The Wife: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 3

  ‘It’s just’ – Becky’s forehead creases – ‘you’re quite pale. I mean, you look stunning, of course, but… you don’t seem yourself.’

  ‘She’s getting married,’ Lou hisses, smoothing her dark hair. ‘It’s a big day, of course she’s not going to be herself. It’s nerve-wracking. And you talking about it isn’t likely to help.’

  Becky glares at her. ‘It doesn’t hurt to ask. I’m just worried about my friend, that’s all.’

  ‘Um, she’s my friend too.’

  ‘Well, if she’s such a good friend, you’d have noticed that she’s paler than normal, don’t you think?’

  I probably should have considered the fact that despite being my two best friends, my bridesmaids aren’t exactly the best of friends with one another, which is one of the main reasons I didn’t ask them to stay over at the hotel with me last night. All they’ve done since they arrived this morning is bicker. I’m not sure why they’re so antagonistic. They don’t even know each other that well. I went to school with Lou Schiavone and I get the feeling she’s a little jealous of my newer friendship with my work friend Becky Webb. But I shouldn’t even be thinking about that right now. This is my wedding day. Not the time to be dealing with friend issues.

  My sister Dina should have been here with me as well, but she said she left it too late to get a flight back from Thailand. So here I am with Becky and Lou as my bridesmaids.

  Maybe it’s just as well Dina couldn’t make it. Especially as things were so shaky the last time I spoke to her. Although that’s an understatement. My sister and I have a complicated relationship. One that I really don’t want to dwell on right now.

  My stomach flips as the wedding march starts up. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for months. I give a start as my dad takes my arm. My bridesmaids set aside their differences for the time being and pick up my train between them. I fight the urge to turn around and check if they’re okay. But there’s no need; I can sense the hostility bubbling away back there. I’ll leave them to it.

  Instead, I turn to my father. To my astonishment, his eyes are bright with unshed tears. ‘You look beautiful, Zoe. Just like your mother.’

  My breath catches and I exhale, feeling instantly tearful myself. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ He isn’t given to fits of sentimentality, so his words and emotion mean a lot. I just wish I felt well enough to appreciate it. His face suddenly swims before mine and I have to take a deep breath to fight back a wave of dizziness and nausea. Please let me get through the next few hours without passing out again. Maybe I’m coming down with flu. Talk about bad timing.

  I’m ready to walk down the aisle, but Dad holds me back a few seconds longer. ‘I just have to ask, Zoe… are you absolutely sure you’re ready? This is a big decision.’ His words are blunt. A shock. His eyes search mine.

  ‘What?’ My brain clears for a moment and I glare at him, annoyed by the question. He’s never expressed any doubts about my impending marriage before – never shown that much of an interest in my life at all, if I’m brutally honest, so why would he ask me this now, right when I’m about to say my vows? ‘What do you mean, “am I sure”?’

  ‘Never mind. It’s nothing.’ He flushes, clears his throat and stares ahead down the aisle.

  If I felt stronger I’d challenge him further. But Dad and I don’t talk much and I’m not about to start now, not with close to two hundred people staring our way. One of Dad’s favourite sayings is, ‘the best shortage is a shortage of words.’

  ‘If you’re happy, then so am I,’ he continues, unconvincingly. ‘You know, your mother would have been proud of you,’ he adds.

  I give an angry nod in response, not trusting myself to speak. Annoyed with him for invoking my mother. As if that makes his previous question okay.

  Everyone keeps glancing back at us, waiting for us to make our walk down the aisle. The music is still playing, but we’re not moving. I think Dad realises he’s holding up the proceedings, so he takes the first step and I walk in time with him along the worn flagstones and past the wooden pews. Slowing my breathing. Swallowing down the nausea that keeps advancing in waves. I’m certain everyone can tell I’m not myself. I’m sure there are a few whispers going around. Or maybe I’m imagining it. I hope I look as beautiful as Dad says I do, and not as ill as I feel. This isn’t how I imagined my walk down the aisle would be. I thought I would feel incredible, excited, blissful. At least I should be thankful that I fainted before the wedding and not during it. Although I don’t want to jinx things. I grip my dad a little tighter and he pats my arm reassuringly.

