Date Night

by Samantha Hayes

Genres: General Fiction; Family Life; Literary Fiction; Small Town & Rural; Noir; Thrillers; Crime Fiction; Medical Thrillers; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

Returning early from a disastrous date night with my husband, I know something is wrong the moment the wheels crunch the gravel drive of our home. Inside, the TV is on and a half-eaten meal waits on the table. My heart stops when I find our little girl is alone in the house and our babysitter, Sasha, is missing…

Days later, when I’m arrested for Sasha’s murder and torn away from my perfect little family, I’ll wish I had told someone about the threatening note I received that morning.

I’ll hate myself for not finding out who the gift hidden inside my husband’s wardrobe was for.

I’ll scream from the rooftops that I’m innocent – but no one will listen.

I will realise I was completely wrong about everything that happened that night…

But will you believe me?

Twisted and absolutely unputdownable, Date Night exposes what goes on behind the closed doors of a happy home and the dangerous truths we ignore to protect the ones we love. Perfect reading for anyone totally gripped by The Wife Between Us, Friend Request or Gone Girl.

Release date: August 20, 2019

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 330

Sample

Prologue

 

I stare at my hands, head hanging down, as I sit in the back of the police car. There’s dried blood under my nails. Little dark crescents. I ball up my fingers, burying them in my lap with my wrists clamped together, glancing back at the cottage as the engine starts. An officer sits beside me.

Did I lock the door? Turn off the lights? Should I have left a note?

Back soon, darling. xx

Perhaps in twenty years.

‘Belt on,’ the officer beside me says, tugging on the strap. I nod, feeling like a naughty child. No, worse than that. Way worse. But how do I convince them that they’re wrong about me?

I cover my face, screwing up my eyes. Then, without thinking, one of my fingers slips inside my mouth – a habit Sean chastises me about – with the other cuffed hand following. Our first Christmas together, he got me a voucher for a manicure at the salon in the expensive spa hotel nearby. A lovely thought, except he didn’t hide his disappointment when I returned with beautifully filed and painted short nails. He’d been expecting – hoping for – acrylic talons. Like Natalie, I couldn’t help thinking.

‘But I can’t work if they’re long,’ I’d told him, kissing him. He didn’t complain after that.

I taste blood. Metallic and raw as the congealed crescent under my nail dissolves on my tongue. First finger, second finger, ring finger… I swallow down the retch, licking my lips, praying there’s no trace on my mouth as the car bumps along the lane away from our cottage, past The Green with its stone memorial already adorned with an early poppy wreath. More blood, I think, as my eyes meet the stares of several locals huddled for a chat, the red a shocking flash behind them as they watch me pass. I recognise their faces, which isn’t unusual in Great Lyne. Everyone knows everyone. The picture-perfect scenery blurs behind them as I stare at their faces – a mouth gaping, a neck craning, eyebrows raised that Libby Randell is being taken away in a police car, its yellow and blue neon markings bright in the half-light of the dreary day. Tongues will be wagging, gossip rife in the local pub, the village store, the primary school playground. An ending after the weeks of suspense.

Did she do it? What happened? Who’d have thought?…

It’s what the village wanted, after all – a conclusion. The weight of not knowing had been pressing down like a looming storm these last few weeks, shrouding day-to-day life.

It was bound to break. Just not in the way anyone expected.

But relief is relief. People just want to get on with their lives, will accept whatever provides closure. And, of course, everyone had their suspicions – me included.

Perhaps she took off somewhere and killed herself – she always seemed unstable… Or the mother could be to blame, or her father (they were having problems, you know), or maybe she’s run away and will turn up homeless in London. She could have had an accident and no one’s found her body yet… Those poor parents. And poor Libby and Sean… Such a nice couple. Such a nice family.

And poor Sasha…

Everyone forgets poor Sasha.

No one knows what happened that night.

We’re out of the village now. The comforting familiarity of its honey-stone cottages, the lanes where I’ve either walked or driven every day for the last seven years, is several miles behind us, replaced by fields and farm buildings and, soon enough, the A44. As I stare at a passing sign, I realise they’re taking me to Oxford.

