The Missing Husband: a tense psychological suspense full of twists Page 3

  It all seemed like a story he’d read in one of those women’s magazines that Kate left lying around the house. Something that happened to other people, not him. Yet here he was, sipping wine and planning his future with the woman who had made him feel alive for the first time in years. Because that’s how he felt – like she’d pulled him out of the darkness and into the light again. She had brought him back to life. And that was enough for him to risk everything to be with her.

  ‘It’s getting late,’ Claire said, breaking the silence. ‘Shall we go in and get changed for dinner? Maybe take a walk into the village and check out that new little restaurant we saw on the way in?’

  She wriggled out of the blanket and stood up, reaching over to pull Pete out of his recliner and up towards her. The close contact immediately aroused him – she’d had that effect on him from the beginning. He kissed her, still marvelling after all these months at the joy of being able to kiss someone whenever he liked and be kissed back, such a simple gesture that married couples seem to forget how to do.

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ he said, which came out a bit more lewdly than it had sounded in his head but she simply laughed at him and nodded her agreement, turning in the direction of their room and pulling him along with her.

  ‘There’s no rush for dinner,’ she said. ‘There’s no rush for anything, really. We’ve got all the time in the world, Pete.’

  And in that moment, despite all of his misgivings, fears and guilt about the enormity of his betrayal, he felt in the pit of his stomach that he was exactly where he should be.

  3

  Kate

  It was Erin’s idea to search the house. Kate realised that she should have thought of it sooner but instead she’d been sitting around like a spare part, unsure of what to do with herself. What was wrong with her? She sprang to her feet, glad of something proactive to do. It might distract her from the ball of dread growing inside her.

  She started in the bedroom, glancing over at their bed which hadn’t been slept in the previous night, the neat silk bedspread and matching cushions lying undisturbed. She went to their fitted wardrobes first, sliding open the smooth mirrored panel on Pete’s side and looking in at his messy piles of clothes, a stark contrast to her neat, orderly section at the opposite end. Rooting around in the chaos she quickly noticed a gap where Pete’s brown leather holdall – an old anniversary present from her – usually lived.

  Rifling through his piles of clothes she discovered that some were missing: casual T-shirts, shorts, jeans and jumpers all unaccounted for. All his work outfits seemed present and correct, she noticed, hanging undisturbed. She wasn’t sure what that meant yet. She moved to their bathroom next and searched through the cabinet, looking for his travel toiletry bag. It was gone. She returned to their bedroom and went to the dresser where the family’s passports were kept. Pulling the drawer open, she counted, one, two, three. His was missing. She wasn’t particularly surprised that he’d taken it with him but the fresh reality of it all still hit her like a ton of bricks.

  Suddenly feeling desperate to be in the company of another human being, she tore back down the stairs and into the kitchen where Erin was making tea. Instinctively she grabbed her phone from the table to check his social media accounts. He’d set up Facebook and Twitter profiles years ago when everyone had them although he hardly ever used them, save for the odd photo of a lads’ night out or one of the girls’ birthdays. She knew he wasn’t going to post a photo of himself with his mystery woman, helpfully tagging her and their location with a brief explanation as to his state of mind. But there would at least be some comfort in seeing the familiarity of his profile. She typed his name into Facebook and waited for his profile picture, a photo from their wedding day, to appear but there was nothing. Confused, she searched her list of friends, looking for his name. It was gone.

  ‘He’s deleted his Facebook profile,’ she called out to Erin who, fishing teabags out of mugs, turned to her in surprise. Opening Twitter, she searched again, but while lots of other Pete Garlands came up in the results, his profile was nowhere to be found. Finally, she went on to LinkedIn. Again, while Pete Garland the Head of HR, Pete Garland the Life Coach and Pete Garland the Senior Sales Executive all popped up in the search results, there was no Pete Garland, Associate Director at Media Corp. Her husband had digitally vanished.

  ‘Jesus Christ, he’s deleted them all,’ she exclaimed. It was as if he’d never existed, his online history had been entirely erased. The thought hit her like a fresh punch in the stomach. Erin pulled out her own phone, checking the social media channels herself to make sure it wasn’t a mistake. ‘They’re definitely gone,’ she confirmed. ‘Bloody hell, Kate.’ Then she added: ‘Have you checked your bank accounts?’

  ‘What for?’ she replied, confused for a second.

  ‘You might be able to get some clues from his transactions.’

  It was a reasonable suggestion, so Kate logged into their online banking app, searching their current account and credit card for anything unusual but there was nothing that she couldn’t account for over the last few days. The bill for the supermarket delivery, the regular council tax deduction and a cash withdrawal she’d made to pay the window cleaner.

  ‘There’s nothing untoward,’ she told Erin.

  As an afterthought she logged into their ISAs, not expecting to see any action in their long-term investments which they had both agreed to leave untouched. It was their savings for the future, for the children’s education and their retirement together. Clicking into the recent transactions, her blood ran cold as she looked at the numbers staring back at her. Surely it was a mistake? She looked again.

