The Other Woman

by Tania Tay

Genres: Friendship; Women's Fiction; Thrillers; Crime Fiction; Domestic Thrillers; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

YOU TRUST YOUR HUSBAND. SO WHY DO YOU FEEL LIKE THE OTHER WOMAN?

Jade has the life she always wanted: a husband and three perfect children. She's happy. Except, recently that isn't enough. Her husband is never home, and when he is, he's distant. She's a constant source of disappointment to her mum, and even her children are starting to push her away.

Then she unexpectedly finds herself reconnecting with Christina, an old friend from university, and she starts to feel like herself again.

As the women become closer, and Christina needs a place to stay, Jade welcomes her into their chaotic family home. But when Jade discovers a suspicious text on her husband's phone, she soon she starts questioning those around her.

A twisting, compulsive and unputdownable thriller that will have you turning the pages long into the night. Perfect for fans of Samantha Downing, Teresa Driscoll and Claire McGowan.

Release date: May 9, 2024

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 352

Sample

If you stay at home with your kids long enough, it’s easy to lose the person you once were. Parents and teachers are the only adults I speak to most days, and to them I’m Amber’s or Eddie’s or Leo’s mum. Or I’m Mrs Callahan. Sam’s wife. I’ve put my family first for years, so by default I’ve come last. I don’t regret it for a minute, and I wouldn’t change anything for the world. But I’m not sure who I am anymore.

I’m buttering bread for the kids’ packed lunches when a text message arrives from Christina, confirming she can make coffee at ten. I reply with a thumbs up, fizzing with excitement at the prospect of seeing my old flatmate again.

Leo crashes into the kitchen, still in his pyjamas, chasing after seven-year-old Eddie. At three, Leo’s the youngest and noisiest of the family.

‘Rarrrhhh!’ He screeches in his best dinosaur impression.

‘Get off me, stop licking my leg,’ retorts Eddie, giggling. His hair’s sticking up and his shirt’s untucked from his school trousers.

‘Dinosaur gonna eat you UP!’ growls Leo.

‘Stop shouting, I’m trying to read,’ scolds ten-going-on-eighteen-year-old Amber from the table. She’s munching on her cereal, eyes glued to her book – the latest Agent Scarlett mystery.

Leo pouts and I smother his chubby cheeks with kisses. He stops bothering Eddie and tugs my arm, chanting his favourite refrain. ‘Hungry, Mummy, I’m hungry, want brek brek, want pancake.’ He drags a stool over to the cupboard and reaches for the flour, nearly sending it all over the counter.

Mummy influencers with their picture-perfect lives don’t convey the unrelenting reality of motherhood. I adore the little monsters but sometimes I’d give anything to get out of the house, even if it means going to work in an office. I’m not patient by nature. Sometimes I could do with a break from the endless giving, the anxiety that one of them will hurt themselves, and the constant guilt that I’m not a good enough role model.

‘OK, darling. Pancakes it is.’ I put down my phone and scoop flour into the blender – a fancy one I bought when we’d built our light-filled kitchen extension. Sam would say I’m spoiling them by giving in to Leo’s demands – and he’s probably right – but pancakes for breakfast are my way of proving I’m a good mum.

Sorting my kids’ breakfasts wasn’t always my life, as I remembered when, a couple of weeks ago, Christina’s name popped up on Instagram as a new follower. We’d met in halls, the first day of Freshers’ Week, and we’d immediately connected – maybe because we’re both British Chinese. She’d known me back when I was Jade Chan. Not a mum or a wife, but myself. When I could just roll out of bed and run into lectures. When I wasn’t responsible for anyone else but me.

But we hadn’t spoken in years, not since she dropped out of medical school. So I was thrilled to hear from her, and we’ve been messaging ever since. She’s in London visiting her mum, so we arranged to meet in a café near me, in Wanstead.

I’m just switching off the blender and pouring the thick batter into a jug when Sam’s sandalwood aftershave wafts into the room. ‘Daddy!’ Leo runs over and swarms up Sam’s legs, like a monkey climbing a tree. Sam swings him into the air, blowing a raspberry on his tummy.

