They say every marriage has its secrets.

They say in sickness and in health …

But no one sees what happens behind closed doors.

And sometimes those doors should never be opened …

Sal and Charlie are married. They love each other. But they aren’t happy. Sal cannot leave, no matter what Charlie does – no matter how much it hurts.

A psychological thriller with a shocking twist you’ll never see coming.

Between You and Me
Lisa Hall

LISA HALL

loves words, reading and everything there is to love about books. She has dreamed of being a writer since she was a little girl – either that or a librarian - and after years of talking about it, was finally brave enough to put pen to paper (and let people actually read it). Lisa lives in a small village in Kent, surrounded by her towering TBR pile, a rather large brood of children, dogs, chickens and ponies and her long-suffering husband. She is also rather partial to eating cheese and drinking wine.

Readers can follow Lisa on Twitter @LisaHallAuthor

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

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

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Endpages

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Firstly, a huge thank you must go to my fantastic editor, Victoria Oundjian, whose creative brilliance helped pull this manuscript into shape, all whilst simultaneously holding my hand every step of the way.

More enormous thanks to my early readers – your input was invaluable and you have no idea how grateful I am.

Special thanks must go to Amy and Dave Jacobs, Victoria Goldman, Rebecca Raisin and Sarah Cole – without you guys it’s highly unlikely that this novel would ever have landed on the desk at Carina - your encouragement and support kept me going when it seemed like the writing would beat me.

And finally, thank you to my crazy, amazing family – Nick, George, Isabel and Oscar – thank you for supporting me, thank you for the wine and the bacon sandwiches, and thank you for putting up with my needy writer ways – I love you all more than you’ll ever know.

To Team Hall – for making me who I am.

Prologue

It happened so quickly, and now there is so much blood. More than I ever thought possible. One minute, he was shoving me backwards, into the kitchen counter, the air thick with anger and words spoken in temper that could never be taken back. The next, he was on the floor, the handle of the knife protruding from his ribs. I don’t even remember picking it up, only that I had to stop him. I back away, pushing myself up against the cold, granite surface, across the room from where he lies. I feel light-headed and sick, sweat prickling along my spine. He reaches up to me with a shaky hand, slick with his own blood, and I draw back even further. He is slumped on the floor, back resting against the kitchen counter, a lock of hair falling over his brow. He is pale, a sheen of sweat shining on his forehead. A coppery, iron tang fills the air and I want to retch. Turning, I lean over the kitchen sink, where I heave and heave but nothing comes up. I wipe my mouth on a tea towel and push my shaking hands through my hair. I need to try and think calmly, rationally. I need to phone for an ambulance, and I need to get my story straight. I’ll tell them that he slipped and fell on the knife, a brutal, heavy knife usually used for carving the Christmas turkey, not carving into other people. That we weren’t arguing, just talking. It was an accident; one minute he was fine, the next he was on the floor. I’ll tell them that I didn’t see what happened – I have to protect myself. I can’t tell them that I snapped. That a red mist descended and for just a few seconds I felt like I couldn’t take it any more, the shouting, the aggression and the lies. That in just a split second all rationality left me and I grabbed the knife and thrust it firmly into my husband’s stomach.

Chapter One

SAL

The first time you hit me it was a shock, but not a surprise. Surely this is the natural progression of things? Starting with the little things, like wanting to know where I’ve been, who I’ve spoken to, escalating to a little push here and a shove there, until now, when a slap almost feels like a reward – and I’m thankful that it wasn’t something worse, that there are no bones broken this time.

I remember the first time I saw you. Nothing on earth had prepared me for it and the sight of you hit me like a punch in the guts. Is that ironic? You stood there, in the Student Union bar, talking to a guy on your course I had seen around campus previously, a pint of Fosters in one hand. The sun was streaming in through a window behind you and you looked majestic, standing tall in a faded pair of Levi’s and battered Converse, your fair hair standing out around you like an aura. I was with a group of people from my own course, planning on spending the evening with them hashing over that day’s lectures over a few drinks and then maybe heading out for a bite to eat. Once I saw you, I knew my plans had changed and that I had to pluck up the courage to approach you. How would things have turned out if I hadn’t asked you if you wanted another pint? If you hadn’t accepted, and we hadn’t spent the entire evening holed up in one corner of the SU bar? If I hadn’t answered your call the next day and accepted your invitation to lunch? If we hadn’t spent the whole of that following weekend together, in your flat, ignoring your roommate, the phone, the world outside?

