Envy Read online

  ENVY

  Amanda Robson

  Copyright

  Published by Avon an imprint of

  HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street,

  London, SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

  Copyright © Amanda Robson 2019

  Cover design © Claire Ward 2019

  Amanda Robson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008291877

  Ebook Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008328740

  Version: 2019-03-13

  Praise for Amanda Robson

  ‘I absolutely loved it and raced through it. Thrilling, unputdownable, a fabulous rollercoaster of a read – I was obsessed by this book.’

  B.A. Paris, bestselling author of Behind Closed Doors and Bring Me Back

  ‘Obsession is a welcome addition to the domestic noir bookshelf. Robson explores marriage, jealousy and lust with brutal clarity, making for a taut thriller full of page-turning suspense.’

  Emma Flint, author of Little Deaths

  ‘What a page turner! Desperately flawed characters. Bad behaviour. Drugs. Sex. Murder. It’s all in there, on every page, pulling you to the next chapter until you find out where it will all end. I was compelled not only to see what every one of them would do, but also how they would describe their actions – they are brutally honest and stripped bare. This is one highly addictive novel!’

  Wendy Walker, author of All Is Not Forgotten

  ‘A compelling page-turner on the dark underbelly of marriage, friendship & lust. (If you’re considering an affair, you might want a rethink.)’

  Fiona Cummins, author of Rattle

  ‘Very pacy and twisted – a seemingly harmless conversation between husband and wife spins out into a twisted web of lies and deceit with devastating consequences.’

  Colette McBeth, author of The Life I Left Behind

  ‘Amanda Robson has some devastating turns of phrase up her sleeve and she expertly injects menace into the domestic. It was clear from the very first chapter that this was going to be a dark and disturbing journey.’

  Holly Seddon, author of Try Not To Breathe

  ‘A compelling psychosexual thriller, with some very dark undertones. Thoroughly intriguing. Amanda Robson is a new name to look out for in dark and disturbing fiction. High quality domestic noir.’

  Paul Finch, Sunday Times bestselling author of Strangers

  ‘Compelling and thoroughly addictive’

  Katerina Diamond, Sunday Times bestselling author of The Teacher

  ‘A real page-turner – deliciously dark, toxic and compelling.’

  Sam Carrington, author of Saving Sophie

  ‘I absolutely tore through Obsession – compulsive reading with characters you will love to hate and an ending that will make your jaw drop.’

  Jenny Blackhurst, bestselling author of Before I Let You In and The Foster Child

  ‘Mind games, madness and nookie in a tale that will give you pause for thought. 4 stars.’

  Sunday Sport

  ‘A dark tale of affairs gone wrong.’

  The Sun

  ‘One of the sexiest, most compelling debuts I’ve come across this year, it cries out to become a TV drama. But I recommend you read it first.’

  Daily Mail

  ‘Gripping, tragic, and sometimes insane, Guilt is an intense exploration of love, sibling relationships, obsession, drug abuse, secrets, and rape.’

  Seattle Book Review

  ‘Fast moving. Compulsive reading.’

  Jane Corry, author of The Dead Ex

  ‘An addictive, compelling read, full of tension.’

  Karen Hamilton, author of The Perfect Girlfriend

  ‘Absolutely powered through Guilt. Totally addictive and unputdownable.’

  Roz Watkins, author of The Devil’s Dice

  ‘I read Guilt over one weekend, completely enthralled. This twisty and complex tale of twin sisters and the dangerous, damaged man who comes between them kept me guessing.’

  Emma Curtis, author of When I Find You

  ‘Robson’s writing is sharp and emotive; the plot so tense and engaging. A fantastic read.’

  Elisabeth Carpenter, author of 99 Red Balloons

  ‘Packed with shocking twists, Guilt is a gritty, page-turning read that is not to be missed.’

