The Ex-Husband

by Hamilton, Karen

  I start writing down numbers and letters, replacing the incorrect ones with the right dates.

  Lucy and Thomas both look over my shoulder as I access an account in the name of Sam’s father. Several hundred thousand pounds appear beneath his name. And this is only in the one account.

  ‘There you go,’ I say, turning the laptop screen round to show her. ‘You can change the password yourself. It’s all yours to do what you like with. We can end this now.’

  Lucy pushes me out of the way and taps so fast, her nails scratch the keyboard. Thomas steps in to help. The figure falls to zero.

  I wait, barely breathing, but she doesn’t ask me to access anything further. She doesn’t seem disappointed that it’s less than a million. In fact, they both look as if they can’t quite believe it has happened. Lucy appears less frenzied. Her breathing is calmer.

  ‘Now, tell me what happened to Sam,’ I say.

  ‘I want that memory stick first,’ she says.

  I yank it out. Lucy tries to take it off me. I pick up a paperweight and hit her with it, hard, on the side of her face, before turning towards the railings and throwing the USB into the sea. There is nothing left in her possession that connects me to Sam.

  My actions trigger fresh rage in Lucy.

  ‘Hold her, Thomas!’

  He grabs me from behind and holds my arms behind my back, then pushes me to the floor. I am winded. My cheek stings where my face hit the carpet. I struggle, but Thomas is stronger. I can see Lucy preparing the syringe. Oh, god, not again. I mustn’t end up like Sam.

  I kick Thomas but he grabs me tighter.

  ‘You don’t want to do this, Thomas. Let me go!’

  As I feel Lucy tug my arm, I scream, and she jabs me in the shoulder with the syringe.

  Yet . . . nothing else happens. The world does not go black. Lucy says, ‘Fuck. I didn’t do it properly.’

  I look up to see a wine bottle flying towards my face. I shut my eyes and raise my arms to cover my head. She misses, it only grazes the side of my head, but I keep my eyes closed and pretend to go limp. The pain in my shoulder is excruciating.

  ‘Drag her to the railings,’ I hear Lucy say. ‘I’ve got ribbon in my bag, we can use it to tie her up.’

  It takes both of them to hold me down, but despite my struggling and kicking they succeed in tying my hands behind my back and attaching the ribbon to the metal rails. My wrists sting as I tug. I am exhausted.

  I open my eyes. Lucy is sitting on a chair beside me. I shut my eyes again as if drowsy.

  ‘Tell me about Sam,’ I say. ‘You owe me that.’

  Silence. At first I think she isn’t going to say anything, but then she starts speaking softly.

  ‘He made me so many promises,’ she says, looking down at me on the floor. ‘And I believed him. Every. Single. Time.’

  ‘Sam loved the thrill of the chase,’ I say.

  ‘I kept a close eye on Sam, which wasn’t easy. He lied, even on his social media, about where he was and what he was doing. But then he met Perfect Penny after you and she loved posting things about them online, so it was easier to follow him. I couldn’t believe it when she posted that she was going to Devon. That was our special place. I didn’t love him with quite the same level of intensity any more, but I also didn’t see why he should get away with everything.’

  ‘I own that house,’ I say.

  She looks shocked but doesn’t say anything.

  ‘When were you there?’ I ask.

  ‘The first time was once when you were in between tenants. He told me that you and he had split up. I met him in Mexico, twice, too. I thought it was just me and him, now that you were gone.’

  ‘There were probably at least a couple more women before Penny,’ I say, unable to resist.

  She speaks in a monotone, as if distancing herself from her words.

  ‘His death was an accident, it really was. I called him and told him that I needed to see him. He was in the house and I went there, but he said that I couldn’t stay, that we were over. He didn’t want me in the house because I was his dirty secret. We weren’t anywhere near the place where the reports said he fell, we were a few miles further along.’ Lucy takes a deep breath, then speeds up as if she is trying to get the next part over with. ‘We were walking and he was lying and denying, he even pretended he couldn’t remember Jake, he said that I was delusional, and even though I knew what he was like, I was angry because I knew that he was just saying what he thought he should say, not what was real, and then we fought and he . . . fell. He was gone. He genuinely, honestly, just fell.’

