My Husband's Son: A dark and gripping psychological thriller (23 page)

I watched the landscape go from plucked fields to ridged furrows, frosted solid by the night. Resting my head against the train window, I’d just closed my eyes when my phone rang. I answered expecting to hear Mum and Dad, calling to check on me again. Instead, I was greeted by a soft Glaswegian burr.

‘Hello Heidi.’

Tommy.

Despite a number of increasingly irate voicemails, since that night at the fireworks display, I had neither seen nor spoken to him. Still, I’d thought that if I ignored enough of his calls, he’d give up. I was wrong. If anything, it seemed to make him more persistent.

‘I’ve been thinking about you.’

I cut into his words. ‘I don’t want you to think about me.’

He paused and I imagined him on the other end of the line, his sleeves pushed up over his tattooed forearms.

‘I’m not sure you get to decide that, Heidi,’ he said eventually, a new bite to his tone.

‘I took your call just now out of common courtesy.’ I kept my voice low. ‘I could have continued to ignore you, but I thought this was the right thing to do. Seems I was wrong.’

‘I think you’ll find things have gone too far for common courtesy,’ he said. ‘That
you’ve
gone too far.’

I’d expected him to be difficult – I’d led him on a merry dance and now I was telling him things were over – but the way he was talking unnerved me.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, sick of his constant, confusing allusions to something I wasn’t party to. ‘Please don’t contact me again.’

It was after midnight when the taxi pulled up outside our house. I paid, grabbed my suitcase and got out. I hadn’t told Jason I was coming home early and so it was no surprise to see all the curtains closed. He must have already gone to bed.

Closing the front door quietly so as not to wake him, I was about to creep upstairs when I heard voices coming from the living room. He was still awake and, from the sound of it, he had company. The door was open a crack and so I peered through before going in. The TV was the only source of light in the room and it was showing an old video, recorded on a mobile phone.

One of Jason’s favourites (I’d seen it countless times), it featured a two-year-old Barney and a younger, less tired-looking Jason, both wearing aprons and silly white chef’s hats, baking cookies together. Their hair and faces were covered with flour and the video had just reached the point where Jason had made a moustache out of dough and stuck it to his face. Barney couldn’t stop giggling. From behind the camera came Vicky’s voice.

‘Make sure to give the mixture a good stir.’ Barney struggled to move his wooden spoon through the thick batter and so she offered more words of encouragement. ‘Look how strong you are. Just like Daddy. My two big strong boys.’

It was because of this, because of Vicky’s voice coming out of the TV, that I didn’t immediately realise she was also there talking in person.

I froze.

What was she doing in my house?

The video came to an end and automatically reverted back to the main menu. The door wasn’t open wide enough for me to see round to where Vicky was sitting but, now that the TV was dark, I realised I could see her reflection in its screen. Sitting on the sofa next to Jason, she was wearing a hoodie, the zipper pulled all the way up to the top so that it covered her mouth and nose.

‘I miss him every day,’ said Vicky, opening her zipper a little to speak.

‘I know,’ said Jason. ‘So do I.’ They spoke without looking at each other, their voices low. I got the impression they’d been having this same conversation over and over for quite some time.

The faces of our children stared out from the mantelpiece. Lauren with her first three baby teeth, grinning widely at my dad, who was behind the camera making the raspberry noises she loved. Barney playing with his fire truck in the bath, his hair dark with soapy water. And then, there on the windowsill was our wedding photo, taken in the gardens of the registry office. My bouquet of yellow calla lilies was stark against the white of my dress; Jason’s shoes had been polished till the leather shone.

‘Sorry about the baby,’ said Vicky, quietly. ‘I didn’t know you two were trying.’

‘We weren’t.’

I went to retreat back out into the night. I didn’t want to hear them talk about me, about what had happened. But then Jason said something that made me want to stick around.

‘I paid Tesh a visit on-site the other day.’ He waited a beat, as though he was reluctant to release the next piece of information into the room. ‘Danny was there.’

Vicky pulled the hoodie tight around her skull. The opening ruched against her face.

‘I didn’t talk to him,’ said Jason. ‘I thought I’d be able to, but I couldn’t. Even now.’