  ‘He withdrew £10,000 in cash from our ISA last month,’ she exclaimed, as the level of his deception became even more obvious. ‘The bastard has been planning this for at least a month.’ She bent forward in her chair and thought she might throw up.

  ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ Erin said, looking at her with horror. ‘It doesn’t make any sense. It’s one thing going away for a few days to sort out your head, it’s quite another to take a passport and a wad of cash and disappear off the face of the planet. Something doesn’t feel right here, Kate, you need to get on to some of his mates, to people at his work, find out what they know. You need some answers.’

  ‘But he doesn’t want to be found. He’s made that perfectly clear. Maybe I should just do what he wants, give him some space?’

  ‘And what about you?’ Erin demanded. ‘And the kids? What about what you want?’

  What she wanted was for her damn husband to be sitting in his office in central London like he should be and for this whole thing to have been a nightmare. But that option wasn’t on the table and she wasn’t really sure what the next best alternative was. Certainly not this uncertainty. Anything but this. They sat in silence again, looking at each other without really knowing what to say. The ticking of the clock reminded her that she hadn’t had anything to eat all morning. She was just debating whether she could stomach some toast when the sound of a key turning in the lock made her jump. For a split second she thought it was Pete and her heart leapt at the idea of him strolling into the kitchen, declaring that he’d decided to work from home and he’d pick up the kids from school later, before reality kicked in.

  ‘Shit, it’s Rachel,’ she said aloud. She had completely forgotten that their nanny would be returning to the house to do some chores before school pick up. She suddenly had an unpalatable thought – what if it’s her? Is she the other woman? The nanny and the husband, it would hardly be the first time, would it? But then lovely, kind Rachel entered the kitchen with a big smile and enveloped Erin in a tight hug before launching into tales of school-gate gossip from the morning’s drop-off.

  Kate barely listened as her mind processed the possibility of Rachel and Pete having an illicit affair behind her back, shagging in the downstairs loo while she was upstairs with the kids, before dismissing it again. It just di
dn’t feel right, like putting together the wrong pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and finding that they won’t fit no matter how much you think they should. And anyway, it would take quite some balls for Rachel to turn up at work as normal if she knew that Pete had left her.

  Rachel had worked for them for five years. Kate hadn’t wanted to hire a nanny at first because she wasn’t working, so having extra help seemed like far too much of an indulgence. But it was Pete who had persuaded her to get help. He was doing it for her of course, he could see that she was struggling with parenthood, the anxiety and relentlessness of caring for two tiny beings who relied on her for everything. Maggie was a tiny baby and Lily was in her terrible twos, hurling herself on the floor in protest at pretty much anything and everything, wreaking havoc wherever possible.

  Kate sat on the floor one evening, surrounded by a sea of toys, and dirty nappies, her nipples blistered from breastfeeding and her mind addled from sleep deprivation, and sobbed. Pete discovered her still sitting there when he got home late from work and did what he normally did in a crisis – he threw money at it.

  ‘Just for a few months,’ he had assured her. ‘We can afford it, so why make life harder for yourself than it needs to be? Give yourself a break, Kate.’ She had reluctantly called a few nanny agencies and a week later Rachel turned up on their doorstep for an interview, wearing an oversized yellow parka, red Doc Martens and a confident, all-knowing expression as if she’d drifted down from the sky like a modern-day Mary Poppins to save their family. Within a few months, Rachel had become such an integral cog in their family life that Kate couldn’t imagine life without her. Order, routine and calm were restored and Kate felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her. After weeks, months, maybe years of struggle if she was being honest, she could finally glimpse a sliver of light at the end of the tunnel again.

  With more time on her hands and a new zest for life, she had begun to formulate plans of relaunching her career, setting up as a freelancer so that she could work flexibly around family life. Full of renewed vigour, she had started thinking of company names, registering domains and creating social media accounts for her new public relations business. Her head was full of ideas and plans which she had shared with Pete in the evening over dinner and she knew he was thrilled by her enthusiasm and purpose. He’d always told her that one of the things he loved most about her was her drive and determination and she knew she hadn’t been showing much of those qualities for a while, when simply getting through the day had been exhausting enough. Finally, the confident, capable Kate he’d fallen in love with was back.

  For a few weeks the atmosphere in the house had been charged with energy and optimism for the first time since she’d gone on maternity leave. She couldn’t wait for him to come home from work, not so that she could have a break from the children but so she could tell him about what she’d been doing that day to prepare the new business. It felt like the old days again.

