He Will Find You: A nail-biting and emotional psychological suspense for 2018. Diane Jeffrey
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like that on purpose. Alex probably told her what I like and what I don’t like, and she got confused.
‘Shall I set the table?’ I say, as the sound of a hand drill starts up in the living room.
Arming myself with plates and cutlery, I make my way into the living room where I dump everything down on the dining table. I go over to Alex to tell him about the mistake so that he can have a word with his mum. But as I reach him, I think the better of it. Resolving to eat up my dinner without making a fuss, I kiss Alex tenderly on the back of his neck as he crouches down to pick up the painting.
At the table, Alex serves me a large helping of the meal before I can ask for a small portion. I can feel my mother-in-law watching me as I take a mouthful.
‘It’s delicious, Mrs Riley,’ I say, trying not to gag.
‘Sandy,’ she says. ‘I kept my husband’s surname when he left because it was easier for Alexander but, please, my dear, call me Sandy.’
I give myself a stern talking-to in my head. My mother-in-law has gone to a lot of trouble for me. I should show more appreciation.
‘It’s delicious, Sandy,’ I say, plastering a smile on my face and resolving to keep it unzipped for the duration of the dinner. It gets easier and I manage to swallow down every last morsel.
‘Would you like some more?’ Alex asks, as I put down my knife and fork. He has already loaded up the spoon, which is hovering over my plate.
‘No, thank you,’ I say a bit too hastily. Alex serves his mother and himself instead.
He is attentive to both his mum and me during the meal. He hardly takes his eyes off me. He cracks jokes and tells humorous anecdotes. This is the man I fell in love with. And then it sinks in. This is my husband. I feel a rush of joy.
~
I muse over the day’s events while Alex is in the bathroom that evening. I’m so excited about making a friend. I’d like to tell Alex about Vicky, but that would mean confessing I went for a swim and I can’t do that. Alex wouldn’t approve. Only two months to go, though. I rub my tummy.
Suddenly, Alex storms out of the bathroom. ‘What was that all about?’ he demands.
My heart sinks. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say.
‘That was delicious, Mrs Riley,’ he says in a high-pitched voice, clearly trying to imitate me. ‘You hate sweet and sour pork.’
‘I was being polite, Alex,’ I say, not sure yet where he’s going with this.
Earlier, when I arrived home from the pool, all I needed to do was cajole Alex and pretend to be light-hearted. Somehow I don’t think that’s going to work this time. He seems implacable.
The snake residing in my stomach uncoils just as the baby starts to jiggle around, as if they’re competing for my attention. I want to sit down, but Alex is standing close to me and I mustn’t appear inferior. Instead, I stretch myself to my full height and jut my chin out defiantly.
‘You lied!’ he shouts. His hot minty breath is like a blow to my face. ‘You lied to my mother!’
His words are trapped in the small space between us while I try to interpret them. Even when I do, it takes me a second or two more to find my tongue. ‘Would you have preferred me to tell her I couldn’t eat the dinner she had made especially for me?’
‘Put it this way: at least I’d respect you for being honest. You liar!’
I stare at Alex. He looks like my husband, but he sounds like a stranger. He bores holes into me with his penetrating stare. I have a sudden flash of those piercing blue eyes on me throughout dinner. It strikes me that he may have deliberately set this up.
‘Alex, did you tell your mother that was my favourite meal?’
‘Are you out of your mind? Why on earth would I tell her that?’
For a split second I think he’s going to hit me. But he grabs his pillow and his mobile and storms out of the bedroom.
‘I’m going to sleep in one of the guestrooms,’ he yells as his parting shot, slamming the door.
In a daze, I drift into the bathroom and go through the motions of my nightly routine. I brush my teeth, hardly aware of what I’m doing. In the mirror, I catch sight of my reflection and I’m stunned by how white my face is.
I don’t know how long I sit up in bed, trying to process what just happened. A furious incomprehension has taken hold of me. The more I replay the incident in my mind, the more bewildered I become. My anger is rising inside me, like milk about to boil over in a pan. How dare he talk to me like that!
I’m reminded of the necklace incident on our wedding night. On that occasion, Alex acted out of hurt and jealousy, thinking I’d lost his necklace and worn a gift from an ex-boyfriend. But this time, there’s no excuse for his behaviour. I won’t put up with it!
There’s no point trying to sort this out with Alex tonight. But I’d love to talk to someone about it. In the end, I get up and fetch my mobile out of my jacket pocket. My hands are shaking as I scroll down my contacts to find Hannah. Maybe my best friend can help me make sense of all this.
But Hannah’s phone goes straight to voicemail. I look at the clock on the bedside table. It’s late, so it shouldn’t surprise me that I can’t get hold of her. But she hasn’t returned any of my calls or text messages for about ten days now. Usually, we text each other a lot. Every other day at least. We did even when I lived in Somerset.
I rack my brain, but I can’t think of any awkwardness between us since she has come to terms with me moving in with Alex. There has been no sign she has taken something I said badly.
So why haven’t I heard from her? This silence isn’t like Hannah. I tell myself she’s probably busy, but deep down I’m convinced something is wrong. Maybe the problem isn’t between Hannah and me, but I know, with unwavering certainty, that there is a problem.
From: [email protected]
Sent: Sun, 01 Jan 2017 at 00:06
Subject: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
Dear Katie,
Happy New Year!!! I can’t seem to get through on the phone (perhaps the networks are all saturated), so I’m writing you a quick email until we can talk and I can hear your beautiful voice.
You can’t imagine how thrilled I am that you’re coming to live with me here in Grasmere.
Just think, we’ll be together very soon. What a start to the New Year!
And this time next year when I wish you a happy new year, we’ll be face to face. There will be three of us by then, not just you and me.
I understand that you need a while to finalise things with Kevin and put the house on the market. I know you need to sort out your work commitments, too. It sounds like your head of department is being very sympathetic. I’m so glad you can take your annual leave just before the start of your maternity leave. That means you’ll be here by the end of March at the latest.
Given that you had a bit of a scare and ended up at the hospital last week, do you think you might be able to finish up at the university even earlier? Perhaps you could get a fit/sick note from your doctor? I’ve been very worried about you. Did the gynaecologist say why you had lost some blood? The main thing is that you and the baby are fine, but I don’t want you to overdo things. The sooner you’re up here with me, the better. I’ll take care of you.
I’ll leave