Читать книгу: «Never Out of Sight: The chilling psychological thriller you don’t want to miss!»

To Jon and Finn, with love

I would my soul were like the bird

That dares the vastness undeterred.

‘The Daring One’, Edwin Markham

The Gates of Paradise and Other Poems (1928)

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Extract

Endpages

Copyright

Five months ago

The fly buzzed around me, its incessant hum thundering loudly in my ear, but still I dared not move. My eyes wandered momentarily from the man standing in front of me – his lips glistening with saliva – to the window. The room was airless. I knew the fly would die. Sensing the hopelessness of the situation, it returned to the window, which was firmly shut, and slammed against the windowpane once more. The May sun shone brightly outside, lighting up the room, warming my office further. I noticed the dust dancing in the stale air, and returned my attention to the man.

‘You need to leave,’ I said.

My body had grown sticky, nervous energy emanating from my every pore. I slowly lifted my hand and placed a finger between my shirt collar and bare skin; I moved it back and forth, seeking relief from the starchy material.

He smiled knowingly at me. ‘You don’t want that.’

I dropped my hand, laid it on my thigh and willed my leg to stop shaking. ‘This isn’t right.’

He reached behind him, felt for the key, and turned it in the lock. Click. His gaze remained on me. ‘You don’t really want this to end, Freya. We have plans, don’t we?’

I gave a small shake of my head. However, knowing I needed to be clear, I shook my head again, with greater force. ‘Robert, I have never wanted this. Any of this.’

I had reverted to the tone I used in lectures. Matter-of-fact.

He walked to the edge of the sofa and sat, crossing his long, muscular legs. I wished he wouldn’t sit there. Not like this. Only an hour ago, he had sat in the same position, his large frame filling the room, laughing loudly at a joke our colleague had made about Henry the Eighth.

I knew I had to end it all. It was wrong.

He leant back against the cushions and I noticed the way his shorts rode up. I knew I shouldn’t look, that it would only make matters worse. I couldn’t tear my eyes away as the shorts crept up his tanned skin. Forcing myself to swallow, I tried to forget how good his skin had felt. He pushed his T-shirt sleeve up. Then, I saw it. I gasped.

A wry smile spread across his face. ‘You remember?’

I nodded.

‘I knew you’d like it.’ His hand rubbed the area where the new tattoo prickled angrily. ‘I had it done yesterday.’ He laughed. ‘The guy asked me why I wanted it. Told me he’d done a few Latin quotes before. All the normal ones: “Seize the day” and all that.’ He grew serious. ‘It’s right, isn’t it? The Latin, I mean.’

My throat had closed up, my mouth cotton-dry. ‘The kiss of death.’ I looked away, concentrating on the fly once more. ‘It means the kiss of death.’ I eyed the glass of water on my desk, yearned to drink from it.

‘That’s what you said to me. That night. You said kissing me was the kiss of death.’

My breathing had started to quicken, my head reeling. I needed air.

He rose from the sofa and edged towards me, stopping a foot short of my chair. ‘Freya, you called it that because you want this. You need this. We both need this. I’ve fallen in love with you. Madly, deeply in love with you.’

I gave a sharp shake to my head. ‘No, I called it that because I can’t have a relationship with you. You’re my student… It’s unethical.’ I stopped, let out a long, shuddering breath.

He placed his finger under my chin and lifted my face, giving me no option but to stare into his eyes. They were a deep blue. But I already knew that.

‘You wanted it as much as I wanted it, that first time we kissed. I felt it.’ He smiled again: his ridiculous, youthful excitement shining through. ‘I felt you respond.’ He whispered this last word. I understood, now, what it meant when people claimed that it had only taken one second for their whole world to come crashing down around them. The moment Robert had walked into my office last September was that moment, but the attraction was too great. Lethal. Whenever I was with him, I felt an energy I hadn’t felt in years.

And Robert knew my weak point: he knew how much he brought me alive.

But it was now that I needed to take control. My voice, however, had left me. A deep-seated fear that I would never truly be able to push him away, when I knew I wanted him so badly, rose up within me. He made me feel good about myself; he made me feel like the young, exciting Freya I used to be.

