The Perfect Husband

THE PERFECT HUSBAND DANIELLE RAMSAY To all those who have experienced domestic violence. CONTENTS Prologue 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 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 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Epilogue Acknowledgments More from Danielle Ramsay About the Author The Murder List About Boldwood Books ‘The most dangerous thing of any society is the man who has nothing to lose.’ JAMES BALDWIN ‘There’s daggers in men’s smiles. The near in blood, The nearer bloody.’ MACBETH: DONALBAIN (ACT II, SCENE III) ‘A man attaches himself to woman – not to enjoy her, but to enjoy himself.’ SIMONE DE BEAUVOIR ‘All things are subject to interpretation; whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.’ FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE PROLOGUE In a disinterested voice, the receptionist asked again: who was I? But the muffled chaos surrounding me in the A&E at Treliske Hospital in Truro – not a place to be on a Friday night, let alone my wedding night – drowned her out. I looked at the clock on the wall behind her. Friday 24 June: 10.33 p.m. Our wedding reception would still be in full swing. I wasn’t supposed to be here, not tonight. This day wasn’t supposed to end this way. It’s your wedding night… An hour ago, you were living your dream. And now… I shifted my focus back to her. I tried to speak. But I couldn’t find the words, silenced by the trauma of what had happened. ‘Your name?’ the woman behind the desk repeated, raising her voice. Desperate, I stared into her dispassionate eyes. But my muted cry for help was lost on her. Frustrated, she glanced at her watch, then at the gathering, disorderly queue to alert me that time was ticking. Other people needed her attention. Tears spilled over. Hot, desperate, salty trails of confusion escaped down my cheeks. I wanted to tell her. But— ‘Sophie? Just answer her, will you!’ Jay’s exasperated tone startled me, waking me up from my shocked state. He didn’t want to be here. He’d made that clear on the way. He’d berated me for wasting time – his time – and spoiling his night. We should still be enjoying our wedding reception. But… More tears followed as reality kicked in. Unable to stifle it, I cried out with pain as I looked down at my wrist. ‘For Christ’s sake, Soph! It’s just a sprain!’ Jay hissed in a low voice, irritated with me. At the whole situation. I swallowed back the hurt. There was no point in arguing any more as he refused to believe I was injured. ‘Look around you,’ he continued as he yanked irritably at his pale pink tie to loosen it off so he could undo the top button of his white shirt. ‘These people need medical attention. If it wasn’t for you being such a bloody drama queen, we’d still be enjoying ourselves! Some wedding night this has turned out to be!’ I looked behind us and caught the questioning, surprised eyes of an exhausted, young mother, standing, rocking her screaming, scarlet-faced toddler. I turned my numb gaze to a seated elderly couple as one mumbled something incoherent to the other before they both stared back at me in confusion. They’re gawping at us. Oh God… Of course, they are: you’re in an ivory bodice wedding dress, and Jay’s in a sand-coloured linen three-piece suit with leather flip-flops for your perfect beach wedding. I realised Jay was right. I was making a spectacle of myself. I should never have made a fuss. If I had iced it as he’d suggested, maybe everything would have been all right. We could have continued enjoying our evening instead of me ruining it. Ruining everything… Humiliated, I turned back to the receptionist, who was still waiting to register me, accepting I was guilty of wasting her time. But before I managed to apologise and leave, Jay intervened on my behalf. ‘Her name is Sophie Bradley.’ ‘Mrs Sophie Bradley,’ he added. It wasn’t his disquietingly unfamiliar tone that caught me off guard: it was the surname. His surname – Bradley – threw me. I had planned on keeping my double-barrelled name, preferring it to his. You’re his wife now… Numb, I listened as he matter-of-factly reeled off my date of birth, and my address, followed by my GP. My life was literally in his hands. ‘So, how did your wife injure her wrist?’ the receptionist asked him, giving me a sideways glance. I watched him flash that charismatic smile of his and shrug apologetically. I waited, my heart accelerating, unsure of what he would say. About me. About how… I stopped myself from plunging back into the dangerous, dark watery depths. Now wasn’t the time or place to evaluate what had happened. I doubted I would ever be able to make sense of it. It was as if I was looking through a mirror at myself in another multiverse reality; for this wasn’t my life. I didn’t recognise it. It jarred with me, and no matter how I dissected it, I couldn’t piece it back together the way it was before. Maybe this was what it was like to lose your mind. Or maybe I was Alice Through the Looking Glass, and logic didn’t exist any more? Because what was happening to me didn’t make sense, not tonight of all nights. ‘Champagne went to her head,’ confided Jay, leaning in towards her. The receptionist nodded. ‘And how much alcohol has your wife consumed?’ Jay shrugged. But at the same time, he raised his eyebrows. Without a word, he