The Wife: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist

by Shalini Boland

  ‘I can’t believe you’re actually marrying her!’ Dina spits at Toby. ‘How could you go through with it? How could you think I would let you!’

  And now it’s my turn to glance from one to the other. Dina is angry at him, and Toby appears to be terrified. But what is he terrified of? I’m suddenly very hot and my dress feels too tight. Something’s going on here, and I don’t think it’s anything to do with my schooldays.

  ‘Shall I tell her, or will you?’ Dina asks my fiancé, who is currently several shades whiter than his shirt.

  ‘Tell me what?’ My voice is little more than a whisper. The room has fallen silent. All I can hear is my heart beating.

  ‘Zoe… I’m…’ Toby’s voice trails off.

  ‘Toby?’ I suddenly realise that Dina’s visit is nothing to do with blackmailing me. It’s to do with Toby. Her and Toby.

  I grit my teeth and feel something akin to anger building, but it’s not like any anger I’ve experienced before. It boils up from the depths of my core. A dark realisation that I’ve been made an absolute fool of by the two people I’m closest to in the world. The horror that my life as I thought it would be, is over. That nothing will ever be the same again. The love of my life is a fraud. A cheater. A bastard. But I can’t lose it yet. First, I need to hear him say it.

  ‘Zoe,’ he says more firmly this time. ‘You have to believe that I love you. It meant nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’ Dina snarls. ‘You prick!’ She turns to me. ‘We’ve been seeing each other for months. He loves me.’ She takes a step closer to him.

  ‘But you were in Thailand,’ I say stupidly. ‘You told me you couldn’t get home for the wedding.’

  Her lip curls. ‘I lied.’ She marches right up to Toby now and shoves at his chest. ‘You said you wouldn’t go through with the wedding! You promised me.’

  ‘I didn’t. That was when we first met, and I was stupidly seduced by you. But I made it clear that it was over. A mistake. I’m in love with Zoe. I always have been. We should never have—’

  ‘You bastard!’ Dina starts beating him with her fists. Slowly and ineffectually at first. But then she warms up, pulling at his hair, his clothes, kicking him, yelling and screaming all kinds of profanities.

  ‘Get off me, Dina! You’re insane!’ He pulls away and takes several steps back towards the desk in front of the bay window.

  ‘Zoe, do something! Call someone!’

  ‘I hope she kills you,’ I mutter, shaking and feeling utterly ridiculous and humiliated in my wedding dress. Suddenly, I’m desperate to get out of it. To rip it to shreds and stuff the pieces down my cheating fiancé’s throat.

  ‘I’m a mistake, am I?’ Dina snatches up an empty coffee cup and lobs it at Toby. He ducks and it misses him, shattering against the window, but she follows it up with the saucer which glances off his chin. She’s searching around for something else to throw and grabs a large heavy-looking glass vase filled with white winter roses.

  ‘Don’t!’ Toby strides over to where she’s standing in the centre of the room and tries to wrench the vase out of her grip before she can do any serious damage with it. They struggle and I wonder what the hell I’m even doing here. I should leave them to it. Let them kill each other. Today is wrecked. The life I thought I was going to have is over. My world is in tatters. Toby is a cheat. They both betrayed me.

  Dina hugs the vase to her chest, refusing to let it go. Toby now has her by the throat. She manages to choke out a few choice swear words before eventually dropping the vase. It shatters on the wooden floor, water pooling around their feet. Winter roses mingling with shards of cut glass. Dina’s face is scarlet, her eyes wide.

  I suddenly realise that my wish might be about to come true. He might actually kill her. And no matter how screwed up our relationship is, I don’t actually want my sister to die!

  ‘Toby, let go.’

  His face is contorted with rage, his hands still fixed around her neck.

  ‘Toby!’ I stumble over to where they stand tussling in the centre of the room, a grim tableaux. ‘Stop it!’ I yell, my shoes crunching over broken glass as I yank at his arm, trying to get him to release his hold on her. He pays me no attention. ‘STOP! You’re going to kill her!’ I can’t break his grip. I need to get help…

  Thirty

  NOW

  The hotel room is endlessly dark. I’m sitting up in bed, a cold sweat dampening my hair, my head pounding, my heart racing with a deep terror that leaves me gasping and gulping for air. Shaking and crying as though I’m still there in Toby’s hotel room ten years ago. As though it was only seconds ago that I was screaming at him to stop what he was doing. Crunching over broken glass. Trying to break his grip from around Dina’s neck.

