The Wife: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist Read online

  I now see that as well as Celia, Toby’s dad Malcolm and his elder brother Nick are also here in the room, staring down at me, deep worry etched across their brows. I notice they’re both wearing grey suits, which seems strange. And Toby’s suit seems to have wet patches down the lapels.

  ‘You feel a little clammy, but your pulse is steady.’ Celia is a nurse, so if she says I’m okay, I guess I must be okay.

  ‘I can’t remember what happened.’

  Celia looks up at her eldest son. ‘Nick, can you get Zoe a glass of water?’

  ‘Uh, sure.’

  I notice Toby’s right leg is quivering, and his hands are trembling. He’s not the sort to get anxious, so his concern for me makes me love him even more. ‘Toby, you’re shaking!’

  ‘I was so worried.’ He swallows and leans in to kiss my forehead. ‘If anything happened to you I don’t know what I’d do.’

  ‘I’m fine, silly. Just a bit dizzy, that’s all. Tell him I’m okay, Celia.’

  Toby glances at his mother and she gives him a comforting smile. ‘Relax, Toby. Zoe’s going to be just fine.’ Celia sits back on her haunches. ‘Well, this is an unusual wedding day.’ She raises an eyebrow and squeezes my hand.

  ‘Wedding day?’ Only now do I notice I’m wearing my ivory lace dress. That’s why everyone looks so smart. ‘Oh no! It’s today! Did I wreck it? Is it too late?’ This time I manage to sit up despite my woozy head. ‘I can’t believe I—’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Toby interrupts. ‘We’ve still got time. The ceremony isn’t due to start for another forty minutes.’

  ‘What happened? You said I fainted, but I don’t remember that at all. It’s all so hazy… I was getting ready and then…’

  ‘Like Mum said, you hit the deck.’ Toby shakes his head.

  I have a vague memory of rushing out of the room with someone. But I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  ‘Are you sure you can’t remember anything about it?’ Toby glances at his mum before turning back to me. ‘That’s quite worrying, Zo.’

  I frown and try to recall what happened, but my brain hurts. ‘Last thing I remember, I was getting ready. Celia, you were here with Lou and Becky, helping me get into my dress. That’s it. That’s the very last thing I remember.’

  Nick returns and hands me a glass of water.

  ‘Small sips,’ Celia instructs. She tells me something about make-up and Nick borrowing a phone charger. ‘Looks like you hit the back of your head on the desk on your way down. Do you feel nauseous at all?’

  ‘A little. Not too much. I’ve got an evil headache though.’

  My mother-in-law to be rummages in her handbag and pulls out a packet of paracetamol. ‘Take a couple of these.’

  I put the pills in my mouth one at a time, knocking each one back with a slug of water.

  ‘Maybe we should get you checked out?’ Malcolm runs a hand through his sparse grey hair. He turns to Toby. ‘She looks decidedly peaky, son.’

  ‘I know, but Mum said she’ll be okay,’ Toby replies, and I back him up.

  ‘Well, okay. But perhaps I should let Guy know. You might be unsteady on your feet as he walks you down the aisle.’ Malcolm turns to leave.

  Toby stands and puts a hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘Wait…’

  ‘Toby’s right. Don’t tell my dad. He’ll only worry.’ I stagger to my feet and find to my dismay that I have to lean on a chair to steady myself. My legs are so shaky. What if I’m not strong enough to stand and say my vows? I think of all the people in the little chapel next to the hotel who’ve come to see us get married. All the weeks of planning. My utter joy and excitement at the thought of becoming Mrs Zoe Johnson. I can’t not get married, no matter how shaky I feel. I let go of the chair and square my shoulders. ‘Do you know what? Celia’s right, I’m absolutely fine. Honestly, I already feel so much better. I think it must have been nerves that made me faint. Or maybe hunger. Thinking about it, I did skip breakfast.’

  ‘Well, that’ll be it,’ Celia declares. She straightens the phone and picks up the receiver before ordering some cake for me and my two bridesmaids, but I ask her to stay too.

