The Last Wife

J A Baker

Description

A gripping thriller from best-selling author J.A. Baker!

Welcome to Winters End...

Winters End should have been the perfect place for me and my husband Neil to start again. To leave the terrible secrets and guilt of our past far behind us.

But from the moment we arrived in the small, isolated community, it becomes clear to me that we are not welcome here. That someone wants us to leave…

I’m certain that everyone knows our secrets – knows who we really are. But how can that be?

Perhaps it’s my mind playing tricks on me. Just like before.

I know Neil thinks I'm paranoid. My thoughts spiralling. Again.

If only I had someone else to talk to. Another woman to confide in.

And that’s when I realise something far more terrifying.

I am the only wife at Winters End…and I could be the last…

Don't miss the brand-new thriller by J.A. Baker! Perfect for fans of Sue Watson, Valerie Keogh and K.L. Slater.

What people are saying about J.A. Baker...

'Superbly written with a cast of crazy characters who will make you look differently at your co-workers from now on.’ Bestselling author Valerie Keogh

'Fast-paced, riveting thriller. Gripped until the last page!' Bestselling author Diana Wilkinson

'A twisty, creepy story expertly told. Perfect for reading on dark winter evenings…with the doors double-locked and bolted. Highly recommended!' Bestselling author Amanda James

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Mashups
• Psychological
• Women Sleuths
• Hard-Boiled
• Amateur Sleuth
• Traditional
• Feminist
• Thrillers
• Women
• Suspenso
• 21st century
• Psychological thriller
• Domestic
• Woman
• Paranoia
• Psychology
• Marriage
• Feminism
• The Women
• Crime
• Family Life
• Suspense
• Noir
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 27 mars 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804153796
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE LAST WIFE


J. A. BAKER
Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.
RABINDRANATH TAGORE
To Anita and Valerie. Here’s to the future, ladies. Onwards and upwards.
CONTENTS



Prologue


Part I


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17


Part II


Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38


Acknowledgments

More from J. A. Baker

About the Author

The Murder List

About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE

With hindsight, I should have gone with that inescapable gut instinct that gnawed at me on the journey there, the one that I duly ignored, pushing it away every time it reared its head. I should have persuaded Neil we had made a grave error of judgement and persuaded him to stay on the ferry for the return journey back home. So many things we should have done but didn’t. So many things I shouldn’t have done but did. There were too many words unsaid between us, too few conversations. And definitely too many ill-thought-out actions. We should have turned around and gone back home, that was the thing. Not that we had a home to go back to, having sold it, our possessions shipped out four weeks prior after being put into storage for a month. But we didn’t turn around because I didn’t say or do anything.
Instead, I just stood there, mute, fingers clasped around the metal railings, hands numb from the cold, and ignored that small, still voice in my head, the one that continually told me something was amiss with this whole venture, that something was about to go horribly wrong. Sometimes it’s easier, isn’t it? To ignore the subtle signs, to quell those nuanced voices inside your head and be carried along with the original planned agenda. Having to endure the upheaval of suddenly refusing to align to a prearranged schedule takes courage. Nobody likes upsetting the apple cart, least of all me. I was also feeling weak, shattered actually. I didn’t have it in me to tell Neil that I’d changed my mind, that we were making a big mistake. I had no reasons to give, no tangible evidence to present to him. Just that low rumbling of discontent that swirled about in my gut making me feel queasy and out of kilter.
And yet, despite my misgivings, despite the turmoil that whirled in my head, I had to admit that it looked so beautiful that night as we sailed towards our new home: the dark water, the rugged coastline, the neat rows of rooftops in the distance, the twinkling line of street lights that flanked the roadside next to the ferry point. They were mesmerising. How intriguing it all was. How magical and exciting. How utterly terrifying and frighteningly deceptive.
Would we have stayed had we known what lay ahead? Probably not. Our first reaction would have been to turn around and head back to the place we knew so well, back to the town where we both grew up. The same place where we made our terrible mistake. Do we regret making the decision to sell our lovely home and move to a remote island off the north-east coast of England? Strangely enough, no. Why? Because we survived what took place on Winters End island and we both lived to tell the tale. We’re still here, living and breathing. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger; isn’t that how the old adage goes?
Living on Winters End changed us. Whether that’s for the better or not, I guess only time will tell…
PART I
1