  White winter light seeps through the huge stained-glass window up above the altar, where four colourful saints watch our slow procession, as they’ve no doubt watched countless other brides before me. Most of the guests’ faces are blurry, seeming to merge into one another as I pass by. But I manage to pick out a few familiar faces. I spot my glamorous colleagues from the salon where I work. I also see Cassie Barrington, with her boyfriend and parents. But Cassie isn’t really my friend anymore – not since I realised that the only person Cassie cares about is Cassie. Unfortunately, I had to invite her and her family to the wedding as my dad is Cassie’s godfather – not that this really means anything. It was just a role he and Mum were asked to fill, back when they were younger and friends with her parents.

  I turn my thoughts thankfully away from Cassie as I spot Celia and Malcolm seated at the front, both of them looking as proud as anything. Toby’s brother Nick gives me an encouraging smile from his place as best man next to the groom. And then of course there’s Toby himself. The love of my life.

  Dad hands me over to my husband-to-be and, for a moment, I feel like some kind of possession being traded away. Although I guess that’s what brides used to be. I blink several times and give myself a little shake, attempting to banish these strange thoughts. I need to try to enjoy this. To soak up every second, rather than wishing it were all over and wanting to lie down in a darkened room.

  Standing at the altar, Toby and I lock eyes and I can tell he’s worried about me by the gentle concern there. He takes my hands and brings them to his lips. Kisses my fingers. This calms me and for a moment I try to imagine that it’s just the two of us. That we’re at home in our little terraced cottage at the foot of the hill with no one around to disturb us.

  The vicar begins and I let myself sink into his words. Words that I’ve heard so many times before on TV shows and movies. Words that I’ve seen other friends recite. Words that my parents must have said to one another many years ago. That I’m now repeating and reciting myself. This is a defining moment in my life. Something I’ll remember forever. Toby’s hand trembles as he slides the ring onto my finger.

  And just like that, the vicar pronounces us husband and wife.

  From that moment on, the atmosphere changes to one of celebratory excitement. Of relief almost. Everyone claps and the small choir sings ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Johnson!’ Toby’s expression is one of pure relief.

  ‘Hello, Mr Johnson. I can’t believe we’re married!’

  ‘I know. I thought you were going to faint again. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Although the truth is I feel far from fine. I’m nauseous, and everything is still fuzzy, as though my ears need to pop. Even though I’m so happy that we’re finally married I feel as if I missed it. As though I was elsewhere while it was all going on. I want to cry with the unfairness of it all. Why am I feeling like this today of all days? Why did I have to faint on my wedding day?

  Toby and I sign the register as everyone else heads outside, no doubt eager to gulp down some cool air. Eventually, we follow them out too, but not before Celia drapes a white faux-fur shawl around my shoulders.

  ‘It’s freezing out there. Don’t want you to catch a chill. Congratulations, you two. You make a beautiful couple.’

  I’m grateful she doesn’t ask how I’m feeling. Because then I’d have to lie and say
I feel amazing. Like I’m walking on air. Instead of the strange unsettling disappointment that clouds my mind.

  Our guests clap and cheer and throw silver and gold confetti as Toby and I step outside into the icy air. Celia wasn’t wrong – it’s bitterly cold out here. We don’t linger. Instead, we all make our way along the paved pathway which leads to the hotel entrance. From the outside, it must look like a scene from a movie. Our route is wreathed with fairy lights and winter flowers – poinsettia, hellebores, holly berries and ivy. It should be a magical moment, but I don’t appreciate any of it. My body is hot and cold, shivering and clammy. My mind is hazy, as though there’s something I’m missing. I smile and laugh, and I hug and kiss my husband. But it all feels like an act. As if I’m going through the motions. What on earth is wrong with me?