‘Will I be gone long?’ I ask the officer beside me. Her posture tells me she’s poised, ready for action should I try to escape – her shoulders tensed, her left hand on the seat between us, her fingers splayed. I’ve seen her around these last few weeks, along with all the others – some in uniform, some not. The activity has come and gone in waves, the accompanying gossip trailing in the wake of the police presence. I’m hardly a flight risk, I think, in my mom jeans and one of Sean’s old sweatshirts with stains down the front. I’d shoved my feet into my old gardening Crocs when they cuffed me and took me away – not fleeing-the-police footwear.

But then, I have nothing to flee from, I tell myself. We’ve all had to make statements over the last three weeks. I’ll answer their questions (probably the same ones yet again), clear up any misunderstanding and ask them to let me go. I’ve only made a brief start on tonight’s dinner party and probably won’t be back in time to finish it now. I hang my head as I imagine my clients waiting for me later, their concern turning to disappointment and anger as they realise I’ve let them down.

‘That depends,’ the officer says, reminding me that I asked her a question.

I give a little nod, chewing on the fingers of my left hand now, sucking out the blood – gnawing, biting, cleaning. The officer driving, Detective Inspector Jones, is early-fifties, non-uniform, with a square, set jaw covered in a salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes flick to the rear-view mirror every few seconds – not so much checking the traffic behind, but rather checking me. I try not to meet his stares.

This is me! I want to scream. Just me! I’m a mum, a wife, a daughter-in-law, a best friend. Aged thirty-nine with a four-year-old child, a husband, my own business, a stepson and a cat. I’ve got good friends, I’m well liked, I do Pilates and pay my taxes on time. I keep our cottage nice, drive an average car, and sometimes we take weekend breaks to Polzeath because Sean and Dan – Sean’s fifteen-year-old son, and the only reason he keeps in contact with Natalie, his first wife – like to surf together. My stomach lurches when I think of my husband’s ex. Ever-present in our lives. Her demands affect all of us one way or another.

‘Oh, Alice…’ I whisper, suddenly remembering my daughter. My cuffed hands cover my face as I think where she is.

‘Alice?’ the officer beside me says.

‘My… my little girl,’ I reply, my voice wavering. My thoughts are all over the place. Finally, my head catches up with the panic in my heart. ‘Marion…’ I say, my lungs almost collapsing. Thank God.

‘Marion?’ the officer says again.

‘My mother-in-law,’ I add, knowing that Alice will be fine. Marion will bring her back home later. If she can’t reach Sean or me, she’ll get a little annoyed in that silent way of hers and go back to the farm, secretly pleased that she gets to spend more time with her granddaughter. Despite being tired these last few weeks, her health not the best, Marion will take delight in saving the day. And letting me know about it.

‘Sorry,’ I say, touching my forehead. ‘I’m just a bit… thrown.’ I glance across at the officer again, who stares ahead, a little pucker to her lips. ‘It’s just… it’s just that I’ve never been arrested before.’

Let alone on suspicion of murder.

 

 

Chapter One

‘Come on, come on…’ Libby said, her hand tapping the top of the kettle as she waited for it to boil on the hotplate. Sean passed behind her, his hands sliding across her waist as he reached down some mugs from the cupboard. Libby glanced at her watch.

‘Mummy, can we get a kitten?’ Alice asked, her feet kicking the table leg. ‘And a tortoise?’

‘A tortoise?’ Libby replied with a smile, preoccupied with getting to the market early before all the good produce was gone. The new client was important and she needed to impress.

‘No, Little Bean,’ Sean added. ‘We’ve got a cat already. And cats eat tortoises for breakfast, didn’t you know?’ He tickled her from behind, bending down to kiss her soft curls. ‘Now, why don’t you eat yours?’

‘Because I don’t like porridge. No one at playgroup has to eat it.’

‘Here, have this, then,’ Libby said, just wanting Alice to have something inside her before she went to Marion’s. She slid her own untouched toast towards her and Alice leant forward, licking the jam and making an appreciative noise.

‘What’s the world coming to when a four-year-old turns her nose up at organic oats and honey, eh?’ Sean said, laughing as he dragged a wooden chair out from under the table, its legs scraping on the quarry tiles. He sat down, taking the porridge for himself.

