The Millionaire's Wife

  Chapter Eight

  2017

  Bundled up against the cold, I’m sure we must be the only people mad enough to be out walking when we can’t even see two feet in front of our faces. The mist hangs thick and damp, seeping into our clothing and clinging to our hair.

  Sian and I trail behind Will and Remy, our arms linked. They’ve been swallowed up in the fog. We can’t see them anymore, can just hear odd snatches of laughter, snippets of words rolling back towards us. Our feet crunch over shells and honey sand, its soft granules like demerara sugar.

  ‘I ate too much,’ Sian says, groaning. ‘I thought fried breakfasts were supposed to be good for hangovers.’

  ‘Poor you,’ I reply. ‘The walk will help.’ I was barely able to eat two mouthfuls this morning. Worry always takes away my appetite. Give me contentment and I can eat for England.

  ‘You were quiet in the café,’ Sian says. ‘You okay?’

  Should I tell her about the text?

  ‘Anna?’ she prompts.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit tired, you know?’

  She looks sideways at me, slowing her pace. But I keep walking, pulling her along, thinking of how I can change the subject.

  ‘Did you have an argument with Will?’ she says. ‘I noticed you hardly said two words to each other earlier.’

  ‘No, course not. You know Will and I don’t argue.’ I give a small laugh.

  ‘Well, you can always talk to me if there’s anything―’

  ‘Thanks, honestly, I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong between me and Will.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Really. Now how about you? Excited about the wedding? Settled on a date yet?’

  Sian gives me a suspicious look that lets me know she’s aware of my sneaky subject change. But she answers me anyway. ‘No, not yet. We’re trying to find a venue, but Remy’s so busy he never has time to come and visit the places on my shortlist. I’m worried everything’ll get booked up.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ I ask, thinking it could be a good distraction. ‘We could narrow it down further, then all he has to do is visit one or two places.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  She starts squealing and jumping up and down. Normally, I would laugh and jump around with her. But today my feet are made of lead and my voice is weak. I manage a smile and a hug.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Remy and Will have slowed their pace to see why we’re making so much noise, bemused smiles on their faces.

  Sian explains and Remy grins.

  ‘So I’m off the hook. Thanks, Anna.’

  Sian gives him a playful shove. ‘What do you mean “off the hook”? You’re the one who asked me to marry you, remember?’

  ‘Joking!’ He raises his hands in surrender.

  My phone pings and my equilibrium evaporates.

  ‘Was that yours?’ Sian asks.

  ‘I’ll check it later.’ My bag suddenly feels heavier on my shoulder, like there’s a bomb inside it.

  ‘Don’t know about you guys, but I’m freezing,’ Will says. ‘Shall we go? Come back to ours if you want?’

  ‘Thanks, but I need a kip,’ Remy replies. ‘Last night’s catching up with me.’

  ‘Getting old, mate,’ Will teases.

  ‘Excuse me, I’m still in my twenties. You’re the old fart around here.’

  ‘Hilarious.’ Will rolls his eyes. ‘Not for much longer, though. Your thirtieth is coming up, too, Rem. No getting away from it.’

  ‘This,’ Remy points at himself, ‘never gets old.’

  Sian and Will groan as Remy does a little dance.

  I wish I could join in with their easy banter, but it’s as though there’s a vice around my chest and a hand around my throat, choking off speech. Last night’s text buzzes around my brain like a living thing, a wasp in a jar. As the winter mist thins, and we say our goodbyes, my head is elsewhere, running through all the what ifs, the limited options I’m faced with. Maybe Will and I could get away for a while, buy some time. Or maybe I should pluck up the courage to reply to the text. Will throws an arm around my shoulder and we start back along the beach towards home.

  ‘You were quiet today.’

  I’ve already had Sian interrogating me, now it looks as though it’s Will’s turn. I know they’re only concerned, but I can’t deal with it today. I restrain myself from snapping. It’s not his fault. ‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Just a bit tired.’

  Thankfully, he accepts my answer, kissing the top of my head. We walk in companionable silence, lost in our own thoughts.

