The Marriage

by K.L. Slater

Genres: Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

Ten years ago he killed my son. Today I married him. Ten years ago my darling son Jesse was murdered and our perfect family was destroyed. My strong, handsome boy, so full of life, became a memory, a photo I carried with me everywhere. But today I’m finally close to finding happiness again. My ash-blonde hair has been curled into ringlets. Carefully placed white flowers frame my delicate features. The small, drab chapel has been prettied up with white satin, and there are tiny red hearts scattered on the small table where I will soon sign the register with my new husband. The man who killed my son. My friends and family can’t understand it. My neighbours whisper in the street whenever I walk past. How can I love a man like Tom? They don’t really know me at all… The most unputdownable psychological thriller you’ll read this year from the bestselling author K.L. Slater. If you love The Wife Between Us or Gone Girl, you’ll be totally hooked on The Marriage. What everyone’s saying about The Marriage : ‘ Pulled me in from the very start and did not let go until the final page. Admittedly, I would read a shopping list if it was penned by K.L. Slater, and this latest book exceeded even my highest expectations. Brilliant.’ Goodreads reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ WOWSER!!!... I was on the edge of my seat and couldn't put the book down!... would highly recommend it to anyone who loves thrillers.’ Booky Bethy, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Wow, wow, wow… Absolutely gripping and I read it in one sitting. Massive 5 stars and highly recommended.’ The Book Club, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ I stayed up almost all night reading this book - an absolute page turner… I will definitely be reading more by this author.’ The Written Blurred, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘This was a wonderfully written book and drew me in from the first chapter… I couldn’t put it down and read it in two sittings staying up long into the night as I simply had to know how this would play out… Just when you think you’ve discovered an outstanding twist… BOOM… Another flies at you from a different angle! ’ Goodreads reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘I love it when a book keeps me guessing until the end, and this is one of those books!... The ending left me in shock!’ BookReviewsandFun, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ This was an absolute whirlwind of a psychological thriller! I loved it from beginning to end.’ Books Candles Cats, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ I read this book in a couple of hours on a rainy morning. It’s absolutely a heart pounding intense thriller. The main character was transfixing. I loved it.’ NetGalley reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ WOW what a story, read and experience The Marriage is… a full-on readers dream, everything you want is here and the unexpected just keeps on happening… 10/10 ’ Book Mark, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘I kept wanting to know what happened next so I literally read the book in a few hours! I would definitely recommend! Goodreads reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘The Thriller of the Year! K.L. Slater has written a rollercoaster, cold, cunning, calculating, and downright brilliant piece with characters that hop off the page and keep you on your toes… This is one you don't want to pass up. Trust me!’ The Secret Book Sleuth, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Another brilliant book by K. L. Slater… I also loved the shocking ending! Can't wait for K. L. Slater's next book!’ Goodreads reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ Outstanding. It sucked me in from the first page and I had a hard time putting it down. The ending had a twist that I definitely didn't see coming. This is a must read for thriller fans, I highly recommend it!’ Goodreads reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Release date: May 20, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

To the local residents, retired primary school teacher Mavis Threadgold was a familiar sight walking the streets of Mansfield, a large market town that lay in the Maun Valley, twelve miles north of the city of Nottingham.

Dressed in her honey-coloured mac, tartan scarf and sensible laced walking shoes, she pounded the pavements like clockwork, three times a day, always accompanied by her trusty two-year-old black-and-tan dachshund, Harry. Whatever the weather, the intrepid pair could usually be spotted on one of their favoured routes in and around the town. Not so different to many other dog walkers in the area, apart from the fact that one of Harry’s regular daily outings took place at 2 a.m.

It was this walk they were on right now. Mavis stood patiently as Harry sniffed around the base of a lamp post. She often reminisced about her teaching days as she walked. Indeed, this was her favourite time to do so, the streets being so quiet.

