My Husband's Lies Read online

  There’s nothing to say, so Nick doesn’t reply. Until now, he didn’t know he’d had it, but the shattered hope is devastating. The feeling of loss too. How can you miss something you’ve never had? But it’s there, an ache in his chest. And even worse, the unanswered question he’ll now never know: his mum abandoned him; why didn’t she love him?

  Lisa’s moist eyes are troubled. ‘Nick? Are you OK? What are you thinking?’

  ‘Not once,’ he replies. ‘That’s what I’m thinking. She didn’t visit me once.’

  Lisa is still gazing, but her eyes flicker, uncertain.

  ‘Tell me,’ he says.

  ‘She did, Nick. She came to see you and stayed with Patrick, but—’

  The tingling is there on his scalp. ‘But what?’

  ‘That’s when she died. On the ferry back to France. She drowned.’

  Silent for moments, Nick takes in her words. Drowned, his mother drowned. Can it get any worse? He takes a deep breath. ‘What happened? Did she—?’

  ‘No one knows. It was left unexplained.’

  He covers his face. But she came to see him. Lisa just said. Susan visited and stayed with Patrick. The realisation is sudden, but he’s certain, completely. Fruit Salad and Black Jacks. Refreshers and Drumsticks. The road trip to Llandudno when he was nine. The smiley girl with the hugs and the sweets wasn’t Patrick’s girlfriend. She was his mother.

  Then other thoughts clamouring at the door of his mind. Her unexplained death. Did she jump or did she fall? She stayed with Patrick, not Harry and Dora. And what about their plethora of locks? Were they locking her out or locking themselves in?

  Coming back to Lisa, Nick finally exhales and lays a hand on her belly. ‘Sorry for shouting. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m back to normal now.’

  He is, he really is. The past doesn’t matter, they have a child on the way. And Lisa is right. Though the ache is still there and will take some time, there’s a feeling of closure from knowing already. A chink of light too. The girl he spent a day with in Llandudno was affectionate and fun. Though difficult to remember what she looked like, she loved Patrick, she loved him, he’d felt it. Perhaps there was sadness behind her friendly smile, but she wasn’t a bannister-pusher, not for a moment. She was the sweet and loving songstress. He can live with that.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Jen

  He’s gone; he’s gone. I have to move on.

  Like a mantra, Jen thinks. It’s been repeating in her head since she returned to Dan’s hallway to find Will had already left. Pointless though it was, she’d wanted to meet his steady gaze one last time. The anguish had been so acute she’d wanted to howl and run after him, but right now she’s exhausted, almost every last drop of emotion wrung out. Almost. Like a damp window leather, she knows there’s some left.

  It’s late. The girls have gone to bed and Ian is downstairs watching the sport highlights on the television. Wrapped in her dressing gown and ready for bed, she’s sitting on the quilt, weary and contemplative.

  He’s gone; he’s gone. I have to move on, she says again inwardly.

  But she isn’t ready to take out the earrings. From time to time she glances in a small compact mirror, catching their glint and sparkle.

  The Kenning family stayed until the end of the party to help with the clear-up. ‘All right?’ Dan asked her several times. Then as they left he pulled her back and took her hand. Smiling wistfully, he spoke quietly. ‘We can’t always choose who we love, Jen. Or stop loving them when we should. I understand that as much as anyone.’

  It was a strange thing for him to say, and the words now play in her mind, evoking thoughts of her dark-haired handsome dad.

  Nearly twelve when he left; same age as Holly. She hadn’t thought of that before. But she still saw him often, thrilled to be taken out for meals, to the cinema and the shops, excited to be spoiled with toys and new clothes whenever he was in Manchester. It made up for his absence; spending time, just the two of them, her daddy and his special girl. But when she was sixteen, Nola told her the truth: still happily married to Seamus and living in Manchester, her mum had found out by accident. He’d been working in Ireland and had a minor car accident. Nola happened to be in Dublin too, visiting her sister, but when she arrived at the local hospital she was told by the receptionist that Seamus O’Donnell’s ‘wife and his daughter’ were already there by his bed.