Libby laughed too, leaning against the worktop as she sipped her coffee, watching her little family – a look of disbelief in her eyes that they were actually hers. She was completely in love with them both. But her mind was really still on the lunch for twenty tomorrow. A boardroom feast to impress was the brief. She never usually got nervous, but this was a test run for a regular account. Weekly team meeting lunches, then, if that went well, catering for fifty at their monthly training events. She and Sean were OK for money – just – but she’d spent the best part of three years building up All Things Nice and wanted it to succeed. No, she needed it to succeed, what with the renovations having cost way more than anticipated. Besides, she liked that Sean was proud of her.

‘Seeing as Mummy’s a bit stressed today, Bean, why don’t you paint her a picture at playgroup this afternoon?’

Libby made a noise in her throat, about to say something, but decided against it.

‘I can paint at Nanny’s house this morning,’ Alice said matter-of-factly. ‘She lets me make a mess anywhere I like and I don’t even have to clear it up. And she gives me all the sweets that I want.’ Her voice rose in a satisfied little squeak.

Sean and Libby caught each other’s eyes. Libby was ever grateful to Marion, of course, for helping out – she couldn’t manage without her. But sometimes Alice got away with things she didn’t agree with. Libby knew biting her tongue was a small price to pay in return for free childcare.

‘Are you on call tonight?’ Libby asked. Sean had been doing more evening shifts lately.

‘’Fraid so,’ he said. ‘But I doubt it’ll be busy.’

He’d said that last time but hadn’t got in until after midnight. She decided not to say anything though, quickly loading the dishwasher with a few bits before dashing upstairs to gather Alice’s stuff for the day. When she returned, she sent her daughter off to clean her teeth, straddling Sean’s legs as he sat on the chair. He put his hands on her hips as she leant forward to kiss him.

‘Mmm, the porridge is good today,’ Libby said with a wink, planting her lips on his again. The kiss was deep enough to last the day, yet light enough for each of them to be left wanting more later. ‘Let’s hope it’s a quiet night at the practice, then,’ she said, feeling her body stirring. She fancied him more now than she did when she first set eyes on him six years ago. Both on the mend from failed relationships, they were each other’s balm from that first clichéd look across the crowded bar. Except it wasn’t particularly crowded and not really a bar – rather the half-empty local pub a couple of villages along from here where Libby was meeting some girlfriends. She’d recognised him from the gym at the hotel where she was working at the time.

‘Right, you,’ she said, standing up when Alice returned. ‘Coat and shoes on, and into the car.’ She glanced out of the cottage’s leaded front window to the scene beyond. The village green sparkled with a light frost, the footprints of early-morning walkers tracking across it. ‘Quick, quick now as I’ll need to de-ice the car.’

Alice gave Sean a big hug, virtually climbing on his back as he shrugged into his waxed jacket and tied up his boots. ‘Right, I’m off to work,’ he said, easing Alice off him. ‘I’ll be getting a lift back with Archie later,’ he told Libby. ‘I’m dropping the Land Rover at the garage at lunchtime to get the brakes looked at. It might be in for a couple of days, depending what parts need ordering. I’ll have to use yours if there are evening call-outs.’

‘No problem,’ Libby said.

Sean gave them both another quick kiss, grabbing the lunch Libby had made for him and closing the latched front door behind him in a waft of chilly air.

‘Mummy, I need a wee,’ Alice said, jumping up and down.

‘Hurry up then, sweetie,’ Libby said. ‘I’ll be outside scraping the ice off the car. Don’t forget to wash your hands,’ she called out as Alice trotted off. She pulled on her padded jacket, feeling in the pockets for her gloves. They weren’t there so she went back upstairs to check another coat pocket. Warm clothes hadn’t been necessary so far this autumn, but the last day or two the weather had been coming in from the north. She reckoned they’d have to start parking in the courtyard at the back of the cottage again. It was a squeeze to get both cars in, but at least it was sheltered from the weather and would make getting away in the mornings quicker.

Eventually she found her gloves and headed out to the car, seeing that Sean had already left. She plucked at the last one or two remaining geranium heads in the pots outside the front door, making a mental note to pick up some pansies or cyclamen at the fruit and veg market later.

