The Wife: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 19

  Toby is still sound asleep next to me. I’m glad. I could do with a few moments to myself to try to make sense of everything. I can’t deal with him waking up yet. I don’t want to talk to anyone. As I ease myself up, he stirs and mumbles. I freeze. But then he turns over and I’m able to make my escape, tiptoeing into the bathroom wearing just my underwear.

  I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. Last night’s make-up is patchy and streaked, highlighting the dark circles beneath my eyes. My hair is plastered against one side of my head and my fake eyelashes are squashed and misshapen. I peel them off and drop them on the side of the sink, then I step out of my underwear and into the large shower cubicle.

  As the hot-water jets batter my body, I wish I could switch off my thoughts, but it’s impossible. Toby’s story comes back to me in pieces, and with each fragment, it feels as if I’m being re-made into a different person. A person I don’t recognise.

  An image jumps into my brain. Of me crouched on the floor, staring down at Dina’s crumpled form. I turn her face towards mine and recoil when I see that her eyes are blank, staring at nothing. With a pull on my gut, I remember the shock. The horror. And, even more shocking and unexpected, the feeling of rage I felt towards her. Another memory.

  As the water rushes over my skin, my whole body begins to shake uncontrollably. My poor, poor sister. I know she was a troubled soul, but she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to die. I realise Toby was telling the truth. I hadn’t quite wanted to believe that my sister was dead. But there’s no disputing the sharpness of that flashback. I’m still shaking, my hands trembling and my knees soft as sponges.

  What am I going to do? Is Toby right? Should we keep this a secret? I deserve to go to jail for what I did, but why should Toby and his family also be punished simply for looking out for me? And what would knowledge of my crime do to the children?

  A knock on the shower door makes me jump. I turn to see Toby standing there in his boxers, his face and body blurred behind the steamed-up glass.

  ‘Zoe, you okay?’ His voice is muffled.

  ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’ My voice wobbles.

  ‘Can I jump in with you?’

  ‘Hang on, I won’t be long.’ I turn away from him and hope he understands that I want to be alone. Just a few moments more to try to compose myself. A few moments more until I have to go out and face reality, more questions and answers that I’d rather not deal with. But as I stand here quivering, with hot water streaming down my body, I’m overtaken by a rush of shame. I’m behaving like a child. This was something I caused. It was me. My sister. My family who dragged Toby and Nick into this. I need to step up and take some responsibility. I can’t blame Toby for simply telling me the truth. Even though he should have told me ten years ago. I can’t hide from what I’ve done.

  I’ll give myself one more minute in here, and then I’ll dry off, get dressed and face whatever today holds. I can’t believe that I’ve spent the last decade thinking Dina didn’t want anything to do with me. That she’d cut herself off from her family, when in reality she was gone. I choke out an unexpected, violent sob. Tears mingle with shower water and my shoulders shudder. But I have to stay in control of my emotions – at least for now. There are too many other people to consider in all this for me to fall apart.

  Before I can change my mind, I turn the shower dial to cold. The effect is almost instantaneous. Freezing jets shock me out of my crying jag. Gasping, I turn them off and stand dripping and shivering, but more awake and clearer-headed than seconds earlier.

  I push away the image of Dina’s blank-eyed stare, step out of the cubicle, grab a thick grey bath towel from the radiator and wrap it around my goose-fleshed body. The towel is blissfully warm. I take another for my hair. My mouth is dry and sour. There’s a complimentary toiletry kit by the sink. I tear open the wrapper and fish out a bamboo toothbrush and mini-toothpaste tube. I brush my teeth badly and quickly; thankful the mirror is too steamed up to show my reflection again. Steeling myself with a deep breath and a squaring of my shoulders, I leave the bathroom.