I remembered the man I’d seen pacing up and down outside the Portakabin in the rain. The way he’d kept looking up to the top of the power station, as though he’d wanted to make sure Jason was still there.

‘What if we came clean?’ This was Vicky.

‘It wouldn’t make any difference. It didn’t then and it certainly won’t now.’

‘But Jason –’

‘No,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘What you did is irrelevant.’

‘You mean what you made me do.’

Her response was switchblade fast, but Jason didn’t flinch.

‘I didn’t make you do anything and you know it.’ It seemed this was an accusation he’d had levelled at him before. ‘It was your choice. Don’t lay it on me.’

‘Don’t lay it on you!’ Vicky dropped the hood’s drawstring and it fell away from her head, releasing her long black hair.

She seemed like she might be about to get to her feet. I tensed, torn between the urge to hear more of their exchange and the fear of being caught eavesdropping.

‘You gave me an ultimatum. Get rid of it you said, get rid of it or I’ll leave. Then you went and left anyway.’

‘Can we not go through this again?’

‘It’s getting harder to live with, not easier.’

‘What do you want? Do you need me to say that I forgive you? Is that it? Is that what you need me to say?’ He dipped his head as though he was shy, and looked up at her through his eyelashes. A mannerism that, until now, I’d thought was reserved for me. ‘Well, I do, OK? I forgive you.’

The exchange seemed to have exhausted them and they slumped back together into the cushions. Vicky leant her head on Jason’s shoulder.

‘And I forgive you.’

Vicky reached for Jason’s hand. He let her take it.

I felt like I was unravelling from the inside out. My thoughts spun and swerved, struggling to process everything I’d just heard.

What had Vicky done? Who was Danny? Were they talking about something that happened before Barney went missing or after?

I’d been leaning further and further forward to hear what they were saying and now I felt the strap of my handbag start to slide off my shoulder. I managed to push it back into place before it fell off and hit the floor with a thump but, as I did, the friction of the strap against the fabric of my coat made a squeaking noise.

Vicky started and sat up straight.

‘What was that?’ She looked over to the door, but I’d already moved back into the shadows.

‘I didn’t hear anything.’ They both sat there, listening to the silence.

‘Just the wind,’ said Jason. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

Not wanting to risk standing in the hall for very much longer I tried to work out what to do next. As I saw it, I had two options. One, I could go and slam the front door and pretend like I’d just come in. I’d fiddle with my bag in the hallway, take my coat off, give them time to compose themselves and then have to have a very awkward conversation with them both. Or, two, I could leave without them knowing I was ever here and come back in the morning when Vicky would, hopefully, be long gone.

I decided it would be best if I left them none the wiser. After everything I’d just heard, my head was a mess. I’d spend the night at Carla’s. She wouldn’t mind.

I didn’t leave until they’d restarted the video. Using the noise to disguise the opening and shutting of the front door, as I slipped back out into the night, I tried to forget the easy chemistry of Vicky’s head on Jason’s shoulder, the way he’d seemed to lean into her touch, the way their hands had managed to find each other in the dark.

Carla’s living room was warm, the only source of a light a single standard lamp covered with a blue silk scarf.

‘Sorry to impose,’ I said, putting down my suitcase. ‘Did I wake you?’

‘Not at all.’ She gestured to her open laptop on the table in the corner. ‘I was working late when you called. I’ve got to give a paper at a conference in a couple of days and I’m nowhere near ready.’

I collapsed back onto her battered red leather Chesterfield and kicked off my heels. Jasper was on my lap and purring in an instant. During the journey over I’d replayed the conversation I’d witnessed between Jason and Vicky so many times that I’d started to mix up who’d said what to whom. They shared a secret, that much was clear, but what?

‘I thought you were staying at your mum and dad’s?’ said Carla, taking a seat beside me. She was wearing purple harem pants, cable-knit bed socks and an Amnesty International hoodie; her black curls were arranged on top of her head with what seemed to be a combination of clips and chopsticks.

‘I was. I just got back.’ I placed my finger on the bottom of my jumper and traced out the laparoscopic triangle of dots on the skin underneath. ‘Thought I’d surprise Jason. But then when I got home, Vicky was there.’

‘Was she visiting?’ asked Carla carefully.

I smoothed my hand down Jasper’s spine.

