The Couple on Cedar Close Read online

  The Couple on Cedar Close

  An absolutely gripping psychological thriller

  Anna-Lou Weatherley

  Books by Anna-Lou Weatherley

  The Couple on Cedar Close

  Black Heart

  Vengeful Wives

  Wicked Wives

  Pleasure Island

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Epilogue

  Anna-Lou’s Email Sign-Up

  Books by Anna-Lou Weatherley

  A Letter from Anna-Lou

  Black Heart

  Pleasure Island

  Wicked Wives

  Vengeful Wives

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to dedicate this book to anyone out there who has ever suffered or is suffering in an abusive or toxic relationship. Please know that there is hope, there is help and there is light at the end of the tunnel.

  * * *

  For my true love and soulmate, David.

  ‘Oh! What a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive.’

  Sir Walter Scott

  Prologue

  Where the hell is Robert? The question repeats itself inside Laurie’s mind on a loop as the woman’s mouth opens and closes in front of her like a fish. She doesn’t register what she’s saying; she can’t concentrate. Robert has gone AWOL and it’s all she can focus on – that and trying not to drink any alcohol – and she has a bad feeling about both. Laurie wilts in the biting midday heat and looks past the woman into the crowd behind her with narrowed eyes. Where is he? He’d promised not to let her out of his sight today. He knew this was a big day for her – it was her first public outing to a social event in months, not to mention meeting the neighbours properly for the first time, and he’d sworn he’d be right by her side to help her through the ordeal.

  The barbecue is already gearing up into full swing; men of various shapes and ages are gathered around a cluster of cylinder-shaped ovens, flames leaping from the sides, licking the grills and wafting blue smoke into the airless gazebo. Semi-naked children are playing in the heat, scurrying around after each other with water pistols, their shrieks punctuating the chatter and clatter of cutlery and chinking of glass as the women set the trestle tables and prepare to eat, drink and be merry. Merry. She’s forgotten what that feels like. She can’t remember the last time she felt the freedom of true happiness without something to help her along the way. Laurie hadn’t wanted to come to today’s barbecue – or the annual ‘Cedar Summer Sizzler’ as the residents of the close preferred to call it – but Robert had insisted. Besides, Monica was hosting it and she didn’t want to let her friend down.

  ‘You need to get out of the house, Law,’ Robert had said. ‘Socialise, start interacting with normal people; reintegrate yourself back into the world, into society. You know what your doctor said. You can’t stay inside these four walls forever. It’s not good for you.’ No, and neither had his affair been, or the terrible tragedy that had happened as a result of it. Laurie tells herself to stop. She’s getting morose and resentful again, dredging up negative thoughts, something she has been training herself hard not to do. Moving to 13 Cedar Close was supposed to be a new beginning for them, a fresh start, a chance to escape the painful memories of the past eighteen months. And things had been much better since they had moved here, hadn’t they?

  ‘It’s just so lovely to finally meet you, in person anyway.’ Laurie finally tunes into the conversation in front of her. ‘Where have you been hiding all this time? It’s got to have been six months since you moved in—’

  ‘Five actually.’

  In her left peripheral vision, Laurie spies a trestle table filled with bottles of wine and spirits and feels the pull of it like gravity.

  ‘Gosh, five months – did you hear that, Graham? Laurie’s lived here five months and this is the first time we’ve met her!’

  Laurie glances at the man who has just joined them, bald and bespectacled. He looks as if he’s had a lot of practice in zoning his wife out.

  ‘Jessica, I said to myself, you must go round there, meet the new neighbours, but I didn’t want to intrude, you know. I figured you’d be out and about when you were ready. I’ve met your husband though, a few times already. He’s very… friendly…’

  Laurie looks at the woman properly for the first time. Her dress is tight, too tight, like someone has poured her into it and forgotten to say ‘when’; it exposes her ample cleavage with a thin divisive line.

  ‘Where is Robert by the way?’ The woman uses her husband’s name in an overfamiliar way, or perhaps she’s just being paranoid again. He’s very friendly… ‘I thought he was meant to be DJing today? You know, that’s quite an accolade, being in charge of the music – for a newcomer anyway.’

  ‘I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?’

  ‘Jessica.’ The woman’s forced smile looks more like the prelude to a scream. ‘Jessica Bartlett, and this is my husband, Graham. We live next door to you!’ she says with a touch of incredulity.