  Toby is sitting by the window drinking coffee, already dressed in jeans, a shirt and V-neck jumper. He must have decided to skip his shower. He glances up as I enter the room. He doesn’t quite smile but manages to give me a sympathetic look. ‘Snow,’ he says. The curtains are open. Through the window lies a world of white – the grounds, the sky, the branches of the trees, the ledges of the mullioned windows, all blanketed with thick snow. I briefly think of the kids, and how excited they’ll be to wake up to this. My stomach heaves.

  ‘What’s the time?’ I croak.

  ‘Almost nine.’

  ‘What am I going to do?’ I wail, then bite my lip, telling myself not to lose it.

  ‘You’re not going to do anything.’ He holds out his arm. ‘Here, come and sit. I’ll make you a coffee.’

  ‘I don’t want coffee.’ That’s a lie. I’d love a coffee.

  ‘I’m going to make you one anyway.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get dressed.’

  I notice my suitcase has been placed on a bench by the wardrobe, the lid propped open. Obviously my husband’s handiwork. I take out the first suitable clothes that come to hand – socks, pants, a bra, a camisole, dark blue skinny jeans and an oversized cream jumper. I quickly dry off and get dressed. Toby hands me a milky coffee and I greedily inhale the aroma, before taking a sip and burning the roof of my mouth.

  ‘You said I shouldn’t do anything. But how can I not?’ I stand by the window and stare down at the drive. There are several tyre tracks and footprints. A young couple are walking outside bundled up against the cold and wearing wellies. I envy them.

  I turn back to face my husband. ‘While I was in the shower, I had another flashback to that day. I can remember seeing Dina… afterwards. She was…’ I let out a sob. ‘She was dead.’ My hands start shaking again and I put my drink on the windowsill, splashing coffee down the curtains in the process.

  ‘Hey, hey.’ Toby comes and holds me, strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head. ‘It’s a shock, I know.’

  ‘What am I going to do?’ I gulp down more sobs.

  ‘Right now, you’re not going to do anything. We’ll take it a day at a time, and we’ll get through it together.’

  ‘Maybe we should tell your mum.’

  ‘No!’ Toby tenses up, his voice ringing through the silence. He winces and relaxes his hold on me. ‘Sorry for shouting, but the last thing I want to do is bring my parents into this. They wouldn’t be able to handle it.’

  ‘I disagree. Your mum is the most calm and capable person I know. She’d have good advice. Yes, it would be a shock, of course it would, but she’ll know what to do for the best.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Toby takes a step back from me so he can look me in the eye, his expression is dark, his eyes hooded. ‘Nick and I already discussed this and we both decided long ago that we’d keep this between ourselves. We can’t afford to tell anyone else. And it’s not fair to involve my parents.’

  A sudden wave of guilt engulfs me. Toby’s been protecting me all these years, living with this knowledge, and yet loving me anyway. And now I’m talking about putting his family in danger. How can he even bear to look at me? I don’t deserve him. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. Of course we shouldn’t involve your mum and dad. I was being selfish.’

  Toby’s face softens. ‘No, not at all. Look, I’ve had years to process this. To go through all the pros and cons of what to do and what not to do. You’ve only just found out, so it’s going to take a while to come to terms with what happened.’

  ‘But what about my dad? Surely he has a right to know about Dina. She’s his daughter! What if – God forbid – what if it were Alice or Jamie? Wouldn’t we have a right to know?’ Although I realise that if I tell my father, I’ll also have to tell him that it was my fault. I’ll have to confess what I did.

  Toby holds both my arms and looks into my eyes. ‘Zoe, I kn
ow this is hard, but you’re going to have to learn to live with this. I’d rather not have told you at all, but my brother…’ He lets go of me and blows out a noisy breath. ‘If I hadn’t told you, Nick would have said something. He’s already a loose cannon, freaking out about this bloody development. Like I said yesterday, I’m going to have to do something about her body.’

  An unwelcome image comes to my mind. If she’s been buried out there for ten years, then what does she look like now? My milky coffee curdles in my throat.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Toby has the grace to look down. ‘I shouldn’t have brought that up again. This is all so fresh for you. Like I said, Nick and I have had years to get used to it. Well, not used to it, but…’ He trails off, probably realising that there’s no tactful way to talk about this.