‘The doctors said I have to wait a few months, but they said that what happened shouldn’t stop me from being able to have another baby. Did I tell you that?’

‘You did. I came to see you in the hospital, remember?’

I looked at the screensaver on Carla’s laptop. A slideshow of photos, the current picture showed Carla atop a hill in the rain, her cagoule cinched around her face.

‘This conference. Who’s going to feed Jasper while you’re away?’

‘I was going to ask the neighbours.’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Not necessary. Not with everything you’ve got going on at the moment …’

‘I’ll do it,’ I said again before she could continue. ‘No arguments.’

She conceded with a sigh.

‘It’s almost two.’ She stretched her arms in the air and yawned. ‘I’ll get you a blanket and some pillows.’

Later, tucked under Carla’s blanket, I watched the changing sequence of pictures on her laptop and tried to let their slow slides and dissolves lull me to sleep. But every time I closed my eyes I would be confronted with the image of Jason and Vicky in my living room.

Was she still there with him now? What were they doing? Would she end up staying the night?

I reached my hand out of the blanket and down to my bag on the floor. Finding Lauren’s compass, I brought it up to my mouth and pressed it to my lips, my breath condensing on the smooth silver.

I thought of Vicky and Jason on the sofa. The way Jason had sat in close and held her hand. She was no longer his to have. But the fact I knew Vicky was with Martin offered no reassurance. What was to stop her from ditching the detective and trying to put everything back to how it used to be? I could imagine all too easily how a reconciliation with Jason might take shape. At first it would be strange, their movements awkward. They might bash teeth when they first tried to kiss. But then, tracing his fingers along her stretch marks, Jason would press his mouth up against her skin, up against this proof that Barney had left behind, this evidence that he’d lived and, before long, he’d realise how good it felt, how familiar.

I saw another photo slide into position on Carla’s screensaver. A selfie. It showed Carla prone on a pillow, sporting her electric-blue hair-streaks from a few months back. Her cheeks flushed, she was leaning in to kiss the person lying next to her. Mark. The journalist.

Popping open the compass, I watched as the needle pivoted beneath the glass, the earth’s field exerting a torque it was powerless to resist. Not thinking, I used my index finger to flick the metal ring loop at the top of the disc and it spun round on its axis, letting out a loud, high-pitched clicking sound. The noise was brutal against the silence. I grabbed it quickly and listened for any sign that I might have woken Carla. After a few seconds had passed without incident, I relaxed. I looked at the noise culprit. That bloody ring loop. Lauren had been obsessed with it. I used to hear its clicking in her room at night, long after lights out, and then I’d have to go in and take the compass away for safekeeping until the morning.

Pushing the blanket to one side, I exchanged Lauren’s compass for my purse. It didn’t take long to find Mark’s business card. The one he’d given me the night of the barbecue. Going over to the computer, I rubbed my finger against the mouse and, once the screen had woken up, I opened the search page. A few minutes later and I’d set up a Hotmail account under a random name. Balancing Mark’s card against the keyboard, after typing in his email address I set about composing my message. His pre-existing interest in the story should mean he’d start digging immediately.

Moving the mouse over the
send
icon, I let it hover. It was strictly forbidden for a police officer to get involved with someone on an active case, especially a family liaison officer. I could ruin Martin’s career. I hesitated. He didn’t deserve to be thrown into the shit-storm that would inevitably ensue. I thought of Jason and Vicky on the sofa. Jason needed to know that she belonged to someone else and he needed to learn about it from someone other than me.

I looked at the journalist’s email address.

Closing my eyes, I pressed down hard and with a single click, the message was sent.

The next morning, I arrived at the house unannounced. Slamming the door and dumping my keys on the table, this time I was certain to make my presence felt. Worried I was some kind of intruder, Jason appeared in an instant.

‘Heidi?’ Seeing me he relaxed. ‘You’re back?’

‘You know my mum and dad,’ I said. ‘Their mollycoddling was starting to get on my nerves and so I decided to come home early.’

‘Here, let me get that.’ He took my suitcase and dashed it upstairs, into our bedroom. Alone in the hall, I had visions of him using this opportunity to hide any evidence of Vicky having spent the night. Thumping back down to where I stood, he gave me a quick, breathless kiss.

