The Marriage Trap: A completely addictive psychological thriller Page 3

  Folding her arms, Karla blew out a sigh. She still wasn’t looking at him.

  ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed his hands straying all over the place whenever an attractive woman comes near him?’ Jason went on. He couldn’t help himself. God only knew how her mother put up with him. If he were Diana, he’d take Fenton for what he could and be out of there like a shot.

  ‘I might have known,’ Karla mumbled eventually, her tone now considerably peeved. She pulled herself away from the kitchen counter.

  ‘Known what?’ Feeling more than a little pissed off himself, Jason watched her walk to the hall.

  Karla stopped, whirling back around to face him. ‘That you would do this. Anything to try to avoid the real problem.’

  Jason squinted at her in disbelief. ‘I’m not trying to avoid anything, Karla. Trust me, I know what the problem is: me, clearly.’

  ‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ Karla snapped. ‘I try to have a sensible discussion with you about our financial situation and you start acting like a temperamental adolescent.’

  Well, that pretty much summed up her opinion of him. There really was no point talking to her, was there? Jason stared at her, disbelieving. ‘Fine, whatever. Think what you like about me. What your father is, though – that’s fact, Karla. Ask some of the women who work with him. Ask your mother’s friend’s daughter. He was standing so close to her at the bar, he was practically breathing down her neck.’

  ‘I don’t want to!’ Karla glared at him, her eyes blazing. ‘He’s my dad, Jason! What do you want me to do?’

  Jason had no idea how to answer that.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do, don’t you see? But I can do something about this. About us.’ She scanned his face, her expression now beseeching. ‘Why do you do this every time I try to talk to you? I don’t understand.’

  Jason took a tight breath. ‘No,’ he said, more quietly, ‘and I don’t understand why you think I would want to be indebted to the man, Karla. Honestly, I don’t.’

  Karla said nothing for a second, and then, ‘I can’t do this, Jason. Not tonight. I’m tired.’

  Me too, he thought. Very. He sighed heavily behind her as she walked away.

  THREE

  KARLA

  I feel the dip in the bed as Jason climbs in beside me. Desperate to avoid further argument, or worse, obviously not speaking, I’m tempted for a second to feign sleep, but I think he probably knows me well enough to know when I’m faking it. But he doesn’t know me, I remind myself. Not all of me. Not the secret I keep.

  He’s right about my father. Everything he says is true. What my father did to the person who was once closest to my heart opened my eyes to this fact years ago. The awfulness of it haunts my dreams. I wish I’d told. Made him tell. I was young, too young to realise the significance of Sarah losing consciousness when she fell, but my father would have. My mother would have. Had she not been by the bedside of my dying gran, she would have been there. She would have done something. I should have rung her at the hospital. The number had been there on my father’s desk. I should have said something. He should have.

  I wish I could go back. See my sister again, hold her. Tell her that, no matter how much we argued, I loved her. That I’m sorry.

  I would have told, Sarah whispers in my head.

  She would have. Had it been I who was unconscious, Sarah would have stood up to him. Always the more confident one, she wouldn’t have allowed herself to be silenced by him. I was weak, but I gathered strength as I grew, began to see my father for who he really was: a man who would instil fear in a child. His own child. Who thrived on the fear he could instil in other people. I fought for my daughter. I fought for Jason. I will always fight for him, though he doesn’t realise that’s what I’m doing, trying to secure his future. Our future. I didn’t fight for my sister.

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I hear Jason breathing. He’s lying still, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. Sometimes he will throw an arm across his forehead and drift into a fitful sleep. More and more lately, he will toss and turn, pummel his pillow. When he does finally drift off, he will wake with a jolt, his own troubles haunting him. I so wish he would let me help him. Yes, it’s my father’s money, but it will be mine one day, after all. Surely putting some of it to good use now, when we need it, makes sense.

  I feel him stir then, drawing a deep breath into his lungs, sighing it heavily out. ‘Sorry,’ he murmurs.

  And my heart aches for him. It’s not his fault. It’s mine. I should have known better. Raising the subject of him taking a loan from my father was inevitably going to lead to us arguing. Jason wants to make things right, of course he does. But how can he? The bank has turned him down. We’ve already raised money against the house. He has no other options. He doesn’t stand a chance of raising the capital he needs to clear his debts and get someone else with the relevant computer science experience on board.

  ‘I know,’ I answer. I want to tell him it’s okay, but I can’t. Things feel far from okay right now. I feel as if the sand is shifting beneath us. As if we’re drifting apart, rather than reaching out to each other at a time when we need each other most. We’ve argued in the past. With two children, both now heading alarmingly quickly towards the dreaded teens, there’s an argument on average once a day in this household. But we’ve never been distant like this.

  Jason doesn’t speak for a minute, and then I feel the mattress move under his weight as he turns towards me. ‘I really am sorry, Karla. I’ll fix this,’ he promises, sliding an arm around my midriff, easing me closer. ‘I just have to work smarter.’