  Jen had a half-sibling in Ireland, a sister born the same year as her. The lies, the hurt and betrayal were unforgivable. She wasn’t his only special girl; she never had been.

  ‘We can’t always choose who we love,’ she sighs, looking again in the mirror and seeing herself as her father for the very first time. Like him, she’s been unfaithful; like him, she’s lived a lie. Perhaps he couldn’t choose who he loved either.

  She closes her eyes. Maybe it’s time.

  Time to forgive.

  A surge of sound from the living room below interrupts her thoughts. She gives a small smile; even though Ian already knows the result, he can’t contain his excitement. He’s a good man, a star; however much she’s loved Will, she’s never stopped loving him.

  She catches a last twinkle before closing the compact. Maybe love can be shared. Seamus still writes her a letter from Ireland every birthday, news of his life, his daughter’s and grandchildren, saying how much he still misses her and how he’d love to meet the girls.

  That he hopes this year she’ll forgive him.

  Taking a deep breath, she lifts her hands to her ears to slide out the earrings. But the studs won’t come, it’s as though they are stuck, as though her skin has grown around them like a child’s fist, refusing to let go.

  There’s a soft knock on the door. ‘Hi, Mum,’ Holly says, creeping in slowly. ‘I went to the loo and heard you crying. What’s happened, Mum? Are you all right?’

  ‘It’s these earrings,’ Jen says between sobs. ‘Maria had to help me put them in and now they won’t come out.’

  Her eyes damp with concern, Holly spends a few moments examining the earlobes. ‘Tell me if it hurts,’ she says, gently easing the posts out.

  He’s gone; he’s gone. I have to move on.

  ‘They do hurt, love. Very much. I won’t be wearing them again.’

  Taking the diamonds from her daughter, she carefully lays them on their dark pillow and, like a final goodbye, she closes the lid.

  Holly looks thoughtful. ‘Not ever, Mum? They’re so pretty and sparkly and …’ She thinks for a moment. ‘Sort of special.’

  Jen stares at her face, her lovely daughter’s face. Sees Will Taylor gaze back. Just say the word, just say the word. That’s what he said. ‘Just say the word and I won’t go.’ She can smell Yvette’s perfume. What was she going to say? And Will, what did he say about children? ‘Wanting kids, not with Penny or anyone else, but with you?’

  Coming back to Holly’s worried frown, she covers her mouth. I love Will, I love Will, your father, Will Taylor. The words want to erupt from her gut, from her chest, from her throat, from her lips. But her daughter is only twelve. She can’t tell her now, maybe not ever. But she can tell Will. Tell Will before he goes; she just has to say the words.

  Unsteady and breathless, she hurries Holly to her bedroom. ‘It’s late, love, go to bed. Try not to wake Anna.’ She kisses her soft hair. ‘No more crying, I promise. I’ll be back to myself by tomorrow.’

  Jen closes the door, quickly climbs in the bed clutching her mobile. Takes a deep breath to compose the text. But her words to Holly abruptly bounce back. Be back to myself by tomorrow. Her steady mum’s words; they slipped out unbidden. Her selfless mum who did everything to bring her up happy and safe, protected from sorrow and heartache for as long as she could.

  Aching with uncertainty, Jen turns off the lamp.

  He’s gone; he’s gone. I have to move on.

  Sort of special.

  Back to myself by tomorrow.

  Just say the word and I won’t go.
r />   What to do? What to do? Has she left it too late?

  Her mobile screen glows in the dark.

  I love Will, I love Will, I love Will Taylor, beats in time with her heart.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Dan

  Dan sends the text, puts down his mobile and sighs. Trying to live two lives was never going to last forever, he knew that. But today brought it into sharp focus. His beautiful son, his mum and dad, his friends. And Geri and her family; a really lovely bunch.

  It was Geri’s day, and wonderful. Everything she wanted, he hopes. He enjoyed it too; the friendship, the love. And though the church service was intense and emotional, it was for all the right reasons.

