The Housewife: A completely addictive and gripping psychological thriller

by Valerie Keogh

  Diane let out the breath she had been holding. ‘My husband, Paul, didn’t he ask you to give me a job?’

  Red sat back. ‘Is that what he told you?’

  ‘No.’ There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘Tell me what your relationship is with my husband.’

  ‘Relationship?’ Red’s voice rose an octave. ‘I don’t have any relationship with your husband. I’ve never even met the man.’

  Diane sniffed. ‘And I suppose he didn’t buy you a pair of outrageously expensive earrings either.’ She was disappointed to see that Red wasn’t wearing them, in fact, she wasn’t wearing any. Her eyes widened slightly when she realised her ears weren’t even pierced. Perhaps they were clip-on. It didn’t matter, she watched a quiver of dismay crossing Red’s face. She’d hit home, she thought with satisfaction, and waited for the confession she was sure would follow.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ the voice was soft, gentle.

  ‘Sorry?’ Diane’s eyebrows were almost in her hairline. ‘You’re having an affair with my husband and you think saying sorry makes it all right?’

  Red shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘that isn’t what I meant. I’m sorry your husband is having an affair. But it certainly isn’t with me.’

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Diane said, lifting her chin and trying to look braver than she felt.

  Red sighed. ‘If we were having an affair, he’d know better than to buy me earrings. I don’t wear jewellery, of any kind, not since I had an unfortunate, and very painful, reaction to a bracelet my mother bought me many years ago.’

  Diane sneered. ‘Maybe there wasn’t much time for talking in your relationship?’

  Red lost a little of her calm. ‘Listen, you’re obviously upset, and I do feel sorry for you, but I really don’t have to take these nasty accusations. I told you, I have never met your husband.’

  ‘Then explain why it says on my application form that he recommended me for the job here.’

  Red looked puzzled for a moment. Reaching into the footwell of the desk, she brought out a set of keys and inserted one into the top drawer. She pulled it open, rifled through files, pulled one out and slapped it loudly onto the desk.

  With a quick look at Diane, she opened it, flicked through a couple of pages and then extracted two sheets stapled together at the corner. Her eyes flicked over the first page and then the second before she handed it over. ‘Have a look,’ she said. When Diane took it, she added, ‘Read the instructions at the very bottom.’

  She did as she was told. In small print at the bottom of the second page was written: Each box must be completed. If there is no information, please add a comment. Do not leave a box empty.

  ‘Some head office genius came up with that. It’s supposed to prevent us adding information after we’ve taken someone on. There are different forms for that, you see.’ She shrugged. ‘I do what I’m told, I fill every box. If you look on the second page you will see where it asks if there has been any personal recommendation. We get a lot of them, from local churches, women’s groups, et cetera. Head office likes to hear that we play an active part in the community.’ She waited a beat. ‘When you sent an enquiry, I read it and forgot about it until the next day when I got an email from a Paul Andrews asking if we would consider his wife for the volunteer role. He mentioned you’d had a tough time but were getting yourself together and also mentioned you had worked in IT.

  ‘I looked at your enquiry again and replied to you asking you to come for an interview. And that,’ she said with firm emphasis, ‘is the only contact I’ve ever had with your husband.’

  Diane felt a wave of weakness rush over her and darkness creep around the corners of her vision. Her chest tightened and the room spun around her. Then, nothing. When she opened her eyes, she was on the floor on her side, something cold on her forehead, water from it trickling down her neck. Red, her face creased with concern, was kneeling beside her. ‘You fainted,’ she said.

  Reaching up, Diane removed the wet cloth and sat up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Sorry for everything.’

  Red put a hand under her arm and helped her to her feet and back into the chair she’d so dramatically exited, minutes before. Without asking, she switched on the kettle and spooned coffee into two mugs. When it was made, she added milk and sugar to both and handed one to Diane. Back in her chair, her coffee held between two hands, she looked across the desk at her and said quietly. ‘It looks as though I’ll have to put my keys in a more secure place from now on,’ she said without rancour. ‘I assume it was Anne?’

