Obsession: A shocking psychological thriller where love affairs turn deadly Page 4

  By Jenni’s standards, Carly is wearing too much make-up, but I like it. It suits her. She is bright.

  Carly Burton bright. Stage bright, with her red shoes, red lipstick and lemon-bleached fifties hairstyle. She smiles, a Hollywood smile so wide she might swallow me. I step back a little and look down at her well-toned legs, her pointed knees. The sort of knees they use on Jimmy Choo photoshoots. And then I blush. I look up, away from her pussy pelmet skirt to find her saucer-like blue eyes watching me.

  ‘Thanks, Carly,’ I say. ‘Thank you so much. I owe you big time. One day I’ll make it up to you. I’ll pay you back.’

  She puts her hand on my shoulder. It burns into me. I smell her breath as she leans towards me. Mint and vanilla. Strong enough to get high on.

  ‘Sooner rather than later, please,’ she says, tracing her index finger across my right cheek.

  I catch her hand in mine.

  ‘What are you playing at, Carly?’ I ask as quietly as possible; I do not want the children to hear this.

  ~ Carly ~

  Rob is away. Jenni is away. The children are all at my house for a blast – as much fun as it is possible for young people to have. I have taken them to Snakes and Ladders again. I hope they don’t get fed up of it. I can’t cope with looking after so many children if I have to do anything more strenuous. I’ve taken them to McDonalds, too. I have let them choose a bag of sweets each at the sweet shop on Church Street, the old-fashioned one with a bow window, black and white floor tiles and rows of jars containing everything from aniseed balls to toffee bon-bons. Now they are wide-eyed with exhaustion, ready for bed, sitting in a row on our sofa watching a weird cartoon, a cross between Pokémon and Frozen. If Jenni knew about the sugar they’ve eaten I know she wouldn’t approve. Her nose would wriggle in that strange way I used to think was cute. I am sick of the bitch-whore’s tricks – wriggling her nose like Samantha in Bewitched.

  I open a bottle of wine while the children watch the end of the cartoon. Just one glass before Craig arrives. It slips down so quickly; I can’t have poured as much as I thought, so I top it up. Melon and blackcurrant. Perhaps a hint of raspberry. As soon as the cartoon is over, I snap off the TV. I stand up and try and look jovial, smiling like one of those inane CBeebies presenters.

  ‘Race time. Upstairs and into bed. The winner gets a surprise tomorrow.’

  And so they hurtle past me, squealing and shoving. I have to intervene as Luke is almost pushed down the stairs. Pippa is the winner. Matt and John whinge. Mark and Luke don’t complain; they have been well trained by Jenni. They clean their teeth and snuggle into bed like a pair of little angels. As soon as I’ve got them all settled, the doorbell rings.

  Craig.

  He is here. Stepping into my hallway, handing me a bottle of Merlot and a bunch of pink carnations. He plants a kiss on each of my cheeks, irradiating me with the scent of his aftershave. I thank him and he follows me into our compact, candlelit kitchen where the table is laid for supper. I retrieve the opened wine from the sitting room, surprised to see that only half of the bottle is left, and pour us two large glasses. He watches me serve up the oysters I nipped off to buy while the children were choosing sweets. I’ve never liked them, they taste of seawater, but Jenni once told me they were Craig’s favourite. So tonight, oysters it is.

  We sit at the table, slurping them from their shells and wiping our plates with ciabatta bread. I wince inside every time I swallow one. We drink too much wine, finishing my bottle, his bottle and opening another one. We look at one another in the candlelight, playing with one another’s eyes. He seems smaller in the candlelight, the shadows softening his bulk.

  ‘How’s Jenni getting on?’ I ask topping up his glass.

  His eyes harden. ‘Her mother’s dying, so how do you think?’

  ‘I can’t think about death, it terrifies me. I have a head in the sand approach to it. Maybe if you’re religious it’s easier.’

  I’m aware that I’m having to concentrate not to slur my words; deliberately clipping my consonants and shortening my vowels.

  ‘Maybe everything’s easier if you’re religious,’ Craig says, leaning forward intensely.

  ‘Jenni and Rob, our God Squad,’ I say and laugh.

