The Happy Couple: An absolutely unputdownable and gripping psychological thriller Page 2

  Jo whips back to the moment, smiling at Louise. ‘Yes, yes I like caravans,’ she says, knowing she would have refused the cottage even if it had been an option. She could never go back there – not after… She shudders, hoping Louise doesn’t notice. ‘They’re so cosy, aren’t they? The pitter-patter of the virtually guaranteed rain on the roof.’ Her voice quivers, sounding almost delirious as it transforms into a laugh. She’s trying, really she is, and ever grateful to Louise for trying to inspire her.

  ‘Will and I stayed in a caravan at Harlyn Bay a few years ago. An autumn break to miss the crowds.’ Miss the higher prices, she thinks but doesn’t say, even though she knows Louise and Archie aren’t like that, not in the least bit snobby. They like nice things, earn good money, but they like real, too. And they like – liked – her and Will. Part-time drama teacher and seamstress meet obstetrician and solicitor. But now they only have her to like, because Will is gone. Somehow Jo feels as if she’s failed their best friends, let the side down. Last man standing, playing with only half a team.

  ‘Oh, that’ll be Ted,’ Louise says at the sound of the buzzer, sliding off her stool and wriggling down her stretchy work skirt. Her tight top hugs her belly, her protruding navel the cherry on top.

  You look beautiful pregnant, Jo thinks, watching her go to the intercom and buzz their guest in… You’re everything I hoped you’d be and more, everything I wanted to be. Louise and Jo had been friends since high school, then lost touch in their twenties. But fate had brought them together again years later. A woman, a wife, a lover, a professional… and soon to be a mother. Jo smiles. I’m so happy for you, Louise.

  ‘I’m so happy for you,’ Jo says as she shakes hands with Ted. Christ, did I actually say that? ‘Pleased… I mean, I’m so pleased to meet you,’ she adds, forcing a smile, seeing Ted’s confused expression.

  ‘You too, Jo,’ Ted says, his hand lingering around hers. Jo notices his easy manner, his kind eyes, and can see why Louise and Archie have befriended him. A replacement for their depleted portfolio.

  Friends for all occasions, that’s what Will once said, lying in bed, Jo’s head resting on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him after they’d tried yet again. And it’s true – Louise matches her guests to the occasion like she matches her shoes to her handbags. Will reckoned they were their go-to ‘guests for all occasions’. Solid. Dependable. And always good company. The reliable old-timers. Jo had laughed, trailing her fingers through the tight black fuzz of Will’s chest. ‘We’re an awesome team,’ she’d said, kissing him, feeling so happy.

  And now we are not, Jo thinks as Ted finally relinquishes her hand. Will and I are not awesome any more. Not a team. And neither am I happy. Ted goes over to Archie at the stove, taking the glass of wine Louise offers as he’s passing. Louise glances over at Jo, giving her one of those it’ll be ok winks while touching her belly.

  Several weeks ago, she asked Jo to be Speck’s godmother. Jo said yes, even though she didn’t want to be. Didn’t want to be any kind of ‘mother’ if it wasn’t a part of Will. They’d been trying to conceive naturally for the best part of two years and had finally succumbed to getting help, with their first round of IVF scheduled. And then Will disappeared.

  ‘So you two met at work?’ Jo says when they’re eating. She lays down her knife and fork, glancing between the two men. She doesn’t want to appear uninterested.

  ‘On the squash court, to be precise,’ Archie says, raising his eyebrows. ‘But yes, Ted’s in the department.’

  Jo looks at Ted’s hands, seeing they’re equally as clean and smooth as Archie’s. Big, capable hands, and she wonders how many babies they’ve delivered. Archie quoted her his stats once – it was in the thousands. Jo would only like one baby and now, at thirty-nine, falling in love with someone as deeply as she loved Will is not going to happen before her time is up. She can’t betray Will’s memory, even though she hates him for disappearing, pretty much wants to kill him for leaving her – if he isn’t already dead.

  ‘So go on, fess up. Who beat who?’ Jo asks, forcing a smile.

