The Wife: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 12

  Seventeen

  NOW

  I take the phone from Jennifer and look down at the screen. It’s Cassie’s regular online magazine column. My heart plummets as I read the headline:

  When Hairdressers Attack

  Below are side-by-side colour photos of Cassie Barrington – one of her looking happy and glamorous with her long golden locks. The other of her wearing a crumpled sweatshirt and no make-up, looking glum with her new short haircut that’s completely messed up and un-styled. My whole body fills with reluctant understanding and dread as I start to read:

  It’s everyone’s worst nightmare, and this week it happened to me. Not so much a bad hair day, as a catastrophic one. It happened when I was back visiting my cosy little hometown of Shaftesbury in Dorset, super-excited to catch up with my school pals and visit all my childhood haunts. I love living in London, but I’ve been yearning for a bit of simplicity, not to mention my dad’s home-cooked meals (he’s a far better cook than my mother – sorry, Mum, but you know it’s true). I’ve been eating out locally, shopping in cute country boutiques, and I thought while I’m here, I’d visit one of the hairdressing salons – support local businesses, and all that jazz.

  I was a little nervous to place my trust in someone else’s scissors, as my own stylist has been cutting my hair for years. You know how it is when you find a good one – you never let them go, you’d follow them to the ends of the earth! Anyway, this particular local salon has a great rating online and I’ve known some of the staff for years, which is part of the reason why I decided to go there in the first place – I knew it would be good for their business to have a customer like me, someone who’s in the public eye.

  What I wasn’t expecting was that their jealousy of my success would lead to the situation in which I now find myself. That is, without my trademark mane of hair that I’ve had since I was a teen. I’m not ashamed to say that I’m crying as I type this.

  Although I’m still freezing from my earlier soaking, I feel myself break out into a horrified sweat. I daren’t look up at Jennifer, but I feel her distressed gaze boring into me. At this point I’m not sure if I want to continue reading. But of course I have no choice but to keep going.

  It’s probably my own fault for being so naive and trusting. The stylist they assigned me obviously wanted to make a name for herself by doing something bold and creative. She intimated that it would be good for my image to get a pixie cut, that people would love it, that I had “just the right bone structure to carry it off”. It was clear she thought my current style was out of date and I needed something “fresh and exciting”.

  I can’t let the salon carry all of the blame as I stupidly let myself be talked into the makeover. But I’m writing this week’s column to serve as a warning to my readers against those hairdressers who think they know best and want to impose their thoughtless creative ideas onto poor unsuspecting customers. The whole thing has left me with a bad taste in my mouth and the feeling that I was taken advantage of. Not to mention the fact that it cost me a pretty penny too.

  But never fear, you know me, I don’t stay glum for long. I’m sure next week’s column will be cheerier. Perhaps I’ll do a piece on wig shops. What do you think?

  As always, love and peace,

  Cassie x

  I read it through twice before lifting my gaze to face Jennifer, who looks furiously close to tears, her eyes bright, her mouth pulled into a thin line. The piece is basically a hatchet job on an unnamed Shaftesbury salon, but everyone locally will know she’s referring to Waves. The absolute nerve of the woman. I feel physically sick as I hand Jennifer’s phone back to her.

  ‘I’ll call her,’ I offer. Although the thought of speaking to Cassie right now has me feeling even sicker.

  ‘It won’t do any good.’ Jennifer looks down at her phone again before switching it off in disgust. ‘It’s out there now. I’d be surprised if we get any new bookings after that.’

  ‘Everyone who knows us will know it’s all lies. The magazine can print a retraction. An apology. You could sue or, even better, contact a rival magazine. I bet they’d love to do a piece on your side of the story.’

  Jennifer gives a bitter laugh and shakes her head. ‘That will only give her more oxygen. I’d rather just ignore it and let the whole thing die down.’

  ‘What a bitch. You know that it never happened like that. I was against the pixie cut from the start.’

  ‘I know you were, Zoe. But she’s your friend. You’ve known her for years, haven’t you?’ I’m starting to get an inkling that Jennifer might hold me partially responsible for what’s happened.

  ‘Cassie used to be my friend a long time ago, until she shafted me when we were at college.’ I never told Jennifer how Cassie ruined our friendship to further her career – mainly because it would have involved me potentially turning down my apprenticeship at the salon.

  ‘So you knew what she was like?’ Jennifer’s eyes narrow.

  ‘Yes, which is why, when I saw her in the appointment book, I asked if someone else could take her as a client. Although I had no idea she’d pull something as vile as this.’

  Jennifer purses her lips, thinking for a moment. ‘Do you think this was all just some scheme to get back at you?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. But I’ve never done a single bad thing to her, if that’s what you’re thinking. If anything, I should be the one to be upset with her, not the other way around.’

  Jennifer throws her hands up in the air and gets to her feet. ‘You know what, I’m not interested in your childhood vendetta. All I know is that I’ve spent years building up a business, and now it’s being trashed by your ridiculous squabble.’

  I take a breath, shocked by Jennifer’s outburst. And yet, I can’t blame her. I’d be upset if it was my business being bad-mouthed with no cause. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Well it’s a bit late for that.’