  I open my eyes properly and stare at her.

  ‘You pushed him,’ I say.

  ‘No, he fell.’

  The three of us sit in silence. Dawn is imminent. Flecks of pale yellow and gold begin to stripe the horizon. The ribbon is slippery, easing around my wrists. I daren’t look directly at Thomas. I don’t want to make any sudden movements. Every now and then he gives a little cough or I hear the clink of ice in his glass. My head hurts. I can feel blood, sticky, in my cropped hair.

  ‘Why, then, didn’t you call the police? The coastguard? Anyone? No one looked for him until Penny raised the alarm.’

  ‘What would have been the point? He fell over the edge of a cliff. Why would I want to make things worse for myself? What do you think Sam would have done if the roles were reversed?’

  ‘It doesn’t make it right.’

  ‘It doesn’t make it wrong.’

  ‘He was afraid, just before he died. He said that someone had been threatening him.’

  ‘I wanted him to admit to what he had done.’

  ‘You had his bag,’ I say. ‘He didn’t fall with that. He carried his rucksack everywhere. That’s how you had his laptop.’

  ‘I discarded his jacket nearer the house,’ Lucy says, ‘so it would look like he had fallen there. I called you from Sam’s phone, several times. You never picked up.’

  ‘What night was this?’ I say.

  She tells me. And it plunges me back into uncertainty. If that is the case, then it couldn’t have been Sam who put the memory stick and the note in my bag.

  It had to be someone else.

  As I process this, I sense Lucy’s mood change. She is watching me. I look ahead as I ease the ribbon off my wrists. Sunlight rises in the sky, shimmering gold reflects off the water.

  ‘You’re not leaving now,’ she said. ‘There’s no way I can trust you.’

  ‘You got what you wanted,’ I say.

  ‘Not quite,’ she says.

  She stands up, a wine bottle clenched in her hand again. I see streaks of blood – my blood – on the white printed label. I will not end up like Sam. I free my hands and I see the shock in Lucy’s expression as I leap up to grab her weapon. I miss, but grip hold of her forearm. Lucy pulls her arm free and raises it high. As she attempts to hit me with the bottle, she trips over a large, decorative seashell. Her body slams against the balcony rail and she drops the bottle, which thuds onto the carpet. I grab at the emerald necklace from behind and tug hard as Lucy reaches up to her neck. Once, twice, a third time before it breaks off and is released into my hands.

  From behind me Thomas grabs my shoulders and pulls me away from Lucy. She bends down to pick up the bottle. As she turns to hit me again with it, I twist my head to the side and the bottle smashes down onto the railings. Thomas releases his grip on me as he ducks out of the way of the flying glass. Lucy raises her arm again, the jagged edges of dark green are ugly against the streaks of reds and oranges in the sky beyond. I do what I have to. I push. With all my force. Lucy falls backwards onto the ground. I reach down to prise the smashed bottle from her and as I do so, Thomas pushes me out of the way. I fall too, knees first, the pain only briefly registering as I leap up to stop Thomas from hurting me again. We collide, facing each other as he then slams me against the railings. The metal judders as I catch my breath. I look at him and I can see the hatred in his eyes. He comes a
t me again. I smell whisky. I step to the right. His body crashes into the railings, which shudder and vibrate once again but they do nothing to stop him. Thomas’s height was an advantage only when he was overpowering me. As he tumbles into the ocean, all I can hear are Lucy’s screams.

  ‘You’ve killed him!’

  ‘No, he fell!’

  We both look down into the water. There is no sign of Thomas. I turn and face the aft of the yacht. In the wake I can see Thomas bobbing, already the distance between him and us is growing.

  ‘We have to alert the crew,’ I say. ‘He isn’t trying to swim or wave for help. He must’ve hit his head on the way down.’

  As I turn away, it’s the sudden movement in the corner of my eye that alerts me to Lucy’s intention. She grabs my arm.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ she says. ‘You go in and save him.’

  I do what I have to do once again. I shove her. Hard.

  The shock on Lucy’s face as she falls backwards and over the railing is terrifying. But . . . it’s too late. I had no choice but to save myself.