‘Do you want to kiss me now?’

I shook my head vehemently but my eyes never left his. We both knew I was lying. ‘No.’

‘I know you’re fighting your real feelings.’ His words came out softly, gently, and I clamped my hands around the chair frame, fighting the urge to go to him. ‘You don’t really want this to be over. I know you don’t.’ His eyes glistened with tears, forcing the breath from my lungs.

He never cried. I had never seen him cry in all the time we had been together. Together? I almost laughed out loud at how ridiculous that sounded: there was nothing public about our relationship. ‘Freya, I can’t just let you go.’

‘Rob, please.’ I waited a beat and, when he didn’t move, I tried again. ‘I’m asking you to leave. This is wrong. I can’t do this any more. Not now. I need to focus on my job.’ I paused. ‘They’ve noticed my standards slipping.’

He dropped his hand and took a step backwards, a small sound – like a wounded animal – escaping his lips. ‘It’s not wrong, Frey. What we have is so very right. That’s what you’re scared of… You’re scared of feeling happy again. You can have your career and you can have me.’ He released an abrupt laugh and my eyes snapped towards him. ‘In fact, I know that’s what you’re scared of. You believe a woman like you doesn’t deserve the level of happiness and attention I give you. Well, you do, Frey. You deserve it all.’ He cleared his throat. ‘That’s what happens when people fall in love; they want to make the other person happy.’

Who was he talking about when he said people? My heart hammered with both an overwhelming delight that he was expressing his love for me – and the dark reality of my actual life.

I stood now, forcing my jelly-like legs to display some sort of fight. ‘Robert, are you saying…?’ I paused. ‘You know I feel the same way but we just can’t…’

He smiled, his eyes lighting up: the cloud lifted and then, as it occurred to him that I was being serious, they darkened once more. I realised I might have admitted to something – to loving him; I might have opened up too much, and I stammered, ‘B-but I’m not sure we can go on. No, I know we can’t. Something will happen. People’s lives will be turned upside down by what we’re doing.’

He moved towards me once more. ‘Frey, sometimes you need to be more selfish. Forget everyone else, think about us. People will get over it. No one’s life will be turned upside down.’

I flinched. If only he knew the full extent of it.

‘It’s not that easy.’ I looked at the floor. ‘I can’t let people I know down. I need to act my age. We,’ I said, clearing my throat, ‘are not possible.’ I gestured to Robert, then back to me. ‘And we have to end it.’

And then he grinned: I was amazed at his ability to shift effortlessly from one mood to another. ‘I need you in my life. I know you want me and I know you don’t want to be alone any more.’ His hand ran over his tattoo. ‘You’re everything that’s right in the world.’

‘You’re twenty-five, Robert, a postgrad student. You’re still so young. You’ll get your DPhil and that’ll be that. You’ll move on.’ I paused. ‘You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.’ I paused. ‘I’m almost fifty.’

He laughed; it had the same youthfulness that I had noticed in September when he first arrived at our weekly meeting. We had become a cliché: professor and research student; initially bound by our passion for academia, but it had been more than that. Even as he had walked through the door and our eyes had locked, I knew. I felt weak around him. I had fallen in love – or was it lust? – with this man in front of me and I didn’t know how to stop it.

He nodded slowly. ‘You really think I need to move on?’ He met my gaze and I immediately averted my eyes.

‘Robert, don’t push me. It’s over,’ I sobbed. ‘Please.’

‘That’s really what you want?’ Robert raised a brow, challenging me. ‘You want to forget us?’ He shook his head, confusion crossing his features. ‘I don’t get it, and in some ways I don’t want to question it. You’re so cagey about your life outside of here.’ He paused. ‘I hope you’re not playing me for a fool, Frey.’ He raised his brows, his face lighting once more. ‘You looked amazing at the department drinks the other night. What did you think of my suit?’ He grinned foppishly.

‘I have no opinion of how you looked.’ I dropped my gaze once again to the floor, heat creeping up my neck.

‘That’s not true. You told me I looked handsome.’ He scratched his arm. ‘Handsome. I remember you saying it.’