  ‘He’s good,’ Ted says. ‘But not yet good enough.’ His confidence doesn’t just show in the tone of his voice but in the way his shoulders sit broadly in his fitted pale blue shirt, his strong forearms, his purposeful laugh and those kind eyes. He’s nice, Jo thinks. But not nice enough. Not Will. She knows Louise has arranged tonight on purpose. Thinks it’s time for her to move on.

  ‘There’s a casual ongoing competition between staff,’ Archie explains. ‘I was hands-down winner until Dr Mason muscled in.’ He laughs.

  ‘Everyone needs a good shake-up from time to time,’ Ted bats back, eyeing Jo over the rim of his glass. Jo feels a sweat break out.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she says, retreating to the toilet, leaning her head back against the door when she’s alone, sighing out. Will, Will, Will… she thinks. You’d like it here tonight, your cool wit quite able to take on Dr Mason and Archie. Your smooth voice out-smoothing the pair of them, me watching you, loving you, appreciating you. Maybe I didn’t do that enough. Appreciate you.

  She flushes, washes her hands and returns to the table, steadier now she’s had a moment. She has to go with them, the ‘moments’. Succumb to time out, reset herself, however long it takes. Sometimes it’s days of shutting herself away.

  ‘Louise tells me you’re planning a holiday,’ Ted says as Jo picks up her knife and fork again.

  Jo flashes her a look. ‘She did?’

  ‘Can’t you tell she needs one?’ Louise says, getting away with it only because of the caring undertones.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jo says by way of defence. ‘It’s just the cost of it. You know…’ She smiles again, a brief glance up from her plate. ‘Holidays are expensive and every penny counts right now.’

  ‘Have you ever thought of house-sitting?’ Ted says. ‘It’s free and there are some beautiful places to be had. A pal of mine does it. You know, one of those drifter types who gets off feeding other people’s dogs and living their dreams by proxy. He’s a writer. Well, he wants to be a writer, hence the “no fixed abode” all being part of his bohemian image.’ Ted laughs. ‘But seriously, it could be an option for you.’

  ‘That’s a great idea, Ted,’ Jo hears Louise say as she tries to imagine herself in someone else’s home. She can’t.

  ‘Well, I…’

  ‘You should investigate,’ Archie chimes in. ‘I bet there are websites.’

  ‘Indeed there are,’ Ted says. ‘Sitters and owners are all rated and have feedback so you know what you’re getting into. You could pick somewhere by the coast or the Lakes. Even overseas.’

  Three against one, Jo thinks as she listens to the well-meaning chit-chat, zoning out, their voices fading as she imagines going on holiday – just her and Will. They’d been planning a break on the South Coast but hadn’t managed it, other commitments getting in the way. She catches her breath as she sees him standing over by the fireplace, elbow leaning on the mantelpiece, watching her with smiling eyes. Proud eyes.

  Jo shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink. And, when she looks up again, Will is gone.

  Later, at home, having declined Louise’s offer to stay, Jo’s phone pings. Her hand reaches out to the bedside table, clattering her glasses and watch onto the floor as she frantically hoists herself up onto her elbow, fumbling for the lamp switch. Her heart thumps. It’s late. That’s a good sign… someone texting her late.

  Will…

  But it’s not.

  I’ve signed you up. Have a look.

  And then Louise sends login details for a website.

  For what seems like the entire night, Jo lies awake, staring at the ceiling. When she’s certain sleep won’t come, she fetches her laptop, balancing it on her crossed legs as she sits on the bed. After she’s proved to herself once and for all that it’s a silly idea, that she really doesn’t want to be feeding pets and cutting lawns for other people, she’ll go on the missing persons w
ebsites. It’s been twelve hours since she last looked. A lot can happen in twelve hours – it took a lot less than that for Will to disappear, after all.

  But then she wonders if Louise is right, if time away from home would help her recharge, help her heal. Even a single hour that isn’t filled with wondering where he is – either hating him for leaving his life, for leaving her, or grieving for him because he’s dead – would be a respite. And a respite, if she’s honest with herself, is what she needs more than anything.

  Just, for the briefest of moments, not to have to think about Will.

  Three

  Did you look at the website?