  It’s what Sam should have done.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Then and Now

  I run for help. The alarm is sounded, loud and urgent, as the crew leap into action. It seems as if every single one of them is out on the deck as the yacht turns around to locate Lucy and Thomas. I am simultaneously afraid of them being found and of them not being found.

  However, even in the midst of my panic, twisted hope forms. Dark secrets are self-silencing. By coupling up with Lucy, Thomas has become a criminal, limited his options, now and in the future. He has become someone more like me.

  Lucy is found first. She has swallowed a lot of water. Under the captain’s orders, The Cleobella is returning to Barbados to get Lucy proper medical attention. Thomas is a different story. He has not been found. The thundering of approaching rescue boats and helicopters in our immediate vicinity is deeply unsettling.

  At Bridgetown, the crew are given permission to dock immediately.

  ‘How on earth did it happen?’ Josephine asks me as we wait for the police.

  Everyone is so shocked, so preoccupied, that no one comments on my new, short haircut.

  ‘We were drinking a lot, taking photos,’ I say. ‘It seemed that Thomas didn’t consider his surroundings properly, he sat on the guardrails then slipped backwards. It was terrible.’

  It was.

  Josephine looks aghast.

  I look at Lucy, still wrapped in a blanket, and she looks at me. Honour among thieves, however twisted and misplaced. Neither of us can turn the other in without incriminating ourselves.

  ‘And Lucy jumped in to save Thomas,’ I add. ‘Such a hero.’

  She glares at me and I just know she’s biding her time, waiting for the best moment to contradict my story and drop me in it, despite her own crimes. The police are going to interview her separately, at the hospital to which she is about to be whisked away in a private car by Josephine and Harrison.

  Once we’ve all relayed our own stories and answered the police questions, we are then left, anchorless, awaiting news of Thomas.

  Around me, I hear, ‘A tragic accident,’ repeated, over and over.

  The stilted goodbyes and thank-yous, the assurances from the yacht crew to keep everyone updated with the search – they are all a blur.

  ‘Cars have been arranged to transport everyone to the villa,’ Gina says.

  ‘I don’t need to go there,’ I say.

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte, but I really must insist on behalf of Josephine. Ultimately, she feels it’s her responsibility until it has been confirmed by a doctor that you are fit to fly home.’

  I sit in the back of the car with Gina and Garth; Daniel sits in the front. I stare out the window as we pass a beach, crammed full of carefree-looking tourists, a complete contrast to Gina and Garth’s dissections of Thomas and his most likely fate.

  We pass through the gates and enter the drive leading up to the villa, palms swaying in the gentle breeze. From the outside, it certainly looks even more luxurious than anything Sam or I ever stayed in.

  We’re dropped off. Mariella and Owen come to the front door to greet us, their faces pale.

  ‘We couldn’t believe it when we heard. We’ve been praying for a positive outcome.’

  The villa staff have prepared all our rooms. Daniel doesn’t leave until Mariella and Owen have sworn to keep a close eye on me. From the window in one of the upstairs guest bedrooms, I watch the cars drive away.

  Now that I know how to, I figure out Sam’s bank codes, one by one, by deciphering the incorrect holiday dates. By the time I have finished, I have gained access to five different accounts. It is deeply satisfying to discover that Sam, in the end, did the right thing by warning me to watch my back and by finally giving me access to his riches. What Lucy got her hands on is a mere drop in a large ocean. I exhale loudly and give a little shout out loud.

  ‘Yes!’

  I am free.

  It is late afternoon when we hear the news that unlike Sam, who wasn’t discovered immediately, Thomas, tragically, has been.

  I feel numb. I hate what he did to me yet I understood his desire for revenge.

  I ask one of the villa staff to arrange a car to take me to the hospital. One thing is clear: Lucy needs silencing. I predict that she is hoping to slip away and lead a quiet life, to put all this behind her. Good luck to her. I won’t let it happen.

  At the desk, I pretend to be Lucy’s distraught sister. Turns out there was no need, she has already discharged herself.