  ‘I hope I haven’t jinxed things.’ I turn to Toby. ‘It’s supposed to be bad luck for us to see one another before the wedding.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that.’ He smiles.

  ‘No, but I wanted to do things the right way. I didn’t want any drama. And I wanted to wait until I reached the chapel to see you. Now I’ve ruined it.’

  ‘You haven’t ruined anything.’ He puts his arms around me, and I lean into him. ‘I know you wanted everything to be just so. It’s what I love about you, Zoe. You love family. You love tradition.’

  ‘Even though I fainted and now have a giant egg-shaped lump on my head?’ I give him a wry look. ‘That’s not exactly traditional.’

  ‘Zoe, it’s all going to be perfect. You’re perfect.’

  My heart lifts at his words and for a moment my head clears, and the pain disappears. ‘I’m not perfect,’ I murmur. ‘No one is.’

  ‘Okay, well you’re perfect for me.’

  I inhale deeply and attempt to push out all thoughts of the past. I have this strange feeling that I’ve forgotten something important. It’s right there on the edge of my consciousness, but, try as I might, I can’t quite grasp it. I give myself a little shake and tell myself to focus on the day ahead. To ignore the tiny bead of worry in my chest. Today is a day for fairy tales and happy ever afters. All that matters is that I’m about to become the person I’ve always wanted to be, with the man I love. Nothing will change that.

  Thirty-Four

  NOW

  So this is it. This is the end of my life.

  I feel like I might be crying, although I can’t be too sure. I trawl my mind to come up with anything good that might distract me from the horror of what’s going on. I don’t want the last thought I have to be about Celia and Malcolm’s cold, efficient hands on my body, hoisting me up onto the chair as though I’m some inanimate thing with no thoughts or feelings or emotions. Just an inconvenience who might serve a purpose for them in death.

  The noose slips over my head, brushing my eyelashes and nose on its descent towards my shoulders. I feel its weight as it lands, like a soft tickle on my neck. Maybe the paralysing drug that Celia injected me with is a blessing – it’s stopping me from squirming and struggling, from begging and pleading. From losing my dignity.

  Once again, I try to direct my thoughts to something distracting, something nice. But it’s hard to ignore the tightening noose, and the nod that passes from Celia to Malcolm – their agreement that all is finally ready. I clutch at a handful of memories, each one shuttling through my mind too fast – a tranquil lake in summertime, the view from my mum’s bench over the Blackmore Vale, my children’s laughter, my dad’s gruff voice, his Welsh lilt like a comforting lullaby…

  And then I realise with a jolt that I really am hearing my dad’s voice! I blink. And then I blink again. The drug must finally be wearing off. Celia said it would only last a few minutes.

  Unless I’m hallucinating, I can hear my father issuing someone with instructions. ‘Call the police!’ he cries. ‘And get an ambulance here too!’

  To my frustration, I can’t move anything else, just my eyelids. Celia and Malcolm are still holding me in place on the chair but are now staring in horror at the opening door. The overhead lights come on, bathing the room in brightness. The noose is taut around my neck. The cramps in my stomach are unbearable and my breathing is so shallow, I’m afraid my lungs are going to give out at any second.

  A man stands in the doorway – he’s wearing the hotel uniform and his face is a mask of shock.

  ‘The police, man!’ Dad yells at him. ‘Call the police! Don’t just stand there!’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course!’ The man blinks and disappears.

  Dad rushes over and all I can see is the top of his head as he yanks Malcolm off the dining chair, then
holds him upright by his shirt and punches him square in the face. Malcolm doubles over, clutching his nose, blood spilling down onto his trousers. I would cheer if I could.

  Next, Dad clambers up onto the armchair with me and loosens the rope around my neck. He then wraps one arm around me, supporting my body, and throws off the noose with the other. I crumple against him.

  Celia appears to be frozen by my side, her hands still seeming to hold me up, although Dad is bearing my full weight now. She finally gathers her senses and lets go of me, gingerly stepping down off the dining chair and crouching down next to her husband.

