The Wife’s Secret: A dark psychological thriller with a stunning twist. Caroline England

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       CHAPTER TEN

      ‘Mum’s driving over on Sunday. I thought we could eat out. Catch a bite in the village,’ Sami shouts from the bathroom.

      Sophie marks the page of the book club choice with a bookmark from Waterstones. She hates it when people fold the corner of the page. It’s just about the only thing she’s fastidious about and she vaguely wonders what that says about her.

      She stretches and yawns, still sleepy from her afternoon nap. ‘You know she’ll think I’m not looking after you if we do that,’ she calls back. ‘She’ll think I’m a bad wife.’

      ‘No she won’t. Mum likes to go out.’

      Sophie reaches for her glasses and regards Sami as he rubs his hair dry with a thick stripy towel. She’s pretty sure he has no inkling of how much his mother dislikes her. Martha made it clear from the start that she didn’t approve of her beloved only son’s choice of wife. Sophie doubts any woman would have been good enough, but a neat, compliant and privately educated posh girl might have done the job. ‘I know what you are,’ she once hissed when Sami’s back was turned. ‘You’re a fraud and you’re not good enough for my son.’ And the hostile relationship has continued unabated in private ever since.

      Sophie has no intention of making Sami aware of his mother’s barbed comments, however bad they get. There’s just the tiniest fear at the tips of her toes that if Sami knows his mother’s real feelings he may be swayed by them and she isn’t going to take that chance.

      She pulls back the duvet and stands up. Her breasts seem huge, but so do her legs and her belly; too much Chablis is making her fat. She needs to rein it in.

      ‘Whatever you want, my handsome husband. But if you’d like me to cook, it’s not a problem. I like to make the effort for Martha.’

      Martha and her comments are better ignored. She finds that fairly easy, but wishes she could do the same with Sami’s occasional dalliances. ‘So, you don’t mind my son sleeping with other women?’ Martha had asked conversationally, having drawn her to one side during their third wedding anniversary celebrations. If anyone was looking, they’d have seen mother and daughter-in-law, happy, smiling, chatty.

      The pain was intense, deep and physical. Sophie extracted herself from the tête-à-tête with her head held high, a smile on her face, but threw up moments later alone in the bathroom. She stared at her blanched face in the mirror, bewildered that she didn’t know. Sassy, streetwise Sophie, who knew everything and everyone, didn’t know that her husband was unfaithful. She could picture schoolgirl faces laughing, taunting and gleeful. It was all she could do not to run to her mother, despite their differences, to howl in her lap, to beg her to make it all go away. But she knew that she had to be strong if she wanted to keep Sami, she had to be willing to fight. ‘As long as he isn’t fucking you, Martha, it’s not a problem,’ she’d replied.

      ‘I’ll rustle up something tasty,’ Sophie now says, wondering which ready meal to buy from the small M&S local in the village. She’ll do the usual, buy soup or a casserole and throw in some fresh mushrooms and herbs to make it look authentic. It never fools Martha, but if Sami’s aware that his wife hasn’t spent hours over a hot stove just for the love of his mum, he isn’t letting on.

      ‘A touch of arsenic on toast for the good lady, I think,’ Sophie jokes with Antonia. But of course she’s never mentioned Sami’s infidelity, not even to her.

      The thoughts of his unfaithfulness are there, always there, like a blade in her heart, but Sophie isn’t going to dwell on them today. She stands next to Sami in the mirror and looks at him with narrowed eyes. I’ll never let you go, never, she thinks, watching carefully as he splashes aftershave liberally on his newly shaved chin.

      ‘It’s only the lads’ Friday night in the pub, Sami. I don’t suppose they give two hoots how delicious you smell.’

      ‘It’s all to do with standards, woman. How many times do I have to tell you?’ he replies laughing, catching her around her waist, then kissing the side of her head. ‘Thanks for offering to cook for Mum. I appreciate it. She’s really excited about the IVF.’

      He pauses for a moment before turning back to the mirror, carefully stroking strands of his fringe back into place, then collects his watch and slips it over his long, slim fingers. All without making eye contact with anyone but himself.

      Sophie takes a deep hot breath. ‘Sami? We agreed not to tell your mum about the IVF. What have you—’

      ‘Talk later,’ he interrupts. ‘Can’t be late for the lads.’ And with that he leaves.

      Helen puts down her fork. She knows Charlie hates her to eat with only a fork. ‘So bloody American. Too lazy to use both hands,’ is his usual comment. But it’s only pasta and a bit too al dente, in her view. She has difficulty either scooping or stabbing the shells, she’ll use a spoon next time.

      She looks at Charlie. His face has all the charm of a petulant three-year-old and his accusing stare follows the fork. She almost wants to laugh, but she’s never pandered to Charlie’s silly whims and she isn’t going to start now.

      ‘There’s no point in sulking, Charles. Ted Edwards nominated me out СКАЧАТЬ