‘Christ, it’s so cold here. What happened to the summer?’ Neil stared up at the sky, shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed against the strong north-easterly breeze that lapped around our faces. It was freezing; there was no denying it. I wondered if Neil was also having second thoughts, voicing his innermost doubts to me, skirting as we always did around the edges of the problem without saying what we actually meant. Perhaps I should have taken more notice, seized the opportunity to tell him how I was feeling, reassured him that to be reticent and frightened was okay, that it wasn’t a sign of weakness and that I was feeling it too.
‘It’s not so bad,’ I replied, trying to mask my own fears and angst, thinking that living on an island out in the middle of the North Sea was probably going to test the pair of us both physically and mentally. I knew then that speaking openly about what was burrowing deep within my brain wouldn’t work at that point. It had been my idea, moving here. I had seen the cottage for sale online and was immediately attracted to it, the longing to escape from events of late pushing me on, giving me the impetus to run away from everything I knew and loved. I wanted to draw a line under it all, start afresh. I wasn’t running away. I was simply starting again. That’s what I told myself. Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they? Even me. Especially me.
And yet as we stood there discussing the weather, wondering where the late-summer heat had gone to, something in the pit of my stomach continued to flap about whenever I thought about what we were doing. What we were about to take on. I squashed down those feelings, told myself that everything was too far down the line to make any major changes. I needed this new venture, was unable to go back to my old life, to face my family and friends after what I had done. Putting some distance between us was important to me if only to save face and help keep my dignity intact. Their memories of me might fade. What I did would always be there, a stark reminder of how a few minutes of stupidity and being driven by fear and desperation could alter the trajectory of our entire lives.
I slipped my hand into Neil’s, his fingers dry and cold against mine. ‘Come on,’ I said, trying to inject some levity into my tone, ‘let’s get back inside, get a coffee. If we’re lucky they might even have some cake on offer.’ I sounded positive. I didn’t feel it but, then again, lying had become my default mode. I was practically an expert.
We walked back inside the ferry through the automatic doors, away from the rough, dark water outside, away from the biting cold that stung at our exposed hands and faces, and back into the relative warmth of the old vessel that would transport us to our new lives.
We sat at a table that had seen better days. Brown tea ring stains littered its surface, the corners of the laminate top curled up at the edges, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered at that point except arriving. We were almost there, almost at Winters End where everything would be better. Brighter. It had to be. It certainly couldn’t be any worse than the life we had left behind. The life that I had ruined.
‘I’ll get them,’ Neil said as he stood up and walked towards the small serving area where a young lad stood staring out into the vast blackness outside, boredom oozing from him in bucketloads. He had probably done this trip a hundred times before and was counting down the hours and minutes until he was on dry land again, home safe and sound and away from the whirring of the engine. Away from the bland, needy faces of demanding customers and the inescapable, lingering smell of stale food.
Neil returned minutes later carrying two large cups of coffee, tendrils of steam misting his face as he walked towards me. I thought about how patient he had been throughout all of this, adapting without question, sticking by me. Forgiving me. Just as I had forgiven him. We were made for one another, the two of us locked together in our vast pit of transgressions.
‘A flat white for you and a cappuccino for me.’
We both managed a small laugh. Before us sat two large mugs of pale brown liquid that could barely pass as coffee at all. A gathering of creamy foam clung to the sides of my cup. My stomach roiled as a large wave caught us unawares, sending my drink sliding away from us. I grabbed at it and watched as brown splashes of liquid spread across the table. Neil pulled a tissue out of his pocket and mopped up the spots of coffee. Always helpful, always uncomplaining. But then, what I had done wasn’t completely down to me. He played his part as well. We were in this thing together. For better for worse. For richer, for poorer. I sighed. The irony of those words wasn’t lost on me.
‘Everything okay?’ He caught my eye, gave me a sly wink, his smile slightly lopsided.
Even after everything we’d been through, all the trauma we had endured, an event that would have pushed many couples apart, he still had the ability to stop me in my tracks, make my heart flutter ever so slightly, his turquoise eyes, his clear chestnut-brown complexion erasing my worries. Until I looked away, stared out at the never-ending expanse of sea, that is, and then they returned: the tumult of emotions that ballooned in my head day after day, week after week. I was feeling fragile and needed him by my side to steady me, to remind me to get up every day and put one foot in front of another. To just keep going, to keep on keeping on.
I closed my eyes for a second, told myself to stop it, that I should embrace this moment, remember it as a turning point, the catalyst that would help repair our broken lives. It was a positive, constructive thing we were doing, moving to the island. It had to be. All other avenues were closed off to us, our options severely limited. If we didn’t make a go of this then we would be right back where we started – with nothing, all eyes feasting on the wreckage of our lives like vultures picking over a carcass. And I refused to let that happen, to be the talk of the area, shuffling around the place, wearing our misfortune