Their eye-wateringly early walk had started the year Mavis retired, when she had lost her class of thirty eager, fresh-faced pupils. She’d had a pacemaker fitted for her worsening atrial fibrillation, and with it had gained the most wretched case of insomnia. Every night, after sleeping soundly for three or four hours, her eyes would spring open for no apparent reason. But it wasn’t just the heart condition that kept her awake.

Retiring early had scuppered Mavis’s plans to live mortgage-free when her annual salary ceased. She’d bought her house late in life and her mortgage was due to be paid off on her sixtieth birthday. Sure, she had a pension, but having never married, and with only one salary to live on, she’d skimped on her contributions over the years and her income wasn’t nearly as robust as it might have been. In the end, she was forced to extend the mortgage for another five years to reduce her payments.

Walking was the solution to her insomnia. It was one activity she hadn’t had to cut down on to stay within her budget, and even better, following a brisk twenty-five-minute stroll – invariably between the hours of two and three in the morning – she’d take a cuppa back to bed before settling down again for another few hours’ shut-eye.

Mavis marvelled how every morning the streets were the same: calm, deserted and completely uneventful. Until now. About to cock his leg against yet another lamp post, Harry froze as an explosion of booming music came out of nowhere about fifty feet away from them, in the middle of the almost silent street.

The rear fire doors of Movers, the only nightclub left in town, were suddenly flung open and two flailing bodies ejected onto the pavement before a muscular doorman slammed the exit closed again.

Mavis bent down to scoop up a startled Harry into her arms and stepped back into the shadows, out of sight of what she assumed would be local thugs intent on causing trouble. But when her eyes adjusted, she realised she actually knew the two boys who were currently dusting off their clothes.

It was none other than Thomas Billinghurst and Jesse Wilson.

She’d taught Tom and Jesse twice, first in her Year 4 class and later, when they were both aged eleven in their final year before they went on to Mansfield Academy.

The boys had been as close as brothers, inseparable from nursery, and yet very different personalities. Mavis didn’t mind admitting they had been two of her favourites, largely because of what she affectionately called their double act. Tom would step in as a calming influence when one of Jesse’s hyper moments struck, and Jesse happily coaxed Tom to join in activities when his nature was to shrink back. They naturally complemented each other without thinking about it, and both were all the stronger for it.

She did a quick calculation in her head. They’d both be eighteen years old now. That made her feel ancient, although she was only sixty-five.

As they’d grown older, Jesse remained the wild one and the frequent subject of gossip in the town. Often in trouble, and when he wasn’t, it would never be very long until trouble found him. Poor Bridget certainly had her hands full with that one, Mavis reflected, especially given that she was a single mother.

Tom, on the other hand, had grown into a bright, sporty type. He came from a good family. Back in his schooldays, Jill and Robert Billinghurst were always first in line at the school’s annual parents’ evening. Over the years, Tom had developed into the sort of boy who excelled at whatever he turned his attention to. That was currently boxing, if Mavis remembered correctly. There had been a small report of a recent win in the local newspaper a few weeks earlier.

She was about to step forward to say hello to the boys when the two of them, clearly the worse for wear, suddenly squared up to each other. Mavis was accustomed to dealing with this kind of thing in the school playground. It was surprising how much grown men had in common with warring five-year-olds. But here in this quiet, dim street with just the faintest glow of orange sodium light, there was no trace of the two mischievous but likeable boys she’d once known so well, and an icy prickle crept around the back of her neck.

She opened her mouth, anxious to intervene before things got really nasty, but she hesitated as voices were raised, the harsh tones amplified. Then the pushing and shoving started. The look in their eyes, and such terrible accusations flying around. Things Mavis wished she wasn’t around to hear.

But she couldn’t just stand by. This had to stop right now.

As she moved out of the shadows, the altercation escalated. Their movements quickened, raw fury burning in their eyes and vicious words still spilling from between bared teeth.