  ‘At least the piece doesn’t mention Waves by name. There are over half a dozen salons in the area. No one will even know which one it is.’

  ‘Oh come on, you don’t believe that any more than I do. Half the town saw Cassie bloody Barrington in here.’

  Only because you insisted I put her by the window, I think to myself. My shoulders slump and in my head I curse Cassie. Why does she always have it in for me?

  ‘Anyway, I’d better get back out there.’ Jennifer walks towards the salon, her back rigid.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jen.’

  She shrugs without turning around and I feel like absolute crap. I try to work out whether this was my fault or not. Should I have warned Jennifer not to let Cassie into the salon? No. No one could have predicted that she’d do something like this. The woman is a menace.

  I follow Jennifer back out into the salon, head to the reception desk and type Cassie’s name into the client database. Her details come up on screen and I compare her phone number to the old one of hers I have in my phone. It’s the same number so I return to the staffroom and bang out a text:

  Cassie, that’s not what happened, and you know it.

  Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t respond.

  I’m still holding my phone when it rings, making me jump. I have a fleeting hope that maybe it’s her. But, no. It’s Celia. I think about ignoring it as I don’t feel up to chatting right now. But maybe what I need is a friendly voice, so I take a breath and hit reply.

  ‘Hi, Celia. How are you?’

  ‘Sweetheart, I just saw Cassie’s dreadful magazine article.’

  ‘News travels quickly.’ I sound more upbeat than I feel.

  ‘I know. Pauline from Neighbourhood Watch emailed it to me. I think she took a small amount of pleasure in asking if my daughter-in-law worked for a local salon, when she knows full well you do.’

  ‘Great. That means everyone will have seen it by this evening.’

  ‘Are you all right, love?’

  ‘Not really.’ My voice wobbles.

  ‘I thought you might
need cheering up, so I’m sitting up the road in Angelique’s Café and I’ve ordered us two vegetable soups and some crusty bread rolls. Can you make it? Or are you too busy?’

  Bless my mother-in-law. I check my watch and see that I have forty minutes until my next appointment. ‘Celia, I’ll be there in five minutes.’

  ‘Wonderful. I’m at the back by the newspaper rack.’

  I shrug on the wet parka I was wearing earlier, pull on my boots, grab my umbrella and slip out the back way. Maybe Jennifer will have calmed down by the time I return.

  Angelique’s is buzzing with the lunch crowd, but I see Celia waving me over as soon as I walk through the door. I pick my way through the tables, nodding to various friends and acquaintances as I go, conscious of my bedraggled hair and second-hand clothing, and even more conscious that they might have read Cassie’s piece and realise she was referring to me.

  My mother-in-law stands and greets me with a big hug that almost has me collapsing into tears. But I remember where I am and manage to hold myself together.

  ‘Your hair’s wet. Didn’t you use your umbrella?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’ I hang my coat on the back of my chair just as the waitress comes over with our lunch. I didn’t think I was hungry, but as I get a waft of garlicky soup, I can’t wait to dig in. ‘Can you believe that article she wrote?’

  ‘Some people are just nasty. There’s nothing you can do about it. Let’s eat.’

  I lean back in my chair for a moment and let my mother-in-law’s words soak in. Surprisingly, they make me feel a lot better. Instead of being anxious about the article, I should just accept that there’s nothing I can do about it and move on. I’ve apologised to Jennifer, and if she thinks about what happened, she’ll know it’s not my fault.

  ‘You just need to keep your chin up, Zoe. That Cassie Barrington’s a talentless z-lister who has to lie to get a pay cheque. You should pity her.’

  ‘Celia, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘You’d come to the same conclusion on your own. Now let’s enjoy our lunch and forget about she who shall not be named.’

  ‘Deal,’ I reply, tearing off a piece of bread roll and dunking it in my soup.

  ‘That’s not the only bizarre thing to happen today. I saw Dina again.’

  ‘Really?’ Celia doesn’t sound altogether convinced, so I tell her what happened earlier in the salon. She listens carefully, waiting until I’ve finished before replying. ‘Your nerves must be shot to pieces. It’s a good thing you’ve got your party coming up to take your mind off all this.’

  ‘Only it’s not exactly taking my mind off it. It’s throwing up all these strange memories.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You know, of how Dina couldn’t make the wedding, and then when she went missing.’

  ‘Well, it seems to me that you’re letting yourself worry about things outside your control. If Dina’s here in Shaftesbury and she doesn’t want to contact you, then you have to respect that.’

  ‘But she’s my sister.’

  ‘I know, love. But you still can’t control what she does. Likewise with Cassie – you can’t stop her behaving like a little bitch.’

  I raise my eyebrows, rarely having heard Celia swear before.

  ‘You need to put both of them out of your head and move forward with your life. Forget the past. No good comes of dwelling on it.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘No suppose about it.’ She lays down her soup spoon for a moment and reaches into her handbag. ‘Before I forget, here are the latest flyers from Madeline about the redevelopment appeal. Can you put some in the salon, and stick one in the window?’

  ‘Sure.’ I take the bundle from her and slip them into my bag. ‘I’ll ask Becky to ask Jennifer – I don’t think I’m in the position to ask for any favours at the moment.’

