The Serial Killer's Wife by Alice Hunter (best romantic novels to read .txt) 📗

eyes me suspiciously. ‘You forgot about your husband telling you he’d killed two women?’ The scepticism drips from her tone.

‘No, I didn’t forget that. I mean the sweatshirt – I put it to the back of my mind. I’ve had to get good at burying things.’ I curse myself for my choice of words, expecting more reprisal from Cooper, but she remains pensive, cradling the box in her arms as though it were a baby.

‘All done?’ Adam pops his head around the corner. He’s kindly keeping an eye on Poppy – I set the girls up with some plates to paint while they wait. Being early on a Saturday, it’s only them – Lucy doesn’t open until nine, so there’s no one to witness Imogen Cooper walking out with further evidence.

‘Yes, I’ll be back with you in a moment,’ I say. He nods and leaves. His interruption has broken whatever trance Cooper was in.

‘He’s been supportive, then?’ she says, jerking her head towards where Adam had been. I don’t answer immediately, and my hesitation probably goes against me.

‘His daughter and Poppy are in nursery together,’ I say by way of explanation. ‘I’ve had to call on him to pick her up a few times while I’ve been at the station or visiting Tom.’

‘Yes, of course. Good that you have someone to lean on. Does he know?’

I’m wary of the question – what she’s implying. ‘I mentioned to him that I knew something I hadn’t yet informed the police of, yes, and I confided in him about how frightened I was of the repercussions. He was the one who encouraged me to talk to you. He said it was perfectly understandable that I’d held back given I was living with a manipulating, controlling man, but now was the time to break free.’

‘Good. That’s good,’ she says, moving towards the door. She seems perplexed, but she doesn’t say anything else.

Back in the café, I slide into the seat next to Poppy and start to talk to her about the plate she’s painting. There’s a large splodge of yellow in the middle, which she informs me is a sunflower. I give a sideways glance as Cooper walks past us to head out.

‘Thank you for this, Beth. We’ll be in touch,’ she says as she turns and closes the door.

‘Well done. That can’t have been easy. You’ve done the right thing, you know, Beth. I’m proud of you.’ Adam reaches his hand across the table, laying it on mine. Poppy pouts and glares at me. I pull my hand away, smiling at her.

It’s as if she knows I’ve just betrayed her daddy.

We’ve betrayed each other now – so I guess that makes us equal.

Chapter 70

BETH

Now

It’s hard not to let the images flood my mind. All those things I’ve imagined, ever since Tom confessed to ending two women’s lives. After I found Katie’s email account and he broke down and told me about her, things began to unwind. He unwound. The subsequent confession about Phoebe, although it came as a shock, felt almost inevitable. I think I’d been expecting it.

‘Are there more, Tom?’ I’d asked, hoping against hope he would say no. I was so relieved when he said he’d told me everything. That there were no more secrets.

I’d been stupid enough to believe him.

The sound of breaking glass and muted thuds on the carpet releases some of my pain: a silver-framed photo of me and Tom lands face down, and a glass jewellery box lies in bits at my feet where I’ve swept them off the dressing table with my arm. A book and a ceramic lamp crash on top. The damaged pile lies there, silently accusing me.

Our first year in Lower Tew set me up for what I imagined was going to be the happiest life. Even when he tried to ruin it with his bloody confessions, I continued to hold us together, to keep the dream alive. I wanted to succeed here; I wanted the happy, village lifestyle I’d craved since being a child.

Tom has destroyed my dream. Destroyed my dreams for Poppy.

I have to make up for his failures.

And I will. I’m determined to make sure she and I have the life I’d envisaged for us; that I’ve worked every hour for.

Even if it means being without Tom.

My husband.

Poppy’s daddy.

A murderer.

Adam is a good man. A good choice. Loving, stable, secure.

Not a murderer.

I flop down on the bed, listening intently, wondering if the noise from my outburst has stirred Poppy. It doesn’t seem to have. I slide my phone off the bedside table and check my messages.

How are you doing? If you need me, call. A xx

My pulse skips as I dial.

‘Thanks for your message,’ I say. ‘I’m taking you up on your offer.’

‘Good, I’m glad.’ Then, unexpectedly, and quietly, he adds, ‘I’ve been missing you.’

‘Really?’ I sit up, my mood lifting immediately. ‘You only saw me yesterday.’ I almost say that I thought that would be enough, given the circumstances, but I don’t want to put that idea into his mind. He was so supportive yesterday at the café, when I gave Imogen Cooper what I hope is hard evidence, so I’m assuming that means he doesn’t hold my failure to act on my knowledge sooner against me.

‘Yeah, I know. Look, I know things aren’t exactly … usual – for want of a better word – but I want to be here for you. I’d actually quite like to see more of you …’

I inhale sharply.

‘Beth? I’m sorry, if this is too soon – if you think I’m being inappropriate—’

‘It’s not,’ I say, tears stinging my eyes. ‘Inappropriate, I mean.’

‘That’s a relief. Spending the last two weeks with you has been the best I’ve felt for a really long time.’

‘Since Camilla, you mean?’ Of course that’s what he means, but for some reason I ask the question.

‘Yes. Since Camilla. A dark cloud has hung over me every day since she died. I’ve allowed unanswered questions to eat away