Mavis gasped at a flash of something sharp and metallic. Holding a shivering Harry close, she tucked herself behind a large green recycling bin at the back of the greengrocer’s, watching with dread from amid the stench of rotten vegetables. What she saw and heard next caused the breath to catch in her throat. Her grip tightened around Harry’s soft, warm girth as she backed away into the safety of the shadows behind, her soft-soled shoes scattering loose gravel underfoot.

The boys turned for a split second, as if they’d seen or heard her, but the interruption was forgotten as one lurched towards the other.

Mavis scurried through a concealed alleyway that served as a shortcut to the back of a short row of shops, before emerging on the next street, where she put the dachshund down again and caught her breath. She fished in her pocket for her pay-as-you-go mobile phone and rang for an ambulance, covering the mouthpiece with her hand to muffle her voice.

‘There’s some kind of incident at the rear entrance of Movers nightclub in Mansfield,’ she said breathlessly. ‘It looks pretty nasty. There are two men fighting and I think someone might be about to get hurt.’

She ended the call amid a flurry of questions from the emergency operator.

When she reached the top of the hill, she stopped, tipped her head and listened, her heart quickening as the urgent drone of emergency sirens fractured the silence of the usually peaceful early hours. She turned and looked back down the hill over the town and saw several vehicles with blue flashing lights turn into the high street below.

Her heart squeezed, and for a moment she considered turning around and going back to see if everything was all right. She wondered if she’d imagined the flash of metal – her eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. Her hearing was temperamental too, and their words had seemed slurred; perhaps she’d misheard the terrible things they’d said, the awful accusations. Just the thought of dealing with the police, enduring the curiosity of the locals and, as a worst-case scenario, ending up as a witness in court … well, she couldn’t cope with that. Not after her heart operation. The doctor had told her she must avoid stress at all costs.

Harry pulled on his lead, eager to get home out of the chilly November air.

‘Perhaps there’s been a traffic accident, Harry,’ she wondered aloud, as if acting a part. It was good practice, because that was what she intended telling the police if they came knocking at her door. That she didn’t see what had happened because she’d almost been back home when she’d heard the sirens.

Sometimes the truth was hard to bear but even harder to speak, and although as a God-fearing woman she struggled with this approach, Mavis had always recognised the value of keeping silent and letting other people resolve their own troubles.

She knew both boys, she knew their families. Getting in the middle of those two sides – both of which contained rather volatile personalities, if she remembered correctly –wouldn’t end well.

Mavis had spent thirty years helping the young charges in her care to recognise the difference between right and wrong. She was a big believer in doing the right thing when one was able, but sometimes the truth was so shocking it was kinder and wiser to say nothing at all.

Hopefully it would prove to be only a scuffle, an alcohol-induced disagreement between two friends.

In Mavis’s experience, these nasty little incidents usually blew over in no time at all.

The prison staff had done a good job, Tom thought. They had made a sterling effort.

The officers had prettied up the small, drab inmates’ chapel with a swathe of white satin draped artfully around the door. Small vases of freesias and pink roses adorned the windowsills and scattered red hearts brightened the small table where he and his new bride would soon sign the register.

Tom had surprised the prison governor when he’d applied for the marriage licence. ‘There hasn’t been a wedding here for over ten years,’ he’d told him. ‘But if that’s what you want, it is your right and we’ll do our best for you.’

He’d proposed to Bridget six months earlier. Put in a special request for a private visit. As he was almost at release date, he was granted use of the small visiting room for one hour. It was a space usually reserved for sensitive visits from family – to notify a prisoner of a death or news of a birth, that kind of thing.

Painted in an awful glossy green, artificial plants dotted the corners. A low coffee table with peeling veneer sat in the middle of a few scratched chairs. But there was a window overlooking the fields at the rear of the prison. While he waited for Bridget, he’d stood staring out at the grass, the sky, a scattering of gulls that swept through the expanse of grey cotton clouds as if to remind him of the size of the world out there. A world he’d soon be part of again.

