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  Sam smiled and took another swig of vodka. Yes, he’d been rough looking and she wouldn’t trust him as far as she could arm-wrestle him, but he had actually turned out to be a decent pool opponent and not bad company for the evening, although she was well aware that she wouldn’t want to meet his nasty side.

  Time to get back to her girls.

  As she’d suspected, Anika was spark out on the sofa, the empty wine bottle on its side on the carpet and a drained wine glass alongside it. A half-eaten pizza slice lay on a plate on the coffee table; the morning’s mail lay unopened next to it. In the kitchen, the pizza box lay on the work surface, the lid open, three full slices untouched. Why Anika had bought such a big one if she hadn’t been that hungry Sam had no idea, but Anika’s loss was her gain. She took a slice, biting the now soggy crust covered with cold melted cheese. Pizza was one of the few takeaway meals that tasted good cold as well as hot, and Sam stood staring out of the window again, munching absentmindedly as she pondered. A rapid movement caught her eye – a cat probably, darting through the back garden. She blinked and it was gone as quickly as it had come.

  Just passing through.

  Like life itself, she thought glumly – all of us are given just a short space of time as we pass through on the way to someplace else. Where, nobody quite knows. She helped herself to a second slice of pizza while she thought about the big decision she’d made. Would Duncan feel anything when the time came? She didn’t want him to suffer, but she did want him out of her life. And the girls’. And she did want the insurance money and widow’s pension, so really, there was no other way to get exactly what she wanted.

  The great outdoors was still and calm. The temperature had plummeted as she’d driven home; her neighbours were all tucked behind thick curtains, too busy staring at their televisions to notice her departure or return on such a night. There was no one to tell Duncan she’d been out, and since Anika was passed out on the sofa, she’d have no clue what time she’d finally got home.

  Sam quietly made her way up the stairs and checked on the girls. She dragged the quilt off the bed in the back room and went back downstairs, where she gently covered Anika over as she lay on the sofa. She stirred a little but didn’t say a word or open her eyes. Sam collected the unopened mail and leaned over Anika for a moment.

  “Thanks for your help,” she said softly, and turned the lamp out, plunging the room into darkness. Closing the living room door on her friend, she made her way up to bed then sent a quick text to Duncan warning him Anika was on the sofa asleep. She didn’t want him barging in, turning the lights on and scaring her to death when he came home later.

  How many more nights? she wondered. How many more did he have? She slipped into her pyjamas and sat up in bed for a while, her body still full of pills and vodka though the adrenaline rush had since faded. Soon she’d crash – she always did – but until that point came, she wanted to run her developing plan back through her head once again, trying to iron out the kinks.

  Like where was she going to get the cash from?

  She remembered the unopened mail that was waiting on the chest of drawers. She padded over. There were three envelopes in total, and she collected them and took them back to bed, where she ripped them open in turn. Electric bill, magazine subscription reminder and bank statement. Didn’t anyone write letters anymore? Wouldn’t that be a nice change from junk mail and bills?

  But as an idea crept into her head through a disused back door, she smiled to herself at the simplicity of it.

  She could forge his signature and get a bank loan.

  And the sweetest part?

  He’d never know anything about it – he wouldn’t be around to find out.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The alarm blared like a ship’s horn and Sam woke with a jolt. Duncan lay next to her. He stirred as she reached over, hit the snooze button and settled back down.

  “What time is it?” he said groggily.

  “A little after seven. Want a cuppa bringing?” Sam was doing her best to be the perfect wife.

  “That would be lovely. Thanks.”

  She watched as he rolled onto his side, facing her, his hair mussed up, eyes barely open.

  “What time did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “A little after midnight. We’d had a solid lead on the child abductor in the afternoon and the team went in last night. Nabbed the pervert but we’re still uncertain where the two children are. He’s not talking.”

  Sam slipped out of bed as the alarm blared again and switched it off, grabbing her robe at the same time.

  “Well, it’s good news you have him. He’ll talk at some stage, won’t he?”

  “I’d like to beat the shit out of him to get him to talk, but you can’t do that these days. Bloody politically correct crap. If politicians worked with what we saw day in, day out, they’d damn well change their minds.” He rubbed his eyes wearily.

  “I’ll go and get your cuppa and give the girls a nudge. You stay put and rest.” She bent over and kissed the side of his head gently before she left the room.

  When Sam returned ten minutes later, she was carrying a tray with two mugs of tea and a plate of hot toast for them both. Duncan was sat up in bed, still bleary-eyed. She noticed the softness of his upper body, the paleness of it. He’d used to be so fit, so strong, when they’d first got together, but age and lack of time and energy had changed all that. And she was no different, she knew. Two children did the same to a woman’s body, though at least she had an excuse.

  “Thought I’d have breakfast in bed with you,” she said with a smile. She passed him a mug then slipped back in under the covers. “The girls are eating cereal downstairs. They’ll probably come and say hi in a minute or two. Toast?” She offered him the plate and he took a slice. She set the plate on the quilt in front of them both. “We’ve not had a picnic in bed since before the girls were born, I don’t think,” she said, almost reminiscing.

