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Are you afraid? You should be. The husband: in over his head with no way of knowing the truth. The mistress: blinded by love, betrayed by her family... The neighbour: will stop at nothing to protect the life he has fought to create. The wife: a woman bent on revenge, but how far is she willing to go...? Dark as night, this is a brilliantly plotted, gripping short story from the e-book sensation, Jack Jordan.
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Published in e-book in Great Britain in 2018 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.
Copyright © Jack Jordan, 2018
The moral right of Jack Jordan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
E-book ISBN: 978 1 78649 644 7
Printed in Great Britain.
Corvus An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd Ormond House 26–27 Boswell Street London WC1N 3JZ
www.corvus-books.co.uk
Dedicated to Abbi, my dearest friend
‘Heav’n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn’d, Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn’d.’
– The Mourning Bride, William Congreve
ONE
Friday 24 November, 06:54
‘You were grinding your teeth in your sleep again.’
Amber pushed the eye mask to her forehead and squinted to see the time on the alarm clock. Morning rays shone around the curtains, and the sound of a power drill growled behind the glass, drowning out the birdsong she had woken to before Mr Penfold began the renovation on his property across the street. As she returned the mask over her eyes, she vowed to make a visit to number forty-two.
‘You know I don’t wake up until seven,’ she said.
‘I have to leave early. I wanted to say goodbye.’
Amber removed the mask and sat against the headboard with a forced smile. Her jaw ached from a night of grinding her teeth.
Richard was one of those men who grew even more attractive as the years passed. His olive skin only seemed to age in the right places: the creases in the corners of his eyes, the rugged lines on his forehead. His dark hair and stubble were dashed with flecks of grey, which made his blue eyes all the brighter, and his body was almost as firm as it had been in his thirties. To anyone looking in, Richard was perfect.
‘Goodbye, darling. Your lunch is in the fridge.’
‘Thanks.’ He took a quick glance around the room. ‘Are you sure you haven’t seen my phone anywhere?’
‘Did you check your suit pockets like I said?’
‘Twice.’
‘I’ll keep looking.’
‘Thanks.’
Richard leaned over the bed in his checked suit and pecked her on the lips. He smelled of the cologne she bought him for his birthday every year. It was her favourite.
Just as he began to pull away, she held on to his tie and led him back to her until their noses touched.
‘Tell me you love me.’
His breath smelled of coffee and cream. Only Richard could drink cream with his coffee and not gain weight.
‘I love you,’ he replied.
She looked into his eyes to search for the truth. He straightened the moment she released her grip.
‘Will you give Samantha a kiss for me?’ he asked as he approached the door.
‘Of course. Have a good day.’
As Richard left the room, the alarm clock began to bleep. She slammed her palm against the snooze button and her smile fell.
He had told her everything she needed to know just by looking her in the eye.
Richard was lying.
* * *
The house was almost perfect. Almost.
Amber walked down the hallway and picked up the post from the mat. The under floor heating was at just the right temperature, and the carpet was soft Mongolian wool she’d had imported and trimmed. The wallpaper cost over three hundred pounds a roll, and the front door was solid oak with stained glass that lit up the floor in bursts of colour when the sun shone. It had taken her over three years and tens of thousands of pounds to complete the house, and already her palms were itching. She wanted to rip the paper from the walls and start all over again.
‘Ready, Mummy.’
Samantha was the only person Amber knew who had one eye a different colour to the other. One eye bright blue like her father, and the other a deep hazel like her mother. Samantha was her rare treasure.
‘Almost perfect,’ she said as she eyed her daughter standing at the bottom of the stairs. She tucked a lock of hair behind Samantha’s ear. It was bright auburn, just like hers. She looked her daughter up and down and adjusted her school tie.
‘There. Beautiful as always. Your lunch is on the island.’
‘Thanks.’
As Samantha walked down the hall to the kitchen, Amber placed the post on the sideboard and vowed to look through Richard’s later. That’s if she had the time. A busy day lay ahead. She glanced down the hall to check that Samantha was out of sight before she took Richard’s phone from her pocket.
Another text from his mistress.
Yes, Neena, she thought to herself. We are.
Amber walked towards the kitchen and replied to the message the same way her husband would, after days of devouring every adulterous word and studying his responses.
‘Is that Daddy’s phone?’
Amber looked up. Samantha sat at the island preparing a bowl of cereal.
‘I found it down the side of the sofa. I’ll drop it at the office later. This is from Daddy.’ Amber kissed her on the forehead and went to the coffee machine. She couldn’t stomach breakfast. Rage had swelled in her abdomen and taken up every inch of space. Coffee would have to do.
