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The Perfect Widow

Page 26

by A. M. Castle


  I ask you, is nothing sacred? Apparently not for Patrick. I found out he was using our fantasy with the others, years ago. I’d popped in to surprise him one evening, I’d booked a babysitter, got dressed up, the works. Then I saw him at it through the window in his office door. I didn’t say anything, just took myself off home again, sent the surprised sitter away with a chunk of cash.

  You can imagine how I’d felt. But the point isn’t to rub my own nose in all that again; it’s simply to say that I knew Stacy would have come across Patrick’s workplace by now, if I can put it that way.

  Well, all’s fair in love and war, Patrick. Stacy was my Exocet missile, unknowingly delivering the payload to bring you down.

  What Patrick’s staff told the police was true, he always liked warm tootsies at his desk. And though it was a hot autumn, as soon as the sun set, the temperature dropped like a stone. So I suggested an outing to John Lewis. My visit to Stacy’s house had completely allayed her fears. She and Patrick had no idea that I’d guessed her dirty secret. She might not have wanted to spend time with me anymore, now she’d won first prize, my husband, but she didn’t want to do anything suspicious, out of character. We’d been going on little shopping trips together forever, this was just another in the same old vein. So I towed her casually to the small electricals department. My gosh, I said. That’s the exact same heater Patrick used to have in his office. My, how he loved it! Two seconds later, she’d snapped it up, saying she needed one desperately.

  Now I just had to swap hers for the one I’d prepared earlier. I’d done a bit of judicious tinkering, thanks to a few tomes on electrical wiring I happened to have about the place. It was ready in the boot of my car, in my biggest gym bag.

  While Stacy nipped in to see a teacher that day after school, I borrowed her car keys to get a textbook Em had left on the back seat. It took two seconds to make the substitution. If this hadn’t worked, I’d had a million other plans up my sleeve, but it was all smooth as silk. I took it as a sign.

  Next I had to pray that Patrick would use the heater, before he had time to fritter away any more money. But I was lucky there, and in that stroke of fortune I’ve been able to tell myself again that there is such a thing as divine providence. Someone up there wanted to see my children keep their home.

  It was the day after I swapped the heaters that I got that little visit from Becca Holt and her PC chum. I was surprised enough to fool one of them. I’d thought it might take days, even weeks. I was hoping it wouldn’t take months. I really wasn’t counting on little more than twenty-four hours.

  Ah, Stacy. Those heaters cost a fortune. I would say an arm and a leg, but in Patrick’s case, it was a lot more.

  Stacy had obligingly dropped off his death sentence, and no doubt got her reward on his desk. I’d already dumped my wiring manuals – not the juiciest reading I’ve ever enjoyed, but necessary – into a recycling bin far away. Now it was just a question of ensuring that Stacy’s Jeff did his part.

  Jeff. What a funny little man. His tongue always hung out when he looked at me. A cut-price version of Patrick, But, unlike Stacy, I wouldn’t do that to a friend. There were ways of getting him to do his bit, without making it obvious that strings were being pulled. The main factor, working in my favour, was Stacy’s overwhelming guilt. Because she was the one who’d brought the heater in, she thought she was responsible for Patrick’s death.

  Well, that suited me down to the ground. Of course, she sat in my kitchen and wept puddles on my surfaces. She still hadn’t admitted her evil deeds to me, the adultery or the unfortunate gift, so she was risking a lot, showing me the raw depth of her sorrow. I found it hard to offer any sympathy to the woman who’d been my husband’s last whore. But I rose to the occasion. We had a hug. More than one. It was like embracing a soggy tissue. I was only surprised she didn’t come apart in my arms.

  The acting was getting me down at this point. The whole necessity of continuing to see Stacy, of pretending nothing was wrong, of having her at the funeral, well, it was the pits. But I needed her onside, so I could suggest to her how great it would be if Jeff took the case. I didn’t have to point out to her the distinct advantage of Jeff brushing any lumpy-looking facts under the most convenient bit of carpet. As far as she was concerned, the faster the file was closed, boxed up and wheeled off to a storage facility in the back end of nowhere, the better.

