Obsession: A shocking psychological thriller where love affairs turn deadly

by Amanda Robson

  ‘Black. Blacker than black. ’

  Blacker than black. I shudder inside. Please God, I pray. Please God, make sure she makes a full recovery this time. If not, it’s too much for all of us. Too much for me. Too much for Rob. Dear God, please do not put us through this again.

  ~ Carly ~

  Last time Rob drove me home from hospital I was on a neon high, the outside world moving past me like a cinema screen, every detail sharpened and enhanced. I remember rain slicing into puddles. Today as Rob is driving me home, the world is soft and normal. Today I am really going home.

  ~ Rob ~

  My heart sings with praise for the Lord. I have my Carly back. The real Carly. The one I met in hospital so many years ago. Last time she came home she was over-exhilarated; like a distended balloon, her drinking still out of control. One gentle pinprick and she might have popped. But now she smiles like she used to smile, her lips move in tune with her eyes. She laughs at things that used to make her laugh. She cries at things that used to make her cry. She is in balance with the tempo and rhythm of the universe. She has the balance necessary to survive.

  ~ Carly ~

  Easter weekend and we are escaping Stansfield – all five of us piled into our Volvo estate. Even though we haven’t left yet I am beginning to smell the sea, astringent in my nostrils, making my heart jump at the memory of family holidays. We always used to have a family tradition, the first person to see the sea had to shout ‘Neptune!’ As we approach the coast I’ll get our children to do the same. Our children are laughing and joking, quipping about the Gospels. Excited about seeing Jenni. They always liked her so much. We hardly ever see her now. That thought causes me to ache inside. An ache of regret for my aggressive behaviour. No wonder she moved away to make a fresh start. But I should feel positive. My life has been going so well since I came out of hospital. I am Carly Burton again. The person I was when I married Rob. Carly Burton Bright.

  That’s what my friends used to call me. That’s how I feel now. Shiny. Happy. Bright.

  Travelling to the southern tip of Cornwall is an almost endless journey. Or at least that is how it seems to me; for many, many hours we see nothing but a grey expanse of motorway. We listen to Stephen Fry reading Harry Potter. We play I Spy. Everyone, except Rob who is driving, has intermittent sleep. Eventually the scenery becomes more interesting as we leave the M5 and take the A38 towards Dartmoor. At one point I wake from a doze and see Daphne du Maurier’s Jamaica Inn.

  At last, minds and limbs stiff from travelling, we arrive at Trethynion, the fishing village near Penzance that Jenni and Craig have run away to. Their village is chocolate box pretty. Tooth-like cottages glued together in a horseshoe around a small harbour dotted with fishing boats. The village has a pub, a newsagents and a disused lifeboat station, nothing much else, and I suspect that most of the cottages are let out to holidaymakers. So is it real? Does it have life? Jenni says so when I talk to her on the phone. Turquoise sea and white-washed cottages. Gulls calling above us, telling tales of the ocean. People from the past: pirates, smugglers, fishermen, whispering to me.

  Craig and Jenni step out of their cottage, hug and kiss us and guide us to where we can park, in a bend in the road opposite the lifeboat station. When the car is parked Jenni and I hug again. Her arms feel like sticks in mine. She is thinner than ever. Craig towers over her and smiles at me distantly without making eye contact. Craig, you don’t need to ignore me. I am safe now. Can’t you see that?

  We check in to the pub where we’re staying because Jenni and Craig don’t have enough room to put us up, and then we all meet up in the bar. The children are so pleased to see each other they can’t keep still. None of them can, not even Pippa who is doing her best to be sensible, trying to get the boys to play cards. She stands in front of me, hands on her hips.

  ‘Mummy, if they don’t start to behave soon I’ll take them for a walk.’

  Not sure I want to be worrying about my offspring walking on the harbour wall in the dark, I try to distract them by giving them some money for the jukebox. As Metallica grunts from the shimmering contraption in the corner I regret my idea. Why don’t children come with an off button? Fortunately, before too long they are occupied, building houses with beer mats, necking fizzy drinks and crunching crisps. Jenni and I are sitting next to each other, sharing a bottle of Rioja. Craig and Rob are nursing their pints across the table from us, in this pub with its beams and brass, nooks and crannies. The ceiling is covered in pottery beer mugs hanging on hooks. The patterned carpet and velvet curtains look as if they have been there about fifty years. Jenni looks at me with her chocolate-drop eyes.