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I know that. I’m sorry, I’m terrible with names,’ Laurie apologises. And lies. She’s actually exceptionally good at remembering names. Well, she was, once upon a time, before the accident. Before the accident. That’s how her life is measured now, before the accident and after the accident. God, she could murder a drink, just to cool off. It’s so damned hot.

  ‘Well, I suppose that’s understandable…’ Jessica says, cocking her head to one side and casting Laurie a pitying glance, one she recognises only too well. Has Robert said something? He’d promised not to say anything to anyone – both he and Monica had sworn that they wouldn’t. Instead, they’d come up with a cover story between them about Laurie having had an operation and needing to convalesce in case anyone questio
ned them about her being housebound. It wasn’t a complete lie. But Jessica’s expression unnerves her. She needs to find Robert.

  A flutter of panic rises up through her diaphragm. Where is her husband? Laurie feels the eyes of her neighbours upon her like a bug trapped in amber. She couldn’t blame their natural curiosity about the fragile-looking, elusive woman from number 13 who had barely left the house since she’d moved in. They probably thought she was a right snooty cow who thought she was above everyone else, though that couldn’t have been further from the truth. But Jessica was right about one thing: the residents of Cedar Close were close. It was almost impossible to be anonymous and for others not to know, or want to know, your business.

  ‘We’re a real community here,’ Jessica continues as though reading Laurie’s thoughts. ‘We look out for each other. A problem aired is a problem shared…’ she says, pausing, her voice dropping an octave. ‘You know you can always talk to me… if you ever need to.’ Her head is cocked again and now Laurie is convinced that she knows something. ‘Anyway, I’m dying to see what you’ve done to the house. Monica said you were in the interior-design business before the— Oh look, there’s Karin. Hi, darling!’ Jessica begins waving, bingo wings wobbling furiously.

  Out of the corner of Laurie’s eye she sees Monica making her way towards them with a tray of food and feels a rush of relief.

  ‘Amuse bouche anyone? Lolly darling, go and get that husband of yours, will you?’ Monica instructs her from the corner of her mouth. ‘He’s supposed to be sorting out the music and he’s buggered off back home.’

  ‘Back home? What’s he doing there?’

  ‘Yes, saw him go about half an hour ago. God knows what he’s doing… go and chivvy him along, will you, darling? We need him on the decks, get the party started.’ Monica holds out the tray. ‘Mrs Foster made these blinis – amazing really, considering she’s blind. Look at how perfect they are – almost the same amount of caviar on each one. Incredible.’

  Jessica pops one into her mouth, a mouth that appears to be permanently open, and Laurie wonders if her husband has been inside that mouth and hates herself for thinking such horrible, disgusting thoughts. She can’t help it.

  ‘I’ll go and get him,’ Laurie says. She’s relieved to make her excuses.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Laurie,’ Jessica calls out to her with a mouthful of caviar, adding, ‘finally.’

  * * *

  Why does Robert always do this, slip away on his own? Laurie thinks as she makes her way across the close. He knows it irritates her, upsets her. Is that why he does it? She tells herself to calm down, not to upset herself. She needs to give him a break. He’s really been trying so hard lately, especially since the move, showing her more affection and attention than he had for a long time.

  Putting her key in the door, Laurie goes to call out his name but something stops her. Instead, she takes her sandals off and treads lightly through the house into the kitchen. Robert’s not there, nor in the living room. She hears a muffled voice, faint. He’s upstairs, and it sounds as if he’s talking to someone on the phone.

  She takes the stairs tentatively one by one until she reaches the bedroom. The door is slightly ajar and through the crack she sees him standing by the bed, facing the window. She hovers behind the door, her breathing heavy and a little laboured.

  ‘Baby, listen to me.’ His voice is low, hushed. ‘I swear to you I will be there soon… just a few more days…’

  Laurie’s heartbeat is pulsing loudly in her ears. He’s talking to a woman. No. No! It was probably just a client, his mother maybe… He wouldn’t, not after everything… But she’d just heard him use the word ‘baby’, hadn’t she?

  ‘I’ll tell her I’ve got a gig somewhere up north or something, make an excuse… Yes… yes, baby, I know… Look, it’s not going to be like this forever… Trust me, I promise you… I promise you both… She’s improving day by day. The medication is keeping her on an even keel. I just need to get her to integrate more… No… no… Claire, please don’t cry…’

  Laurie feels the breath leave her body like someone has taken a lump hammer to her chest. Robert is talking to Claire. Her instinctive reaction is to burst through the door but she can’t physically move – it’s as if her feet have been soldered to the carpet. Not Claire. It can’t be… Please no… Panic grips her and she steadies herself against the wall.