  Toby strangled my sister! I realise my hands are around my own throat and I can barely swallow. I let go and crawl forward on the bed onto my hands and knees, still gasping in shock and disbelief. It was Toby! Not me. I’m not a murderer. It was my husband. He slept with her and then he strangled her. And then I… I married this man. Raised two children with him.

  ‘No, no, no, no, no.’ I bury my face in the bedclothes and let out a moan. Am I dreaming? Am I in the throes of a nightmare? This surely can’t be real. But it is. I remember it as clearly as if I were there. Everything has been a lie. My wedding day… my husband… my marriage… my sister. All a big fat lie.

  Toby. My husband. The man I thought was the love of my life. Who has been by my side through thick and thin. In sickness and in health. He lied to me. Betrayed me. I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to gulp down some air and shut it all out. But this is too huge to ignore. Too devastating. I can hardly take it all in. The memories replay themselves – my sister’s sneering expression and drunken slurs. Toby’s panicked face and then his cold, cruel grip on Dina’s neck. All those lies.

  And he’s still lying. Yesterday he told me that I was a killer. Blamed me for my sister’s death and made out that he’d been standing by me all these years, that he’d never been even remotely interested in my sister like that. He made out that it was all her fault. Said he’d been protecting me from the truth, like he was being noble, forgiving me for what I’d done.

  I push myself up into a kneeling position on the bed. He must have thanked his lucky stars when he discovered I’d lost my memory. How could he go on to make me believe such a despicable thing about myself? How could he? How dare he! Pretending that he was prepared to stand by my side through all of this. That he’s been such a good and faithful husband. Looking out for me. When all along he’s just been covering his own arse. He had an affair and then he killed her! Is this the man I married?

  How can my husband be so far removed from the perfect man I thought he was? I clench my fists, suddenly fuelled with rage. But almost as soon as the anger hits, it ebbs away. My brain is becoming foggy. I need to open the curtains, to open the window and breathe in fresh air. Clear my head. Call the police and tell them what happened. They need to know that my sister was murdered. That my husband is a cold-blooded killer.

  But what’s going to happen to me? To my children?

  My marriage is over.

  With trembling fingers, I fumble on the bedside table for my phone, but I can’t seem to locate it, so I give up, instead finding a bottle of water. I unscrew the cap, bring the bottle to my lips and drain the remaining few sips. But they do little to quench my thirst or clear my head. My mouth is so dry, but there’s no time to waste getting a fresh bottle from the minibar. I need to find my phone.

  I try to stand, but my legs are leaden, and my head is so heavy. Is it a hangover, or shock? Am I coming down with something? I don’t understand why I’m feeling so strange and woozy. I lie back on the bed. I’ll stay here for a moment until I feel strong enough to get up. Then I’ll call the police. I just need a few minutes to collect myself, that’s all…

  I crack open an eyelid, and then another, allowing my eyes some time to adjust to the darkness. There’s no hint of daylight thro
ugh the curtains. I must have fallen asleep or passed out. Surely I haven’t slept all day! My head throbs, and my eyelids are heavy. I don’t feel as though I’ve slept at all. I’m tempted to simply close my eyes and give in to sleep once more. It’s the only option that feels acceptable right now.

  ‘You’re awake.’

  I give a start and raise my head at the sound of my mother-in-law’s voice.

  ‘Celia?’ My voice is croaky. ‘You made me jump. I didn’t realise you were here.’ Although, now I think of it, the scent of her White Linen perfume is all around me, catching in the back of my throat.

  The light from Celia’s phone blinks on, illuminating her face, making it appear distorted in the otherwise darkened room. She’s sitting near the end of my bed tapping something into her mobile.

  I take a breath and try to summon the energy to sit up. I’m still wearing my clothes and the top of my jeans is digging into my stomach, my jumper itches and I feel sweaty and gross. I could really do with a long drink of water and a cool shower. Now that I’ve eased myself upright, I can’t seem to catch my breath. My whole body is tingling and I’m light-headed and dizzy.