  Jo glances at her phone screen. She can’t reply to Louise’s text right now. The alterations need finishing by lunchtime and delivering back to the theatre straight after. The tech rehearsal is scheduled for this afternoon and the last-minute adjustments are key to the entire production.

  Well?

  Jo wants to put her phone on silent but knows she can’t, never will. Just in case. If she’d had time to reply, she thinks as she changes the spool on her machine, then she’d have said Yes. House-sitting is not for me though but thanks x. Jo glides the fabric of the seam through the machine, removing the pins as she goes, each stitch taking her closer to the end of the day when she can go home and shut the front door on the world. She imagines Will is waiting for her, having made that amazing sticky pork dish of his (his mother’s recipe), the smell of it announcing his return even before she sees him. She talks to him every night. And he always answers.

  Louise says I should do a house-sit, of all things, she’ll say later. Instead of a holiday. Doesn’t sound great, does it, cleaning up someone else’s cat mess?

  Will would laugh then, she knows that. What, you’re going away without me? he’d reply before rolling his eyes, flashing her that smile of his. Jo would laugh for a moment, too, watch him standing there, wooden spoon in hand, twinkle in his eye. But then she’d start shaking her head, slowly at first as her eyes filled with tears, crinkling up as the sobs came.

  Well, you went away without me… she’d scream, before hurling the pan across the room.

  And when she opened her eyes, he’d be gone. Just as gone as he is now.

  ‘Oww!’ she cries, sucking on the bead of blood on her forefinger. Beth tosses the box of plasters her way, three pins held between her lips. There are many such boxes dotted about. No actor wants real blood on their costume.

  What about South Wales? Didn’t you and Will go there once?

  It’s clear Louise isn’t going to let up.

  Can’t chat now. Crazy busy here, Jo messages back, but it’s too late. There are two drops of scarlet on the cream silk skirt.

  When she gets home, the house is quiet. Of course. Jo closes the front door behind her, turning the key, putting the chain on then taking it off again, removing the key from the lock. If he were to return in the middle of the night, she wants him to be able to get in.

  No cooking smells. No aroma of sticky pork in the air. No Radio 4 on for Will to turn down to a simmering background noise when she comes in, dumping her bag on the table as he gives her a kiss. Will usually got in before her – unless he was in a play, rehearsing or performing. Then it would be much later, sometimes the early hours. I couldn’t get out of the after-show party, Jo-jo, you know what it’s like… But when he was teaching, he was home by five. He would have turned the heating up if it was cold outside, or lit the coal fire in their small, square living room, plumping up the cushions on their saggy sofa, the one from Gumtree that was going cheap.

  ‘Hi,’ Jo says out of habit. She flicks on the kitchen light. It might be early May but it’s gloomy and wet outside. ‘How was your day?’

  Year Seven were little shits, as ever, she imagines him replying. But there’s that one kid, reminds me so much of me at that age. Something stuck inside him, as though he needs to express himself through acting. I’ll bring him out of himself, you watch.

  Jo smiles, remembering the school play. ‘The show must go on,’ someone had said, even though Will, drama teacher at Wroxdown High School, had been missing a month and a half by then.

  She’d watched the performance through blurry vision, tears rolling down her cheeks, and sitting at the back so she could duck out as soon as the curtain dropped in the school theatre. And the kid certainly did Will proud. The kid who had something stuck inside him. In fact, it was parts of Will she saw coming out on the stage that night, little flourishes of her husband who had clearly taught him well. The intonation, the motivation, his presence as he lost himself entirely in the character. And now Will is the one who’s lost.

  Jo opens the fridge and stares inside. Half a packet of spinach, slimy at the edges. A small piece of mouldering pecorino, a dish of chickpeas with condensation on the cling film, two tomatoes and three slices of bacon. And a bottle of wine. Well, the remains of a bottle of wine. She clatters it out, sloshing some into a tumbler. The European way, Will had once said, and she’d liked that. Still did it now.

  Jo sits down at the small kitchen table, glass in one hand, fingernails of the other gouging into the woodgrain. Her phone pings in her bag, making her jump.

  So? Did you look yet? Get on with it then I can get you and Ted together again to discuss it. He likes you.