Libby started the engine of the VW estate, turning up the fan and flicking on the heated rear window. She rummaged in the glove box, feeling around for the ice scraper, giving a quick glance to the open front door of the cottage for Alice. She gave a little smile – the thatched roof of the little porch canopy always reminded her of a neatly trimmed fringe and she and Alice had often joked about how the cottage had a friendly face. Sean hadn’t long bought the place when they got together and they’d done lots to it over the last few years. It was definitely home. Definitely safe. The three of them. Maybe one day there would be four. She’d been dropping hints recently about trying for another.

‘Come on, Bean,’ Libby called out as she took to the windscreen with the scraper, stopping suddenly.

‘Oh,’ she said, noticing a piece of paper tucked beneath the driver’s wiper. It wasn’t a flyer or stuck down in the frost, so she assumed it must have been left some time this morning.

She pulled off her glove, lifting up the blade as the windscreen thawed from the heater. The paper was damp as she opened it – though she was more concerned with why Alice was taking so long inside than whatever had been left on her car.

‘Alice? Chop-chop!’ Libby called through the front door, putting the key in the lock. She opened up the piece of paper, seeing that there were just a few words written in blue biro, bleeding out from the damp.

She stared at it, her mouth opening, her eyes widening, unable to take in what she was reading. Then, when she glanced up at the door, her eyes grew even wider. The writing wasn’t the only thing bleeding.

‘Oh, sweetie,’ Libby exclaimed when she saw Alice’s nosebleed. Her lips and hands were scarlet. ‘How did this happen?’ She bent down, dropping the note to inspect her daughter.

She didn’t know which was more disturbing – what was written on the paper or the sight of Alice’s face.

As she pulled a tissue from her pocket, dabbing at the blood, she closed her eyes for a moment. But all she could see were those five words, etched into the back of her eyelids…

Sean is having an affair…

 

 

Chapter Two

‘Marion, I’m so sorry we’re late,’ Libby said, breathless. She’d had to rush back inside and wash Alice’s face before leaving. And, while she wanted to laugh off the note, it had rattled her to the core. ‘It’s just been one of those mornings,’ she sighed, going inside the farmhouse when Marion beckoned her in.

‘Poor Mummy – eh, Alice?’ Marion said with a virtually imperceptible raising of her eyebrows as she smiled at her granddaughter. She took Alice’s backpack and coat. ‘Don’t worry, you’re at Nanny’s now and…’ She paused, sucking in a breath. ‘Oh my,’ she said, flashing a glance at Libby. ‘What on earth have you been up to, darling?’ Marion bent down, tugging on Alice’s previously clean sweatshirt, rubbing her hand over the brown stain, gently touching the traces of blood left around her neck.

‘Dose beed,’ Alice said, hamming it up for the reaction she knew she’d get as she tipped back her head to expose her nostrils, one of which was packed with cotton wool.

Marion stood up again, a hand touching her stomach as she winced, trying to hide the pain. If Libby ever mentioned her various ailments, asking if she was OK, Marion always brushed them off. ‘Are you supposed to do that?’ she said to Libby. ‘Stuff things up there?’

‘It wouldn’t stop and we were in a hurry,’ Libby replied, not having a clue if it was the right thing to do. All she knew was that it was gushing blood and, after the third plug, it seemed to slow down, not soaking through the cotton wool as fast.

Marion put her hand on Alice’s shoulder, drawing her up against her legs. ‘Well, there’s no hurry now you’re here, is there, sweetie?’ she said. ‘Your poor mum’s always in one, though. Why don’t you come in for a coffee, Libby? You look quite pale.’

‘Thanks, but I—’

‘Nonsense,’ Marion said, turning and heading for the kitchen. ‘I insist. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.’

For a moment Libby thought about protesting, but she knew she was on a hiding to nothing. She could gulp it down, she supposed, and hopefully still catch the traders before the best produce was gone.

‘Sure, thanks, Marion,’ she said, unable to help shivering. She took off her gloves, stuffing them in her pocket, feeling the note that she’d put in there before she’d left home. She sat down at the kitchen table, her finger tracing the pattern on the tablecloth while Marion made the drinks.

‘Does she get them often?’ she asked when Alice was out of earshot.

‘Sorry?’ Libby replied.

‘Nosebleeds.’