  ‘Is there any water? Where’s Toby?’ My tongue feels thick in my mouth. As if it’s bigger than normal.

  ‘The boys and Madeline have gone to the spa. Toby said you were so sound asleep he couldn’t wake you, so I persuaded the three of them to have their treatments and a swim. I said you’d feel doubly bad if you thought they’d missed out.’

  I can’t imagine them all relaxing in the spa – swimming and enjoying themselves. It doesn’t feel right. Not when Dina is dead.

  Dina!

  Toby killed her! They were having an affair. I let out a low moan.

  ‘What wrong?’ Celia asks. ‘Are you okay, Zoe?’

  I don’t know what to say to her. I need her to leave. She’s the last person I want to talk to about this. About her son. ‘Celia…’

  She holds a finger up, bidding me to wait a moment while she finishes doing whatever she’s doing on the phone.

  ‘Celia, I don’t feel well.’

  ‘Just breathe, Zoe.’

  ‘I… I just need to be on my own for a while. Catch up on my sleep if that’s okay…’

  She finally puts her phone down and looks up. ‘Your breathing sounds a bit strange.’

  ‘I’m fine, just a bit dizzy.’ But I can hear and feel my breaths coming in laboured bursts.

  ‘Hmm, it sounds like you might be having a panic attack.’

  ‘No, I’m okay, honestly.’ But actually, I’m having real difficulty breathing and my fingers and toes are tingling. I pull at the neck of my jumper and try to take a deep breath, but nothing seems to be going into my lungs.

  ‘Believe me, it’s a panic attack,’ Celia says sagely. ‘I’ve seen enough of them in my time. It’s nothing to worry about.’ That’s easy for her to say. She uses the light on her phone to guide her as she walks the short distance to my bedside table, where she switches on the side light. I wince against the sudden brightness. ‘There, that’s better. I can get a proper look at you now.’

  The rate of my breathing accelerates, but each inhalation feels shallow and useless.

  She gazes down at me critically. ‘Are you able to stand up?’

  ‘I… I don’t know. I’d rather stay here. I feel too shaky to move.’ Why am I so exhausted? ‘Honestly, Celia, I’ll be fine. You should join the others.’

  ‘Nonsense. Come on,’ she says brightly, ‘up you get.’ She takes hold of my legs and swings them around so they’re off the bed. Then she sits and puts an arm around me, heaving me up. But my legs are unsteady, and my bones feel too soft to support my weight. ‘Let’s get you into that armchair.’

  I glance over to see that one of the leaf-print armchairs that was previously by the window has been placed nearer to the bed. ‘Why can’t I just stay in bed?’

  ‘You’ve had enough sleep for today, Zoe. It’s making you even more drowsy. You need to sit up for a bit.’

  I don’t quite understand her logic, but she is a nurse, so I guess she’s the expert. All I know is that I feel absolutely dreadful – nauseous, dizzy, exhausted and shaky. I let her support me and we make the half dozen shuffling steps over to the chair. Celia is sturdy and capable, and I feel reassured that she won’t let me fall. Finally, I sink gratefully into the armchair. But within seconds, I start to feel awful again. I’m still having real trouble breathing. And there’s a heaviness in my brain. Maybe it’s the weight of my memory. The fact that my marriage is over, and my sister is dead.

  ‘Where’s my phone?’ I need to call the police. But how can I do that with Celia here? I have to somehow get rid of her. But there’s something really wrong with me. I don’t feel well at all. ‘I feel like I’m going to die.’

  ‘Shh, you’re fine, Zoe. Just try to calm down. Inhale for five seconds, and exhale for eight.’

  I do as she says. Feeling the air come in through my nostrils, but I can’t seem to suck it in any deeper. I try again, and this time it feels a little easier. Once I can get my breathing under control, hopefully I’ll start to feel better and Celia will agree to leave me alone. Then I can make that call.

  Celia takes my hand, but I can barely feel her touch – my fingers seem to have gone completely numb. ‘In through the nose.’ She breathes with me. ‘And out through the mouth.’ She guides me through this mantra a few times until my breathing finally slows a little. ‘Much better. Okay, keep up the deep breathing and I’ll be back in a minute. I just need to wash my hands.’