Maybe I would be married to someone who doesn’t think it’s OK to hit me. To throw things at me if I have a different opinion to the one I ‘should’ have. Someone who doesn’t think that being happily married means the other half of the partnership towing the line at all times, no questions asked. Maybe you would be settled with someone else, someone who knows the right thing to say and the best way to handle you. Maybe you would be with someone you don’t think defies you at every opportunity, although I don’t, I really don’t. You just think I do, regardless of what I do or what I say. Maybe both of us would be happier.

Chapter Two

CHARLIE

A file the size of a house brick lands on my desk and Geoff appears, throwing himself down in the chair opposite mine.

‘Another bunch of stuff for you to work through – looks like you’re not going home early tonight!’ he wheezes, his face bright red as he struggles to catch his breath. Geoff is the size of a house himself, his enormous belly straining at the buttons of his grubby white shirt. Geoff is a colleague, my equal, but as he’s fifteen years older than me he treats me like a five-year-old. The man has a serious lack of ambition, and a serious case of body odour.

‘Honestly, Geoff? It’s 8pm – surely you don’t think I’m even considering going home yet?’ I give a little laugh as I pull the file towards me and start leafing through it; despite the fact I still have a ton of paperwork next to me that needs going through before I can even consider leaving the office. I feel the beginnings of a migraine tapping at my temples, no doubt brought on by tiredness from a 5am start and the stress of the never-ending paperwork that comes with the case I’m working on. The pressures of being a corporate lawyer are well known, the long hours, the stressful cases that take over our lives and eat into our personal time with our families, but it is all worth it in the end. The salary and benefits make sure of that.

‘Well, don’t stay up too late. You don’t want to leave that pretty little family of yours too much; someone else might snap them up!’ Geoff heaves his massive bulk from the leather chair across the desk from me, leaning over to ruffle my hair as he leaves.

‘No chance of that, Geoff.’ I grin at him through gritted teeth, the thud of my headache growing louder and making me wish I could slap his meaty fingers from the top of my head. He breezes out of the room, as much as a twenty-stone, fifty-year-old corporate lawyer can, and I reach for the phone. I dial our home number, leafing through the new documents while I wait for Sal to pick up. Engaged. I hang up and redial, using the mobile number. It rings and rings, and I picture it sitting on the kitchen side where Sal always leaves it, the hideous Johnny Cash ringtone that Sal insists on blaring out. It rings out and goes to voicemail.

‘Sal, it’s me. Who the fuck are you talking to? Call me back.’ I slam the receiver down, and lean back in my chair, grinding the heels of my hands into my eyes to relieve the pressure that beats away there. I don’t need this shit – I have enough on my plate to deal with in the office, without wondering who the hell Sal is talking to at eight o’clock at night.

An hour later, when my call still hasn’t been returned, and I’ve tried the house phone numerous times, but to no avail, I bundle up the files and stuff them into my briefcase. I can’t concentrate on work all the time I am wondering why Sal isn’t answering the telephone. All sorts of scenarios cross my mind, ranging from Sal knocking the phone off the hook so as not to be disturbed with some illicit lover, through to Sal on the phone to some other person (Sal’s sister? Sal’s mum? Someone I don’t even know?), planning to leave me. I don’t know what the hell Sal is playing at, but I’m not happy. I thought I had made the rules perfectly clear – if I call, Sal should answer. I spend every waking hour working my butt off to make sure I can provide for my family – I think the least Sal can do is answer the phone when I call. I smooth down my fair hair, sticking up at all angles where I’ve been pushing my hands through it in an attempt to calm myself while I concentrate on those bloody files Geoff dumped on me, grab my black jacket and head out the door. When I get home, Sal had better be there – and if Sal is there, I’ll want to know why the bloody hell my calls this evening have gone unanswered. I’m not being ignored by anyone, least of all the person I chose to spend the rest of my life with.