  Five

  NOW

  It’s dark as I leave work bundled up in my hat and scarf, my breath making silver plumes in the cold night air. I walk quickly through the familiar streets until I reach the blue metal gates of my children’s school. Alice and Jamie go to the after-school club three times a week, but thankfully they don’t mind as they either get to socialise with their friends or catch up on their homework. The latter is great for me, because then I don’t have the chore of supervising it at home, especially maths, which in Alice’s year has already passed beyond my capabilities.

  ‘Hi, Mrs Johnson.’ Cheryl, the supervisor, greets me at the door after buzzing me in.

  ‘Hello. Hope they’ve behaved themselves today.’ I sign them out on the register and wave across the hall to each of my kids in turn. Jamie zooms over holding a still-wet painting, his brown hair and pale face splattered with green paint.

  ‘Let’s save this to take home tomorrow.’ Cheryl takes the dripping artwork from my son as I help him out of his apron. ‘Give it time to dry.’

  I throw her a grateful look. ‘Looks amazing, Jamie.’

  ‘It’s a Christmas tree. Like the one we’re going to get.’

  ‘I love it. What’s your sister doing?’

  ‘Talking.’ He rolls his eyes and Cheryl and I laugh.

  I look over and notice that Alice is indeed still chatting. Hope is among her gaggle of friends, and that reminds me that her mother Kim will be looking after my nieces this weekend instead of me. It also reminds me that I’ve yet to find out what’s up with Madeline.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Cheryl asks.

  I realise that my expression must have fallen. ‘What? Oh, yeah, I just spaced out for a minute – long day. Jamie, fetch your sister, will you?’

  He does as I ask, and returns with Alice, pulling her along with both hands.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ Her blue eyes sparkle up at me. My daughter is a mini me – petite with black hair and blue eyes – our Welsh heritage, although we’ve only been to Wales a couple of times. My dad’s from Swansea, but his parents died when Dina and I were really young, so I don’t really remember them. There are no close relatives left in Wales since Aunty Caroline died so Dad never goes back, but I keep meaning to organise a trip.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Lewis, Mr Choudhry.’ I turn to see Cheryl opening the door to Kim Lewis and another parent I don’t recognise.

  ‘Right, get your coats.’ I usher my children over to the pegs to collect their things before turning to Kim with a smile, but she isn’t looking my way. Instead, her gaze is fixed on Hope at the other end of the hall. ‘Hi, Kim.’ I speak a little too loudly and it sounds forced.

  She glances at me distractedly and manages a tight smile before heading over to her daughter. Now I’m really starting to get paranoid. First Madeline, and now Kim is acting like I’m persona non grata. What’s going on? I glance down and notice the children by my side staring up at me.

  ‘Can we go now, Mum?’ Alice says. ‘I’m starving. What are we having for tea?’

  ‘Fish fingers.’

  ‘Yes!’ Jamie does a little victory dance at the thought of his favourite food, and the three of us head home.

  On the way back, I can’t stop checking my phone to see if there are any texts or voicemails from Madeline. Every time I look, there’s nothing. The kids are chatty, and I feel bad for being so distant and distracted, fobbing them off with one-word answers as my mind scrolls through all the possible things I could have done to make Madeline and Kim act so coldly towards me. But I keep coming up empty. I love my sister-in-law and I really like Kim, so I would never knowingly do anything to upset either of them.

  Perhaps I’m imagining the whole thing. Maybe Madeline was having an off day when she called me, and it came across as her being annoyed, when it was nothing of the sort. And maybe Kim was simply distracted just now. It’s a stressful time of year with Christmas around the corner. Everyone tends to act a little bit crazy. Could that be it?

  Or maybe I’m the one who’s stressed and paranoid. After all, as well as working full-time and preparing everything for Christmas, I’m also organising an anniversary party. I must be mad.

  ‘Mum, you’re not listening.’ Alice tugs at my hand.

  ‘Sorry, Alice, what were you saying?’ I resolve to give the children my full attention for the rest of the walk home.

  Twenty minutes later, we reach the front door to our little cottage at the foot of the hill. For the first time, I notice that most of our neighbours have their decorations up. I haven’t even thought about decorations yet, or a tree. I’ll have to speak to Toby about us possibly picking one up this weekend. And I’d better get a move on with the gift shopping too. I resolve to make a list.

