddenly she remembered…something. Shutting her eyes tightly, she strained to grab the memory. The phone had rung, she was feeding Emma and wanted to ignore it but it might have been Paul, so she struggled to answer it, but it wasn’t him it was a woman…she was annoyed that she couldn’t remember any more. Was it a memory of something that had happened during those missing months? Or was it just something her mind was making up; after all, she’d not bottle-fed Emma for years.
Frustrated by the half-memory she turned, wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper and looked at her sleeping daughter. She was the only good thing left in her life, the best thing to come from
a marriage made in haste. It was the only thing left between her and Paul, they both adored her. She frowned. Now, more than ever, she needed a friend. Having just spent the last hour snooping on her husband, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so critical of Anne’s curiosity about her life; maybe they had something in common after all. Putting down her glass, she went up to her bedroom, retrieved her mobile phone and, taking a deep breath, dialled Anne’s number.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Anne,’ she said, relaxing. ‘It’s Diane. Listen, I wanted to apologise.’ She waited a beat. ‘Because you’re right.’ Another pause, while she gathered the strength to say it aloud, aware that once the words were said, they couldn’t be unsaid. ‘In fact, I think they might be having an affair.’
‘Ah.’ It was all Anne said. Nothing more; no shock, no sympathy, no lying reassurances that they’d be okay, that it was probably just a fling. Had she done so, Diane would have enlightened her. For Paul to spend three thousand pounds on diamond and emerald earrings, it had to be more than just a fling.
‘To be honest,’ Diane said as she finally admitted it to herself, ‘I think I’ve been fooling myself for quite a while.’
Anne found her words, asking Diane the same question that burned through her. ‘But why on earth would he want you working with her?’
She didn’t know the full story and it was impossible to explain over the phone. ‘Listen,’ Diane replied, ‘there are things you don’t know, but I haven’t time to tell you now. Can we meet again? Maybe tomorrow?’
There was a pause, before Anne answered. ‘I’m really sorry, I can’t. I have meetings booked with my editor that I can’t change as it involves others too. In fact, the soonest I could meet is Tuesday.’
It was further away than Diane liked but she didn’t have any choice but to agree. At least it gave her time to think things through. ‘Okay, Tuesday, and I’ll tell you everything then.’
The Housewife: A completely addictive and gripping psychological thriller Page 13