Sam looks good for his mid-forties: tall and broad-shouldered, with well-muscled arms and strong thighs. Only a slight paunch shows his love for fine food and wine over his infrequent visits to the gym. He puts Leo down and is about to squeeze past me, but I pull him close and snatch a kiss, tasting minty toothpaste. I snuggle into him. ‘You were back late. I feel like I hardly see you these days.’

‘Sorry. Loads going on at work. You’re not usually down so early.’ His blue eyes crinkle at me briefly before flicking to the fridge.

‘I promised Leo pancakes.’ I keep hold of Sam’s arm, and eventually his hands travel under my pyjama trousers, and I shiver with pleasure.

One last kiss and he moves away. ‘Sorry. Have to get going.’

I get it. Mornings are far too busy. It’s been a long time since he could sweep me back to bed and get to work late.

‘Do you want to make a smoothie? Take me two minutes to wash this up.’ I wave a hand at the blender.

‘No, you’re all right.’ He pours a glass of orange juice, draining it as he crosses to the table, kissing Eddie and Amber on his way out of the kitchen. ‘Early meeting. I’ll grab something on the way.’

‘Bye-bye, Daddy.’ Leo waves, sprinkling flour over the counter and making Eddie sneeze.

I follow Sam to the hall for a last smooch, but there’s only time for a peck on the cheek and he’s out of the door, his mind already on work.

The smell of burning butter calls me back to the stove. I ladle in batter, which sizzles as it hits the pan. ‘Yummy pancake!’ Leo cuddles my legs. ‘Thank you, Mumma, love you.’ Moments like this make it all worthwhile and I ruffle his tousled brown curls, glinting with gold highlights – a mix of my black Chinese hair with Sam’s blond.

I stack fluffy pancakes onto plates, drizzle them with maple syrup and usher Leo over to the table to join Eddie and Amber. As the boys tuck in, my mind wanders to Christina and the futures we’d planned for ourselves. I longed to be a writer, she a surgeon. Has she moved as far away from her dream as I have? Had she recovered and completed her degree somewhere else? Her Instagram and Facebook profiles don’t reveal much; nothing about a partner or kids, just moody shots of landscapes and interesting architecture, plates of food and inspiring quotes. Nothing personal to help me understand her better.

I never got to say goodbye to her when she left Edinburgh. She’d left our flat so suddenly. One minute she was there, ensconced on the sofa with a fruit tea, and a medical textbook. The next, she’d gone. I came back to our flat after a few days hanging out with my then boyfriend, Tom, and she’d been whisked off home. A medical emergency, she’d said in her brief letter, explaining how she wasn’t coming back, and where to send her deposit.

I’ve always wondered if her parents played more of a role in her leaving. They were so strict, a part of me was surprised she was allowed to study away from London in the first place. I called her parents’ landline more times than I could count, but no one answered. I wrote her a letter, but never got a reply. After a while, I gave up trying. But I’ve always had a nagging sense I should have tried harder, that I could have been a better friend. I’ve thought of reaching out to her so many times over the years, but I wasn’t sure what to say, or if she’d want to hear from me.

‘Leo, you’re splashing milk on me!’ Amber’s voice brings me back to the present. ‘Mummy, we need to go.’ She scrapes back her chair and skips over to the door.

I interrupt the boys’ slurping contest and rush them upstairs to brush their teeth. ‘Who can get ready the fastest?’

I wrestle Leo into his nursery joggers and polo shirt. ‘Ow, Mumma! Leo dress Leo!’

‘We don’t have time, darling, don’t want to be late.’ Back downstairs we play hunt-the-trainer, unearthing one from a plant pot, while I thank the shoe gods for Velcro straps.

Out on the street, I clutch tightly on to Leo’s shirt to stop him rushing off on his balance bike while we cross the road to the school. Amber runs ahead to her friends and Eddie joins the queue for his class. Leo weaves through the crowd leaving the playground, while I jog after him. I’m relieved to deposit him at the nursery gates.