Chapter Three

SAL

I hang up the phone and breathe a sigh of relief. My sister can talk the hind legs off a donkey, and although I love to speak to her I dread her calls, knowing as I do how you don’t really like for me to speak to my family. You think that we don’t need anyone else, in particular anyone else from my family. The difficulty with that is that I come from a large, chaotic, noisy family, who have a lot to say and only seem to want to say it to each other. I try my hardest to put them off when I can, just so I can avoid the inevitable row that follows when we do see them, but it’s difficult, and I’m not always sure that I want to put them off. My parents came to England from Italy in the 1980s, but haven’t lost any of their Italian ways – they love to have the whole family together in one room as often as possible, and the highlight of their day is if I take Maggie over to visit. As their only grandchild so far she is doted on, but you disapprove, saying that they interfere in our lives and that they shouldn’t have a say in how we bring Maggie up. I don’t always agree, but you have made it abundantly clear in various ways that in our house we do things your way, and, to be honest, the repercussions just aren’t worth it. So I don’t see as much of them as I would like any more, but my sister, Julia, has relocated back to Italy to be with her husband’s family, and she doesn’t see how it is here now. I don’t want to tell her how things are either, that the long, rambling phone calls put me on edge every time, with me completely unable to tell her that I need to get off the phone.

I run lightly up the stairs to check on our daughter. She’s curled up tight into a ball, only the top of her head visible above the duvet, the nightlight casting a warm glow across the bedroom. Nearly five, she has the most beautiful glossy, dark curls, a legacy from the Italian side of the family. She gives a little snore, and rolls over onto her other side and my heart squeezes as I gaze at her sleeping form. No matter what happens between us, no matter how difficult things get, I will always put her first. I will stay and tolerate your demands and rules, if only it means she has a stable family life, with two parents who love her.

Checking the Frozen clock that hangs on Maggie’s wall, I realise that it won’t be long before you are home, so I head downstairs to check on the lasagne that has been keeping warm in the oven, and to open the bottle of Malbec I bought earlier. Creeping down the stairs, avoiding the telltale creaky floorboard in order not to disturb Maggie, I hear the key in the door before I’m even halfway down and it’s obvious by the way the front door slams shut that tonight is not going to be a peaceful night.

‘What the fuck, Sal?’ you hiss into my face as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I wince, worried that the slamming of the front door will wake our sleeping daughter. Holding up one finger, I listen, but no sound comes from the bedroom above.

‘Charlie, please – Maggie’s asleep. What do you mean, what the fuck?’ Whispering, I skirt round you into the hallway so I can get you into the kitchen and away from the staircase before you start to shout and risk waking Maggie up. You throw your briefcase down and are following me into the kitchen when I see it. My mobile, sitting on the side where I left it, turned to silent after Maggie insisted on playing some ridiculous game on it and I had to turn the volume off to stop it from driving me insane. My mobile, sitting on the side, showing several missed calls from Charlie, alongside a text announcing that CHARLIE had left a voicemail. Oh, shit.

‘Charlie, I’m sorry. The volume was switched to silent. I didn’t realise, I promise. Maggie was playing a game; it was driving me bonkers. I had to turn it to silent before I went mad. I’m sorry, Charlie, really sorry. It was a mistake, that’s all.’ I know I am babbling, but your silence is making me nervous, even though I know it is ridiculous to feel this way over a missed call. I look over to where you’re standing in the doorway and, seeing you take off your black jacket, use the opportunity to open the oven door and pull out the steaming hot tray of lasagne.

‘Look, I’ve made your favourite: lasagne. Come and sit down. I’ve bought some wine; we can eat together.’

‘Who were you talking to, Sal? Huh? Who were you on the phone to that was SO FUCKING IMPORTANT that you couldn’t answer my call?’ Throwing your jacket onto the dining chair, you’re across the room before I even realise, standing so close to me that I can feel your hot breath in my face. Carefully, I lower the hot tray of food to the counter and turn towards you. I think about lying, but past experience has taught me that you always find out, which just makes things worse in the end. I decide to brave it out.