‘Oh. No. Hardly ever,’ she said, touching her forehead. The start of a migraine was all she needed. Or maybe she was coming down with something. There was a virus doing the rounds. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Alice said she bumped her nose on the basin when she bent down to pick up the hand towel.’

Marion gave a little nod, clasping her hands around her mug as she sat next to Libby. ‘And Sean, how is he?’ She took a long sip of her drink then pulled her thick cardigan around her, shuddering and briefly clutching at her stomach again, making another pained face. It was chilly in the kitchen, though Libby knew the coal fire would be going in the other room, that Alice would be warm in there. As long as she’d known her, Marion had chosen to live on the edge of discomfort – preferring blankets and a bedspread instead of an easy duvet, turning the heating off at night in winter, darning Fred’s socks until they were more patching than sock, and the prospect of getting a dishwasher was remote.

Though, oddly, Marion had always been quite happy to advise – no, almost insist – that she and Sean decorate and furnish Chestnut Cottage sumptuously. Luxury by proxy, Libby mused, and she hadn’t really minded Marion’s input when they were renovating – what with her being so generous and helping them out financially with the decorating. They’d have been hard pushed to pay for everything otherwise. Marion had said they should look at it as another wedding present, though she’d implied it should stay secret from Fred. But they both knew Sean wasn’t likely to talk to his father about Annie Sloan Chalk Paint, goose-down quilts and the benefits of underfloor heating anytime soon. So the secret was entirely safe.

‘He’s fine, but working as hard as ever. He’s on call again tonight,’ Libby replied, gazing out of the kitchen window. She saw a couple of farmhands shifting some bales on a trailer, likely for a local delivery, the tractor belching out smoke. It was a working farm, and if it wasn’t for Marion’s health, she’d be out there with Fred and the others, grafting until the light went. But as it was, she was happy to take care of Alice, helping her family in other ways. Marion, Libby knew, needed to be needed.

‘He works too hard, I sometimes think,’ Libby added. She took a large sip of coffee, burning her tongue as the sick feeling swept through her again.

Sean is having an affair…

She shook her head and blinked hard, trying to force the note from her mind. But it wasn’t working. The handwriting in neat blue biro was getting more vivid by the minute.

‘Are you worried about him?’ Marion said, sounding concerned as she placed the biscuit tin in front of Libby. Almost as if she’d sniffed it out, despite the cotton wool in her nose, Alice appeared in the kitchen, shoving her hand in the tin. ‘Just a couple, you monkey,’ Marion told her. ‘And go and look under the green sofa. There’s a surprise for you.’

Alice gave a little gasp and trotted off again, each hand clutching a garibaldi.

‘I’m waiting,’ Marion prompted.

‘Oh…’ Libby forced a smile. ‘He’s just been on call a lot lately, that’s all.’ She sipped more coffee. ‘But he’s fine.’

‘I mean I’m waiting for you to tell me what’s wrong wrong.’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ she replied, far too quickly. She bit into a biscuit and swallowed, but her mouth was too dry to make it go down. ‘Seriously, I’m fine. Just a bit stressed about getting to the market before they sell out.’ Libby glanced at her watch but didn’t really take notice of the time. ‘I’ve a big job coming up.’

‘Don’t you burn yourself out too, Libby,’ Marion said in that voice of hers. Somewhere between disapproval and knowing better. ‘Surely you don’t have to leave just yet?’

While Sean was a partner in a thriving vet’s practice – the one he and Archie had set up twelve years ago – they still had to be careful with money, particularly after the financial hit Sean took in his divorce settlement. If they didn’t have Libby’s income each month, they’d have to budget a lot harder, especially with the cottage always needing something doing to it. As it was, they got by comfortably enough, but she certainly couldn’t afford not to put in the hours. Besides, she’d worked hard to build up All Things Nice over the past three years and her reputation in the area was growing, with business really having taken off over the summer. She’d been calling on Sasha to help out more and more these last few months.

And anyway, she enjoyed cooking up a storm and serving it fresh in customers’ houses. The stress-free dinner party, she called it on her website, with her regular clients needing no convincing that it was worth every penny to avoid the hassle of shopping, preparing, cooking and cleaning up – let alone any culinary disasters. Libby did everything – even decorating the table and providing dinnerware if needed – allowing her clients to enjoy their entertaining after a hard week’s work. And there wasn’t a shortage of such customers in the area – busy professionals living in beautiful country homes who, at the end of a long commute from London, were quite content to let Libby take over.