  ~

  Back home, I can bear it no longer. As Will stretches out on the lounge sofa with the Sunday papers, I make my way upstairs to the bathroom, my bag still over my shoulder. I need to look at last night’s text, and I also need to see if that ping I heard on the beach means I’ve received another one.

  ‘Going for a bath!’ I call down the stairs.

  ‘Okay!’

  I head into our bedroom, through the dressing room, into the en suite, locking the door behind me. With trembling hands, I lean over the claw-foot bathtub, twist the dial to close the plug hole and turn on the taps, adding a splash of my favourite Prada bubble bath. I don’t feel like taking a bath, but I need privacy. I need time to myself. To think. To process. Once the water is running, I drop down onto the grey tiled floor and lean against the outside of the tub. Next, I plunge my hand into my bag and draw out my phone. It feels strangely hot, as though it could burn my skin. But I know that’s ridiculous.

  The message icon shows three new text messages. Two are from friends thanking me for last night’s party. And one is from an unknown number. The same unknown number as yesterday. A pulse beats in my ears, echoing in my fingertips.

  I open the message.

  I read it:

  Did you get yesterday’s text? I need you to reply.

  Sweat prickles on my back, my neck, my palms. I can’t reply. What would I say? Think. Think. The air in the bathroom thickens with steam, its perfumed scent catching in the back of my throat.

  I still can’t believe she’s dead. It’s horrific. Did he really do it, or was it an accident? A coincidence? Part of me wants to reread the first message, but that would mean seeing the image again. And I’m just not up to it. God, he’s not going to let me walk away. He’s not going to leave me alone. What can I do? There’s no one I can talk to. Not Will, not Sian. It’s not safe. My parents? No. they’ve already done so much for me – I can’t worry them anymore. Maybe . . . I have an idea. A long shot but it’s worth a try, surely. And it could kill two birds with one stone.

  I need to get out of this room. The heat is too much. I jump to my feet and turn off the bath taps, unlock the door, open it, and take a few deep, steadying breaths before heading back downstairs.

  ‘That was a quick bath,’ Will says as I walk into the lounge.

  ‘I changed my mind. I’ll have one later.’

  He reaches out his hand to guide me onto the sofa next to him.

  ‘Do you want anything?’ I ask. ‘A drink? Lunch?’

  ‘God, no. This morning’s brunch will probably last me till Tuesday.’

  I give a small, fake laugh, wondering how best to broach the subject that’s on my mind.

  ‘Will?’

  ‘Mm?’ He sets the newspaper down on the wooden coffee table.

  ‘What would you think about us visiting Sweden for a bit?’ I turn to face him, trying to look as though I’m excited at the thought.

  ‘Sweden?’ He frowns. ‘But you’re always putting me off the place, telling me I’d be bored stiff.’

  ‘I know, but I’ve changed my mind. I thought it could be fun if I showed you around.’ Will never usually joins me when I go back to visit my parents, but I think the time has come for him to really get to know my family. I think it’s the only place we’ll be safe.

  ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘If you want to. I’d like that. We
could book something for the summer.’

  ‘I was thinking a lot sooner than then.’

  ‘We’re already going away over Easter with Sian and Remy – you remember – we’re taking the Sunseeker over to The Channel Islands.’

  ‘Yes, yeah, sure, I know. I was thinking, though, why don’t we be spontaneous and see if there are any flights next week. Tomorrow, even? It would be fun to do something spur of the moment, don’t you think?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Will sits up straight and looks me in the eye.

  I give a closed-mouth smile and tilt my head. ‘Yeah, why not.’

  ‘Umm, the bistro? I need to be there next week. Dad can’t cope with double shifts anymore, and Malcolm’s away.’

  Shit. He’s not going to go for it. ‘Don’t you think the bistro is getting to be a bit of a bind?’ I say. ‘I mean, it’s not like you need the income.’ As soon as I say the words, I wish I could unsay them.

  Will’s eyes darken and his face closes off.