‘It was Julia. She was calling from Rome. She and Luca are staying at a hotel for a few days while Luca has business with a guy there. She was just calling to catch up, that’s all.’ I grab a dishcloth and wave it half-heartedly across the draining board in an attempt to avoid eye contact. To avoid the way you’ll be looking at me like I’m a bit of shit, anger and disgust crossing your perfectly aligned features, something that happens only too frequently these days.

‘To catch up, and to slag me off, no doubt. Jesus, Sal, do you think I’m some sort of idiot? I know what your family think of me, I know what you say about me behind my back!’

‘God, Charlie, NO. We didn’t speak about you – Julia asked how you were, that’s all. I told her you were fine, busy at work, you know. Nothing else, I swear to you, please. Please, Charlie.’ I try to take your hand, to reassure you that what I’m saying to you is true, that I’m not lying to you. Your icy blue eyes bore into mine, as you try to decide whether to believe me or not.

‘My phone was on silent, Charlie. Maggie was playing a game on it and it drove me crazy so I turned the ringer off. That’s all, I promise. I wasn’t ignoring you.’ Decision made, you turn on me, slapping my hands away from yours.

‘You’re a fucking liar, Sal. You always have been. You’ve lied to me from the word go and to be honest I don’t think you know how to tell the truth. I know what you and your family think about me; I’m not an idiot. I know you all think that poor old Sal could have done so much better. So what were you and Julia plotting? How to get rid of me? How you’ll leave and build a new life in the sun with your fucking sister? Is that it?’

You’re screaming into my face now, spittle landing on my cheek as I turn my face away from you. Raising my hands to ward you off, unsure as to whether a blow will be forthcoming or not, I shake my head, trying to get the words out before you hit me, trying to tell you, No. None of those things. Just talking. I don’t get the chance before you start yelling into my face again.

‘What, you think you’re going to raise your hands to me? I don’t think so, Sal. You need to remember who’s the boss here – who’s the one that goes out to work all hours so that you can live the life of fucking Riley? ME, that’s who. I have to deal with all the stress and demands, getting up at the crack of dawn every single day so you can live the life you want to lead. So you can sit on your arse at home, playing games with Maggie and slagging me off to your sister, you fucking ungrateful shit.’

You turn and, twisting your sleeve down over your hand so you don’t get burnt, grab the hot tray of lasagne, hurling it to the ground, smashing the porcelain dish into millions of pieces before stalking out of the kitchen. You don’t notice the shards of china cutting into the tops of my bare feet, and the steaming hot mince making burning arced splashes up my legs.

It takes me the best part of two hours to clean up, after I sit with a cold wet cloth pressed against my legs where the hot meat splashed up and scalded me. Tiny blisters have risen on my shins and calves and I know that tomorrow, despite the warm weather forecast, I will have to cover them up. Fighting the beginnings of a headache brought on by fear and exhaustion, I wipe up tomato sauce that has splattered all up the kitchen cupboards and sweep up the shards of porcelain. I mop the entire floor with bleach to get rid of the garlicky smell and make sure that not a single piece of china is left on the floor to pierce Maggie’s bare feet in the morning. I put antiseptic cream on the scalds on my legs, and wearily climb the stairs, praying that, as it’s after midnight, you’ll be asleep.

As I slide into bed, the sheets feeling blissfully cool on my hot, sore legs, you roll over towards me and I hold my breath, not sure if this is the start of another onslaught. I stiffen, waiting for you to speak.

‘I’m warning you, Sal.’ Your breath is hot and sour in my face, as I lie dead still. ‘I’m not having it. It’s your fault the dinner was ruined – if you hadn’t slagged me off to your sister, and then lied to me about it, it wouldn’t have happened. You bring all this on yourself.’

You roll away from me and assume the position you always do when you’re ready for sleep. I lay still; head pounding and blink back hot tears until sleep takes over.