  I place a hand over his. He has nice hands; strong, with long fingers and clean fingernails. I wish he wouldn’t try to be so strong sometimes. Wouldn’t try to do everything himself, as if he has something to prove. I smile ironically at the idiocy of that thought. Of course he has something to prove. In his eyes, he’s in competition with my father. He always has been. But he needs to succeed on his own terms. To provide for his family. I get where that comes from, that it’s some inbuilt caveman instinct – though I daren’t say that to him – but it doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m scared. Scared I might lose him. That my father will eventually win the battle he has waged against him.

  ‘Bear with me,’ he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my shoulder, another to the base of my neck. His hand strays lower, moving around to trace the curve of my hip, and my heart flutters, like a frantic butterfly in my chest.

  I can’t do this. I try to quell a ridiculous rush of panic. Jason’s a good lover – a tender, caring, adventurous lover. There’s nothing I want more than the connection between us, the closeness it would bring, but now all I can see is my father. Worse, I can hear him, snoring as he lies by the side of my sister. And Sarah, I can’t hear her at all. My panic rises, twisting my heart in my chest. Guilt, too; expanding unbearably in my throat. You should have told.

  I couldn’t. I catch Jason’s hand as it slides over my pelvis, dipping below the waistline of my shorts. ‘Don’t, Jase,’ I say, a shiver running through me. ‘I’m so tired…’

  I stop as he freezes, feel his frustration as he pulls away from me. Turning to him, I see the silhouette of his arm as he rakes a hand through his hair. ‘Jason…’ I reach for him, but he moves swiftly, rolling away from me. Sitting up, he plants his feet on the floor and yanks himself off the bed.

  ‘Where are you going?’ I pull myself up as he plucks his phone from the bedside table and heads for the door.

  ‘Not far in my boxers,’ Jason assures me, his tone short, as if he would quite like to go as far away as possible.

  ‘Jason, don’t,’ I implore him. ‘I want to,’ I say weakly. Even I’m not convinced by the sound of my voice. ‘It’s just that I…’

  ‘Don’t,’ Jason finishes as I trail off, a weary edge to his tone. ‘I won’t be long,’ he adds, with a despairing sigh. ‘I just need some space… to think.’

  ‘Jase…’ I climb out of
bed, but he grabs his dressing gown from the door and heads out onto the landing. I don’t want us to argue again – more than anything, I don’t want that – but nor do I want to lie here worrying about him being upset, which he obviously is.

  ‘Don’t go down.’ Reaching the landing as he gets to the top of the stairs, I implore him. ‘Can’t we just cuddle?’

  Smiling wryly, Jason glances at me – and then quickly past me, towards Josh’s room, as his bedroom door squeaks open.

  ‘I heard a noise.’ Josh emerges, blinking nervously, and my heart sinks. He looks more like a startled owl with his glasses off than he does with them on. My ten-year-old boy. He doesn’t take after Jason, with his broad shoulders and toned chest. Josh is slightly pigeon-chested, if anything. Small for his age, he’s an easy target for the bullies at school, and picked on by his more robust sister, who, though just a year older, is growing like a beansprout. He’s vulnerable. Perhaps he is more like his father than I imagine. I don’t want to upset his little world.

  ‘It was just Daddy and me talking,’ I reassure him – a small lie. ‘Come on, let’s tuck you back up and then I’ll go and fetch you a drink.’

  ‘I’ll see to him,’ Jason says. ‘You’re tired.’ His eyes flick briefly in my direction, pointedly. ‘Come on, mate. Let’s go and make some hot chocolate. I’m not sleeping so well lately either.’

  ‘Sucks, doesn’t it?’ Josh says, with a world-weary sigh, as he trudges towards him.

  ‘And some.’ Jason smiles, wrapping an arm chummily around his shoulders.

  I watch them go down, my heart beating a worried pitter-patter in my chest. Why can’t I oust the feeling that something is looming over us? Something that will blow our little family apart?

  ‘Were you arguing?’ I hear Josh ask his dad as they reach the hall, his voice small and uncertain. And my stomach clenches inside me as I realise my sensitive boy senses it too.

  FOUR

  JASON

  ‘All good?’ Jason asked, as Josh scrambled back into bed.

  ‘Yup.’ Josh nodded quickly, looking happier for the man talk they’d had while they’d made hot chocolate together. Jason hadn’t lied to him. He told him that yes, he and Karla had been arguing when they should have been sleeping – about his working hours, he’d said, rather than their sex life, or lack of. He’d assured Josh that they would make up. He wasn’t sure they would, however, unless he caved in and did what Karla wanted and went grovelling to her father. Josh had seemed placated. The kid was a worrier. Intuitive, too. The last thing Jason wanted was his son lying awake thinking he was going to be part of a single-parent family.

  Jason reached to help as Josh managed to get his feet tied up in his duvet, then waited for him to wriggle down under it and tucked it up to his chin. ‘Might be an idea to put the glasses away safely, mate.’ He nodded towards where they were perched on the edge of his bedside locker. ‘Don’t want to end up knocking them off and breaking them, do you?’

  ‘Oops.’ Josh smiled and plucked them up. He’d hated the things up until a couple of years back. He’d previously had to wear an eye patch to correct his lazy eye, and he hadn’t understood why the doctors couldn’t correct his short-sightedness, so Jason could hardly blame him for being fed up. He was stuck with the glasses, but at least now he didn’t feel so much like a ‘goggle-eyed freak’ – as some of his shitty little classmates at school had referred to him.