  I walk across the room, trying to shake the image, when something else pops into my head. I turn back to look at my husband. ‘Something doesn’t add up.’

  He frowns. ‘What doesn’t?’

  ‘I messaged Dina after the wedding telling her that I was pregnant. I remember because I was pissed off that her replies weren’t more enthusiastic. Don’t you remember?’

  Toby’s cheeks flush and he bites his lip as I realise…

  ‘Did you have her phone?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So it was you! You replied, pretending to be her!’ I sit down heavily on the edge of the unmade bed. This is all too real. All too awful and horrible and vile and whatever other bad words I can think of.

  Toby comes across the room and stands in front of me, his eyes heavy with apology. ‘I’m so sorry. I hated doing that. But it was all part of protecting you. And then I worried that her phone might have been somehow traceable, so I got rid of it.’

  I’m startled by the sound of my own phone ringing. I reach down to pick up my bag from the floor and extract my mobile. ‘It’s my dad.’

  ‘Are you going to answer it?’

  ‘I can’t. I can’t lie to him. But he’s here in the hotel. How am I going to avoid him? I can’t do this! I can’t lie! Toby, what should I do?’ I see he’s left a message, so I play it on speaker. He says he’s in the conservatory downstairs having breakfast. He wants to know if I’m coming to join him.

  ‘What do you want to do? We could go down just to show our faces for ten minutes, if you feel up to it. We don’t have to talk much.’

  ‘No. No way. I can’t go down there. How can I face everyone – Madeline, Nick, your parents, my dad? It’s impossible. No. You’ll have to go down by yourself. Tell them I’m still asleep, or I that I don’t feel well. Say I’ve got a hangover if you like. I don’t care what you say. But I’m not going down there. I can’t.’

  ‘Okay, Zo. Okay. Don’t worry. Whatever you want to do is fine with me. Do you want me to call your dad back? Tell him you’re not feeling well?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I let out a breath. ‘I don’t know. Do you think it’ll be strange if I don’t go down? Suspicious? I really can’t face it. All I want to do is crawl under the duvet and hide.’

  ‘Then do that. And no, it won’t seem strange at all – not if I tell them you’re ill. No one else apart from Nick has any inkling of what happened back then, so it’s not going to look suspicious. Go back to bed if you like. I’ll order room service and stay with you, okay?’ He sits and puts an arm around me. Pulls me close to him and I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent.

  ‘Thank you,’ I murmur. ‘I’m not hungry. But you order some breakfast for yourself.’

  ‘You sure you don’t want anything? Some toast? Orange juice?’

  I shake my head, feeling close to tears again. ‘No thanks. I’m just going to have another sleep, so why don’t you go down on your own. Make excuses for me.’

  ‘I don’t like to leave you up here alone. Not while you’re so upset.’ He rubs my back soothingly.

  ‘I’ll be fine. I just need some time on my own to try to get my head around it. Go. I’ll feel better knowing you’re putting everyone’s mind at rest. Especially my dad’s.’

  ‘Okay.’ Toby stands. ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘I am.’

  My husband kisses me on the lips and gives my hand a squeeze. I manage a small, unconvincing smile before he picks up his phone and the door key and leaves the room.

  Twenty-Eight

  NOW

  After Toby leaves me to go down to breakfast, my brain continues its frenzied pinwheeling from one panicked thought to another. I realise that I forgot to tell Toby to come up with another excuse for later, because we’re all due to have lunch together and then go to the spa this afternoon. And I can say with absolute certainty that I won’t be doing that. I should text him to tell him to let everyone know that I’m not up for doing anything today. But I don’t have the energy even for that.

  I wobble to my feet and walk over to the window, staring out at the snowy landscape. A Range Rover disappears down the driveway, which is miraculously clear of snow. They must have gritted the drive last night. I blink and try to marshal my thoughts, but they won’t stop skipping around. The skin on my face feels dry and taut, my eyes scratchy, my throat constricted. I don’t know how I managed to get any sleep last night. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again. Not with the knowledge of what I’ve done.