Chapter Four

CHARLIE

Sal and Maggie are already in the kitchen when I come downstairs at 6am the next morning. Despite the row last night, I slept well and I’m feeling good, ready to face another day dealing with Geoff and his brick-sized files at the office. It looks as though Sal, on the other hand, didn’t get a wink of sleep with dark eyes bloodshot and surrounded by deep, purple circles. I don’t feel any sympathy; if rules were followed there wouldn’t be any arguments. Sal doesn’t seem to understand that I don’t do things to be horrible, or to make life difficult for anybody – I just want a bit of respect. After all, that’s what marriage is about, isn’t it? If there are rules, then order naturally follows, and that makes life easier for everybody. If only Sal would respect me, respect my idea that rules are there to be followed, there would never be any rows.

Sunlight streams in through the kitchen window and I grab a cup of coffee from the pot that’s brewing, pull on my trusty black work jacket and lean over for my briefcase. Drinking deeply from my coffee cup, I feel a pang of guilt on noticing that, despite the heatwave that’s been forecast for this week, Sal is wearing jeans. I’m guessing that means not all the piping-hot lasagne hit the floor last night. Still, that’s not my fault and I reiterate in my mind my mantra that rules are made for following. You’d think Sal would have learnt by now. I kiss Maggie on top of her head, where she sits at the breakfast table drawing something that looks like it should be in a sci-fi movie.

‘See you later, munchkin.’

I tip the rest of my coffee into the sink and head to the front door, noticing as I do that the sunlight pouring in through the window only serves to highlight the cobwebs hanging in one corner of the kitchen ceiling. I hear Sal murmuring something to Maggie before following me out.

‘See you later.’ Sal offers up a watery smile, eyes surrounded by dark circles showing the lack of sleep following last night’s argument. I don’t feel guilty. The phone call shouldn’t have happened. If Sal hadn’t taken the phone call, there wouldn’t have been a row; it’s as simple as that. I take Sal’s face in both my hands and kiss both cheeks.

‘I’ll see you tonight. And remember, Sal, I meant what I said. I don’t want you speaking to Julia – not about me, not about us, not about anything to do with our family. Do you hear me? If you had just done that in the first place last night wouldn’t have happened. You need to respect me, and our marriage, OK? I love you, and I’m the only one you need. Remember that. Oh, and Sal?’ I turn back to where Sal stands on the front doorstep. ‘Sort that kitchen out; there are cobwebs everywhere. It’s fucking disgusting.’

Sal nods, and I turn and stride off towards the train station, a spring in my step now I know Sal is back under control. I don’t watch to see the front door close.

When I reach the office, Geoff is already lurking outside my office door waiting for me to arrive. Giving off an air of desperation and the usual fug of body odour he bounces around in the doorway as I try to get settled at my desk.

‘So, Charlie, get a chance to look at that info I gave you last night? Otex are keen to seal the deal with this little communications outfit and Vygen are sniffing round. I’ve had Vygen’s lawyer on the phone – Alex Hoskins? I heard you knew Alex from uni or somewhere?’ I frown and pull my laptop out of its case. Geoff is clearly excited about this deal, bouncing around like a little kid. If it all goes smoothly he will look good, seeing as he is head of our department.

‘Um, no, Geoff. Not yet. Last night was a bit hectic, you know? I’ll make it my priority this morning. I want to get the deal sealed before Vygen get any more of an idea about it; we could stand to make a ton of money from this deal. And yes, I do know Alex from uni. Let me deal with it next time Vygen call.’

I switch on my laptop and pull the files from my briefcase, hoping Geoff will get the hint and leave me in peace. Instead, he perches his huge arse on the edge of my desk and peers at me knowingly.

‘Oh, yeah? Heavy night last night? Stop off in the pub on the way home, did you? Ahh, your secret’s safe with me, don’t you worry!’