  Petrina Banfield, author of Letters from Alice

  Dedication

  To my family.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Amanda Robson

  Dedication

  1. Erica

  2. Faye

  3. Erica

  4. Faye

  5. Erica

  6. Faye

  7. Erica

  8. Faye

  9. Erica

  10. Faye

  11. Jonah

  12. Faye

  13. Erica

  14. Phillip

  15. Jonah

  16. Faye

  17. Jonah

  18. Faye

  19. Phillip

  20. Erica

  21. Jonah

  22. Faye

  23. Erica

  24. Faye

  25. Erica

  26. Jonah

  27. Phillip

  28. Faye

  29. Faye

  30. Erica

  31. Jonah

  32. Erica

  33. Jonah

  34. Erica

  35. Faye

  36. Erica

  37. Jonah

  38. Erica

  39. Faye

  40. Phillip

  41. Erica

  42. Phillip

  43. Jonah

  44. Faye

  45. Erica

  46. Phillip

  47. Erica

  48. Jonah

  49. Erica

  50. Faye

  51. Erica

  52. Phillip

  53. Faye

  54. Jonah

  55. Faye

  56. Jonah

  57. Faye

  58. Phillip

  59. Phillip

  60. Jonah

  61. Faye

  62. Faye

  63. Erica

  64. Faye

  65. Jonah

  66. Faye

  67. Jonah

  68. Erica

  69. Jonah

  70. Faye

  71. Phillip

  72. Faye

  73. Phillip

  74. Jonah

  75. Phillip

  76. Faye

  77. Erica

  78. Phillip

  79. Faye

  80. Jonah

  81. Faye

  82. Erica

  83. Phillip

  84. Erica

  85. Jonah

  86. Phillip

  87. Erica


  88. Faye

  89. Erica

  90. Faye

  91. Erica

  92. Jonah

  93. Phillip

  94. Faye

  95. Jonah

  96. Phillip

  97. Faye

  98. Phillip

  99. Erica

  100. Phillip

  101. Faye

  102. Erica

  103. Phillip

  104. Erica

  105. Faye

  106. Faye

  107. Erica

  108. Faye

  109. Erica

  110. Erica

  111. Jonah

  112. Erica

  113. Phillip

  114. Erica

  115. Jonah

  116. Faye

  117. Erica

  118. Faye

  119. Phillip

  120. Faye

  121. Phillip

  122. Erica

  123. Phillip

  124. Erica

  125. Phillip

  126. Faye

  127. Erica

  128. Jonah

  129. Faye

  130. Erica

  131. Phillip

  132. Erica

  133. Faye

  134. Jonah

  135. Phillip

  136. Jonah

  137. Phillip

  138. Jonah

  139. Erica

  140. Faye

  141. Erica

  142. Faye

  143. Phillip

  144. Jonah

  145. Phillip

  146. Jonah

  147. Phillip

  148. Faye

  149. Erica

  150. Faye

  151. Erica

  152. Jonah

  153. Erica

  154. Faye

  155. Phillip

  156. Erica

  157. Faye

  158. Phillip

  159. Faye

  160. Jonah

  161. Faye

  162. Erica

  163. Faye

  164. Jonah

  165. Phillip

  166. Phillip

  167. Faye

  168. Jonah

  169. Faye

  170. Erica

  171. Phillip

  172. Jonah

  173. Erica

  174. Jonah

  175. Erica

  176. Jonah

  177. Faye

  178. Erica

  179. Faye

  180. Erica

  181. Faye

  182. Erica

  183. Jonah

  184. Erica

  185. Faye

  186. Faye

  187. Phillip

  188. Faye

  189. Erica

  190. Faye

  191. Phillip

  192. Faye

  193. Phillip

  194. Erica

  195. Faye

  196. Erica

  197. Faye

  198. Phillip

  199. Erica

  200. Phillip

  201. Faye

  202. Erica

  203. Erica

  204. Faye

  205. Phillip

  206. Faye

  207. Faye

  208. Erica

  209. Phillip

  210. Faye

  211. Erica

  212. Faye

  213. Phillip

  214. Erica

  215. Faye

  216. Erica

  217. Phillip

  218. Faye

  219. Faye

  220. Phillip

  221. Faye

  222. Erica

  223. Faye

  224. Erica

  225. Faye

  226. Phillip

  227. Faye

  228. Phillip

  229. Faye

  230. Phillip

  231. Faye

  232. Phillip

  233. Faye

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  About the Publisher

  1

  Erica

  I watch you every day, walking past my flat on the way to the school drop-off, holding your older daughter’s hand, pushing the younger one along in the buggy. Sometimes strolling and chatting. Sometimes rushing. Usually wearing your gym kit. Judging by your body shape, your commitment to exercise is worth it. I wish I had a figure like yours.

  Your older daughter has gappy teeth and straggly hair. Nowhere near as pretty as you. Your husband must have diluted the gene pool. The younger one, the toddler, is always asleep in the buggy. She looks to have stronger hair, and a chubbier face. I would have loved to have children, but I’ve never been in the right relationship.

  I envy you, and have from the first moment I saw you scurry past. A moment I recall so well. I was bored. I had nothing to do but look out of my front window, and watch the world go by. Three p.m. Parents rushing to the primary school at pickup time. Parents, nannies, and then you. The woman I would look like if I could, moving past me. The image of my mother from my only remaining photograph. So similar you made me hold my breath.

  A few days ago, when you dropped your gym card, I finally found out that your name is Faye Baker. You didn’t notice it fall from the back pocket of your jeans as you tightened your laces, did you? As you turned in to the school gates I left my flat, and crossed the road to pick it up. Later that day I handed it in to the school reception. Were you grateful, Faye?