  “I meant to ask, why is Anika on the sofa?” He took another bite, greasy butter making his lips glisten.

  “She came over last night, drank too much and fell asleep. They’d had another row, so she needed to drown her sorrows. Then I covered her over. She was still asleep when I went through.” Changing direction, she enquired, “What’s your plan for today, then. Back in to work?”

  “Yes. I’ll have this and grab a shower. We’ve left him to stew in a cell overnight. His lawyer will be back in later this morning, I expect. Maybe then he’ll come to his senses. Good timing, really.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “Well, because I’ve got that tactical training course. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to go, but now he’s safely in the nick, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “I’d forgotten about that. When is it?” Sam felt a prick of alarm in her gut.

  “Day after tomorrow. Just one night away then back home. I could do with the rest here, really.”

  He munched quietly as an idea percolated in Sam’s head. Could this be the opportune time? Could she organize herself and get her plan actioned this week? There was a lot to do.

  “So, I’d better get a move on, get back in to work,” he said, flinging the covers back. He held the edge of a piece of toast in his mouth. Sam watched as he pushed the remainder in, chewing, and left the bedroom. The sound of the shower running, then the girls’ feet running up the stairs, brought her thoughts back to the practicalities of the day ahead.

  With Duncan’s revelation that he would be away in two night’s time, she knew this had to be her window of opportunity. While he was away in another town all on his own, she’d be out of the frame for sure, sat snug at home in front of the TV with the girls, alibi sorted. Perhaps she’d invite Anika to stay over too. Yes – that would be the perfect alibi.

  Anika was stirring as Sam entered the room. The girls were up and clattering around upstairs now, making too much noise for even the deepest sleeper to ignore. Anika clutched her s
ore head and groaned.

  “Morning,” Sam said brightly. “Tea? And maybe a Paracetamol too?”

  “Ouch. Yes, and yes, please.”

  Sam took the recent revelation by the horns and sounded Anika out.

  “Listen, Duncan is away for the night day after tomorrow. Why don’t we have a sleepover? A movie, takeaway, a couple of drinks – it’ll be fun. And if you don’t fall asleep on the couch, there’s a proper bed in the spare room. What do you say?” Sam fixed another bright smile on her face.

  Anika frowned, no doubt feeling sick as a dog.

  “Oh, go on!” Sam enthused. “Two girls, all night, no men? Sounds like fun!”

  It did the trick. Anika smiled weakly and nodded. “But make me limit my wine, would you? My head feels like a thousand ants in work boots are stomping the inside of my skull for fun.”

  “Ah, the ant punishment.” Sam smiled knowingly. “I’ll get your Paracetamol,” she said, and went back through to the kitchen. While she busied herself making tea and finding painkillers, inside her head was a riot of activity. A mental checklist was forming, and her first task was already checked off the list. Would it be stupid to write things out, put a list on physical paper? It would make it much easier. No, her head would have to do.

  Duncan put his head through the door.

  “Right, I’m off. I’ll see you later.”

  “Before you go, what time are you heading to your course, and where is it again?”

  “It’s in Kent but I’ll be overnight Croydon. I’m meeting up with a couple from Croydon station for a curry then tactical the following day. Why?”

  “Oh, just taking an interest in your plans.” That sweet smile again. She was getting convincing at it. She planted a light kiss on his cheek and casually turned back to what she’d been doing.

  “Right, then. I’ll see you later,” Duncan said. “Not sure what time.”

  “Okay. Enjoy your day,” Sam said over her shoulder.

  The front door closed and it was Anika’s turn to put her head through the door.

  “You two sound like you’re getting on well.”

  Sam turned to her friend with the same smile she’d been delivering to Duncan over the last couple of days. She was working hard at laying the emotional groundwork.

  “We are now, thankfully. I think we’ve turned a corner. I see big changes ahead.”

  Don’t I just.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  At last, the house was empty and Sam could think. Planning to get rid of your husband in the next couple of days was not without its drawbacks; there was much to be accomplished to get every detail right. Could she do it another day? Of course she could – but she didn’t want to. The stronger Sam of old had returned, pushing the recent Sam-the-pathetic off her metaphorical cliff, never to return. Her decision to carry out this plan had ignited her inner pilot light, filled her belly with fire again, and the freedom she’d garner at the end of it all – not to mention the money – excited every fibre of her being.

  Her mental list had grown in size, but now, as she headed in through the main entrance of the bank, she was about to chalk a line through another item.

  The money.

  With the clock ticking down the hours, she had only been able to guess at the amount of cash she’d need for her plan. How much does it cost to kill your husband? But since Duncan wouldn’t be around to question the transaction, she had decided to err on the side of caution and organize more than she thought she’d need.

  “Good morning. I’d like to take a loan out, if I may,” she informed the teller behind the screen, slipping her bank card under the glass partition. “I need to do the paperwork if I can, then get my husband to sign later today if that’s okay. He’s working late.”

  The teller smiled her understanding.

  “Certainly. How much are you looking for?” Sam noticed the woman’s engagement ring twinkling as it caught the light; there was no wedding band visible yet. “What a stunning ring,” she said pleasantly. “Have you set the date yet?”