  There was no reason to lie. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘She thought she was doing the right thing.’

  ‘By reading my confidential papers or by sharing the content with you?’ Her voice was heavily sarcastic. She obviously didn’t expect an answer as she continued, her brow furrowed. ‘Wasn’t it a bit of a leap of the imagination, though? I wrote on your form that your husband had recommended you, so of course we must have been having an affair?’

  ‘There is more to it than that, but I really can’t go into it,’ Diane said with a weary smile, her head pounding.

  Red shrugged. ‘Fair enough, as long as you’re quite clear that I have never met your husband.’

  ‘Yes, that’s clear now. And again, I’m sorry.’

  There was silence for a moment and then Red put her mug down with a firmness that indicated she’d made a decision. ‘I’ve known Anne for a number of years,’ she said, ‘she’s a lovely woman but she does tend to be overly dramatic at times. I think it’s those fantasy novels she writes, I sometimes think she forgets what’s real and what isn’t.’

  It was Diane’s turn to look puzzled. ‘I thought she wrote crime novels.’ She was sure that was what Anne had told her when she’d asked.

  ‘Crime with a strong fantasy element,’ Red explained. ‘I’ve read them, they’re really good but I’ve noticed in the last three that the fantasy element is becoming stronger.’ She hesitated. ‘You’ve obviously become friends and I don’t want to put you off her, but you strike me as being a little vulnerable so it’s best to know these things.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Diane said, putting her mug down on the desk. ‘I’d better get going.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay to drive? You look terribly pale.’

  Diane forced a smile and stood. ‘I’m fine, honestly. And again, I’m sorry.’ She turned and left the office, closing the door behind her. Of course, she’d lied, she didn’t feel fine at all. Swaying slightly, she took a step away, and then back into the room next door, leaning against the door frame, dropping her chin onto her chest.

  Seconds later, she lifted her head, turning to listen as she heard Red’s voice clearly through the thin partition wall. Only her voice. On the phone to someone. It was a short conversation. ‘We need to talk,’ she heard Red say bluntly and then, moments later, the single word yes.

  There was nothing more. It was tempting to barge into her office and demand to know who she was talking to but, instead, Diane pushed away from the door and made her way from the shop.

  Twenty-Eight

  Diane sat in her car for a long time, trembling, and close to tears. Every time she thought she was getting to grips with some part of what was happening, it was all turned on its head. She was going around in circles, her world spinning out of control.

  She started the engine, pulled out of the car park and was half way home before she realised she was on the wrong road. Swearing loudly, she looked for a place to turn. Seeing nowhere, she swore again and took advantage of a lull in the traffic coming toward her to indicate and throw the car into an illegal U-turn. The car behind, forced to slow down, blasted its horn. She gave an apologetic wave, got a rude gesture in return, and headed back in the right direction. Ten minutes later, she pulled into Anne’s driveway.

  This time, the doorbell was answered almost before she’d removed her finger, taking her by surprise. ‘Gosh, Emma isn’t
giving you a hard time, is she?’ she asked with an attempt at a laugh that failed dismally.

  ‘Of course not,’ Anne said quickly, ‘she’s a little angel. I was worried about you, that’s all. You were longer than I expected.’

  ‘Was I?’ Diane said dismissively, pushing past her without looking and heading to the room at the end of the hallway where, inside, Emma was sitting cross-legged on the sofa watching TV. Stooping to give her a kiss, she looked across the room at Anne, who looked a little pale. ‘I’m sorry I was so late,’ she said, picking up the blanket that had fallen to the floor and twisting it in her hands as she spoke. ‘It wasn’t easy.’

  ‘She admitted it?’

  Conscious of Emma sitting nearby, Diane fought to stay calm, swallowing the no she wanted to shout out. ‘It appears I was barking up the wrong tree,’ she said.

