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Back The Marriage Trap: A completely addictive psychological thriller Save as PDF
Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. Books by Sheryl Browne
  3. Dedication
  4. KARLA
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Thirty-Four
  39. Thirty-Five
  40. Thirty-Six
  41. Thirty-Seven
  42. Thirty-Eight
  43. Thirty-Nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-One
  46. Forty-Two
  47. Forty-Three
  48. Forty-Four
  49. Forty-Five
  50. Forty-Six
  51. Forty-Seven
  52. Forty-Eight
  53. Epilogue
  54. The Affair
  55. Hear more from Sheryl
  56. Books by Sheryl Browne
  57. A Letter from Sheryl
  58. The Babysitter
  59. The Second Wife
  60. Acknowledgements

My dad is circulating, shaking hands with the funeral guests, sombre black-clad figures with pitying faces. He is stoic, despite the cross he bears. And my eight-year-old self watches him. And she knows. She knows the secret that will stay forever hidden within the walls of that grand house, the house my sister should have grown up in. His cross to bear is that the small body in the ground lies there because of him.

My mind fast-forwards, jerking through the images I try to keep stored away. I’m at Mum’s sixtieth birthday party. My father’s talking to Jason as I watch from the dance floor, belittling him, humiliating him. Always doing that. I humiliated him that night, not once, not twice, but three times: dancing with the toy boy, bringing up the subject of the loan, finally turning him down in bed. I see Jason’s frustration. I feel it: a sharp painful knot right at the core of me. That was when I realised the foundations of my marriage had truly been rocked. One final push from my father ensured it would topple. He’d known it. He set Jason up, and then sat back and watched while we fell apart.

I have to go. I pull myself to my feet. I have to try to reassure my sweet little girl, who’s not much older than that lonely little girl at the funeral. But Holly’s not me. She’s extroverted, confident, bright and sassy. Innocent. Blinking away the tears, I head shakily to the bathroom, pee quickly, gulp tap water into my mouth, spit it out. I think of Josh: the constant reminders to brush his teeth, his confusion, his palpable anger. I have to go. I collect up my scattered clothes, my cheeks burning with shame. They will be missing me. I’m not the same mummy I used to be. I have seen the bewilderment in their little faces. Things are not running as smoothly as they were when I was organised – smiling and caring, not ranting and raving, slightly insane. But my children still love me. This is my one certainty in a life that’s unravelling around me.

I should be there. I hastily tug on my underwear.

My mum, she was always there. And now… I so wish she would call. There are many words unspoken between us, secrets we’ve both chosen to bury, but she must realise I need her. Wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I grab my phone. My thumb hovers over her number, but I hesitate. What if it goes to voicemail again. What will I do then?