Back at home, I haphazardly shove bowls and mugs in the dishwasher, run a cloth over the cream quartz countertops, then load the washing machine.

At ten, my headhunter, Nina, calls. I haven’t had a job in years, but Leo will be full-time at school from September, and I’ve been thinking about returning to work. After Eddie was born – with all his allergies – Sam said it was easier if I stayed at home. At the time, I’d wanted to, I was so worried about Eddie. And Amber loved me taking her to nursery rather than a childminder. But while I’ve loved having time with the kids, I can’t help worrying that my career has suffered as a result. Just the thought of an interview terrifies me, and I’m trembling with nerves as I answer the phone.

‘Hello, darling girl.’ Nina’s voice pours down the line like treacle. ‘How’s life as a domestic goddess with your two – no, three – kiddiwinks, so your gorgeous husband tells me?’

That jolts me. ‘You’ve . . . spoken to Sam?’ But why wouldn’t she? He hires through her agency. I take a breath and smile even though she can’t see me, faking confidence. ‘We’re all well, thanks. My youngest is about to start school full-time in September . . .’

‘So you thought you’d dip your toe back in the water? Good girl,’ she oozes.

‘What’s the market for copywriters like at the moment? Do you think I could go back part-time?’ I bite at a loose cuticle.

‘Well, to be honest . . . it’s not brilliant. You know the advertising budget is the first thing to go in a recession.’ Someone asks if she wants tea. ‘Lovely – no sugar,’ is her muffled reply.

‘Is there anyone who wants to job-share? A-another mum maybe?’ My voice breaks, revealing my worry.

‘Goodness, darling – Sorry, but no. People tend to arrange job-shares with people they know.’ Her voice drips concern but the click of a keyboard tells me she’s not totally focused on our conversation. ‘Why don’t you freelance? Can’t you ask Sam?’

‘Oh, you know how it is, we’d rather keep work and home separate.’ I hear the pity in her voice and I want to hang up. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, but keep me in mind if anything comes up.’

‘Absolutely, darling. You take care now, and look after that gorgeous family of yours.’

I ring off from Nina, my mood low. A message arrives from Christina.

Just arrived in Wanstead – see you soon!

She’s early, but she always was punctual. I run upstairs to change out of my stained top and baggy leggings, a far cry from the vintage dresses I used to love twenty years ago. I slap on make-up and throw on a pair of cropped trousers and a top that’s not covered in food stains.

I wonder how much she’ll have changed.

Will I recognise her? Will she recognise me?

Wanstead High Street is buzzing with people pushing buggies and walking their dogs. I avoid looking too closely at anyone, wary of bumping into someone who’ll want to stop and chat.

By the time I arrive at The Kitchen, I’m out of breath and sweat is running down my back. I should have worn a lighter top. It’s building up to be a warm day. There’s no one East Asian sitting outside – just an older couple with their poodle. I hold the door as a woman with a double buggy backs out with difficulty. That was me, not so long ago.

‘Cappuccino, please.’ I smile at the bearded barista, and scan the room. A group of people are taking up the main table. For a change it’s not one of the book groups that often congregate there and which I long to join if I ever get time to read more than a page at a time. This seems to be a training talk for estate agents, all in crisp blouses or shirts, and tailored suits. Looking at how smart they are, I feel that full-time employment is as far away from me as Mars.

A few lone customers sit in front of laptops, tapping away, staring intensely at their screens. On another table, a tired-looking mother feeds a curly haired toddler who’s smearing orange goo round his face. I smile at her sympathetically.

I find a quiet table at the back and while I wait, I pull out my notebook to jot down some story ideas. When I left my job as a copywriter, I’d planned to give fiction a go. But being a full-time mum means I rarely have space in my brain for stories – which leaves my notebook pretty empty. I turn to a fresh page of my Moleskine, smoothing the creamy paper with my finger. I uncap my pen.