  ‘Congrats on doing so well in your exam. Nurse Practitioner. Such a step up,’ I say.

  ‘My confidence is improving. There was a time when I first went back to work that I never would have thought I could do this.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It can’t have helped how I treated you when you first came to our surgery.’

  She puts her hand on my arm.

  ‘Please, Carly, stop apologising. You didn’t mean it. It’s all water under the bridge now.’

  ‘Thankfully.’

  I turn to look at Craig. He seems distracted, ignoring Rob, looking out of the window. He suddenly gets up.

  ‘Excuse me a moment. Just had a text from a fireman from another watch, he’s just outside in the car park. The guvnor wants me to ask him a favour, since I know him, and I might as well talk to him in person since he’s outside. It’ll save a phone call later if I go and speak to him now. Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Jenni says.

  He leans down and kisses her before marching out of the pub. I want to know what he is up to. To see what his work colleague is like. To see a slice of his life. So I stand up and tell Jenni and Rob that I need the loo. But when I reach the entrance to the pub, instead of turning left to go to the ladies cloakroom, I turn right and step outside through the pub’s arched front door. But I do not see Craig in the car park. I see a large figure that must be him further away on the harbour wall. He is rushing towards a tall blonde woman who is standing looking out to sea. He walks in front of her and she turns towards him. He puts his hands on her waist, he pulls her towards him and kisses her. Tender as tender can be. Craig, how can you do this? You are disgusting. How dare you double-cross Jenni again? My heart thumps in anger as I march back to the pub. You are lucky she hasn’t found out yet. Kissing someone else in public. So far, so good for you – Jenni is still talking to Rob.

  Craig, what are you doing with a giant of a woman almost as tall as yourself?

  Why do you want someone else except Jenni, when you didn’t want me?

  Tell me, Craig. Please.

  ~ Craig ~

  I am lying in Anastasia’s bed, nestled between sheets of Egyptian cotton, holding her in my arms.

  ‘Anastasia, she knows.’

  ‘Jenni?’

  ‘No, Carly. Jenni’s friend from when we lived in Stansfield. She saw us on the harbour wall when she was in the pub.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘When we were canoodling, I turned around briefly. I thought I saw her standing by the doorway of the pub, frowning towards us.’ I pause. ‘I wasn’t sure. But she had such a horrid look on her face when I went back into the pub.’

  ‘Did she say anything?’

  ‘Only with her eyes. I think the woman’s dangerous. She’s a bitch. I know her. It’s only a matter of time before she tells Jenni.’

  ‘Carly, is she the woman you told me about? The one that was infatuated with you and caused all the trouble?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Anastasia clings on to me more tightly.

  ‘Craig, I love you. The last thing I want to do is to make your life difficult. Do you think we should hold off for a while?’

  ‘We should.’ I pull her towards me and kiss her caramel lips. ‘But I can’t, Anastasia, I can’t manage without you. We’ll have to take the risk.�
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  ~ Jenni ~

  I feel you moving further away from me again, Craig. Further than our usual differences. An extra feeling of distance. It started several weeks ago as a nebulous feeling, like a mist of rain hanging in the air, brushing against my skin and making it feel wet when it isn’t even raining. But it’s becoming more solid. After how you behaved with Carly I will not be made a cuckold of again. This time I’m on it. Checking your phone messages when you’re asleep. Infiltrating your email. Frisking every pocket, every place you put your fingers. So far all I’ve found are arrangements to meet firemen at the pub, a dry cleaning receipt and two toffee wrappers. But wherever you go, whatever you do, Craig, I’m warning you – you need to be vigilant. And because I haven’t caught you yet, I’m upping the surveillance.

  I book a day off work without telling you, get dressed, take the children to school because it is my turn and pretend to leave for the hospital. But I double back on myself, park my car in the space reserved for guests by the lifeboat station and wait. Half an hour later your car slithers past.