  ‘We’re home!’ I call out as I push open the front door. The children tumble inside and call out to their father, who comes into the hall to greet us, arms wide to receive the kids who barrel into him like little rugby players. I lean over them to give him a kiss. ‘You’re home early.’

  ‘I had a meeting at the town hall, but it finished sooner than I thought. Go put your feet up if you like – I can sort the kids out.’ This is why I love my husband. He’s always so thoughtful.

  ‘No, I’m fine. They’re hungry, I’ll start making tea.’

  ‘Mum, can I have something to eat?’ Alice follows us into the kitchen.

  ‘No, I’m just about to do the fish fingers.’

  ‘Just something small. Pleeease.’

  ‘You can each have a tangerine. Wash your hands first.’

  The children wolf down their tangerines and then disappear up to their rooms to get changed.

  I drop the tangerine peel into the bin and wash my hands. As I stand at the sink, Toby comes up and puts his arms around me, kissing my neck. I turn and kiss him back, properly. And run a hand down his cheek.

  ‘Hey!’ he jerks back. ‘Wet hands.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I grin.

  ‘No you’re not.’

  I put both my hands on his face. ‘No, I’m not.’ I giggle.

  He shakes his head, smiling at my childishness. I take a clean tea towel from the drawer and pass it to him.

  ‘Thanks.’ He wipes his wet cheeks and puts the tea towel on the counter. ‘How was your day?’

  My good mood instantly evaporates when I remember what happened with Madeline. ‘It was… weird. How was Nick today?’ I turn on the grill and open the freezer door.

  ‘Nick? Fine. Why?’ Toby sits at the table, running his fingers absently over its scrubbed pine surface.

  ‘So he didn’t mention anything about their girls not coming over this weekend?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I try not to get short-tempered with my husband. He’s obviously forgotten that Beth and Freya were supposed to be staying. ‘You remember, Nick and Madeline are going to London for her birthday.’

  ‘Oh, yes. That’s this weekend?’

  ‘Not anymore.’ I explain the change in plans while cursing the fact we’ve run out of oven chips. I can’t face peeling potatoes; I’ll do pasta instead.

  ‘To be honest, it’ll be nice to have a weekend to ourselves,’ Toby says, ob
livious to my mood.

  ‘Well, yes, but that’s not the point. The point is that she’s asked someone else to look after them, and she was funny with me on the phone. I’ve called her back and asked her to ring me, but she hasn’t replied.’

  ‘Maybe she’s busy and she’ll call later.’

  ‘I know, I thought that. But then, when I picked up the kids, Kim Lewis came in and more or less blanked me.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure, but it’s made me feel really crap and insecure. I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done!’ My voice cracks.

  ‘Hey, hey, it’ll be all right.’ Toby stands and takes the packet of fish fingers out of my hand, laying it on the counter. He puts his arms around me and kisses my cheek. ‘We’ll sort this out, okay? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding and everything will be back to normal before you know it. How about I call Nick now? Find out if he can shed some light?’

  ‘Would you? Sorry, I feel like such a drama queen.’

  ‘You’re definitely not one of those.’ Toby smiles. ‘Just maybe overtired?’

  I nod and try not to cry. I love my in-laws – if I’ve done anything to offend them I’ll feel awful.

  ‘Why don’t you sit and relax while I call Nick?’

  ‘I’d rather keep busy. I’ll cook. Thanks for doing that.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He unplugs his phone from the charger and leaves the kitchen. I hear his footsteps on the stairs and try to calm down. I hadn’t planned on having a meltdown about this. I was going to try to speak to Madeline myself, but Toby was so sympathetic. Honestly, it’s sometimes worse when people are nice to you. Makes you feel so much more emotional. I put a pan of water on to boil and shove all six fish fingers under the grill. I wish I could hear what Toby’s saying to Nick. I check my phone again, just in case I’ve missed a message from Madeline, but there’s still nothing.