  2

  Faye

  We move towards the school gates through air intertwined with drizzle. The drizzle tightens and turns to icy drops of rain, which spit into my face and make me wince a little. I squeeze my elder daughter Tamsin’s hand more tightly.

  ‘Let’s hurry up, otherwise we’ll be drenched,’ I tell her.

  Together, we push the buggy and run laughing into the school playground. Breathless now, Tamsin and I hug and part. My five-year-old disappears into the classroom. Into its light and warmth. Its quirky smell of woodchip and Play-Doh.

  Free for a while from the responsibility of looking after her, my body lightens. But the rain is thickening. I fasten the rain hood more tightly across the buggy and navigate our way back across the playground, sighing inside, dodging puddles. Later on I’ll have to do my hair again. I always have to do my hair again when it rains.

  As I walk along the side of Twickenham Green, past the bistro restaurant that used to be the public toilets, towards the gym – trainers squelching across dark grey paving stones, the rain begins to fall in sheets. Through the town centre, rain intensifying. I arrive at the Anytime Leisure Club looking as if I’ve been for a swim, and use my card to check through reception. Some kind soul handed it in to the school office when I dropped it last week. Georgia is still fast asleep in her buggy as I deposit her in the crèche.

  At last, still rather damp, I make it into class. Legs, bums and tums today. Anastasia, our instructor, stands beaming at the front. She is about ten years older than me. Her healthy glow contains a whiff of Botox and facial fillers. An attractive hint of plasticity that so many people have these days. I’ll have to start before too long, when my husband Phillip gets his next major pay rise. The sooner you start the greater the effects. I’ve read about it on the internet.

  Anastasia begins. We copy. Stretching out on our floor mats, progressing through our usual early positions. Back stretch first, then gentle stomach crunches. My body is my asset. I was academic at school. I have good GCSEs. Good A levels. But lots of people have good A levels, and not many people have a body like mine. My face and body are what differentiate me. I need to work hard to maintain them. My exercise class is my everyday routine; essential for my career.

  ‘Lift your right elbow to your left knee,’ Anastasia instructs in her bell-like voice.

  My mind starts to drift back to the evening I became Miss Surrey. Eighteen years old, standing on stage decked in a ribbon and a crown, listening to the clapping
of the audience. So beautiful. So special. Nothing else mattered but the moment. My stomach tightens in pain. That moment didn’t last. I never became Miss England. The higher echelons of beauty pageants were denied to me.

  ‘Lie back and stretch. Arms above your head,’ Anastasia bellows from the front.

  But age has brought a maturity to my beauty that has improved my looks. And several modelling jobs: M&S Foods, Accessorize, and the Littlewoods magazine. Not much to shout about, but give me time.

  ‘Lower the right arm. Keep the left arm raised. Back flat against the floor. Flat as you can. Don’t forget to breathe.’

  I’ll get my break, one day. Slowly, slowly, I breathe in. Slowly, slowly, I exhale. Until that day I must look after my body, and never give up.

  3

  Erica

  I watch you walk past, faster than usual because of the sudden heavy rain, which has really caught you out. You are not even wearing a raincoat. Your normally bouffant hair is wet and flat. Why don’t you wear a hat, just in case? Are you too cool for that, Faye?

  After you have gone, the cold of my flat begins to sink into my bones and I find myself shivering. I have been living here for two years, surrounded by fingers of mould, which creep up the tile grouting and form a black mist on the walls. The central heating doesn’t work. I have tried contacting the landlord, but he never replies. Sometimes I use a fan heater, but it doesn’t really help. It just circulates overheated air making me feel so claustrophobic that after about twenty minutes I turn it off. So most of the time in winter I walk around my flat wrapped in a scratchy old blanket. Mouse says I look like a tramp in it, so I try not to wear it when he is around. Not that he comes here very often. His flat is so much more comfortable than mine; I usually visit him there.

  I sit, feeling empty inside. Coping with each day has, for many years, been a struggle. A plethora of temporary jobs. No focus. But it’s become easier in the last six months. Since I started to follow you. Since I started spending time with Mouse. It’s raining today, so I cannot follow you. When it rains I need to check on Mouse.

  Mouse lives in the flat directly above mine. I pad up the communal staircase.

  ‘It’s Erica,’ I shout through his letter box.

  Slowly, slowly, the door opens. I step straight into his living room. He stands in front of me, agitated.

  ‘Wotcha.’

  ‘Wotcha, Erica,’ he replies.

  I high-five him. He high-fives me back. A ritual between us, the result of watching too many American films together. I cast my eye around his flat and feel a tremor of envy. His father bought it for him, and helped him decorate it. It has central heating that works, and is beautifully appointed. IKEA furniture. Copious kitchen equipment. But then Mouse is vulnerable and he really needs his father’s help. I must not resent the good fortune of a friend.