  ‘Listen to me, Claire.’ Robert’s voice sounds more authoritative now – there’s gravitas to it. ‘I love you. I love you and Matilda more than life itself and we will be together, a proper family. You just have to trust me. You do trust me, don’t you? Please say you trust me, baby. I want you, and our daughter; I want us all to be a family together. I just need a little more time… She’s still unhinged and I – we – don’t want her suicide on our conscience…’ Robert pauses. ‘How is my little girl doing anyway? Is she sleeping okay?’

  Laurie watches him listening attentively.

  ‘A tooth! Oh wow! Her first tooth!’ He laughs softly, and she hears the tenderness in his voice, a sound that is like a chainsaw to her heart.

  Rigid, Laurie covers her mouth with a shaking hand. A silent scream rages inside her head, the noise reverberating off the walls and ceilings. It feels like a scene from a horror film, her worse nightmare realised, and it’s all she can do not to slide down the wall into a heap on the carpet. Instead, she takes a few deep breaths and forces a smile as she gathers the momentum to walk through the door.

  ‘Robert?’ Laurie says, swinging the door open and watching as he spins round in surprise, almost dropping the phone. ‘What are you doing up here? You’re wanted outside.’

  One

  Three months later

  The scallops or the prawns? Laurie is undecided as she peruses the fish counter, carefully studying the shellfish nestled on their beds of crushed ice, mentally weighing up which ones are likely to please him most. Please him. Even now, after everything, she is still conditioned to put his feelings first. A familiar ache rises up inside her chest cavity and pulls at her, triggering a rush of oxytocin. She feels the flutter of adrenaline as the chemicals rush through her body and she puts her hand up to her chest in a bid to regulate her heart’s increasing thud.

  It’s an addiction, Laurie. She hears the clipped, matter-of-fact voice of her therapist. Trauma has bonded you to him by a chemical addiction. You’re an addict…

  Now she thinks of it, hadn’t they served scallops as a starter for their wedding breakfast? That’s right – scallops in a lemon-and-herb butter sauce. She thinks she might even still have the shells somewhere that she kept as mementos. Perhaps scallops would remind him, jerk his memory back to that day when they had been so happy and hopeful, so in love.

  The scallops it is then. She orders half a dozen from the red-faced, awkward-looking teenager behind the counter and hopes that Robert will appreciate them; she’s always been a great cook, when she used to cook that is, before the accident. She wonders if Claire is as adept in the kitchen as she is. Claire looks like the type of woman oven chips were designed for. She was probably too busy with the baby now to prepare extravagant meals – no doubt she orders in most nights. Laurie visualises Claire pushing a pram around Iceland, hot and harassed, haplessly throwing ready meals into a basket and gives a ghost of a smile.

  She makes her way towards the checkout – only she has to go past the booze section on the way, past the rows of shiny green and brown bottles of wine and spirits. She tries not to look at them but it’s too tempting. One bottle wouldn’t hurt, would it? After all, this was going to be their last supper together. But oh look – the vodka is on special! Without thinking she is already holding it in her shaking hand, placing it in the basket along with an expensive bottle of Château Margaux. Robert likes red with a meal. Hang on though: she’s serving a fish starter, so perhaps some Prosecco as well then… The bottles make a familiar clank together in the basket, a sound that fills Laurie with a mix of anticipation and
shame. She hears her therapist’s words again. Many addicts swap one addiction for another, Laurie. And some people develop another addiction while trying to anesthetise themselves from the first.

  She wills her mind to be silent, to stop the relentless voice inside it. She doesn’t look at the bottles, pretends they’re not there as she makes a mental run-through of her shopping list. That’s when she spots one of her neighbours, someone she met at the BBQ whose name now escapes her.

  ‘Hello,’ she says instinctively. She’s sure she’s noticed her putting the alcohol into her basket. Ah well, after tonight it won’t matter. Nothing will.

  Laurie smiles and nods at the woman; she feels compelled to acknowledge her out of politeness. But the woman’s presence mentally pulls her back to the day of the street barbecue, that beautiful, hot, fateful summer’s day. Oddly, she remembers how she had accidentally trodden on a woman’s foot, the blind lady who lives next door to Monica – the one who made the canapés – as she’d fled back into her house, tears streaming down her cheeks. She supposes it’s something of a blessing that the old lady couldn’t have seen the events of that dreadful day. It was more than three months ago now and people were still talking about it. She could tell by the hushed whispers and disparaging looks that were cast her way whenever she passed her neighbours on the street.