‘Firstly, I do work hard. But secondly, I love it, Marion,’ Libby said, finishing her drink and zipping up her jacket. She pulled her gloves from her pocket and was about to put them on, but the note fell out onto the floor. Libby went to pick it up, but Marion got to it first.

‘Here you go,’ she said, handing it back without looking. ‘Just don’t work yourself to the bone, OK? Sean and Alice need you.’

Sean and Alice need you rang in Libby’s ears as she headed back to her car after saying goodbye to Alice. She waved at Fred across the farmyard as he chugged off in the tractor, the bales on the trailer bouncing behind. He gave a small nod back, as much as she’d ever expect from Fred, and she got in the car, sighing heavily as she started the engine. It would take her at least half an hour to get to the market, longer if she got stuck behind something slow.

Surely not Sean? she thought, driving off up the track, the note still playing on her mind. If her husband’s name hadn’t been written on it, she’d have said it was a case of mistaken identity or kids playing a practical joke.

Sean is having an affair…

No. No, he wasn’t.

She absolutely refused to believe it.

 

 

Chapter Three

The wholesale market was in an open-sided barn, slightly out of town. The small, muddy car park was almost full and Libby waved to several drivers who were leaving as she waited to enter through the gateway, their vans brimming with produce. She recognised them either from local hotels and restaurants, or the plethora of B & Bs that were dotted around. With the popular White House Barns Hotel and Spa at its core, the area attracted a lot of tourists and weekend money from London, not to mention corporate stays and conferences midweek. All good for business, Libby thought.

‘Good for business if only I could get in…’ she muttered, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, relieved when Steffie from the flower shop in the next village finally let her pass through.

She pulled her phone from her bag and stared at the screen, her finger hovering over Sean’s name. She knew he wouldn’t appreciate her bothering him during surgery hours, not unless it was an emergency.

Was it an emergency?

It felt like it – that growing sense of unease bubbling in her gut. She just needed him to tell her not to be so stupid. That the note was a mistake. That everything was fine.

Instead, she dialled a different number, staring out of the window as it connected.

‘Hey, you, what’s up?’ came the breathless voice at the other end. There was clattering and banging in the background.

‘Oh, you know…’ Libby replied. If anyone would understand, it was Fran.

The clattering sound stopped. ‘Okaay,’ she said slowly. ‘You going to tell me what’s up? I’ve got a chest of drawers perched at the top of the stairs and the bloody thing’s about to topple back down if I don’t…’ Fran made a grunting sound. ‘Hang on…’ she said, panting. More noises and another bang, and she came back on the line. ‘What’s going on? You sound… odd.’

‘I am odd,’ Libby said, watching out of the window as people returned to their cars with trolleys of produce. ‘What are you doing later?’ she said, her voice flat.

‘Badgering you to find out what’s up, I imagine?’ Fran replied.

‘Seven o’clock at mine?’

‘Yup. I’ll bring the wine.’

‘Thanks,’ Libby said quietly, before hanging up.

An hour later, one of the market lads wheeled a barrow out to her car, dragging it through the muddy ruts, helping Libby pack the boxes of food into the back of her VW. ‘Thanks, Stu,’ she said, shutting the tailgate. Thankfully, she’d managed to find most of what she wanted, including the meat, which was what she’d most been concerned about. The best butcher only came twice a month to the market and today was one of his days. He’d been able to provide everything on her list, even supplying three dozen quails’ eggs, which were to be part of a new recipe she was trying out. And she’d managed the entire task without thinking once about the note – until she got back in the car again. She sprayed her dirty windscreen with washer fluid before driving off, squinting through the smears into the bright autumn sun.

I could just throw it away, she said to herself, mulling it over on the way home, Radio 4 chattering quietly beneath her thoughts. And not even mention it to Sean. She turned off the main road towards Great Lyne, wondering if she should even bother mentioning it to Fran. Once it was ‘out there’, once people knew about it, it would seem more real. Even though it couldn’t po. . .