  At home doing paperwork today? Where are you going, Craig?

  I follow you, like a heroine in a TV crime series. On TV the heroine always makes it look easy, back relaxed into her seat, perfectly made-up eyes seeing easily into the distance. But I am leaning forward, neck stretched, eyes bulging, trying to keep your little grey Polo in sight, trying to keep at least one car between us so that you don’t see me.

  You’re leaving our fishing village and pulling onto the A road towards Penzance. You turn off into the next village and with so little traffic, I am forced to hover further back. Winding lanes and tumultuous hedgerows. So many bends I feel sick. You pull into a crescent drive. I park my car behind the hedge. I watch from behind an oak tree. You have slung our Polo clumsily across a Georgian doorway with an air of easy familiarity. You are smoothing your jacket and ringing the doorbell. The Palladian house stretches either side of you, a house with the symmetry of beauty. Perfection. Perfection surrounding it; manicured hedges, gently sloping lawns of felt. Perfection steps from perfection, tosses her head and kisses you.

  Judas, Judas, Craig.

  ~ Craig ~

  Everywhere I go, Jenni, your eyes follow me. You even comment about the length of time I spend on the lavatory. But surely if you’d found out about Ana you would have come clean about it?

  ~ Jenni ~

  Craig, love of my life, my dear heart, since I bought you that present, that brand new iPhone with a tracker in it, I know where you are at all times. I know where you go, Craig. I know. You go mostly to her house, the one she once shared with her husband. Sometimes you walk along the cliffs. Sometimes you hold hands as you stroll along the beach. Sometimes you swank it up at The Old Coastie. Sometimes you go to the pub. I know where you go. I imagine what you do. It’s what you do that torments me. It’s what you do that eats me up.

  ~ Carly ~

  Saturday afternoon. I ring your mobile, Jenni, and you pick up immediately. Where are you? The line isn’t clear. It sounds muffled, as if it’s windy. Are you on the cliff pathway walking towards the church? You took us there when we visited. Do you remember, Jenni? You and Rob went into the church. I waited outside. I don’t like churches. They stifle me. Take away my breath.

  ‘Are you all right, Jenni?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ you say.

  You say yes, but I know from the tone of your voice that you mean no.

  ‘What are you up to?’ I ask.

  ‘Walking,’ you reply.

  ‘To the church?’

  ‘Past the church – along the cliff towards the next village.’

  ‘Sounds windy.’

  ‘It’s blowing a few cobwebs away.’

  ‘Where are the children?’

  ‘At a party in the village. I’m picking them up later.’

  ‘What about Craig?’

  ‘Out with a friend.’

  Your voice whines in the wind, tight and taut, like an overstrung violin.

  Out with a friend? Have you found out about his Amazonian woman? Found out that he’s double-crossed you? He hasn’t just double-crossed you. He’s double-crossed me. Why does he want someone else except you, when he didn’t want me?

  ~ Craig ~

  Lying in bed with Ana. Buried in her scent. Buried in her eyes. Wanting this moment to go on forever. Midday sun playing around the curtain edges, reminding me that there is a world outside.

  ‘When are you going to tell her?’ Ana asks.

  ‘Give me two weeks. I’ll tell her when the boys go to stay with her father for the half-term holiday. It’ll be best to deal with it when they’re out of the way. She went apoplectic over Carly and I didn’t love her. This time she’ll be …’ I pause. ‘Well … she’ll crucify me. Or send me to burn in the fires of hell.’

  ‘Do you really think she’s dangerous?’

  I laugh.

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘You don’t sound very convincing. And what about the other one? Carly. The one that kept pestering you for ages after you broke it off. What about her? Is she dangerous too?’

  ~ Carly ~

  Pippa is helping my mother lay the table. She is nearly nine now, tall for her age, long and leggy, looking absurdly grown-up in her Levi jeans and the Victoria’s Secret sweat top that Mother bought her last Christmas. I am cooking pasta, heating up a ready-made sauce, about to call the boys in from the garden, when Rob arrives home from the surgery. He makes his way across the kitchen to kiss me first. He always kisses me first. His kiss tastes of sandalwood and kindness. Rob is so kind. Always will be. Always was. His kindness has helped me survive. After kissing me he turns his attention to my mother and Pippa.