  The woman blushed and smiled. “It’s a bit soon yet. We only got engaged at the weekend. It is lovely though, isn’t it?” She looked down at the ring and blushed again.

  “Oh, congratulations!” Sam carried on, hoping she wasn’t overdoing things.

  The teller eventually came back to the business at hand. “How much would you like to borrow? I see you already have a preapproved amount noted on your account of up to twenty thousand pounds, which means I can confirm that to you today without any further paperwork. Over that amount, though, and I will have to get approval.” The ring twinkled again.

  “It’s lucky I only need twenty thousand, then.” Sam laughed lightly. “Save on the paperwork.”

  “Great. I’ll do that for you now, then. It won’t take me a minute or two.”

  Sam watched the pretty ring as it flew across the keyboard, creating a loan for £20,000. If the teller knew what she was actually authorizing with the loan, Sam mused, she probably wouldn’t be so friendly or efficient.

  Sam smiled to herself. Her plan was going better than expected now that one of her biggest obstacles was almost completed. Luckily, she and Duncan had always had a joint account rather than opting for a housekeeping account and both contributing amounts into that. It worked for other couples, but Sam and Duncan had never seen any point in it. When she’d been working, they’d saved a little each month, putting it towards a holiday or renovations or a new car, but those savings had dwindled a little since they’d been living on one wage.

  The teller was speaking. Sam had missed the question.

  “Which account would you like the money to be available from, Mrs. Riley?”

  “The savings account, please.” Sam watched the flying diamond again as the teller pressed a key to confirm the transfer. Smiling, she announced that the money was in their account.

  All £20,000 of it.

  It couldn’t have been easier.

  Sam left the bank with a spring in her step, destination unknown for the time being. A coffee shop sign up ahead caught her attention, and she slipped inside to quietly celebrate on her own.

  In a few more days she’d be spending a good deal more time on her own.

  “Cappuccino and a donut please,” she ordered, and took a seat in a corner spot by the window to think some more. There was still so much to organize. It was quiet inside the coffee shop, though the takeaway window was nonstop. Sam was glad she didn’t have to rush off to the office or be at someone else’s beck and call any more. Would she need to go back to that when this was all over? Get a job? The insurance money wouldn’t last forever, she knew, and she’d probably have to move house. Clumber Road was okay, handy for Duncan’s work, but there was the whole country to consider now, and far nicer places to settle down and start afresh.

  And the funds to do it with.

  The girls were young enough not to mind the move, thankfully. They were both a long way from exams that mattered and the upheaval of lifelong friendships. They could get a house with a field, get a pony or some chickens, have a puppy maybe; the girls would love that. Her coffee and donut arrived, and she tucked in, still musing about what she might do herself eventually. Buy a café business, maybe? Plenty of people had that dream – settle on the Cornish coast, open a little place with checkered tablecloths and serve scones with homemade jam. . .

  Sam watched the barista diligently work through the orders in front of her, her hands frantically switching from adding coffee to the press or milk to the steam tap. It looked hot, hard work. Sam imagined spending hours with steam rising into her face, queues in front of her until lunchtime and beyond, when it would start up again for a couple more hours.

  “We’ll see,” she mumbled, and turned away to watch the world outside the window while she ate her good fortune reward. Raspberry jam dripped onto her lap and she glanced down in annoyance, then gave a start. It looked like blood.

  Duncan’s blood.

/>   And it didn’t bother her.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  She pressed her finger thoughtfully into the blob of deep red jam on her jeans, surprised at her lack of emotion. It was dark enough to be blood but thicker, and she spread out to the sides a little as she played with it.

  She imagined now that it was Duncan’s blood, that she’d somehow found him after the fact, had sat with him a moment or two before calling it in, reporting a death – not that she’d be in the vicinity if her plan went through, of course. But what if it did happen in their home? Would she find him lying in a pool of his own blood on the kitchen floor? What then? Would she play with a blob of blood between her thumb and forefinger like she was playing now with the sticky raspberry jam? Maybe. Or maybe she’d be crying, regretting what she’d been responsible for, or maybe she’d be whooping, dancing gaily around his prostrate body. Or maybe she’d have no emotion at all. That seemed the most likely scenario, because each time she’d thought, really thought, about what she was organizing, she had felt nothing at all about the task ahead. Maybe she could do the job herself and save the cash? No, the forensics team would be on her in a flash. Never mind the problem of an alibi: if she did the deed itself, she couldn’t be out with Anika at the same time.

  No, clearly it needed to be done by someone else other than her.

  But two days seemed so … soon. Perhaps she should choose another date, further in the distance.

  Or did it? Perhaps she should take the opportunity in front of her after all: Duncan would be out of town, and she’d be at home with Anika – with a firm alibi right there. Fate had surely dealt her a gift, a timeframe in which she could act –so she should do just that.

  She sipped her coffee and finished her donut, thoughts drifting. She remembered that night not long ago when the girls had been returned safe and sound, the look of disgust, of distrust even, that had been etched on Duncan’s face, his accusation that she was unfit to take care of them, and his threat to take the girls and leave her behind.