  I am sober enough to see his hard eyes piercing towards me.

  ‘God Squad – sounds like an army. It’s not as intense as that.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I slur quickly, ‘I was only joking.’

  Bitch-whore Jenni, when I’ve seduced your husband the joke will be on you.

  ‘Well, it can’t be that bad if you can joke about it.’

  ‘Craig, I never said it was bad. Come on, time for the next course.’

  I stand up and start to clatter runny French cheese and Waitrose sunflower seed biscuits onto the table. We pick at the cheese and finish the wine. We devour lemon tart from the local bakery and open a bottle of Tokai. As I reach for the coffee machine, the room starts swaying gently. Time for coffee and San Pellegrino.

  I balance my way from the kitchen into the sitting room, concentrating hard not to drop the tray loaded with water and coffee. Craig follows me; we slump next to one another on the sofa. I hand him a glass of water and a cup of espresso, aware that my hand is trembling.

  ‘You can stay the night if you want.’

  His face blurs in front of me. Even though I can hardly see them, I try to focus on his eyes and give him my come to bed look. Through the fug of my mind, I hear him say,

  ‘Carly, you must know I can’t do that.’

  ~ Craig ~

  ‘Carly, you must know I can’t do that.’ I say the words, but they cost me.

  My cock is pulsating in my pants, so much so that it hurts. I close my eyes and will it to stop. Since I married Jenni, I have made such an effort to be faithful. Because I love her. I love Jenni so much. I hold her hand in my mind and pull her towards me. She smells of roses and patchouli oil. She is my angel.

  Carly, you must know I can’t do that.

  But the pulsating rage of my cock is increasing. I stand up. Carly stands up too. I am stepping towards eyes of china blue. My arms are pulling her towards me. Plump. Warm. Welcoming. Hungry lips kiss mine. An animal about to devour me, smelling of musk, incense and desire. I can’t contain myself. We fight to remove each other’s clothing; ripping, pulling, a disorganised frenzy. She is stroking my cock, and I feel for her. She is ready for me. Within seconds I am inside her, pumping into her as she falls backwards onto the sofa. I close my eyes as I pump. She moans like a feral animal as I explode inside her.

  ~ Jenni ~

  I’m FaceTiming you, Craig, because I’m missing you. I’m missing your comfortable arms around me. Missing the feel of you. The heat of you. I am not FaceTiming Luke and Mark because seeing me may unsettle them when they seem to be doing so well with you.

  Your smiling face appears in front of me – a ‘beam me up, Scotty’ moment – a miracle too futuristic to be real. But it is real. You are smiling up at me from my iPad as if you were in the room. For a second I think I can smell the hard-edged scent of your favourite aftershave. It’s there for a second and then gone.

  ‘How’s it going?’ you ask, your face crumpling in concern.

  ‘She had a good day today,’ I say, trying to sound bright, trying to smile, wanting to let you know I’m not going to drag you down. That I can cope.

  What I’ve told you is true; she has had a better day. But better is a comparative term. Still she has slept almost incessantly, like a small baby bird, bony and vulnerable, her Egyptian cotton bed sheets her nest. Still she hasn’t eaten, even though I tried to force a gel pack of sugary nutrients between her teeth. Still her chest wheezes like wind in the trees. But today, at least, morphine has contained her pain.

  ‘How are the boys?’ I ask.

  ‘Fine.’ You pause, watching me watching you. ‘Honestly,’ you add as if I might think you were lying.

  ~ Carly ~

  I arrive first. I a
lways arrive first. The receptionist at the Travelodge recognises me as soon as I enter, a red baseball cap covering my short golden hair – for I use the same disguise every week.

  I perform my usual ritual, once I’ve checked into the room. The ritual I have honed over the last few weeks, ever since my first night with Craig. Closing the curtains. Lighting a joss stick. Stripping to my stockings and black lace body. I am wet and throbbing just thinking about him; he is the best lover I have ever had. Sex with Craig has improved sex with Rob. Craig has taught me new tricks and Rob enjoys them, not knowing who to thank.

  Sitting on the bed, legs apart, right hand inside my silken panties, I play with myself idly, just as a warm up, feeling the erect springy bud of my clitoris like a taut piece of guitar wire.