  ‘Zoe! Zoe, love!’ Dad stares into my eyes and I’m desperate to explain what’s going on. But all I can do is gaze at him helplessly. ‘Talk to me! Are you okay?’ I blink at him. He shifts position slightly, scoops me up into his arms and carefully steps down off the armchair onto the floor with me.

  Celia has begun gathering her paraphernalia from the bed and stuffing it into the rucksack. ‘We found her like that, up on the chair,’ she lies. ‘Why on earth did you hit Malcolm? We were trying to help her, you silly man!’

  ‘Fine,’ Dad replies. ‘You can tell that to the police when they get here. I’m sure they’ll be interested in why you’re both wearing gloves, and why Malcolm has plastic bags tied over his shoes.’ Even in my incapacitated state, I’m marvelling at how calm yet scathing my dad is managing to be.

  ‘The police?’ Celia scoffs. ‘That’s not necessary.’

  ‘Necessary or not,’ Dad replies, ‘they’re calling them now.’

  Celia bends to help up her husband.

  ‘I think he broke my nose,’ Malcolm mutters as he staggers to his feet.

  Celia whips something up off the floor, clumsily trying to shove it into Malcolm’s bag.

  Dad grunts and lays me down on the bed, propping my back up against the headboard. He turns to Celia. ‘What’s wrong with Zoe? Why’s she drooling and twitching like that? Why isn’t she talking?’

  ‘Probably shock. Looks like she was trying to kill herself. There’s a note on the bed.’

  ‘What’s that you’re putting in your bag?’ Dad rips the rucksack from her and pulls it open, peering inside. ‘A syringe? And what’s in this box?’ He reads from it, stumbling over the pronunciation: ‘Suxamethonium… What’s that?’ He pauses and then reads more from the label. ‘A depolarising neuromuscular blocker.’ He takes hold of Celia’s arm. ‘Did you inject this shit into my daughter?’

  ‘What? No, of course not. I told you, we came in and found her up on the chair like that.’

  ‘Oh yeah, and how did you get into her room? Got a key, have you?’

  Celia edges towards the door. ‘Malcolm and I had better fetch Toby from the spa. He’s her husband; he needs to know what’s happening here.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t.’ Dad strides over and blocks their exit. ‘You two are staying right where I can see you until the police arrive.’

  Celia’s mouth drops open and then snaps shut like a trap.

  My head swims and my eyes close. Their voices fade and everything goes quiet and dark.

  Thirty-Five

  NINE MONTHS LATER

  Dad and Madeline sit at my new kitchen table unwrapping crockery from a cardboard box, setting each piece down while I work out which cupboards to put them in. I’m renting a little three-bedroom converted ground-floor flat just round the corner from Dad until I find a place to buy. There’s no hurry though; the flat is on a six-month rolling lease, so maybe we’ll stay here indefinitely. It’s a tiny little place with poky rooms and a square patch of garden, but it’s characterful, with an open fire in the lounge and a fruit-bearing apple tree in the garden. I think Dad’s nose was put out of joint when I told him we were moving, though.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re throwing your money away on rent when I’m rattling around in my place,’ Dad says, reading my mind; we’ve been very much on the same wavelength recently. ‘You should all just move in with me permanently. Tell her, Madeline.’

  ‘Don’t drag me into it,’ Madeline replies, unwrapping my blue china teapot.

  Dad smooths out a sheet of newspaper and places it into an empty box on the floor. ‘We can get the kids to make firelighters with this newspaper later,’ he adds.

  Madeline’s and my children are currently out in our shoebox garden playing Jenga, but I’m not sure how long that will keep them occupied.

  ‘We’d drive you mad if we lived with you full-time, Dad.’ More like we’d drive each other mad, but I think he knows that.

  ‘Hmph,’ he replies.

  Our cottage at the bottom of Gold Hill sold the very same day it went on the market. After all my years of resistance to selling up, it turned out I couldn’t wait to be shot of the place. A young couple bought it fully furnished. They’re expecting their first baby next month and were thrilled to have found the house of their dreams for a bargain price. I didn’t stay for the viewing and I never met the couple – I couldn’t face seeing their hopeful optimism. It would have reminded me too much of how excited Toby and I were back when we first bought the place. I try to turn my mind away from all that.