  Soon the pasta is steaming on the table, and the boys have been hauled in from the endless game of handball they play together across a net they have strung across the whole width of the garden. Pippa has forced them to wash their hands before they sit down. As I sit at the head of the table, doling out pasta, I tell Rob, ‘I rang Jenni today.’

  The atmosphere in the room tightens around me.

  ‘How is she?’ Rob asks.

  ‘There’s something wrong in her life right now.’

  Rob’s looking at me, eyes blazing with concern. Concern for me? Or concern for Jenni?

  ‘How do you know? What did she say?’

  ‘She didn’t say anything. I just know.’

  His face is stern.

  ‘If she didn’t say anything, how do you know?’

  ‘I just do,’ I tell him emphatically.

  He is sitting staring at me, pasta going cold in front of him.

  ‘That’s what you said when you … you know …’

  He means when I thought she’d poisoned me. He doesn’t want to repeat it in front of the children.

  ‘You need to stop this “I just know” business,’ he continues, stabbing his fork into his pasta ferociously.

  ‘I’m better now, Rob. Not everything I say and do is wrong.’

  ~ Jenni ~

  Judas. You have returned from a quick pint with your firemen’s watch – just in time to babysit. I’m off to a PCC party in the vestry, leaving you to spend the evening flicking the remote at the TV. But there won’t be anything on to your taste; I have porno-protected the set.

  ‘I thought I saw Carly today,’ I tell you as I reach for my coat from the hooks by the door.

  You look up, surprised.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I followed her from the car park. She was marching purposefully up towards the pub. A lunchtime rendezvous, I imagine. She was moving so quickly I couldn’t catch up with her. I yelled, Carly! Carly! Carly! and she turned around. That’s when I thought it must be that big woman from school – Ana, I think she’s called. She looks a bit like Carly from the distance. I couldn’t really see which one of them it was – but Carly wouldn’t travel so far for no reason, so it couldn’t be her.’

  I watch him like a hawk. His
face doesn’t change.

  Judas. Judas, Craig.

  ‘So did you talk to her, then?’

  ‘No. As soon as I decided that I was being stupid and that it couldn’t possibly be Carly, I just turned and walked the other way.’

  I slip into my coat and step across the room to kiss him goodbye.

  ‘I won’t be late. One-pot boeuf bourguignon in the oven. And I’ve decanted a bottle of Louis Jadot for you. Beaujolais Villages. Your favourite.’ I blow you a kiss as I leave. ‘Enjoy.’

  ~ Craig ~

  You step out into the night. I hear the door close behind you. Playing games with me, mentioning Carly, mentioning Ana. They’re not that alike. Are they alike in your mind? Are you telling me that you know? The truth will be common knowledge soon. I will have to face the truth and so will you. If you know now, I can stand up to you. I can cope with your anger. I was only waiting a little longer to make it easier for the boys. The TV screen flickers in front of me. Unwatched. Irrelevant. I turn my mind in on itself to concentrate on my feelings for you, Jenni. But I cannot feel anything. All I feel is numbness. I used to think I loved you, but actually, I think what I had was a desire to protect you.

  You drain me. Ana feeds me.

  Ana. Ana. Ana. I wish I had met her ten years ago. The things we could have done together. Ana listens to me. She makes me laugh. Laughter is powerful. She knows I’m not perfect and she doesn’t mind. She forgives me. Her life is her own, not crowded out by Jesus.

  Jesus.

  Jenni, your religious fixations are getting worse. Now you go to church every day. You pray every morning and every evening for an hour, sitting in the lotus position, burning joss sticks, listening to monastic chants, joining in with an eerie whisper. What once seemed lovable and quirky about you, now has become other worldly, as if your life is on hold, waiting to be lived in heaven. Ana is like me, living in the moment. I need to break away from you, Jenni, to allow myself to step into each day properly. I have confused infatuation with love and now I need to pull away. How will I tell you? How will I explain? I begin to imagine it.