  Celia nods and gets back to her soup. ‘Needs a little more salt.’

  I look around, but there’s none on the table. ‘I’ll get some.’ I stand and head to the counter just as my phone rings. There’s no number displayed, and I briefly wonder if it might be Cassie ringing me before dismissing that idea as preposterous. I doubt I’ll hear from her for at least another ten years. If I’m lucky, that is.

  ‘Hello?’

  There’s no reply.

  ‘Hello?’

  My pulse begins to pound, and the noises of the café seem to fade away.

  ‘Dina, is that you?’

  Whoever it is hangs up and the sounds of the café return – laughter, chatter, the clink of cutlery against china.

  ‘Excuse me.’ I look up to see a member of staff waiting to get past me. I apologise and move out of the way, remembering that I was heading to the counter to get salt for Celia. Now all I can think about is whether that was my sister on the other end of the line. And if it was, why won’t she say anything? What does she want?

  Eighteen

  NOW

  With the children in bed, Toby and I are in the living room deciding what to watch on TV. I’m in the mood to watch something light-hearted, whereas Toby’s trying to persuade me to watch some dark political thriller that I don’t currently feel my brain can cope with.

  I’ve told him about Cassie’s horrible magazine piece and about the phone call, but I played both incidents down as I couldn’t face rehashing them again. I’m fed up with all the uncertainty over my sister and the drama with Cassie. I’ve decided to concentrate on looking forward to our party and trying to forget all my anxieties. I need to focus on the good things in my life. Ten years of a happy marriage and two beautiful children is an incredible thing to celebrate. If my sister wants to get in touch, she will. And, like Celia said, if Cassie wants to be a bitch, then that’s her problem.

  I glance down at my phone to see a missed call from my dad. I click on his voicemail message.

  ‘Hello, Zoe. Just checking in to see how you’re doing. Haven’t heard from you in a while.’

  As Toby is still scrolling through the Netflix menu, I give my dad a call.

  ‘Hi, Dad, got your message.’

  ‘You okay? You sound a bit… down.’

  ‘I’m okay, just tired.’

  ‘You sure that’s all it is?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ It’s not like Dad to be overly concerned. ‘Are you still coming to the party on Friday? I know parties aren’t really your thing, so you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but it would be good to see you there.’

  ‘Of course I’ll be there. I can sit in the bar and read the paper.’

  I give a wry laugh. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘All right. Got to go. My dinner’s ready and the microwave’s beeping at me.’

  ‘Okay, Dad. See you Friday.’ I end the call and feel a pang of something. A longing for more simple childhood days. For the times when we used to have family trips out to the beach, and picnics in the park. When Dad would bring home fish and chips after work and Mum would call him her hero. For the times when I never questioned the love and security I felt at home with my parents. I just assumed it would carry on forever. Until it didn’t.

  Toby’s still focused on the TV. ‘Everything all right?’ he asks distractedly.

  ‘Yeah, fine. Just gave Dad a quick call.’

  ‘He okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I sigh and lean back into the sofa. ‘So? What are we watching? Did you find any comedies?’

  Toby points the remote at the television and clicks it off. ‘No.’

  ‘I really don’t want to watch anything depressing.’

  ‘Me neither. I think we should forget the TV and go out.’ He looks at me, waiting for an answer.

  ‘Out?’ This is unexpected. ‘But dinner’s in the oven.’

  ‘So? We’ll save it for tomorrow.’

  ‘What about the kids? We can’t just abandon them.’

  ‘I’ll ask Mum to come over. She’s always offering to babysit, and we never take her up on it.’


  In my head I run through all the reasons why we shouldn’t go out tonight. The main one is blindingly obvious. ‘We’re bound to run into people who’ve heard about Cassie-gate. It’ll be so embarrassing.’

  ‘Who cares what people have heard? We know it’s all a pack of lies, and anyone who matters will know that too.’

  ‘I don’t think I can face it.’ I shrink down into the sofa.

  ‘Zoe, this isn’t like you. Look, the party’s on Friday so you’ll see everyone there anyway. May as well go out now and get used to it. But I really don’t think you need to worry – people are more interested in their own lives than in ours.’

  I know he’s probably right. I wonder at how our lifestyle has changed so much over the years. When we were younger there was never any hesitation about whether or not we should go out, no matter what the drama – and there was always something or other going on. ‘Where would you want to go?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t know… doesn’t matter… the Cross Keys?’

  ‘The pub down the road? Hardly seems worth it.’

  ‘It’s a change of scenery, Zo, and the food’s great. Come on. You need cheering up.’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Yes, it is. It’s our anniversary on Friday; we should be excited about life, not miserable.’ He gets to his feet and holds out his hand. ‘Come on, where’s the Zoe I know and love? The one who’s always up for a laugh?’

  I wonder where she is too. After a moment, I take his hand and let him haul me up off the sofa. I give him a small smile, a bubble of nervousness building in my chest. ‘You’re right. Let’s do it.’

  ‘Yes! Okay. I’ll call Mum.’

  ‘I’ll go upstairs and put on some lippy.’