‘Then why are you asking me?’ A surge of irritation moved through me.

‘Because I want to hear you say it again.’ He paused. ‘Do you know how I felt when you said it?’

I didn’t respond.

‘I felt like the happiest, luckiest guy in the world and I wanted to shout out about our relationship.’

Tears smarted my eyes. This was not how I had planned this conversation; I had woken this morning certain I needed to end it. In my mind, our relationship had been over. Only, I knew I couldn’t blame Robert alone. My resolve around him, around this man who made me feel more excited and alive than I had done in years, was weak.

‘You need to go,’ I tried again. ‘Why would you want to be with me, anyway? I don’t go out, I don’t do the things people of your age do.’ I placed a hand on the filing cabinet, grateful for the cool of the metal. ‘You will find someone who loves you, who’s just like you. I can’t give you any of those things.’ My words settled in the still air. I could hear James, our colleague, in the corridor. ‘There are people around.’ I wasn’t sure if I said this to calm my own jagged nerves or to warn him off.

‘I don’t care who’s around.’ He walked calmly to the window, lifted the lever and pushed it open. The fly, barely alive, responded to the rush of air and flew drowsily outside.

Perspiration clung to my upper lip as I watched him close the window once more. I rubbed the base of my back with my shirt, stopping a trickle of sweat in its tracks.

‘Just go, Robert. It’s over,’ I eventually said, in almost a whisper.

He laughed: hollow, disbelieving. ‘No, it’s not.’ He caught me looking at the tattoo and frowned. ‘You don’t seem to realise what you’ve done. You’ve made me fall in love with you.’

‘I haven’t done anything.’ My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a sob. ‘Please. Don’t make this harder than it already is.’

‘Tell me you love me.’

My heart raced, my eyes drawn to the smoothness of his palms. I wanted him in my life; I wanted the love he gave me, I wanted the way he brought my body alive, the way he made me feel like the version of myself I so desperately wanted to be.

‘I can’t.’

‘Then why do you look at me like that? Even with other people around, I see you looking at me, I can feel your eyes on me.’ His eyes followed my gaze to his hands. ‘Frey, I’m not stupid. Even now, I know you’re thinking about us.’

Lust surged through me; a wave of goosebumps travelled across my arms and down the length of my back. He moved towards me and placed a hand at the base of my neck, his fingers softly caressing my hairline.

‘Please get off,’ I whispered hoarsely, my eyes briefly closing and giving in to his touch. ‘Please.’

‘Freya.’ He continued to ply my skin with increasing urgency as he shifted forward once more. ‘You want me. You don’t want this to end.’ He breathed heavily into my ear. ‘Not this, not our chats, not our love for each other.’

My breathing came hard and fast. ‘Don’t.’ I couldn’t touch him. I knew I couldn’t touch him. ‘Please don’t,’ I said, my voice an urgent whisper as I felt the familiar stirring in the pit of my stomach.

‘Freya.’ He brought his lips towards mine and lingered above my mouth, his breath strong – the smell of lager enticingly close. ‘Freya.’ He brushed his lips against mine and I stumbled back towards the desk, my hand knocking the penholder – a gift from my daughter, made at school, years ago – to the ground. I looked desperately at the broken clay shards, then back at him.

‘No. No. No,’ I gasped, realising this was exactly why I had to end my affair with Robert. ‘Please go.’

He didn’t move, his face twisted with hurt.

‘Please… go,’ I said again.

He nodded slightly and moved towards the door. Turning, he looked back at me.

‘Freya, I love you. Don’t give up on us now. We could have it all.’ He stopped talking and his eyes appeared to be drinking in the sight of me. ‘I’ve never given up on anything I love before and I’m not going to start now. I admired your work even before I met you in person and now you have become more than just an idol, you’ve become real. You’re a part of me now, Frey. We’re meant to be.’

He turned the key and then, straightening up, he left. The door remained wide open.

I waited, my ragged breath echoing in my ears. Hot tears wet my cheeks and I strode to the door, slamming it shut, turning the key once more. I stumbled to the sofa and sat, elbows on my knees, my hands over my face.