  He’s here. I am pressed against him as soon as he’s inside the room, the door closed safely behind him. His lips find mine, his tongue penetrates my mouth. I remove his jacket. My hands tremble as I unbutton his shirt. We are on the bed now, ripping one another’s clothes off, my large breasts wide and firm, topped by their perfect jutting nipples. The large breasts that I am so proud of. I sit next to him on the bed, laughing with happiness. Moments like this are the best moments of my life. I know how to sit, legs to one side, indenting my waist to show my perfect breasts to advantage. He nuzzles towards them, but I move away. Not today. There are other plans today.

  I pull away from him to admire him. He has pale skin and dark hair; he is beautiful. Lucky Jenni. But at least I can have a piece of him. Rob wants a piece of Jenni. I want a piece of Craig.

  I take him into my mouth and my body is racked with desire. I love his taste, his smell. I play with him at the back of my throat. He pulsates inside my mouth in waves. And now he goes down on me, teasing me. But he doesn’t let me come. Not yet. We scramble apart and together in knots of passion. I am not sure how or where our limbs begin. We are off the bed and I am crouching in front of him on all fours. He is behind me and I am neck-stretched ecstatic at the feel of him inside me, at the touch of his fingers on my breasts and the bud of my greedy clitoris. I put my head back and moan with pleasure. We climax and climax, together. A waterfall that feels as if it will never stop.

  ~ Jenni ~

  My mother is breathing her last. Rapid gasps, as I expected. A birdlike rise and fall of the chest. I open my mouth and shout for Dad. I hold her hand and squeeze it, to let her know I am here. She squeezes back. Dad is here, on the other side of the bed, holding her hand and kissing her forehead. She turns her head and looks at me with cloudless blue eyes, the soft blue of hyacinths. As delicate as a breath of air, this transition from life to death, this gentle stiffness. We sit awhile looking at her. At her cold pallor; she who was always so warm, so full of energy.

  I leave the room, letting my father say his final goodbye to her in private. I pace around the bungalow like a caged animal – three steps across the sitting room, three steps back to the hallway and the small kitchen, trying to ring Craig, but he is not answering the home phone or his mobile. I’ll wait ten minutes or so and try again. I look out of the window and see two children walking past on their way to school, their whole lives ambling in front of them, and I envy them. I return to the bedroom to find my father still sitting holding my mother’s hand; staring blankly in front of him, as he has been doing for so many weeks, as if she has not passed yet. When will reality hit him? How can I look after him? What can I do to make things right for him?

  Nothing will ever be right for him again.

  I collapse into my parents’ Draylon sofa and once again am filled with an overwhelming desire to speak to Craig. The only man I have ever been close to. I felt so embarrassed when he first asked me for my phone number, my cheeks were hot and I knew that I was blushing. Blushing, a habit most people grow out of at school. It is still a bit like that between us. He pays me more attention than I deserve and sometimes I still feel overwhelmed by it. I first set eyes on him when he joined our church choir. I noticed him long before he noticed me; Craig, a man out of my league. I watched him surreptitiously for months before I plucked up the courage to talk to him at tea break.

  Before I married him, I prayed and prayed to the Lord. How do you know when you love someone? For in the eyes of the Lord we should love everyone. And the Lord answered my prayers and blessed my relationship. I asked my mother how you know when love is special. She said you just do. After all, she just loved my father. Always. My father and mother made a loving relationship look simple. Simpler than it is. My mind clenches in pain. I’m thinking of their relationship in the past tense. Please God, that cannot be right. Love has too much energy to cease to exist. Love lasts forever, doesn’t it? Otherwise there would be no God. The words start to muddle in my head.

  I try Craig again. Still no reply. I have no choice but to try and reach him at the fire station. This is an emergency. Surely no one will mind? They confirm what I already knew – that he is not on duty. Maybe he’s taken the children swimming or something. But surely he would have told me if he was doing that? Surely he will be home soon? Please God. Please God may he not have had an accident. The dreaded sound of an ambulance siren pushes through my mind. I tremble inside. I am bursting to speak to him, to know he is all right. To impart my terrible news. I know I will feel a little better when I have spoken to the man I love. I try again. I cannot reach him. No reply from home. His mobile goes straight to voicemail. If I can’t speak to my husband I need to speak to someone else. Tears of frustration build in my eyes. I ring Carly’s mobile. No reply. I ring the surgery and ask for Rob. Apart from Dad and I, Rob is the first to know that my mother has died.