‘Why a private room?’ had been Bridget’s first words when the officer escorted her in. Her beautiful face looked taut and concerned. ‘Tom? Is everything OK?’

‘Everything is perfect.’ He’d smiled, and they’d taken their seats.

‘I’ll be just outside the door,’ the officer, Barry, said meaningfully. It was against the rules for him to leave Tom and his visitor unattended, but he had been around for Tom’s entire sentence and he knew the reason for the visit. He left the door slightly ajar.

Bridget looked back over her shoulder, concerned. ‘You’re scaring me now, Tom,’ she whispered. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong, Brid. I’ve asked you here because …’ He stood up and moved to her side, falling to one knee. ‘I want to ask you: will you marry me?’

A small sound escaped her mouth and her hand flew up to cover the bottom half of her face as her eyes glistened. ‘Oh Tom … yes! The answer is yes, of course I’ll marry you!’

They both stood and he embraced her, for the first time in the two years she’d been visiting. He buried his face in her clean, shining hair, inhaled the shampoo smell of almonds and vanilla. She pressed against him and his entire body responded, seeming to fill with raging desire as he held her closer, feeling her warm, firm thighs against his.

The door creaked open slightly and Barry craned his head around, raising his eyebrows to show it was time to sit down. Tom took a step back and let out a breath. God, he wanted her so badly. It had been so, so long.

‘I secretly hoped you might ask,’ Bridget said, dabbing at her eyes. ‘But I thought it would be after your release. I never expected this!’

‘I … I had to ask you now. I’m sorry there’s no engagement ring yet but I’ll put that right as soon as I can,’ Tom said, his body still tense and hot. ‘I think the last six months of my sentence is going to feel like six years, but now that I know we’ll have each other when I’m out, it makes it all bearable.’

They’d sat back down and talked about practicalities.

‘I can organise everything my end. We just have to decide when,’ Bridget said. ‘When and where and … how we’re going to tell our families.’

The stubborn throb of desire drained from Tom in seconds.

‘Yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking about that.’

They agreed it would have to be done soon after his release. ‘There’s going to be a backlash,’ Bridget warned. ‘Best not to give them too long to think about how they can cause enough trouble to change our minds about the wedding.’

When Bridget left, Barry escorted Tom back to his cell. ‘I’m guessing congratulations are in order, judging by the lady’s reaction.’ The officer winked.

Tom grinned and nodded. ‘We’ve just got to decide how to tell our families now. I’ve got six months to work out how to stop my mother starting World War III when she hears the news.’

On the landing outside Tom’s cell, Barry hesitated. ‘You know, don’t quote me, but you could get married in here. Mind you, your good lady might not be impressed. I mean, there are definitely more romantic venues, but it’d solve your problem about family kicking off, ’cos there wouldn’t be a thing they could do about it, would there?’

He opened the cell door and went off along the landing whistling the ‘Wedding March’.

And now here they were, just minutes away from their nuptials.

The prison staff had more than risen to the wedding challenge.

One of the senior officers had brought in his son’s navy three-piece suit and a white shirt for Tom to wear, and Barry had loaned his own brand-new brown leather brogues for the day. Tom’s neck felt uncomfortably damp under the starched collar of the shirt.

Jesse’s face flashed into his mind’s eye, the way it often did when he was nervous. Since the moment nearly ten years ago when the two investigating detectives came back into the claustrophobic interview room to tell him Jesse had died, his friend’s image had been forever seared into his mind’s eye.

The expression on Jesse’s face was always the same too, the one he’d worn the split second before Tom had issued that fateful punch. The exact point in time when he might just as easily have chosen to turn around and walk away. If only.

But now he had a second chance at life.

The door opened and the chaplain entered. He was a small, rotund man with thinning hair and dark-rimmed glasses. Around his neck he wore a buttermilk satin cassock. He held regular weekly services at the prison, but Tom had attended none of them.