  But at the point when she had to turn her well-organised plans into reality, she had become gripped by fear and doubt and it suddenly seemed too overwhelming. The first few enthusiastic emails she’d sent out to old work contacts offering her services had been either unanswered or responded to with a friendly but dismissive no thanks, but we’ll certainly keep your details on file. Each rejection took away a bit more of her confidence. She started to have second thoughts. Her clients would have moved on, she thought, and she hadn’t kept in touch with any of her friends from the PR agency. Babies had taken over her life and her ability to maintain old friendships with anyone who didn’t have kids themselves. She was too embarrassed to contact them now, out of the blue, to beg for work or contacts. She knew the old Kate would have swallowed her pride, gritted her teeth and pushed herself out of her comfort zone to go after what she wanted. That headstrong, confident, career woman version of herself seemed a distant memory now. The insecurities continued to seep into her already anxious mind – she hadn’t worked in years. Would she even be any good anymore? She hadn’t kept up with the changes and the industry was so full of young, capable people, who knew the right people in the right places. Why would anyone want her? How could she justify charging clients a fee when she no longer considered herself an expert in her field? She was a bloody fraud, a joke, that’s what she was, and everyone would know it.

  So, like many great plans, they fell by the wayside. The months went by and Rachel stayed on, outperforming in her own role as their family manager, and leaving Kate oscillating between relief that she had her support, shame that she couldn’t manage on her own with the kids or restart her career, irritation with Rachel for being better than her, and annoyance with herself for feeling like that about someone so lovely. It was exhausting, all that self-doubt, and she was just so tired. One day, she told herself, one day soon I’ll get it all sorted but just not right now.

  It was around that time she had decided they should move house. They had more money now, thanks to Pete’s endless promotions, and a fresh start was just what they all needed. She was going to make their home perfect, she decided – a place where the children’s friends always wanted to come over and play and Pete looked forward to coming back to every night. Once they had moved in, she would let Rachel go and take over the running of the family. She would cook homemade meals rather than chicken nuggets and waffles, they would constantly have people round for playdates and lunches and they would be so, so happy. And then once the girls were both at school she’d look into going back to work. Yes, she thought, that was the new plan and the idea filled her with energy and enthusiasm again.

  The house they eventually bought needed a lot of work and when they moved in, she’d had to focus on the refurbishment. It had been just what she needed, finally something that she was good at again. She told herself it would be easier if Rachel stayed on to help because the house would be full of builders and paint fumes and she would be able to take the girls out while Kate managed the project. Now the refurb was done and dusted save for the garden, both children were at school, project career launch was still on ice and she still hadn’t let Rachel go yet. Old habits die hard. But she’d done what she set out to do – the house was absolutely stunning, everyone said so; it looked like something from a magazine centrefold. And the children’s bedrooms, with their co-ordinated colour schemes, rocking horses and dolls houses, were like something plucked from a little girl’s dream.

  With a jolt back to reality, she became aware that Rachel had stopped talking and was looking at her with concern. ‘Are you all right, Kate?’ she asked. ‘You look a little peaky.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she answered automatically. Erin glanced over at her as the lie slipped out, but she didn’t feel ready to share her situation with others just yet. She wondered if Erin was doing as she had done just seconds before, wondering whether Rachel was the other woman and coming to her own, similar conclusions.

  Sensing the tension in the kitchen Rachel quickly excused herself, chattering about having to put on laundry and tidy bedrooms, and made her escape. She probably thinks we were having a row, Kate thought. If only it was that simple.

  She looked at the clock again. It was approaching lunchtime and she still hadn’t had anything to eat. In a few hours the children would be finishing school and she would have to brush all this aside temporarily and act like everything was fine again. The sound of her phone ringing broke through the silence. She looked down at the screen and her heart sank when she saw the name of the girls’ school, which never signalled good news. She picked up the phone.

  ‘Mrs Garland? This is Eileen calling from the school office at Greenway Primary School. I’m afraid Lily’s had an accident.’

  ‘What kind of accident?’ Kate asked, expecting to hear of projectile vomit, a bloody nose or twisted ankle. This was the last thing she needed right now.

  ‘Lily fell awkwardly during PE and has been unable to put any weight on her leg at all. She’s in a lot of pain and we think it might be broken. We’ve call
ed an ambulance and they’re taking her to the Whittington Hospital. Her teacher is with her.’

  Jesus. Kate’s heart was racing as she stood up and started frantically gathering her keys and purse, while Erin looked at her quizzically. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  4

  Pete

  He had noticed Claire immediately. She was sitting at the reception desk, working with an easy confidence which suggested she’d been there all her life when he guessed it was her first day because he’d never seen her before. He was feeling ratty after a crap start to the day, the kids declaring full-on war with each other over a favourite breakfast bowl, which resulted in said bowl being smashed and Kate losing her shit and snapping at everyone.

  Months later, Claire had asked him when it was that he realised he was attracted to her. ‘The second I saw you,’ he replied.

  What was not to like? She was undeniably beautiful. But like the many attractive women he had come across in his life up until now, his thoughts hadn’t gone beyond this initial, almost subconscious acknowledgement. He gave her a welcoming smile, introduced himself, made the necessary polite conversation and went on his way. By the time he got to his office on the fourteenth floor, he’d forgotten all about her.

  In the weeks that followed, their interactions consisted only of a brief hello when he came into work and the odd phone conversation when she called up to tell him someone had arrived for a meeting. By the time he left to go home, she was usually gone. To him, she was no different to any of the other pretty receptionists who had come and gone before her, with their glossy hair and pencil skirts.