  Let Lucy think she has given me the slip. I know all the ways to tap into her new-found greed, to hook her, to lure her in online, snippet by snippet, temptation by temptation, a trail of golden crumbs and I’ll be waiting at the end . . . Secrets weakened Sam and they weakened me. She won’t be an exception. She will not live her life off the fruits of my labour.

  I message Lewis.

  The woman’s name is Lucy. You had a lucky escape.

  I message JJ to let him know that I am all right, and then, finally, Lucy:

  I won’t forget what you did.

  It will stop her from getting too comfortable. The message does not send, however. Her phone number has been changed or I have been blocked. No matter, she can’t disappear completely, she can’t hide from me. I have her notebook, the one covered in cats and dogs, which she handed to me when she was so desperate to get into Sam’s bank account. It’s full of fascinating, personal tit-bits, like how she is planning to fly to Goa with my money.

  It’s peaceful at the villa. It’s the kind of peace that it feels as though nothing bad can ever happen. I sit on the porch area and stare out to sea, sipping tea. I do this every morning. Everyone except Mariella and family have flown home to deal with the aftermath in private.

  Mariella comes out onto the porch and joins me.

  ‘We’re leaving in a few days,’ she says. ‘But the owner says you can stay on for as long as you like.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, then ask her quietly, ‘What about Tim?’

  ‘He is taking some time off, then he has some work in the Med, come spring. I don’t know when I will see him again. I know it must look bad . . .’

  ‘It’s not up to me to judge,’ I say.

  While staying with Mariella, Owen and their children, I have adopted Daniel’s policy of seeing no evil, hearing no evil, speaking no evil when it comes to thinking about Mariella and Tim.

  ‘Owen and I have an arrangement. We lead fairly separate lives, but Tim, being an employee of his . . . Well, it crossed a line. Tim isn’t going to accept any work from Owen again, so it will work itself out, somehow.’

  ‘I hope it does work out well for you.’ True.

  We sit in silence.

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it, who put the package in my bag at the races? You were there. You had a connection to Sam, it’s the only thing that makes sense.’

  Sam must’v
e had me followed when I didn’t respond to his calls.

  ‘Yes. Owen asked me to do him a favour. He and Sam, they went back a long way. I didn’t know anything about you, or Sam. I trusted Owen when he said it wasn’t anything illegal. He said it was important, that it was something that might save your life. Sam had begged him to do it, apparently, told Owen that he knew where you could be found. I felt guilty about Tim, so I agreed to do it as I felt that I owed Owen for what I was doing behind his back. I told him I would go to the races with a friend.’ She pauses. ‘I watched you disembark from the boat. You looked exactly like your photograph. I was horrified when you smiled at me and then again when you recognised me just before we boarded the yacht, but Owen assured me it was nothing to concern myself with. He reassured me again that I hadn’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘Secrets make liars of us all,’ I say.

  I haven’t told Mariella the full story, just that Lucy wasn’t quite the friend she had made herself out to be and had been seeing Sam behind my back, plus playing horrible tricks on me to make me think that I was losing my mind. Lucy deserves to be badly thought of.

  ‘The owner is coming over here for sundowners,’ she says. ‘They want to meet you. You can have a discussion then about length of stay, dates and what have you, once they have deemed you suitable. I imagine that is what the visit is all about.’

  I’ve got an inkling that it is much more than that. The story doesn’t feel over yet.

  A silver car with blacked-out windows appears in the drive at 6 p.m. The driver steps out and opens the back door. My stomach drops. It is not who I expected. Because, even now, I still half-suspect that Sam will show up, bursting with stories and lies. It will take time for me to feel truly free from his legacy, to accept that he is gone. She emerges, wearing a shimmering long dress in peacock blues and greens. She hasn’t aged. If anything, she looks even better. My heart thuds. I know there’ll be a reason she’s here.

  ‘Hello, Charlotte.’

  ‘Hello, Alexandra.’

  It feels good to see her again, despite my trepidation.

  We sit on the porch, surrounded by the noises of the cicadas, and sip rum cocktails with pineapple juice. Owen only stays for the one. After that, he has calls to make. Mariella wants to put the younger children to bed. Alexandra and I find ourselves alone.