He pats my hand with his grubby little paw and hefts his bulk off my desk and lurches out of the room. Ugh. Reaching into my bag I pull out a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitiser and disinfect my hands before sitting back in my chair and pushing my hands through my hair. Alex Hoskins. What a blast from the past. Tall, fair, with amazing legs and a ferocious attitude to go with it. Alex had been at uni with Sal and I, back in the late ‘90s, and while we had occasionally clashed, there had been an underlying spark of attraction. We had had a bit of a thing going on, nothing serious, but then I met Sal in the Student Union bar and that was it for me. I never looked at anyone else again, and I’ve made damn sure since then that Sal has only had eyes for me. If Alex Hoskins is working for the rival company that wants to buy the communications company that my client is after, though, things could get interesting. I decide that I will wait for Alex to call me – I don’t want to look like I’m chasing. I open the files and make a start on reading them through, highlighting parts of interest and making notes on my computer. It’s vital for me that this deal goes through smoothly – its success means a promotion for me, more money, which means the financial burden that I shoulder for our entire family should ease a little. It’s not easy being the solo breadwinner, but if it means Sal stays at home, where I can keep an eye on what goes on, then so be it. I call through to Anita, my secretary, and tell her to hold all my calls, unless I get a call from the Vygen lawyer, Alex Hoskins. That call I will take.

Chapter Five

SAL

‘God, Sal, you look like shit.’ Laura pops her head round the back door, the sun glinting off her red hair as she pushes the door open with one hand and shoves her sunglasses onto the top of her head with the other.

‘Thanks, Laura, you really know how to make someone feel special.’ I don’t mean to snap but I’m tired and ninety-nine per cent certain I do actually look like shit. I feel like it, that’s for sure.

‘Oh, touchy. Rough night last night? Did Charlie get in late?’ Laura pushes her way in and slings her bag onto the kitchen table.

‘You know how it is when Charlie’s got a big case on. And apparently this is a huge one – the firm stands to make a bajillion quid or something, if Charlie can pull it off. It means major pressure, even a possibility to make partner if it all goes to plan. And you know how badly Charlie wants to make partner before the big 4-0. So yeah, Charlie did get in late, and it was a bit of a rough night. I just need some sleep, that’s all.’

‘Ha. I know that feeling, Fred had me up four times in the night, didn’t you, dude?’ Laura smiles down at the chubby little boy who toddles into the kitchen behind her. Looking me over, she frowns. ‘Jesus, Sal, aren’t you hot in that outfit? It must be nearly thirty degrees outside; speaking of which, has Maggie got sun cream on? She’s outside playing dolls under the apple tree, I’ve left Lucy out there with her.’

‘What? Yeah, she’s got sun cream on; they’ll be fine out there, and it’s shady under the tree. And no, I’m not hot, I’m fine.’ I turn to the sink and start to fill the kettle, feeling the weight of Laura’s gaze on me. I am too hot in my jeans. It’s June and the heatwave that was forecast last week is in full force today, but the only other option is shorts, and that would mean revealing the red, angry scald marks left by the splashes of food from last night, and that would mean questions. Questions that I really, really don’t want to have to answer. Questions that I’m not even sure I have the answers to – I have no idea how events like last night’s ended up being almost the norm in our relationship.

Laura settles herself at the kitchen table, spreading out across it with Fred’s juice bottle, a pot of grapes, Fred’s dummy and Lucy’s security blanket. She brings over a hell of a lot of stuff for someone who only lives next door.

‘Are you sure you’re OK, Sal? I thought I heard shouting last night, that’s all. You know how thin these walls are; I just … well, I just wanted to check that’s all.’ She doesn’t look at me, pretending she is busy with Fred’s juice bottle.

‘Laura, I’m fine, I promise. Charlie must have just had the telly up too loud; you’ve just said these walls are hideously thin! Nothing to worry about, honestly. And I appreciate your concern, but believe me, I’m big enough and ugly enough to look after myself.’ I squeeze her shoulder as I lean over and place a cup of tea on the table in front of her and swing Fred up for a cuddle. Nearly two, Fred still has that chubby baby feel about him that I miss so much in Maggie now she’s four and almost ready for ‘Big School’. I would have loved another baby, a boy, to balance out our family and keep Maggie company. I would have loved lots more, coming from a big family, but you weren’t keen on even having one more, let alone three or four, saying, ‘We can provide a better lifestyle if we only have one child, Sal. Don’t be an idiot.’ I can’t help feeling that Maggie is missing out somehow. I give Fred a big nuzzle and blow raspberries on his neck until he shrieks with laughter and squirms to be put down. Lowering him gently to the floor, Fred runs over to the toy box in the corner of the living room, ready to search out toy cars and bits of Lego that I’ll be scooping out from under the sofa later on.