  ~ Craig ~

  Jenni, even when I’m with Carly I think about you. I always think about you. I know I should finish it with Carly, that what I’m doing is wrong. And last night I very nearly managed to. I was going to. I walked to the Travelodge, psyching myself up; practising what I was about to say in my head.

  ‘It’s been fun but I don’t want to hurt my wife.’

  ‘Carly, this isn’t fair on our partners: on Jenni, on Rob.’

  ‘Carly, I promised to be faithful in church. To keep myself only unto her.’

  But as soon as I reached the Travelodge something inside me contorted. The fact I shouldn’t be there turned me on.

  Carly had some MDMA with her – brownish powder in a plastic bag. She showed it to me as soon as I arrived. Then she left it on the side by the kettle.

  ‘Where did you get it?’ I asked, shocked.

  ‘From Bob, behind the disused cinema.’

  ‘How did you know about him?’

  ‘Practically everyone in Stansfield knows about Bob.’

  I was so taken aback that I think I must have been standing with my mouth open. She moved towards me and stroked my face.

  ‘You’re a very naughty girl,’ I said as I started to pull her clothes off; her thin skimpy nurse’s uniform, her lacy bra, her black G-string. ‘In fact I think you’re the worst behaved nurse in the world.’

  ‘I know I am,’ she said, standing in the dingy room in the Travelodge naked, ready for sex.

  Carly always looks ready for sex. It is part of her charm, her allure. ‘And I’ve got some medicine to give you,’ she said as she walked across the bedroom, proud breasts jutting and erect. She shook the powder from the bag into one of the white china coffee mugs, rubbed some on her right forefinger, and walked towards me again. ‘I’ll show you how it’s done.’

  I could feel myself straining against my underpants, against my trousers. I removed them to relieve the pressure and started to peel off my shirt.

  She was in front of me. She was kissing me. Rubbing MDMA on my gums.

  You are a bad girl, Carly. I’m a man who doesn’t take drugs.

  ‘You’re a bad girl, Carly,’ I almost hummed.

  ‘I know I am,’ she whispered as she kissed me.

  I buried my head in her generous breasts. We clamped together, on the floor, on the bed and
my orgasm came slowly. It was tumultuous. Was it the MDMA? Or was it the way she played with me?

  Jenni, I love you but I just can’t help it. Carly is so naughty, and you are so good.

  ~ Rob ~

  I’m sitting in my surgery, at my battered wooden desk, the desk that I have owned since I was a student, inputting the data from my previous patient. I am surrounded by familiarity and thanks. Thanks is one of the things, even after so many years of practice, that I most appreciate about being a doctor. People are grateful for my help. The telephone on my desk starts to buzz, making me jump a little. I pick up. One of the receptionists’ voices comes through.

  ‘Jenni Rossiter on the line. I tried to stall her but she says it’s urgent.’

  ‘You’d better put her through, then.’

  A voice blistered with tears cuts towards me.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I ask, knowing that it isn’t.

  ‘She’s gone. Half an hour ago.’

  Jenni’s mother. My heart sinks. What she has dreaded for so long has finally happened. And now that telling me is over, I hear her tears flow wholeheartedly, no holding back, every sob searing into me as I listen.

  ‘Does Craig know yet?’

  The sobs increase. ‘I can’t get hold of him.’

  ‘Do you want me to try?’

  ‘No. No. I’ve tried everything. I’m sure he’ll ring me back soon.’

  The crying continues. It sounds as if someone is rubbing sandpaper across the mouthpiece of the phone.

  ‘Jenni, do you want me to come over?’

  ‘It’s too far. I’m at their house in Chessingfold.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

  ‘Dad and I were both with her, holding her hands. We’re here at home. She’s upstairs in bed.’ Silence. She blows her nose. ‘Rob, I keep thinking that if I go back into her bedroom she’ll just wake up and smile at me and it’ll all have been a bad dream.’