‘Jade?’ a low voice says.

‘Christina!’ I jump up. For a moment I don’t recognise the dark-haired woman in front of me, wearing a cream silk dress and carrying a Prada handbag. She looks different, older, even though her skin’s smooth and unlined. I’d been expecting a studious type in cords.

‘It’s been years!’ She gives me a nervous smile, showing even, white teeth, instead of train-track braces. I’m sure she’s noting all the differences in me too. I must look older, more worn out. I hold in the spare tyre bulging round my middle.

‘You look fantastic!’ I lean in to hug her, then draw back, remembering she’s not keen on hugs. She’s obviously got over that, as she squeezes me tightly. As I breathe in her light lily perfume and clasp her warm, slim frame, a wave of emotion floods over me.

I draw back and there’s an awkward pause. We sit down, and a nervous giggle escapes me. ‘Wow, look at us – all grown up!’ An older woman at the next table glances over at us. ‘Haven’t seen each other for years,’ I say and the woman smiles politely before turning back to her screen.

‘So much to catch up on . . . where do we start?’ Christina’s saying when the barista brings over our drinks.

What I really what to know is why she left Edinburgh and what she did afterwards. But it’s a sensitive topic – I won’t bring it up unless she does. I smile and launch into small talk. ‘How are your family? Your mum, dad, brother?’

‘Oh yes, they’re all fine.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Austin, the Golden Boy, is annoying as ever. Wife, two kids, he’s a financial director in Hong Kong now.’

Of course. Austin. Her accountant brother, who her parents compare her to, just as my parents are always comparing me to mine. My brother excels as a lawyer, and I’ve often heard my mum on the phone to friends, saying how much he earns. She never really got what I did, as a copywriter. She doesn’t understand that people are paid to write the marketing leaflets that come through the post, or that writing is a valid career.

As Christina fills me in on her family, I marvel at how chic she looks. When we were students, I could hardly ever get her to wear make-up, apart from pale pink lipstick. Her plum lip colour suits her much better.

‘My father’s gone pro-China in his old age. My mother can’t get him to come back from Hong Kong, which is why I’m here . . . What?’ She catches me staring at her.

‘Nothing!’ I smile, feeling my cheeks grow warm. ‘I was just thinking – how different you look.’

‘I’m not nineteen with plaits anymore.’ Her voice is dry. ‘I finally cut them when I grew up.’ We laugh.

‘It’s not just the hair. You look really great.’ The years have given her a patina of confidence. She’s not the shy student who I’d encouraged to come out of her shell.

‘So what about you? Are your family all right? How are your mum and dad?’ she asks.

Of course – how would she know? ‘They’ve split up,’ I say. ‘Happened while I was at uni.’ The pain of Dad leaving our family home stabs me, like a broken splinter I can never remove.

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She only met them once or twice. But I’m sure if we’d still been friends while my parents were splitting up, she’d have been the one to help me through it.

We’d spend hours discussing our families. Christina understood what it was like to live under the weight of your family’s expectations. Always feeling like you were letting them down. I’d felt it was my fault that my parents had split up. My mum always complained about the trouble she’d gone through, having children. She blamed me for the pain of my birth, and the hours she’d spent trying to stop me crying and waking my father in the night.

‘Your mum . . . is she happy you’re visiting?’ I ask. Christina’s mother hadn’t liked me much. She was even more controlling than my mum, and I doubt she’d changed.

Christina makes a non-committal face. ‘Maybe. Does your mum like being a grandmother?’

‘Oh, you know . . . My mum loves telling me all the ways I’m doing it wrong.’ I shrug. ‘But let’s not talk about them.’

There’s a short awkward pause before we both speak at once. ‘Are you with anyone?’ I say, at the same time as she asks, ‘You’re married, I see from your Instagram?’

We laugh. ‘You first,’ I say.

‘No, you go first. You’ve got three children, right?’

‘Yes, who’d have thought it, eh?’ I sip my coffee, thinking of the years I’ve lost, devoting my life to my three kids. Who would I be without them?