Laura sips at her tea and eyes me closely. ‘So, if you’re not too tired, or too hot …’ – she winks at me – ‘what do you want to do today? Shall we take the kids to the park? Get an ice cream and slag off all the yummy mummies with their bugaboo pushchairs and glamorous white-jeans-and-heels summer park outfits? It’s roasting out there, and before you know it it’ll be September, Lucy and Maggie will be starting school and you’ll spend all your days cleaning and tidying like a proper housewife.’

‘Fuck off.’ Smiling, I throw a tea towel at her and she bursts into laughter, her mouth open so wide I can see her back teeth, filling-free thanks to a dad who practises as a dentist.

‘To be honest, I think I’m going to give it a miss today, Laur. I am really shattered from last night, and I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today. I might just fill the paddling pool and let Mags go crazy in there this afternoon.’ I look at her apologetically, not sure of her reaction, but I really can’t risk going out today, not after last night.

‘Loads to do? Like what? What could be more fun than spending the afternoon in the park with your fantastically gorgeous, pale-skinned, red-headed mate, in a thirty-degree heatwave, while she bitches and moans about the perils of being so fair-skinned in said bloody heatwave?!’ Laura laughs again, and I am relieved. I need to learn that not everyone reacts in the same manner you do to things. I remember why she is one of the best people in my life, despite what you say about her behind her back. I laugh, too, and then decide to tell her my plans.

‘I’m going to look for a job. I’ve decided that once Maggie starts school I want to go back to work. I only stopped working for Maggie. Charlie could earn twice what I earned, and we agreed that I would stay home and look after the baby, but I think it’s time. Charlie doesn’t want another baby and I don’t want to sit around here, twiddling my thumbs all day while Maggie is at school. And I want Maggie to know that it’s OK for both parents to go to work, that it’s not a case of one parent going to work while the other stays home.’ I look down at my feet, suddenly feeling a bit shy that I’ve actually told someone.

‘Shit, Sal, that’s brilliant.’ Laura stands, and comes over to give me a hug. ‘But what is Charlie going to think? I mean, I thought the whole “stay home and bring up baby” thing was most important? God, I envy you, Sal. Since Jed left me bringing up these two on my own I can’t see myself ever getting back out there in the real world.’

‘I think Charlie is probably going to go mad in all honesty,’ I say. I am not looking forward to talking to you about it, which is the reason why I think, if I look for a job now, and tell you when, if, I land one, hopefully the fallout will be less. Don’t get me wrong; I know there’ll be fallout – it’s almost something to be expected now any time I do something that you don’t approve of – but I’ll be able to use the salary and the fact that I’ll be around in the school holidays as a bargaining chip. ‘But I can’t sit around all day here, Laura, not without Mags to take care of. I’ll go mad.’

‘I know, Sal. You still need to be your own person.’ Laura kisses my cheek, and scoops all her debris from the kitchen table into her bag. ‘Listen, good luck. I’m going to take Fred and Lucy to the park, sneer at some yummy mummies and bitch to myself about lobster skin and red hair. You let me know if you need anything, OK? And Sal? You can do it. I know you can.’ She squeezes my hand and scoops Fred up from the Lego that’s exploded all over the living room carpet.

Once I’ve waved Laura and her brood off, I fill the paddling pool and clear up all the Lego, including the rogues that have hidden under the sofa, just waiting until someone sneaks down for a midnight glass of water before they pop out to savage bare feet. I am going to look for a job, starting today, but I didn’t want to tell Laura the real reason I didn’t want to take a trip to the park. I didn’t want to tell her that I need to be at home, just in case. Just in case Charlie rings and I’m not here. I need to be home in case the house phone rings, and if I’m at the park and Charlie calls my mobile I might not hear it. I just want one peaceful night tonight, and if it means staying indoors and waiting for the phone to ring, then that’s what I’ll do. I check the ringer on my mobile for the hundredth time, making sure the ringer is turned up to full volume and not on silent. Just in case.