Today, the chaplain clutched a sheaf of paperwork in one hand and balanced a purple velvet cushion on the other with the ring on it. Tom had worked more hours than he could count in the prison kitchen and also on additional cleaning duties to raise funds and the governor had allowed the chaplain to purchase a modest ring on Tom’s behalf.

It occurred to Tom that this, the morning of his wedding, was another of those life-defining moments when it was in his power to slam on the brakes or freewheel all the way into a tempting new life. A better life this time, filled with love and redemption.

The door opened again and there were hushed voices. Reedy classical music began, filling the corners of the room with its thin sound. Bridget walked in and Tom’s breath caught in his throat. She looked an absolute vision. Stunning. She wore a mid-length plain white satin sheath that clung to her toned, shapely body. Tiny sparkles played around the delicate straps and she clutched three calla lilies, their vibrant green stems elegantly bound with silver ribbon. On her feet were dazzlingly high silver sandals that showed off her glossy French-manicured toenails and neat, lightly tanned feet.

He knew what the lags and certain officers here were saying behind his back. He had purposely kept himself to himself inside, but there were a couple of guys he trusted and had bonded with. They’d told him things they’d heard when Tom wasn’t around. That he must be crazy to marry someone so old and it would never last. That she must be of unstable mind, as the mother of the man he’d killed … no decent woman would ever do that.

But what did their petty, spiteful opinions matter in the scheme of things? Soon he’d be a free man and he’d never have to see these lowlifes again.

People didn’t understand that the bond he and Bridget shared was special. Unbreakable. People outside were going to have similar concerns, and as Bridget had said many times when they’d discussed the issues they’d face, that was their problem.

In Tom’s opinion, Bridget looked a good ten years younger than her age. She’d barely changed from the days when he used to spend a lot of time at Jesse’s house. She was still a gorgeous-looking woman.

She walked slowly into the chapel, her eyes meeting his and the hint of a smile playing on her lips. Her ash-blonde hair had been curled and gently pinned up at the back so that soft ringlets hung down here and there. Carefully placed white flowers framed her delicate features.

Sometimes when he looked at her he saw Jesse’s eyes, his profile. But not today. Today she was Bridget Wilson, his soon-to-be wife. Mother of the young man he had killed with a single punch almost ten years ago.

Bridget had found it in her heart to forgive him, and through that decision she had saved him. She was his past, his present and his future all rolled into one, and he made a silent vow to himself that no matter how difficult things might be outside, he would let nothing and no one get between them.

He couldn’t wait to start their new life together. He just had one final hurdle to overcome.

He had to break the news about their marriage to his mother, Jill. And it would not go down well.

I stared at the neat array of paperwork and the foil of paracetamol set out on the polished mahogany coffee table in front of me and felt a warm glow spread into my chest. I’d been waiting ten long years for this moment and now it was finally here. Tom was coming home.

I tapped each piece of paper and mentally checked through the list once more.

Details of a two-bedroom flat just a ten-minute walk away from this house. One call and the letting agency would prepare a tenancy agreement for signature. Tick.

A new bank account with an opening balance of one thousand pounds. Tick.

Details of a temporary job offer, courtesy of my contact at the central library archives. Tick.

Last, but not least, an appointment with a highly recommended counsellor in two weeks’ time. Tick.

I sat back and closed my eyes. I’d been thorough and I really needed to relax now to give the tendons in my neck a chance to loosen. I had to simmer down a bit, otherwise the headache I’d had for the last twenty-four hours would never go away. Waking up at five o’clock this morning hadn’t helped matters, and that was after popping one of the new sleeping tablets the doctor had recently prescribed.

‘All sorted?’ Robert walked into the room carrying two cups of tea. He placed one on the low table and sat down in his chesterfield leather armchair with the other.

‘It’s all done,’ I said, swallowing two paracetamol with my tea. ‘We’re finally ready for him. Have you organised the car?’