  While Celia disappears into the bathroom, I keep up the breathing and, while I still feel as though someone’s sitting on my chest, at least I’m no longer gasping like a landed fish. I wonder why she needs to wash her hands, unless she thinks I’ve got some contagious bug.

  Celia returns to the room and retrieves her bag from the foot of the bed.

  ‘Why are you wearing those gloves?’ I croak. I’m sure she wasn’t wearing them a minute ago.

  ‘Oh, I always wear surgical gloves when I give injections. It’s part of procedure. Hygiene, dear.’

  ‘Injection?’ I pant. ‘What injection?’

  ‘No need to look so worried.’ She smiles. ‘It’s just a fast-acting sedative to help calm you down. It works far better intravenously than a pill. I often give it to patients who are suffering from panic attacks and anxiety. You’ll feel calmer in no time.’

  ‘No,’ I protest. ‘I’ll be fine, I’ll try the breathing thing again.’ But the panicky feeling only worsens. My head flops back against the chair and I’m scared that I’m about to black out.

  ‘Nonsense.’ Celia brushes aside my concern. ‘You’ll feel so much better.’

  I shake my head and tap my chest, trying to will air into my lungs. But nothing’s working. I want to tell her that I’m feeling a little better now. That I don’t need an injection. That I don’t want an injection. But I daren’t pause my slow-breathing exercises in case that awful, black dizzy feeling returns.

  Celia rolls up the sleeve of my jumper. I’m breathing more deeply now, thankful that the dizziness is gradually receding. I’m actually beginning to feel slightly better. I open my mouth to tell her in no uncertain terms that I do not want her sedative, but it’s too late. I’m dimly aware of her administering the injection – a sharp cold sensation on my skin.

  ‘There. All done!’ Celia declares with a smile. ‘We’ll have you sorted in no time.’

  I try to turn my head at a knock at the door, but I feel suddenly and strangely too relaxed to move. Must be the sedative kicking in. That was quick.

  ‘Right on time,’ Celia says brightly. ‘That’ll be Malcolm. I’ll get the door. You stay there, Zoe.’ That phrase seems to have amused her, and she shakes her head with a smile. ‘Don’t mind me. It’s an inside joke.’

  Celia disappears from my line of sight, and I realise that I genuinely cannot move. It’s very disconcerting. I wonder how I’m going to
be able to get back into bed. I knew Celia should have left me where I was rather that shifting me into this chair. Maybe Malcolm will help her move me back.

  He comes into the room carrying, of all things, a backpack. Celia closes the door behind him.

  I want to greet Malcolm, but I can’t seem to move my mouth. And strangely, he doesn’t even acknowledge me, other than a brief glance in my direction. The two of them sit huddled together on the edge of the bed as Malcolm opens up the backpack. They’re discussing something intensely in low voices, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.

  Celia suddenly remembers I’m still here. ‘Are you okay, Zoe?’ She glances up and stares at me. But she doesn’t look like herself. She’s lost her soft, gentle demeanour. Her eyes are hard, assessing, critical.

  I still can’t open my mouth. In fact, I can’t seem to move a muscle. I need to tell Celia that her sedative is making me feel extremely strange. That, actually, I’m quite scared. Surely she should be checking up on me, making sure I’m okay. She’s a nurse. I’m her daughter-in-law. But she seems more concerned with Malcolm and his backpack.

  Maybe I’m having an allergic reaction to the sedative. Or perhaps I’m simply frozen in shock after finding out about Dina. But this feels like something far worse than that. I can’t move a muscle. I can’t open my mouth. I can barely breathe.

  This bridal suite must be jinxed. The last time I stayed here, my sister was murdered. And now something very strange is going on with Celia and Malcolm. What are they doing here? Why are they ignoring me?

  Another strange sensation of déjà vu comes over me. Of Celia taking control of another situation. Only she wasn’t with Malcolm that time. I try to catch hold of the memory that’s sitting just out of reach on the edge of my consciousness. And then, just like the last time, it hits me in the solar plexus like a freight train.

  Thirty-One