Chapter Six

CHARLIE

I manage to get through a ton of paperwork in the office today and, with Anita’s help to keep any distracting calls at bay, feel like I’m actually getting somewhere with the Otex merger. The only slight dampener on my day is that I don’t hear from Alex Hoskins, but no big deal. It’s Friday and it can all wait until after the weekend. I make a note in my online diary to call Alex on Monday.

‘Charlie? Do you need anything else?’ Anita pops her head round the door of my office, her summer scarf already tied jauntily at an angle and her huge handbag on her shoulder. ‘Only, it’s just that it’s Friday … and my daughter is bringing the baby over tonight – we’re going to have dinner and then …’ She hesitates.

‘It’s fine Anita – go. Like you say, it’s Friday and family has to come first.’ I turn on my most prize-winning smile for her, all gleaming white teeth.

‘Thanks, Charlie – you are the best, and I mean best, boss. Have a brilliant weekend!’ With that, she flicks her scarf over her shoulder and heads off towards the lifts.

I stretch out, and peer through the blinds that separate my office from Geoff’s. His computer terminal is switched off, and his jacket and briefcase are gone. Taking this as a sign that he has also had a productive day on his side of the Otex merger, I decide to pack up early and head home to Sal and Maggie.

I’ve called Sal repeatedly today and the phone has been answered every time, each time within a few rings. Hopefully yesterday’s tiff has hammered home the idea that I really don’t see the need for Sal to have so much contact with that side of the family. We don’t have any contact with my family. I moved down to London from Lincolnshire to go to university and haven’t looked back since. My mother is still living in the house I grew up in, that shabby little terraced house with its worn-out carpets, stained kitchen lino and tiny rooms full of dusty, old-fashioned furniture. I couldn’t wait to escape from there and, after living under my drunken father’s violent regime for so many years, university felt like my life had begun again. There’s nothing for me there and I haven’t been back since, not even for my father’s funeral, when that last glass of whisky proved to be just a little too much for his poisonous old soul to take. I’m not the same person that walked out of there eighteen years ago. I won’t go back there again, ever.

‘Honey, I’m home!’ Sal comes out of the kitchen, smiling nervously as I shout my arrival through the front door, holding out my gift of Haribos. Sal is the only grown-up I know that actually likes Haribos, even after that awful Channel 4 programme showed the actual ingredients used.

‘Did you have a good day?’ Sal accepts my kiss on the cheek, and the bag of sweets, and leads me into the kitchen where I can smell something delicious simmering on the stove. I am glad to be home and the bitter taste of last night’s argument has dissolved, meaning I am feeling more affectionate towards Sal.

‘We had a perfect day,’ Sal says. ‘We stayed home and played in the garden all day, the weather was so lovely. We had a picnic under the apple tree, and Mags ran through the sprinkler for about two hours. Oh, and look, we checked on the veg patch and picked our own little harvest!’ Sal opens the fridge to show me a large ceramic baking bowl filled to the brim with fresh strawberries, and another, smaller, bowl filled with tiny new potatoes. ‘Dinner will be ready soon. Why don’t you run up and get changed and I’ll open the wine.’

I head upstairs to our bedroom to change into something cooler, the windows wide open in an attempt to get some air moving through the house. Even though it’s close to 7pm it’s still ridiculously hot and muggy. I lie on the bed in my underwear, hoping for a cool breeze to wash over me, but the air is thick and still. I hear Sal singing in the kitchen while preparing dinner, something low and sweet in Italian, and I smile to myself before pulling myself upright and grabbing a pair of shorts. Sal is obviously making an effort after ruining our evening yesterday. Maybe – just maybe – some lessons have actually been learnt and I feel optimistic that tonight will be a better night.

After a meal of poached salmon and new potatoes from Sal’s vegetable garden, Sal puts Maggie to bed and we settle down for a night in front of the television. Sal brings through another bottle of wine, and the bag of sweets, and I finally feel relaxed. My family are all under one roof, together, with nobody snooping around, poking their nose in, interfering in how we do things, and Sal seems to have realised that all we need is each other. Sal is showing me respect today, by doing what I asked, and the effect of that is that everyone is calm, relaxed and happy, which just goes to prove my point. Anyone looking in from the outside would see us for the perfect family. Which is, of course, what we are.

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