Dead to Her(22)

Someone at the club? A waitress from the members only—which meant men only given that wives were members by association—games’ nights at the club? Everyone knew William had been quite taken with one girl when Eleanor was dying. What was her name? Michelle, wasn’t it? Yes, Michelle from Michigan, who was there for only a short while and then went back home to study. It hadn’t been a serious thing, an old man cheering himself up, but what if William’s actions had given Jason an itch for something new or a little something on the side that was now getting out of hand? He’d been behaving oddly—closed off—for a while.

But her mind returned to Keisha. Beautiful, strong Keisha. A different kind of beauty from hers, just as her own blond delicate look was different from Jacquie’s brunette sophisticated one. Jason wanted control of the firm, did he think he could have William’s wife too? It was almost too audacious, but Jason was nothing if not ambitious.

Her thoughts whirled around and around until she was sure she’d drive herself into a fever of madness, but instead she exhausted herself into an hour or two of fitful sleep, the past and present colliding in her dreams in which she screamed in frustrated rage at her faithless husband and Keisha and Jacquie and others she thought she’d forgotten, until she woke, breathless and sweating, at first light.

She’d hoped to check his phone when he went to take a shower but her breaking heart sank when he took it with him. Another tick in the guilty box. She wasn’t deterred. She’d had plenty of time to think while he dozed before getting up. Jason didn’t stay so good-looking without any effort. He was a man who groomed. He never spent less than fifteen minutes in the bathroom and fifteen minutes might not be long, but it was better than nothing. As soon as she heard the water start to run, she scrambled out of bed and darted into his study, where his laptop sat on his desk.

The leather seat was cold on her thighs through her thin robe as she quickly flipped open the lid and typed in his password—Atlanta_Braves89—and the home screen came up. She let out her breath, relieved he hadn’t changed it. She moved the mouse to the bottom of the screen to find the iMessage icon. He may have taken his cell to the bathroom but all his messages would still show up here. After a quick glance out to the corridor, she clicked on it. She frowned. Nothing. No messages. How could that be? He was always working in here, often having left his phone tossed on the kitchen island or by the bed. He didn’t need it. He could make calls and answer texts from his laptop.

He’d disabled it. That was the only answer. His phone was no longer connected to his laptop and he’d deleted all his message threads. Why would he do that? Secrets. He was keeping secrets from her. New secrets. Maybe Keisha wasn’t the first woman to text him and he only just thought to remove all traces from the laptop. Cleverer men than Jason had been caught out by messages popping up on iPads and computers.

She’d try WhatsApp. Not that Jason ever used it, but maybe Keisha was that kind of girl. A girl about town with various groups like the awful tennis set at the club or the self-proclaimed YummyMummies who spent their days at the spa and then in the bar after leaving their precious children at County Day.

She searched his applications folder. No WhatsApp. That was gone completely. Her heart thrummed faster. That didn’t mean anything in and of itself. He could have just been cleaning up his computer and decided he didn’t need it, but combined with iMessage being empty? An app she knew for a fact he used? The whole thing stank of guilt and secrets.

Shaken, she sat back and looked at the photo that filled the background of the screen. The two of them a few years ago, her arms wrapped around Jason’s neck, cheeks pressed together, both grinning for the selfie, determined to capture that perfect moment of happiness. She remembered exactly when he’d taken it. Out on a boat. He’d just proposed. Jacquie was finished. Marcie had won. She was still new to all this then—this fascinating life of expensive clothes, nice cars, eating out whenever you felt like it, never looking at the price of things. She was in love—totally and completely—with Jason and everything he could bring to her life. Safety. Security. Respect. Well, despite her recent longing for financial freedom, she didn’t feel very safe or secure anymore and the respect had never been forthcoming. The happy couple in the image, smiling smugly out at her, were like strangers now. What had brought them to this?

She was about to close the lid when she spotted a folder in the corner of the screen. Untitled Folder. That wasn’t like Jason. He was neat and organized. A lawyer. Everything in place and a place for everything. She double-clicked, and it opened. Her stomach lurched in expectation of being presented with awful images of spread-eagled women smiling up at her husband from some awful motel room bed. Just like she used to. Stop it, stop it, stop it, she told herself. This is a path to madness.

Her heart slowed and her face flushed as the dullness of the actual document presented itself. It was only a spreadsheet of some kind. A list of numbers allocated to letters that meant nothing to her. Probably some shorthand for something to do with work. She needed to get a grip.

But still, she thought, as she closed the lid and left his study as she’d found it, heading downstairs to put on the coffee, there was still the phone call.

There was still the lie.





14.

Keisha was wide awake and, for once, in a great mood. It was barely eight thirty and she’d had only four hours of sleep, but the phone call before she’d crept back into bed had put a smile on her face and there was a spring in her step as she grabbed the rose gold MacBook Billy had bought her and headed downstairs. Why shouldn’t she be happy? She just had to be careful, that was all.