  Feeling light-headed and insubstantial, he drifts from room to room like a ghost, picking up the odd paper plate and abandoned serviette, a champagne flute next to an ornament, a wine glass hidden behind a plant. He listens to the groan and the creak of the old floorboards. Takes in the warm spicy smell. Looks at pictures and paintings and books. Enjoying his home.

  It feels strangely empty. Ironic when it’s pretty much full, every bedroom in use from Geri’s granny to her cousins. People sleeping, people snoring and people dreaming. Flawed human beings, he supposes; surely nobody’s perfect?

  Like Jen, poor Jen, the heartbreak etched on her face. Was he the only person to see it, to feel it? And Will, of course. With tears in his eyes.

  Flopping back on the sofa, he thinks back to the pub in the week. He met Will and Nick to say goodbye. ‘The Last Drink’, as Will put it, genuflecting with a grin. But he could see the sadness behind his forced bonhomie. And it wasn’t just Will. It felt like a play, the three of them acting the parts of the lads they’d once been in that very pub, twenty, ten, even a year ago.

  Perhaps they’d all finally grown up.

  He walked to the pub as usual and looked forward to the empty thinking time on the way back, but Will caught him up. ‘Want a lift?’ he asked

  ‘Sure.’

  Dan climbed in, but Will didn’t move. Instead he stared ahead through the windscreen before finally speaking. ‘I offered to stay. I offered her my heart.’

  There was no need to pretend, to feign surprise. So Dan remained silent.

  Will rubbed his face. ‘I don’t know why I hoped she’d say yes. She has three daughters, for fuck’s sake. Let alone a bloody husband.’ He turned to Dan. ‘She was always going to do the right thing, wasn’t she? That’s how we were all raised. That’s what we were taught. To do the right bloody thing even if we’re only living half a life; half breathing, half eating, half sleeping, half shitting.’ He put his head on the steering wheel and gently banged it. ‘Fuck, you’d think I was used to it by now.’ Rousing himself eventually, he looked at Dan and grinned. ‘How’s life for you, mate? We never really ask, do we? And on the rare occasion we do, no one listens to the answer.’ He shrugged and put the car into gear. ‘Maybe it’s better that way.’ He nodded to show the conversation was over. ‘Lift home or do you want to walk?’

  Feeling a sudden surge of tiredness, Dan now looks at his watch. The sofa is tempting, but he can’t stay here all night. Still hearing the echo of Will’s words, he takes the stairs slowly, reflecting on the plethora of encouraging and affectionate marriage comments made through the day, willing him to conform, to do the right thing.

  Inhaling the tang of emulsion, he stops at Teddy’s open door before quietly stepping in. Blue paint of course. For a boy, for a male, for a man. He’s not sure if the smell is real or imagined, but it’s always there when he thinks of his dad. A paradoxical scent of delight and love, but devastation too. However exciting it had been to have a blue bedroom, it would never make up for his dad not being there when he needed him, for standing by passively, for not fighting his corner, for being half a dad.

  His eyes filling with tears, Dan gazes at his son. Much bigger now but still perfect. Perfect hands and nose, perfect eyebrows and toes. For the last few nights he’s slept through until morning, but tonight Dan would like him to wake. Like Will’s ‘Last Drink’, he needs a final cuddle with his son before he leaves. Leaves this house, this home forever, because it’s the right thing to do. Not just because he’s been living a lie, not only to own and declare his love for Seb, but for Geri and Teddy. Geri deserves someone who can give her his all, sexually, emotionally, exclusively. And most importantly his son needs a mentally strong and happy father. One who might not live under the same roof, but one who’ll be there for him always, protecting him, loving him, fighting his corner. A whole dad, not a half.

  A beep from his mobile pulls him back from his thoughts. He reads it and nods.

  ‘Text when you’re here and I’ll let you in,’ it says.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Penny

  The living room is in darkness, the television reflecting a green glow on Will’s face.

  ‘It’s late. I’m off to bed. Can I get you a drink before I go?’ Penny asks. ‘I think we have some beer left in the fridge.’

  Will lifts a bottle, but doesn’t move his gaze from the screen. She supposes that’s an answer. He’s barely said a word since leaving Dan’s. Still sulking, probably. She wishes he wouldn’t do the silent treatment, it’s so hard to interpret what’s going on in his head.