I wanted to tell myself that it would all be fine: that Robert would just walk away, that I would forget how good he made me feel. I couldn’t. Instead, my mind was wracked by an image of his naked body lying on his bed, the smell of sex on his skin and limbs tangled in damp sheets.

1

October

I opened the front door slowly, my eyes darting left and right. Right and left. My ears were keen to any sound but, as far as I could tell, Stephen wasn’t at home. He had told me he was away on business. Blood roared in my ears as I tiptoed quietly into my own house, my whole body alive to any sound or sign of my husband or daughter.

Clearing my throat, I called out, ‘Stephen?’

No answer.

‘Zoe, darling? Are you home?’

Silence.

I shut the door quietly and let my laptop bag slip from my shoulder to the floor. I gasped when I saw the lace of the black bra I had been wearing earlier poking out of the top of the bag and quickly shoved it out of view. It made me nauseous with guilt. I was sneaking in like a teenager after a party. At the beginning, if I was being honest, it had felt exciting, but now it felt fraught, making me jumpy and anxious.

Walking quickly to the kitchen and sitting at the table, I squeezed my eyes shut and wished, as I did whenever I got back home, that the images of Robert would disappear. It made me feel dirty. My feelings for Robert had grown so out of control, and I with it. I leant backwards, feeling around in the drawer for the medication the doctor had prescribed to calm my nerves, swallowed one whole without water, pulling a face at the bitter taste left in my mouth. Pushing the chair away abruptly, I headed upstairs for a shower.

Turning the shower on to its highest heat, I stripped off my mundane work suit and greying underwear and entered the water. It scalded my skin but I scrubbed hard, trying to rid myself of Robert before Stephen came home. It was wrong, yes, but the problem lay in my inability to give up the happiness Robert had brought me over the past year; I had never believed I would ever feel this good again. Not since Stephen and I first met. Stephen, then, I had thought was the man of my dreams, but it hadn’t taken long for his controlling character to shine through. By which point, I was pregnant with Zoe.

Robert’s scent rose up with the steam and I allowed myself a moment to inhale deeply and, with it, I could almost feel his hands gently caressing my body. Before long, the water started to turn cold, snapping me out of my daydreaming.

What had I become? I was meant to be the responsible adult. I should have known better from the start, but Robert had found me in one of my darkest hours, and our relationship had hurtled out of control. I often wondered whether, if Stephen hadn’t been spending less and less time at home, I would have made the same decision that day in October last year? But he’d pushed me to it, and one day, I found his phone. I couldn’t help myself. My gut instinct had told me to look, my deepest fear had told me I would regret it.

It had taken me seconds to find the messages from someone called Sarah asking for more money. He clearly had some sort of mistress or was using an escort service. I never confronted him because I was relieved, partly because I thought perhaps he wouldn’t notice if I spent more time at the office – with Robert – and, partly because Zoe had been going through a tough time at school preparing for her GCSEs. The last thing she needed was me and her father arguing.

As my mind wandered, I thought about what I had seen a few nights ago. I had spotted Robert talking to someone, a girl, in the college quad. I had seen her silhouetted as she stood behind a column and I’d thought I caught the briefest glimpse of blonde hair. It was dark, the night heavy with fog, and I had heard her laughter tinkling through the air like smashed glass falling on a tiled floor; its sound had cut through my heart. They had walked in the direction of the library. I followed behind, slipping in and out of the shadows of the maze of ancient stone corridors leading onto other bare stone rooms, trying desperately to keep up with their brisk pace. I lost them momentarily but then I opened a rickety door out onto the college green, my eyes scanning the arcade running around its perimeter. I headed in the direction of the main entrance and, as I approached, I had caught a flash of movement off to my left.

I remembered how I walked softly over the lawn and moved towards the corner of the Elizabethan building.

Then I heard them.