  I don’t blame him for being angry. Blackwell’s is about more than money. In fact, it’s not about money at all.

  Back in the eighties, Steve and his late wife, Helen, built up a successful bakery business which they subsequently sold for millions to a multinational company, meaning Will and his dad are mega-wealthy. So, the bistro has always been more of a passion, a hobby, than a business. It was Will’s brainchild – something to keep his dad busy, stop him missing his wife so much. And it was a great idea. They both love it, and normally so do I.

  ‘Sorry.’ I put a hand on his arm. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

  Will shakes his head.

  I can tell I’ve made a hash of things. I try again. ‘All I meant was, it’s a shame that we can’t just take off when we feel like it.’

  ‘You can go if you like, Anna,’ Will says, rising to his feet. ‘I mean, there’s nothing stopping you.’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’ I stand next to him, desperate to make amends. Will is the most easy-going, lovely man until you say anything negative about his family. And Blackwell’s counts as a member of the family. It’s almost like it’s his surrogate mother. ‘It was just a daft idea that came out wrong,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Sorry.’

  Will’s jaw clenches and I brace myself for a full-blown argument. But, just like that, the fight goes out of him and his shoulders slump. ‘It’s okay.’ He sighs. ‘You just caught me off guard, that’s all. I’ve got responsibilities. I can’t just take off, much as I’d like to. But there’s nothing to stop us planning a trip soon. Maybe even next month?’

  ‘Yeah? That would be really good,’ I say, sitting back down and running a hand through my hair.

  But I know by next month it will all be too late.

  Chapter Nine

  February 2012

  ‘How was your day?’ I asked with forced brightness, dreading the answer.

  ‘Pretty much the same as yesterday, and the day before that,’ Fin replied, shrugging his coat off and draping it over the arm of the sofa. It slithered off onto the ratty, brown carpet, but instead of picking it up, he just flopped onto the sofa with a sigh. ‘I’m sick of working Saturdays.’

  ‘Want a cuppa?’ I asked.

  ‘Like that’s going to fix my life.’

  ‘I . . .’ There was nothing I could say or do when Fin was in this kind of mood. But if I didn’t say anything, he’d accuse me of not being supportive. ‘I’m sorry you had a crap day.’ I stood by the tiny kitchen table, pushing my fingertips against its scarred wooden surface.

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s not like it’s a surprise that I had a crap day. Working in a shop for minimum wage isn’t exactly how I imagined my life panning out.’

  ‘Maybe we could change things.’

  ‘How exactly?’ His lip curled into a sneer.

  I took a breath. ‘What about going to college? You could study something you enjoy.’

  ‘Fuck that shit. I hated school – no reason why college would be any different.’

  ‘But you’d be doing something you liked.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe we could have a look online and see what―’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Look, Anna, I know you’re trying to be helpful, but I’m knackered and I really don’t want to talk about this right now.’

  ‘Sorry. I just thought―’

  ‘I mean, if you really wanted to help, maybe you could pick up some more shifts at the leisure centre.’

  I currently worked part time as a lifeguard and studied part-time at the local college. The idea being that if I got better qualified, I’d be able to apply for a management job which would (hopefully) pay more. But I knew Fin resented my time at college. He hated the fact I was mixing with other people he didn’t know, and he also hated the fact I now brought home even less money than before. I’d tried to explain that it was only temporary, that it would be a couple of years of struggling for something better at the end of it, but he didn’t want to hear it.

  ‘If I pick up more shifts, I won’t have enough time for my college work,’ I said. I was already studying until past midnight most nights. And I didn’t mention the fact that he’d gone and spent our council-tax money on a new surfboard, trading in his old one for a pittance.

  Fin didn’t reply.

  ‘Maybe I could squeeze in a couple more shifts,’ I said, regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth, and wondering where I was going to make up the time. ‘I know they need more people to work on Sundays.’

  ‘Cool. That would be good,’ Fin said, his face softening. ‘Maybe I will have that cup of tea.’