  ‘Did we really have to leave so early?’ he said tersely in the car.

  ‘Well, yes,’ she replied. ‘There’s still so much to do. I have to finish the packing and everything needs listing for the agents.’

  He glanced at her and frowned. ‘You said that was all done.’

  ‘It is done. I just need to check a few things. You know I want to get everything right before we go.’ Her voice drifted off.

  It wasn’t just that. There was the blood too; she’d sat on Dan’s toilet and there it was in her knickers. She’d wanted to sob, but of course she couldn’t make a scene. She’d had to breathe very deeply: a period and not a baby. Again.

  Now heading to the kitchen, she idly pushes the door. Breathless terror slaps immediately. What the hell? What the hell? The room has been trashed; bar stools are upturned, shattered crockery is on the island, shards of glass on the floor. And the walls, the white tiles are smeared with brightly coloured food. Glistening green peas, yellow egg yolks, burnished orange baked beans. And ketchup. Splatters of dazzling red ketchup are everywhere, turning into handprints and reaching for the door.

  Penny blinks. Bends double for several moments to let the dizziness pass. When she finally looks up, it’s just her kitchen in Bowden, perfect, gleaming and neat. Not her university digs, no. No humiliation today. No cowering flatmates, their faces speckled with blood. No him with his sneering. No one to corner, no one to stop.

  ‘Silly Penny!’ she says aloud when the confusion recedes. It’s fine, really fine, all in the past. That astonishing anger, the energy, the strength. Hurling and flinging, glass after bowl. Like the ancient Greeks and their plate killing for bereavement, she needed everything to stop. And it did, he did. At least for a while. Not bad Penny, really. Just concussion and lacerations, brought on himself. Covered in blood, a glossy cherry red. His own fault, absolutely. He should never have dumped her; he shouldn’t have laughed.

  Shaking herself back, she takes a deep breath. Not a bad person. Letting off steam in the student kitchen. She didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Just exam stress, that’s all. That’s what her dad said; that’s what he told the police. And Will doesn’t know; he’ll never, never know.

  She turns to the units. ‘Cater for twelve, the agent said. One last check before bed.’

  One last check. Can she do it? Weary, so tired. But with a little help …

  The pills stick but she swallows, then she opens the first cupboard. Dinner plates, side plates and soup bowls, neatly stacked. She knows there are a dozen, she’s counted them before. But still, better safe than sorry.

  One, two, three, four, five … Once I caught a fish alive! Six, seven …

  Tightening the belt on her
dressing gown, she smiles at the voice helping her to count. Finishes that storage and opens the next. Cups and saucers and mugs. Twelve when she last counted, but best check again.

  Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Then I let it go again.

  Stopping for a moment, she listens. A guitar is playing along with the voice! Will’s guitar, the one he’s giving Holly.

  Because she’s the only one who can play it, of course.

  A rational reply. She didn’t give it another thought. Well, not really. Not until Annette brought out her photo album at the party. Competing with Geri’s family, making up for the lack of Maloneys by brandishing photos of Dan as a baby.

  ‘Doesn’t Teddy look just like his dad?’ she said to anyone willing to listen.

  Of course Penny did, dutifully making the right noises as she studied the snaps from Dan’s birth through his infanthood and eventually to St Mark’s.

  ‘Look, here’s one of the A Team,’ Annette said. ‘You can hardly recognise Will with all that dark wavy hair. He reminds me of someone.’ That’s when she looked odd, when she turned and gazed around the room. ‘I can’t put my finger on who,’ she added.

  Going back to the inventory, Penny stares at the words blurring on the paper. Roasting trays and saucepans, serving dishes and tea towels. Six of those, check. The knives too, a wedding present from Jen and Ian. Funny, that. Slotting them in and out of the knife block, Penny catches their gleam and names them aloud: ‘Bread knife and carver, parer and cleaver, utility and chef’s …’ Are six knives enough? Yes, surely enough.

  He reminds me of someone. All that dark wavy hair.