  Anne looked puzzled for a moment, as if she didn’t understand the phrase. ‘Barking up the wrong tree?’ She thought for a moment. ‘Are you saying she isn’t having an affair with your husband?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ Diane said, letting the anger she’d felt since she realised Red was completely blameless colour her words. ‘She’s never even met him.’

  ‘But the application form—’

  She held a hand up stopping her. ‘It meant nothing. She had to fill in something and Paul did email her to ask her to consider me for the job so…’

  Anne paced the room and then stopped and turned. ‘So, they were in contact?’

  She threw up her hands. ‘Yes, but it meant nothing. And, to add to the proof, she doesn’t wear jewellery, ever. Why would he buy her expensive earrings?’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t know?’

  All the anger left Diane in a whoosh and once again she felt drained and weak. Stretching out a hand, she grasped the back of a chair and, swinging the seat around, sat heavily. She could feel Anne’s eyes on her, waiting. ‘Red says you write fantasies,’ she said, unable to keep the hint of accusation from her words.

  Annoyance crossed Anne’s face. ‘Oh, I see. I write fantasies, so perhaps my idea that your husband is trying to push you over the edge is just that?’ She paced the floor, pulling tendrils of hair from the bun she’d tied loosely earlier in the day. It made her look quite wild and, for a moment, Diane was nervous of her.

  But then Anne turned, her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m not a liar, or a fantasist.’ Her face hardened. ‘Is that what she told you?’

  ‘She said you sometimes confused what was real and what wasn’t.’

  Anne’s eyes narrowed. ‘She did, did she? You didn’t really want to believe they were having an affair anyway, and now she’s given you a reason not to. I wonder why she did that?’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ Diane shouted, startling Emma who immediately started to cry. Scooping her up, she lowered her voice as she stroked her little girl’s head. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘I can’t think any more today. My head is reeling. Meet me tomorrow morning, same time, in the usual place?’

  She’d no idea why she wanted to meet her again; listening to her hadn’t brought any clarity. But she needed to talk it out and at least she’d listen – she was kind. There was no time now, if she left immediately, she’d just be in the door before Paul and wouldn’t have to explain where she’d been.

  Saying a hurried thank you so much, she gathered Emma’s belongings, rushed out the door and into the car as fast as she could, only to hit traffic the moment she got to the main road. It was five fifteen; she was running out of time. When the traffic ground to a halt completely, she gave a quick look around before pulling out her phone and hitting one of two speed dials she had set up on her phone, one to him, the other to emergency services.

  ‘Paul,’ she said, when it was answered. ‘It’s me,’ she said unnecessarily, ‘listen, I’ve been out in Anne’s house and got delayed. You might be home before me, so I just wanted to warn you so you wouldn’t be worrying. I’ll get us a takeaway on the way home.’

  Relieved that he asked no questions, she hung up and concentrated on the road. Thirty minutes later, takeaway bags hanging from her free hand bouncing against her thigh, she pushed open the front door. ‘We’re home,’ she called. ‘Go and find Daddy,’ she said to Emma, who immediately rushed ahead.

  Taking the bags into the kitchen, she put them on the counter, leaving them there while she took off her coat, dropping it and her handbag onto a chair. She could hear Emma’s voice coming from upstairs, and the low rumble of Paul’s voice as he replied.

  She remembered she hadn’t locked the car. Grabbing her keys, she pulled open the front door, held her key fob out and pressed, waiting to see the flashing light before dropping her hand.

  And then she saw her. The light was fading, her features in soft focus, but there was no doubt. Diane stood and stared, refusing, this time to back away. Pulling back her shoulders, she refused to look intimidated outside her own home. She thought the woman would disappear as she always had before, walk away and not look back but, to Diane’s horror, she lifted her hand and waved. Even in the dimming light, she could see the curve of her mouth. She was smiling.

  Twenty-Nine

  She was still smiling as Diane took slow steps towards her, stopping when she reached the gate and staring across the street. If she’d had to describe it, if someone asked her exactly what kind of smile it was, she would have had no difficulty in doing so. Because even in the failing light, she could tell it was cold and calculating. Despite a desire to rush back into the house and shut the door, she maintained her gaze, refusing to back down.