  As I turned to fill the kettle, an idea came to me. It was probably stupid as I didn’t have much free time in the first place, but if I was going to be working more hours from now on, I thought one last day of fun couldn’t hurt. ‘I was thinking . . . how about we do something different tomorrow? A change of scenery. All we seem to do these days is work, eat and sleep. So maybe we could go to the New Forest. It’d be lovely. We can walk and get some fresh air.’ I picked up a couple of mugs from the draining board and began drying them with a damp tea towel.

  ‘Hmm,’ Fin replied. ‘Thing is, there’s surf tomorrow morning.’

  I could tell he was about to dismiss my idea, so I tried my best to sell it. ‘We could go after you’ve been surfing. I used to go there with my family all the time when they lived here. There are wild ponies and deer. It’s so beautiful. And it won’t cost us anything – apart from a bit of petrol money.’

  After a couple of seconds, he surprised me by agreeing. ‘Yeah, okay, why not. Sod it. We deserve to have some fun. Come here.’

  I set the mugs down, walked over to the sofa and sank onto his lap.

  ‘Thank God we’ve got each other,’ he said. ‘It makes up for all the other crap we have to deal with. You know, I’m going to punch the next smug bloke who comes into the shop with his perfect family and platinum Visa card.’

  I leant in to kiss him, winding my arms around his neck. ‘It’s not so bad,’ I said. ‘I bet those smug blokes have problems, too.’

  ‘Yeah, probably tough decisions like whether their next car should be an Audi or a BMW, or whether to go snowboarding in Aspen or Courchevel. Bastards.’

  I shook my head, letting him get it all out of his system.

  ‘I promise you, Anna, this shit isn’t going to last. I’ll get us out of this dump soon. We’ll get married and have beautiful kids and live in a fuck-off big house, okay?’

  I laughed.

  ‘I’m not joking.’

  ‘I know.’

  ~

  It was the perfect day for a trip to the forest. Diamond bright, crisp and fresh. After Fin’s early-morning surf, he thawed out with a hot shower, and we bundled up in thick jumpers, coats, hats and gloves in preparation for a long walk. Our ancient Vauxhall Corsa rattled along empty stretches of road bordered by tracts of forest and open swathes of heathland as
we chatted about silly things and sang along to cheesy songs on the radio. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have fun. Fin drove, and the road signs were clear, so there were no arguments over which route to take. We’d already decided on the area we’d visit – an out-of-the-way section of forest with a choice of several trails to follow.

  Finally, we pulled into a shady car park which already had around a dozen cars parked up.

  ‘Is that a ticket machine?’ Fin asked, his shoulders drooping.

  ‘Oh. Yeah. Looks like it.’ I hadn’t factored in the price of car parking.

  ‘I’ve only got a five-pound note,’ Fin replied, feeling around in his coat pockets.

  ‘I’ve got change,’ I replied. ‘Shall I put five hours on?’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’

  ‘Hang on. I’ll check how much it is.’ I opened the car door and crunched across gravel and mud to the machine, scanning the board for prices. I winced when I saw the cost and turned back to the car. Fin had got out and was leaning against the driver’s side.

  ‘It’s £4.80,’ I called over, a tug of disappointment in my belly. ‘Do you want to go somewhere else?’

  ‘It’s already half eleven. How much is it for four hours?’

  ‘£3.90,’ I called, having checked the board. Still a lot of money, but we’d come all this way . . .

  ‘Yeah, let’s do it. Four hours should be enough, anyway.’

  ‘Okay.’ I turned to slot my coins in and waited for the machine to spit out a ticket. Every pound coin we had was precious, but I hoped a day in the fresh air surrounded by nature would lift our spirits. Sometimes there was more to life than money.

  Despite the sunshine, the icy air took our breath and stung our faces. But we walked briskly and soon our bodies warmed up. Finally, we were deep into the forest, away from the roads and the houses, away from work, people and problems. I had been so right to suggest this. I felt more relaxed than I had in months. The sun threw shafts of light through the branches, while patches of frost glimmered in the shade.