‘When your name came up – when I saw your photo with your adorable children – I couldn’t believe it!’ She chuckles. ‘Jade the party girl – a mum! What are their names?’

‘Amber, Eddie and Leo.’ My heart softens, thinking of them. Sam had captured a rare, perfect moment. Amber’s smiling at me, kneading dough. Eddie’s cutting out a gingerbread man. Leo’s eating raisins. All of us with flour on our noses. Hashtag PerfectFamily.

‘They’re so gorgeous,’ she enthuses. ‘I’d love to meet them one day. How’d you meet your husband? At Edinburgh?’

I shake my head. ‘Oh no. Sam did go to Edinburgh, but he was a few years above. I didn’t know him then. No – we met at work. I was a copywriter, and he was a suit, an account director. Oh God, such a cliché – an office romance. Straight out of a romcom. I hated him at first. One of those annoying good-looking posh guys. Everything handed to him. And he’d been brought into the agency to make cuts.’

‘So what changed?’ She leans forward and the end of her nose twitches.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I shrug. ‘Maybe because we worked late – it gets pretty intense on a pitch. We drank a few beers, smoked a spliff. Suddenly his jokes seemed funny. By the time we won the pitch and went out celebrating, I was smitten.’

From the start of the pitch presentation, no one else in the room had mattered. Sam’s intense gaze had made me feel like I was the most fascinating person alive. Does he still think I’m fascinating? Or has familiarity bred boredom?

‘Sounds like you’re made for each other,’ Christina comments. She blows gently on her latte.

I smile. ‘Yes, I suppose we are.’ Things might not be perfect but young kids are a struggle for most families. I know I’m lucky.

‘And, after you married, did you carry on working together?’

‘I went back part-time after Amber, but when Eddie arrived . . . He has so many allergies, and nurseries cost a fortune. Then came Leo, who’s a ball of energy.’ And I haven’t had a life ever since. But I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining.

‘Are you back at work now?’

I sigh. ‘I had a meeting with a headhunter this morning, but I’m not sure we can justify the cost of childcare. What about you? Any kids?’

‘No. I don’t have children.’ She looks down at her cup and her tone is neutral so I can’t tell whether she wants them or whether she’s avoided having them. She always kept things close to her chest. It would take a while to get her to confide in me. Whereas I’d tell my problems to anyone who’d listen.

‘Are you married or with anyone?’ I ask.

‘Michael.’ She looks at me through her lashes and smiles. I remember that shy smile from when we were students. I’d tease her for having crushes. She would admire boys from afar, rather than talk to them. ‘I met him while I was training. He was my supervisor.’ I wonder at the flush in her cheeks. Her face is quite pink. Could she be embarrassed she still fancies him? What’s it like, to be madly in love at our age? Of course, they don’t have kids.

‘So you went back to medical school?’ I ask.

‘Yes, but in London, not Edinburgh. My parents wouldn’t let me go back to the university.’

‘But you live in Scotland, right?’

She nodded. ‘I was fond of Edinburgh, so when a training position in a hospital came up I took it. My parents couldn’t really say no – it was a job. Then I met Michael, and I’ve been there ever since.’ She stirs her drink, and the cocoa smudges a dark stain into the white foam.

I can’t avoid the subject any longer. ‘You know, I tried to call you, after you left, but no one answered. I left a message . . .’

She puts her hand on my arm. ‘I know, I’m sorry. I . . . I wasn’t in a good place for a while. I . . . still find it hard . . . Do you mind if we don’t talk about it? Not now, when we’ve just found each other again.’

I nod, wishing I could know what happened. There’s an awkward pause and we both turn to study the watercolours on the walls. For a minute we study the landscape of a Scottish loch. Then Christina speaks. ‘Jade, do you remember our week in the Highlands? In Izzie’s aunt’s house? It was magical.’

I nod, grinning. ‘Oh yeah, so much fun! I haven’t seen Izzie for years either.’