As she fixed herself a mug, she thought of Richard with his lover, and imagined them naked on top of the island, grunting and moaning until their sweat glistened on the marble worktop. She clamped her hand around the mug.
She would get her own back – she just had to be patient.
‘You’re shivering,’ Samantha said.
‘What, darling?’
Samantha looked up at her from the very same island Amber had envisioned as a make shift bed for her husband and his lover. For a brief second she saw both worlds: the lovers ravishing each other right in front of Samantha’s twelve-year-old eyes. She blinked furiously until they were gone.
‘I said you’re shivering.’
‘Aren’t you inquisitive this morning,’ she replied, and sighed away the rage. ‘I’m always cold in the mornings.’
She went to the sink expecting to find Richard’s coffee mug stained with a dark ring and dregs of cream nestled at the bottom. She checked the dishwasher: he had tided it away inside. Richard had no idea that his small, unconscious acts of kindness were his undoing. His guilt left behind its own trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow.
She stood on the other side of the island with her coffee and watched Samantha eat breakfast. God, how she loved her. Of all she had achieved, from creating the life she had made for herself from the meagre start her parents had given her, to her grand house designed from her mind’s eye, her daughter was her most prized creation.
‘Have you revised for your exams next week?’
‘Yeah. Mr Hynes thinks I’ll pass,’ Samantha said with a mouthful of cereal and milk lining the parting of her mouth. It reminded Amber of when she breastfed her, and how her milk had lingered in bubbles on her lips.
‘That’s brilliant. You’ve always been good at maths. I never have. How did I create such a smart young woman?’
Samantha smiled.
‘Daddy’s good at maths. Maybe I got it from him.’
Daddy is a lot of things.
‘Yes, maybe.’
Samantha was incredibly intelligent for her age. People always underestimated her because of her learning disability, but that was a good thing – her daughter could use their assumptions against them, once she learned to control the people around her. Amber would teach her when she was older. Samantha would be her own little protégée.
After Samantha drank the remaining milk from the edge of the bowl, she breathed out heavily and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
‘You’re not dressed, Mummy,’ she said.
Amber eyed the milk on her daughter’s shirtsleeve and wondered if it would be too pedantic to ask she change into a fresh one.
‘I think I’m coming down with something,’ she lied and took a sip of coffee. ‘I’m taking it easy this morning.’
The doorbell rang.
‘That’ll be Laura.’
Samantha threw her backpack over one shoulder and rushed down the hall.
‘Bye, Mum!’
Amber rushed after her.
‘Samantha, wait!’
Samantha stopped just before the door with an eager hand on the latch.
‘Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?’
Samantha met her halfway down the hall. Amber cupped her face in her hands and admired every freckle and lash. Her daughter’s breath smelled of sweet milk, and her differing eyes stared up at her as though two people were trapped in one skull. Amber kissed her on the forehead.
‘Have a good day, darling.’
Amber watched as her daughter rushed out the door, and stood in the hallway for some time. She listened to the workers across the road and the tick of the clock from the living room. Her breaths were calm, but her heart was racing. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out of her nose until it slowed, and waited until the clock struck nine to mark the start of school. With the day she had planned, she couldn’t be disturbed.
Amber headed back to the kitchen and picked through the contents of the knife drawer, surveying her options before choosing a large chef’s knife with a thick handle. She twisted a fresh tea towel until it resembled a rope and placed it between her teeth. She mimicked the action she planned to make and brought the handle to her face exactly where she wanted it to land. Her heart beat faster until the sound of her pulse drummed against her temples. She took a deep breath, clenched her grip on the knife, and thrust it into her cheekbone as hard as she could. She winced with the pain and white spots burst in her vision. If she wanted substantial bruising, she had to do it again. She thrust the butt of the handle into her cheekbone two more times before the knife clattered to the floor and the towel fell from her mouth with her cry, the sound echoing through the house. She held her throbbing face and breathed quickly through gritted teeth. When the pain eased, she opened her eyes and moved her jaw from side to side until it clicked. Flecks of blood were splashed against the tiled floor. The tip of the knife had clipped the top of her foot. Blood trickled between her toes.
Amber picked up the knife and wiped her wound and the floor clean. She licked her fingertip to soothe the cut on the top of her foot before covering it with a plaster.
Once the knife was washed she put it in her pocket, turned back to the room and caught her reflection in the mirror.
Most people would describe her as beautiful. She eyed her stark ivory skin and hazel eyes, and ran her fingers through her hair, which stopped at the bottom of her ribcage. For a woman in her early forties, she had remarkably smooth skin, now tarnished by a bruise waking on her cheekbone.
Richard had thought her beautiful once. She wondered when he had begun to change his mind.
Someone wanted to destroy everything she had built.
But she already had the upper hand.