I’d flushed hot at being witness to their voices, their hushed tones and urgent whispers. I had not dared enter the room; I hadn’t wanted to see Robert with a younger woman, despite having known deep down that it was bound to happen, that it would be better for him. I peered through the slit in the door and had been able to make out the briefest glimpse of the woman’s ankle. I remembered now how I’d thought I had seen a tattoo, my eyes momentarily captivated by her young skin; then, with a sudden rush of overwhelming jealousy, I ran to my car and drove home quickly. I hadn’t been able to remove the tattoo from my mind, and I still couldn’t. It jarred me every time I thought about it; I felt the same whenever I thought about Robert’s tattoo. His gift, he had called it, to me. Only it felt symbolic of everything I wasn’t: a tattoo represented smooth, unwrinkled skin, spontaneity, and unfulfilled adventures. My life, in comparison, had often felt stale and uninspired. That was until Robert came into it last September.

I had vowed to forget about it. I hadn’t actually seen anything after all, but having lain awake all night, I’d confronted Robert the next afternoon.

‘What, Anne? She’s just a friend.’ He had smiled that heart-melting grin and I’d nodded, and momentarily convinced myself he was telling the truth. But the niggling doubt wouldn’t subside and I knew it was fuelled by my guilt. Who was I to tell him he couldn’t see another woman?

I slapped the shower tile with my hand in frustration, my skin covered in goosebumps from the air hitting my skin. The frustration was that Zoe would never understand that her father, Stephen, was still punishing me for the early days with Zoe. No matter how many medical reports had confirmed the post-natal depression, he’d never forgiven me, and he never would.

I stepped out of the shower, my skin red-raw from first the heat and then the cold air, and cleared the steam from the mirror with the palm of my hand. My reflection caught me unawares: how did Robert find me attractive? I looked old, tired and long past my prime.

I knew I should phone Zoe, check she was okay, check she’d had a fun night at Keira’s house, but I worried she would somehow know I hadn’t been at home. She would know that I was sleeping with a man almost half my age. She would know that I was trapped in the most deliciously exciting and terrifying situation I had ever known.

I wrapped a white fluffy towel around my body and padded over to my dressing table. I started to apply blusher to my cheeks but quickly stopped. What was I doing? Stephen would expect to see me without make-up. I had to keep up a level of normality for Stephen, and for Zoe. I put down the blusher brush and raided the walk-in wardrobe for a pair of jeans and a shirt. Running a brush through my hair, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror, and let out a sharp laugh. Robert would sooner die than see me like this. He had seen me in my work suits, in silky underwear that I had to keep in my locked drawer at work, but he had never seen me dressed down like this. No, I realised, staring at my image, this was what came of nearly eighteen years with a controlling husband. I glanced at a photo of our wedding day on the dresser. The gilt-edged frame had been a gift from Stephen – a gaudy token that only reminded me of the furious argument and weeks of silence for which it had been an apology. The frame, to me, reflected everything in our Oxfordshire house and stale marriage: Stephen surrounded himself with the finest, showiest things, whatever would hide the cracks in the critically unstable foundations. To outsiders, perhaps, we looked like a family who were doing well. We had been in the house for our entire married life; it was all we knew. Years ago I had tried to hang some artwork from my student days on the wall but he had immediately banished the pieces to the attic.

I had adored being pregnant, watching my body change shape; a miracle, our own child, growing inside me. I had naively thought it would bring us together, that Stephen and I would be okay. But then something had happened. Something unexpected.

Zoe was born and I cried. Stephen had looked at me then as if I were the most unnatural woman he had ever come across. I wanted to love Zoe, but I couldn’t reconcile this screaming, red-faced alien with the wonder and excitement I’d felt being pregnant. Whenever I thought about my reaction to Zoe entering the world, I was filled with a gnawing sense of guilt and betrayal. I tried to explain to Stephen that I didn’t feel like my normal self, that it felt like another woman had entered my body and was mechanically going about the day-to-day duties of childcare. I could only describe it as an out of body experience. Stephen plucked Zoe from my arms the moment she was wrapped in the blanket by the midwife, and held her tight, as I turned my head and soaked the pillow with tears.

My mobile rang, cutting through my thoughts. I picked it up, my hand shaking and clamped it to my ear in an attempt to control my nerves. It was Stephen.

‘Hi,’ I said, injecting a false cheeriness into my voice. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Are you at home?’ His voice sounded panicked, and I felt a prickle of guilt and anticipation crawl over my body.