‘Do you know, it was the most wonderful week of my life.’ Her eyes are glowing. ‘I never felt so free. My exams over, but no holiday assignments yet. No parents telling me what to do, how to live.’

‘Off wine and crisps, I seem to remember.’ We laugh and reminisce. The weather that week had been great for Scotland, and we’d sunbathed every day. Talking about what we’d got up to all those years ago smooths over any awkwardness.

‘So what are you doing in London? Just down for a visit?’ I ask.

‘I’m thinking of moving back, for mum. I need to talk to Michael . . . I’m planning to arrange some job interviews – test the waters while I’m here.’

‘So you’re at a crossroads. Like me.’ I grin then I catch sight of the time on her Rolex. ‘Oh crap, sorry! I didn’t realise the time. Have to get Leo from nursery.’ I drain my cup, pick up my bag. ‘Maybe we could link up again before you go back to Scotland? How long are you here?’

‘It depends on my mum. How long we can bear each other. Maybe another week? But . . . what are you doing this afternoon?’

‘I’m taking Leo to a play centre.’ I stand up and she does too.

‘I’d love to meet him!’ She puts a hand on my arm. ‘I’m free this afternoon, Mum’s out. I could join you if you like?’

I hesitate, not sure the play centre’s the right place to meet the little hooligan. But I can’t think of an excuse. ‘Er, I guess. If you’re sure? It can get quite noisy, but the café there does good coffee.’

‘Sounds perfect. Text me the address.’ We start walking towards the door.

‘I’m so glad you found me, Christina.’

‘Thank social media,’ she laughs.

As we say goodbye the awkward pauses are forgotten and I hug her tightly, happy to see her. It feels amazing to be with someone who knew me when I was my old self.

When I was Jade, and not just someone’s mum.

Rumble Jungle’s heaving when we get there. Screeching pre-schoolers charge around a huge play cage, lined with safety mats and divided into climbing areas. A central slide drops into a massive ball pit.

Leo kicks off his shoes and tears up a tunnel to his favourite shooters, barging past a baby who starts to bawl. The noise and bright primary colours are a sensory overload. Christina won’t know what she’s letting herself in for.

I’m lucky that between them, my group of mum friends know everything there is to know about bringing up children. But they’re so efficient that I often feel a bit crap by comparison. And it can get boring, talking about potty-training and schools.

It’ll be lovely to talk about something other than kids with Christina. She won’t give a toss about school catchment areas. I just hope she gets on with the others. But the mums will be busy with their children, so maybe I’m worrying about nothing.

Leo shoots sponge balls into the ball pit while I hover outside the play cage and snap a few photos. A familiar redheaded boy bombs past me and I turn to see Kate and Fran have arrived. They pause their conversation when they see me.

‘Wonderful to get out of the house.’ Kate envelops me in an apple shampoo-scented hug. ‘Daniel was in meetings all morning and Ollie was driving him insane.’

I met Kate at prenatal yoga. Her ‘earth mother’ vibe – the drapey scarves and paisley kaftans – belies her efficient attitude to parenting.

‘So Daniel’s working from home?’ Fran says to Kate, once I’ve kissed her dark cheek. She’s a part-time teacher, and the pencil skirt and blouse she’s wearing suggests she’s come straight from school.

‘I should be grateful Dan’s at home, away from temptation.’ Kate’s jaw stiffens. She and Daniel went through a dark period a few years ago and nearly split up. He was flirting with someone at work and eventually he’d confessed it to her. She’s told us how they’ve been to marriage counselling.

‘How is the dashing – sorry, dastardly – Dan doing?’ Fran often refers to Daniel as the Silver Fox, but generally out of Kate’s hearing, so she settles for a sympathetic smile.

‘The pandemic actually helped, and subsequently he’s mainly worked from home. It’s brought us closer together,’ Kate says.

Fran rolls her eyes. ‘Glad I wasn’t stuck in our flat with Zac’s dad. If we hadn’t been history by. . .