  Jo sighs at the winking emoji and fetches her laptop, knowing she’ll get no peace until she checks out the house-sitting site properly. She got as far as the home page last night but then diverted to the missing persons forum. There were no new responses to her pleas for help.

  Double-checking the details Louise sent last night, Jo logs into the already created account on the House Angels website, rolling her eyes at the password Louise chose – T3d&joj0. After a few minutes, she’s familiarised herself with how it works and clicks randomly on some featured properties at the top of the main page.

  Two weeks in a lighthouse in beautiful Mull?

  Hillwalker’s delight… three Dalmatians in Snowdonia need you!

  Reliable horse lover wanted for month in Dorset – allowance paid.

  ‘Wow, people actually do this,’ Jo says, sipping her wine. ‘Well, I have no idea how to look after horses,’ she says to herself, eyes fixed on the screen as she clicks on another property.

  Jo taps in more detailed search criteria. Dogs, check. Cats, check. Small pets, check. Light cleaning duties, check. General house security, check. Lawn care and weeding… she hovers over this one, checking the box and unchecking it. Since Will went, she’s struggled to keep up with their garden. It’s only a small patch at the back of their terraced house, but the grass always seems to need cutting and the weeds somehow multiply faster than she can pull them out. For now, she leaves it ticked. Then she clicks a few other boxes: general errands, taking deliveries, and suchlike. But when it comes to location, she’s stumped.

  She doesn’t really want to go anywhere. What if Will comes back while she’s away?

  ‘Brighton is nice,’ Jo says, pretending she’s talking to herself but really it’s to Will. It’s the kind of vibrant place she could get lost in. Better to have the buzz of people around her so she doesn’t drown in her own thoughts, plus she knows Will liked it there. And he loved – loves – the coast. But then it’ll just be full of happy couples, she thinks, deciding that, if she’s really considering doing this, rural might be better. No one at all around apart from cows, sheep and whatever animals she’d be in charge of. The solitude might be good for her.

  She clicks on a few counties on the interactive map: Yorkshire, Derbyshire, Norfolk, Suffolk, Cornwall, Devon, Somerset… all beautiful places. But she can’t think of a single reason to go to any of them. Jo idly clicks on a few of the properties that come up on her search list. Some are requesting house-sitters with a review count of at least ten. Some are for a month or more. Some look like properties she couldn’t possibly cope with and one or two frankly look as though they want pulling down.

  ‘Not much of a holiday t
o be had there,’ she says, wide-eyed at the pictures of the shack-like place. ‘And what about the owner’s personal stuff?’ she says to herself, sipping her wine and scrolling other properties. ‘I wouldn’t want a stranger rooting through my belongings,’ she adds, shaking her head and glancing up as if Will is there.

  ‘Oh,’ she says, clicking on an image of a thatched cottage. ‘This looks nice…’ She imagines Will already there when she arrives, standing at the stove, apron on, candles lit, music playing, the spicy scent of his Caribbean cooking in the air.

  She whips round, grabbing the back of the chair, tears in her eyes. ‘Where the hell did you go?’ she says, almost shouting as she stares around the empty kitchen. ‘How could you just leave me?’ she yells. She wants to cry, but can’t any more. In the early days, the tears came hot and fast, burning her cheeks, streaking her eye make-up down her cheeks.

  Now, she’s just plain angry.

  Found anywhere?

  I’m looking, Jo texts back.

  The nightly cry used to release the chemical build-up of the day, helping her stay asleep – albeit a fitful sleep. Now, if she does drop off before midnight, she’s usually awake again at 2 a.m. Then at three, four, five. Staring at the ceiling, wondering, thinking. The alarm is set for seven but she never needs it.

  ‘Must like reptiles,’ Jo says, unable to help the smile. ‘That’s no holiday.’ She winces at the photos of the two snakes that would be her charges. She shudders, returning to the main list.

  What about Hastings?

  Jo looks up at the sound of his voice. In her mind, Will is standing there, the tea towel wrapped around his big dark hands. We were thinking of going to that B & B there, do you remember? he says.

  Jo stares at him, not wanting to speak, not wanting to destroy the magic of him, have him dissolve again. Yes, yes I remember, she thinks. The rooms looked so cosy, the open fires, the views, the beach walks. But we never made it…