‘How are you feeling? I mean, how have things been?’ he asked, unable to mention the pregnancy directly.

I took off my coat.

‘Get up to much while I was away?’ I wanted to give him every chance to come clean of his own accord. To have him tell me to my face that Vicky had been here, in my house.

‘Not much. Work, stuff, you know.’

‘Off out for a run?’ I nodded at his shorts and T-shirt.

‘I was. Needed to clear my head. But now you’re home …’

‘Go,’ I said, before he could say any more. ‘I want to have a shower. I’ll be done by the time you get back and then we can catch up.’

He hesitated.

‘Sure?’

‘I am. Go.’

Left to my own devices, and still without a satisfactory answer as to whether or not Vicky had stayed over, I began unpacking. I’d just finished when I heard someone knocking. Making my way downstairs, through the door’s half-moon, frosted glass I could see the outline of a man’s head. Something about the way he ran his hands through his hair made me stop. Tommy. Tommy was here.

Hit with a mixture of panic and confusion, I was about to run back up to the bedroom and stay there until he (hopefully) went away, when he got down on his knees and started shouting through the letter box.

‘I know you’re in there,’ he said. ‘Open the door or I’ll cause a scene. Your neighbours have already started twitching their curtains.’

Putting the chain in the bolt, I peeked out through the gap.

‘What are you doing here? How do you even know where I live?’

‘I followed you.’

‘You did what?’

‘After the fireworks display.’

‘You have to go. My husband will be back.’

Moving forward, he squashed his face up against the space between the door and the frame.

‘Because you really care about that husband of yours?’ he said, his eyes flashing. ‘You’ve really got his best interests at heart?’

I tried to think straight, to come up with something that would get rid of him before Jason came home and caught him here.

‘I’m sorry, but this thing between us, whatever it was, it’s over.’ I had to resist the urge to shut the door in his face. ‘I want you to go.’

At this he retreated onto the pavement. He squinted at the town at the bottom of the hill, thinking.

‘OK,’ he said, turning back to me. I knew it was too easy, but still my hopes leapt. He was going to do as I’d asked. It was all going to be fine. But then he crinkled up his face, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. ‘I’ll go. Once you’ve agreed to see me again.’

‘I’ve told you, it’s over. Don’t you get it?’ I screamed. He dusted an imaginary speck of lint off his arm.

‘If you don’t, I’ll wait here until your husband comes home and then, when he does, I’m going to tell him everything.’ He winked.

I studied his face, trying to work out whether or not he was serious.

‘You wouldn’t.’

‘But I would,’ he laughed. ‘I would.’

I looked at my watch. I hadn’t noticed the time when Jason left, and I wasn’t sure how far he had been intending to run. Five miles? Ten? He could be back any second. Whatever it took. I had to get rid of Tommy.

‘When?’

‘This Friday. At a hotel.’

‘What about your flat?’

He reached his hand through the gap in the door and, as he spoke, he used his finger to pat out the syllables on my nose.

‘I don’t think,’ – pat, pat, pat – ‘you’re in any position,’ – pat, pat, pat – ‘to question me right now.’

‘OK, a hotel,’ I said, searching the street for signs of Jason. ‘Text me the details and I’ll be there.’

‘You promise?’

‘Yes. Now will you please go?’

‘I want you to kiss me first.’ I hesitated. ‘Kiss me now. Here. Or the deal’s off,’ he challenged.

Realising I had no choice, I shut the door, slipped the chain out of the bolt and reopened it wide. As soon as I stepped forward, Tommy grabbed my face and put his lips to mine. I kept my eyes open. He’d just pushed his tongue deep into my mouth when I saw Jason appear over the incline of the hill. I cried out and tried to push him off but he had me held tight.

Less than a hundred yards away, his earphones still plugged in, Jason was focused on fiddling with the timer on his watch. He had only to look up and he would see us. With a surge of effort I freed myself.

‘You have to go,’ I said.

‘I’ll be in touch.’ He leant in for one last kiss.

As Tommy got back into his Jeep on the other side of the street, Jason wiped his face on the sleeve of his T-shirt and gave me a wave. Tommy started up the car and soon he and Jason were passing each other – Jason on the pavement, Tommy on the road – Jason’s shadow sliding across the Jeep’s blue metalwork like a blurry ghost.