  I don’t know whether Jeff was in on the secret of her affair. I suspect not. But he owed his wife, for all the thousands he’d blown himself. And if she said he’d be doing it for me, maybe he thought he was chivalrously helping his wife’s best friend. Or maybe he hoped it would give him an in with the widow. Whatever his motivation, he actually did his job for a change.

  So here I am, safe in my kitchen, with my children close to my side, my mother-in-law rooting for my recovery, and quite a tidy sum tucked into the bank, thanks to the good old insurance company.

  You may be sitting there, judging me, saying to yourself, crime isn’t supposed to pay.

  But wouldn’t the worst crime have been doing nothing as my children were made homeless?

  Epilogue

  Now

  Louise

  Don’t say a quick mercy killing hasn’t crossed your own mind, when your husband starts snoring on the sofa or talks over you yet again or drops his dirty pants on the floor with the blithe expectation that you’ll pick them up. And those are the small provocations. If he was screwing your best friend and ripping you off as well, just ask yourself what you would do. If you thought you could get away with it, that is.

  Accidental death, that was the verdict. My mother’s was misadventure, due to the drugs in her bloodstream and the amount of booze lying about the place. I’ve had a misadventurous, accident-prone life, if you like. But these things find me, not the other way around. I’ve never meant to harm anyone – unless they came between me and what I know is right.

  Em looks up from her homework, demands an orange juice. I hand her water instead. Giles is really concentrating on his maths for a change. I have no doubts anymore that I am a good mother, and on my way to being a good person.

  Yes, I’m a work in progress, always feeling my way between good and evil. It’s as much of a seesaw as you’ll see at any children’s playground. You’d never guess it, though, would you? From the outside, I know I now look like the real deal.

  Does that make you feel insecure all of a sudden? A cold breeze in your warm, safe world? Maybe you hope I live far away, and would never tangle with you and yours. Possibly you’ll tell yourself I’m one of a kind. Do you really think I am? Or will you meet my double at the school gates this afternoon? Could there be unquenchable rage behind every wide, wide smile? Don’t we all have lies we need, at all costs, to hide? Or are you weak as water, destined to flow as others want you to, as long as you live?

  I know Patrick’s old flame Jane thought I was just another ordinary girl, not fit to lick his boots. A good solid push between the shoulder-blades showed her. Now I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether I’m really unique or not. My misadventures are over. Maybe yours are just about to begin.

  Love, Louise.

  *

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  Acknowledgements

  Thank you first of all to Abigail Fenton, Head of Digital at HQ, who has put up with my obsession with Louise Bridges for so long and has done so much to make this book possible. I couldn’t have done it without you and I’m incredibly grateful. Thanks, too, to Belinda Toor, Dushi Horti and the rest of the amazing team at HQ Digital, including Anna Sikorska who designed the brilliant cover. Kitchen tiles have never looked so scary!

  I feel as though everyone I know has been on a journey with me and Louise, not least my friends Clare Pillman and Lucy Woollatt. Thanks as always to my wonderful Dulwich book gr
oup and to my mother, Anita Freeman, for her support.

  I found Judith Herman’s book Trauma and Recovery and The Mask of Sanity by Dr Hervey Cleckley useful when researching the book.

  And thank you to mothers at school gates everywhere, for inspiring this story.

  A Letter from A.M. Castle

  Thanks so much for choosing to read The Perfect Widow. I hope you enjoyed the story.

  As soon as Louise Bridges popped into my head, I knew I had to write about her. I love the idea of secrets hiding in plain sight, and Louise has plenty of those. And I always wonder how far people will go to protect the life they love.

  If you’ve enjoyed The Perfect Widow, please leave a review. I love hearing what readers think of my stories. You can also get in touch via my website, Facebook page or on Twitter.

  www.alicecastleauthor.com

  www.facebook.com/alicecastleauthor/

  www.twitter.com/AliceMCastle

  Bye for now,

  Alice

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