  ‘Are you really moving away, Madeline?’ I stack some dinner plates in a high cupboard. They were a wedding gift from Celia’s sister, and I resist the urge to put them back in the box and take them to the charity shop. I can’t afford to give away all the items I own, just because of the memories they evoke.

  ‘I can’t stay in Shaftesbury anymore,’ Madeline replies. ‘I tried, but it’s too difficult. I need a fresh start. So do the kids.’

  ‘I think you’re really brave, starting over. But we’re going to miss you so much.’ I turn to her, but she’s focused on unwrapping the next item.

  ‘It’s only Salisbury – not too far at all. We’ll still see each other.’

  My heart lurches once more at the thought of her leaving. She and Dad have been my rocks over the past nine months.

  My children don’t know all the details about what happened. But I couldn’t shield them from everything – especially not Alice. Ten-year-old girls are pretty sharp when it comes to working out the truth. She knows her dad is in prison for killing her aunt. And she knows that her uncle Nick and her grandparents are also in prison for helping him cover it up (I’ve managed to keep from them that their grandparents were also sentenced for my attempted murder as well, but I’m sure they’ll find out in the end). I’ve also tried not to bad-mouth their father within their earshot. But I can’t change the facts of what he did. I just have to hope that it doesn’t scar them too much. It’s too late for me – I have scars on top of scars.

  Perhaps Madeline has the right idea, moving away to get a fresh start. Goodness knows I’ve thought about it. But this is my home. It’s where I was born and raised. It’s where I work at the job I love. Where my friends live. I don’t want to leave my support network behind because of Toby. It would feel as if he drove me away. Besides, how can I leave my dad? Especially after what he did for me. I look across at him and he catches my eye and winks.

  Dad was my hero that day. He saved my life. Before he came into the room, he had no idea that Celia and Malcolm were in there with me. He was worried because he’d tried phoning, texting and knocking on the door throughout the day but hadn’t had a response. He had the sense that I might have fallen ill and be in need of help. He’d tried looking for Toby or one of the others to get an update but hadn’t been able to find anyone.

  In the end, he spoke to the assistant manager and asked him to unlock my room. He said it was an emergency. The assistant manager tried calling my room first, but when there was no reply he did as Dad insisted and opened my door. Dad took in the situation and ordered the assistant manager to call the police, fetch a doctor and summon more staff to help out. My father was calm, cool and efficient. If he’d arrived a minute later, I would probably already have been dead.

  I was hospitalised, but thankfully the blocker was already wearing off. I c
ould move and speak once again, despite my whole body aching and cramping from its after-effects. Celia and Malcolm were taken into custody at the scene, thanks to Dad ensuring they didn’t do a runner. But it wasn’t until my testimony some hours later that the police also came for Toby and Nick.

  The weeks and months following were a hellish blur of visits from police officers, lawyers, social services and journalists. The worst part was trying to protect my children from the fallout. The second worst part was the one and only conversation I had with Toby afterwards.

  I went to visit him after he was sentenced. He looked about as bad as I was expecting him to look – pale and gaunt with bloodshot eyes – but I didn’t remark on his appearance. I didn’t even greet him. Just sat down and waited to hear what he had to say. I wouldn’t have gone at all, only I’d been told that it might help me with the healing process. It didn’t.

  I had to sit there and listen to him tell me that his fling with Dina meant nothing. That it was simply a last-minute act of madness before the wedding day. He insisted that Dina’s death was an accident. Self-defence when she attacked him. He seemed to forget that I was there. That my memories of that day had returned intact. And his actions had definitely not been self-defence.

  He said that the only reason he had covered it all up was because his mum had told him to. Apparently it was Celia’s idea to sweep it all under the carpet. Toby had wanted to come clean, but she had forbidden it. He said he was scared of her. That while she was his mum and of course he loved her, she wasn’t a person to argue with. He, Nick and his father all knew that you didn’t cross Celia unless you wanted a whole load of grief. How did I not know that about her?