  ‘I know about you,’ she shouted, her words vanishing into the sound of the traffic that drove past. ‘I know all about you.’ Louder, the words fired across in fury.

  Unfortunately, Paul chose that precise moment to come down the stairs, saw the open door and came to investigate. Emma was held comfortably in his arms, her plump hands around his neck. ‘What on earth are you doing out there,’ he said. ‘Was that you I heard shouting?’

  She turned to him. The shout that was on her lips died when she saw Emma. It would frighten her. Instead she quickly ran back to his side. ‘Look,’ she said, grabbing his arm and pointing across the road.

  He looked over her head. ‘At what?’

  Diane spun around, dismayed. She was gone.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ he said, stepping backward and putting Emma down. ‘Go in and play until dinner is ready,’ he told her, watching her scamper off with fond eyes before turning back to Diane.

  ‘What’s wrong, Diane? Was there somebody out here worrying you?’

  She looked across the street again at the empty path and slowly shook her head. ‘I thought—’

  ‘You’re overtired,’ he said, interrupting her, taking her by the arm to lead her inside. ‘You’ve been overdoing it.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  In the hallway, with the front door shut, she managed to paste a fair resemblance of a smile on her face. ‘It has just been a long day,’ she said. ‘The shop was busier than usual this morning, so I was already tired, but I’d promised to call around to Anne’s and the afternoon was gone before I realised it. Then, of course,’ she brushed a hand over her hair and flicked it back behind her ears, ‘I had to rush.’

  She watched his face. He seemed to accept the explanation without question. ‘It was a good idea to get a takeaway,’ he said. ‘We should do it more often.’ Without another word, he headed into the family room and, seconds later, she heard him chatting to Emma.

  She wanted to turn, open the door and see if the woman had come back, but she was afraid to. Afraid because, if she were, she’d not be able to stop herself, she’d cross the road and wipe that damn smile from her face. She could feel a scream building, deep inside, if she opened the door again, it would start, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop. And it would be all over then, wouldn’t it? He’d have no difficulty in getting custody.

  Moving away from th
e door, she passed the door to the lounge, eyes studiously averted. In the kitchen, she switched off the cooker, removed the warmed plates and spooned rice and the chicken jalfrezi onto a plate for Paul and the korma onto another for herself.

  ‘It’s ready,’ she called, bringing the plates to the table.

  As Paul tucked into his, she cut some of her chicken for Emma, giving her far more than she could eat, concealing that she’d kept little for herself. She tried a mouthful, chewing for a long time. It was probably lovely, if Paul’s rapidly emptying plate was any indication, but her appetite had deserted her in the face of that smile. She struggled with another mouthful of chicken before giving up and pushing the plate away.

  If Paul noticed she was unusually quiet, or that she ate little, he didn’t say. Instead, he concentrated on his dinner and listened to Emma babble, answering her why questions with infinite patience.

  After dinner, he had his coffee in front of the TV while she took Emma upstairs. What mundane lives they led, she thought, even as she enjoyed the child’s squeals as she tickled her. Was it any wonder that Paul has started looking for his excitement elsewhere? She felt suddenly exhausted, keeping up this act of normality with him was shattering. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could spend in the same house with him.

  With her daughter’s warm, small hand in hers she headed back downstairs where Emma instantly curled up beside her father and she got on with the even more mundane task of tidying up.

  She was grateful when Paul stood and lifted the sleeping child into his arms. ‘Goodnight,’ he said, waiting until she had looked up before continuing, ‘I hope you sleep well.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, surprised. It almost sounded as if he meant it and was the nicest thing he’d said to her in a while. ‘And doesn’t that say it all,’ she muttered, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of wine. She poured a glass and took it to the sofa. He’d left the TV switched on. Channel hopping, she found a house renovation programme and curled up to unpick her nightmare of a day under the guise of watching it.