Robert performed one of his mock salutes. ‘Exactly as instructed, ma’am. Full tank of petrol, his favourite playlist, and enough water and snacks to last us three times the journey.’

But my husband’s cynical reassurances did nothing to stop the fluttering in my chest. I just wanted – needed – everything to be perfect for my boy’s homecoming.

I returned to my list.

‘I’ve bought him two pairs of jeans, a sweater, three T-shirts and a tracksuit, but I wondered whether I ought to get him a pair of smart black trousers and a nice shirt? You know, just in case we go out for a meal or if he meets up with an old friend for a drink. I’m sure he’ll have lots to catch up on.’

Robert traced the rim of his cup with a fingertip. ‘Tom will have his own ideas about what he wants to wear, and I doubt he’ll feel up to socialising for a little while. Hopefully he’ll spend some time reflecting on what a mess he’s made of his life so far.’

‘He’s had plenty of time to reflect on that in there,’ I said tersely. ‘He needs our support now, and to put it all behind him.’

Robert sniffed. ‘Started again already, have you? Defending him, making flimsy excuses for him. I’ve not missed all this one bit.’

‘That’s not what I’m doing. I’m just … I’m fretting that I’ve forgotten something important.’

‘Like you always do. Trying so desperately to control every detail before the panic sets in.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said, but of course, he was right.

I couldn’t just let life happen. I’d seen the results of that attitude as a child, when my father had to declare himself bankrupt and we lost everything. At eight years of age I remember him sitting there looking like he’d turned into an old man overnight, endlessly repeating, ‘I took my eye off the ball, I’m an idiot. I thought the business would take care of itself.’ Except it didn’t take care of itself at all. The partner Dad had trusted for twenty years betrayed him.

‘You’re thinking about your father again,’ Robert said drily. ‘I can tell. You’ve got that haunted look in your eyes.’

I watched as he put down his cup and ran a hand through his now mostly silver hair. The day Tom went to prison, ten years ago, it had been raven black. One thing that reminded me just how much time we’d lost.

‘I’m just making sure I’ve addressed everything for Tom coming home,’ I said quietly. ‘That’s all.’

Robert said, ‘We’ve already talked endlessly about this. You should do the bare minimum. You’ve always had this notion he’s a helpless little boy, when in fact what happened all those years ago proved he can be a nasty piece of work.’

I ignored the barb. As far as I was concerned, what happened to Jesse was a very unfortunate accident. Jesse had actually been the nasty one, he’d had a knife; Tom was simply trying to defend himself. Regardless, the jury had delivered a guilty verdict on the charge of manslaughter, though it wasn’t a unanimous decision. Upon sentencing, the presiding judge had said, ‘Thomas Billinghurst, you were a trained boxer and you used that training to position yourself to achieve maximum harm and to deliver a fatal punch.’

If Tom hadn’t boxed, there might well have been a different result. We’d appealed, of course, but lost.

I regarded my husband through narrowed eyes. Tom had never been his father’s priority. Robert had turned out to be that baffling type of man: the jealous father. He’d doubted and criticised our boy for most of his life, so it was no surprise to hear the old bitterness resurface now. He’d been quiet lately, nothing I could put my finger on, I just got the feeling he was a bit ‘off’. I decided I preferred him quieter than full of opinions like he was this morning.

‘I think I’ve remembered everything,’ I murmured to myself, ignoring Robert.

‘Well, I wouldn’t worry if you haven’t. Some ex-cons have no choice but to stay in a hostel when they get out of prison, with zero support from anyone else. Tom’s not a teenager any more, he’s a grown man who’s finally got to face reality. Some might say that’s long overdue.’

Ex-con. Would he never let it go? Massaging my temple, I picked up the paperwork and leafed through it yet again, but I didn’t take any of it in.

It was no use trying to talk to Robert when he was in this mood. We’d always been very different when it came to discussing our feelings. After a successful career as an architect that was cut s. . .