  I cast my mind back. My brain starts speeding, flipping through everything that happened on my wedding day. How can my mind have locked the truth away from me for so long? Why am I only just now beginning to remember?

  I feel as though my thoughts are caught in a loop – trying to recall those forgotten events and then telling myself that it’s all impossible. I’m going to quickly drive myself mad if I don’t stop. I need to do something to distract myself from all of this. Just for a while, to calm myself down. I pick up my phone from the table. There’s only nine per cent battery life left, but I decide to call the children just to hear their voices. To have some normality.

  Vivian answers the home phone and asks how last night went. I give her some vaguely positive reply in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own. She says that the children have been as good as gold. I speak to Alice and Jamie in turn, hearing their excitement about the snow, letting them ramble on about each little thing they’ve done since we’ve been away. It’s a blessing to hear their innocent voices. To be transported for a moment to my regular world where my sister isn’t dead, and I’m not a murderer.

  ‘I miss you so much, Mummy,’ Jamie says.

  ‘I miss Mum too!’ Alice calls, not to be outdone.

  I smile and tell them that I miss them more and can’t wait to see them tomorrow. As I end the call, I realise I’m crying.

  I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand and locate the phone charger in my suitcase. Spying a plug socket beneath my bedside table, I connect my phone and set it on the table. I’m startled by a knock at the door. Then I realise it’s probably housekeeping.

  ‘No thanks!’ I call, resolving to put out the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign as soon as they’ve gone.

  There’s another knock and I’m about to call out again to say I don’t need them when a familiar voice comes through the door.

  ‘Zoe! It’s Dad.’

  My heart begins to race. I thought Toby was going to put him off coming up here. What if Dad sees me and can tell something’s wrong? What if he starts asking questions?

  ‘Can you let me in, love? I won’t stay long.’

  I open my mouth to make an excuse, but I just can’t do it. I’ve never been any good at saying no or turning people away. I check my face in the mirror and wipe away a long smudge of tears with my fingertips. Then I inhale deeply and go over to the door. My only plan is to say as little as possible and feign tiredness in the hope he leaves quickly.

  I glance around the room, checking for – I don’t know what. It somehow feels like the story Toby told me happened just now, not a decade ago. I’m almost expecting to see smashed glass on the floor, or blood, or Dina�
��s crumpled body. I shudder and shake away the gruesome image in my head.

  ‘Zoe? You in there?’

  ‘Coming!’ I call, my voice steadier than it has any right to be.

  I walk quickly across the room and fiddle with the door catch, finally turning it and pulling open the door. Dad stands there, a little way down the corridor, gazing at a piece of modern art on the wall. ‘What’s this supposed to be?’ he asks. ‘Looks like a big squiggle. It’s got a price. They want four hundred quid for it!’

  ‘Hi, Dad.’

  ‘Didn’t see you at breakfast.’ He finally glances up in my direction and follows me into my room.

  ‘No, sorry, I had a bit of a lie-in. Didn’t Toby tell you?’

  ‘I didn’t see him down there. Must have missed him. A lie-in, eh? Too much partying?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  My dad looks around the room. ‘This is nice. Good view out the front.’ He walks over to the window and stands there with his hands tucked behind his back. ‘Haven’t been to this place since your wedding.’

  ‘I know. Seems like so long ago.’

  ‘Not that long. Ten years has gone by in the blink of an eye. You all right, love?’ He squints over at me. ‘Looking a tad peaky if you don’t mind me saying. You been crying?’

  For a moment I debate whether to go against Toby’s wishes and tell Dad what I found out last night. The urge to break down and confess is so strong that I almost ache with it. But I can’t do or say anything rash. I need to think this through. Once I say something, I can’t unsay it. And this is about my sister, his daughter. It’s not something I can just blurt out, is it?