  Thank God for Harry Potter, Jason thought, watching as his son inspected the glasses for smears before picking up his box, placing them carefully inside and returning them to his locker. ‘Night, tiger,’ he said, ruffling his hair as he snuggled back down again. ‘Sleep tight.’

  ‘Night, Dad.’ His eyes growing heavy already – unsurprisingly, since it was now past one in the morning – Josh yawned widely. ‘Kiss Mum for me,’ he mumbled.

  ‘I will,’ Jason promised, glad that Josh wasn’t shying away from showing affection. He doubted Karla would be very receptive to him kissing her though, since she’d turned him down flat when he’d tried to reach out to her. Maybe he should hone up his skills on the dance floor, he mused cynically.

  Sighing, he went to check on Holly. After finding her sleeping like an angel, despite his fears that she wouldn’t after viewing totally unsuitable horror crap, Jason paused on the landing, wondering how it was that things seemed to be falling so badly apart. Not just his business, but them, their marriage. Did Karla feel the same way? She’d given up her acting degree to be with him. He’d wanted to be with her, more than anything, but… what had happened to the friendship they’d shared? Their determination not to become like their parents: his constantly arguing, hers barely speaking? They’d promised themselves they would never fall into the same traps as other people, that they would stay invested in each other, never become indifferent or contemptuous of each other. They had planned to scale mountains together, literally, both preferring activity holidays to lying around on the beach. Granted, they couldn’t have done that when the kids were younger, but they’d intended to once Holly and Josh were older. They’d both wanted the same things, to do the same things. He’d been training as a skydiving instructor when he’d first met her. Karla had wanted to skydive. She never had. She’d wanted to learn how to scuba dive, sail, windsurf and abseil. Yet, they’d made no plans, which was largely down to him, he reminded himself guiltily, because they couldn’t afford to.

  She’d planned to pick up her acting career, once Holly was born, and then Josh. She’d never done that either. Her father would have forked out her fees; her mother would have had the kids. Yet Karla had turned down both offers. She rarely left the kids with her mother, in fact, which Jason didn’t quite get. Diana loved them, and Josh and Holly both adored her.

  Jason loved the children. With his bones, he loved them. He hadn’t done what he’d wanted to with his life either, but he would never have missed out on fatherhood in exchange for indulging his extreme sports hobbies and business dreams. As long as Josh and Holly were healthy and happy, he told himself it didn’t matter, but suddenly, with the company looking more and more likely to fold, it did. Mostly because it was becoming glaringly obvious that Karla wasn’t any happier with the way things were between them than he was. She was an incredible mother, always putting the kids’ welfare above everything else. Her job was okay, she’d said. She was obviously good at it, getting promoted to office manager and personal assistant to the chief executive, which had brought in some much-needed extra income.

  Fundamentally, though, she wasn’t fulfilled. She was frustrated, mostly with him. And Jason had no idea what to do about it, other than what Karla had suggested: talk to her father about a business loan. He would probably choke before he got the words out.

  Heading downstairs, Jason swallowed back the bitter taste in his mouth. What irked him most about Fenton was that the man held himself up as some paragon of perfection: successful businessman, captain of the golf club, still married to the same woman after thirty-five years. It was bollocks. Fenton was a womaniser and a bully. Someone who would suggest to his daughter that she abort the child he knew she wanted wasn’t fit to be a father, as far as Jason was concerned. He’d never understood why he’d been so insistent she shouldn’t go through with the pregnancy. Even if Fenton hated his guts, which he obviously did, why would he try so hard to pressurise Karla, a grown woman capable of making her own decisions?

  Suppressing his thoughts around that, because it wrenched his gut every time he considered the fact that his own daughter might never have been born, he poured away the hot chocolate he’d promised Josh he would finish and headed to the lounge for something stronger. He shouldn’t, but he needed it. He poured a large measure of whisky, knocked it back and poured another. He should have told Fenton what he thought of him when he’d cornered him at the party, and sod the consequences. He’d rather be seen as a failure than a ‘self-made man’ who thought his millions entitled him to treat people like shit.

&nb
sp; Cautioning himself to make it his last, Jason topped up his glass and went back to the kitchen to turn off the lights. He picked up his phone and was heading back to the hall, supposing he should sleep in the spare room, rather than wake Karla, when he was reminded of an earlier text. From Mark, letting him know he’d made some headway on the software glitch they’d been struggling with.

  Not there yet, the message read, but think I might have identified the problem. Working on it over the w/end. Meanwhile, Tinder calls. What do you reckon?

  Jason opened the photo he’d attached, and very nearly choked as a woman who would definitely qualify as a blonde bombshell popped up – or rather, out. Wearing two wisps of lace, she was as underdressed as it was possible to get without being actually naked.

  Jesus. Quashing down an undeniable stab of lust, Jason composed himself and texted back: Ten. Definitely.

  Might be a bit late in tomorrow, Mark replied, including a thumbs-up emoji.

  Lucky git. Has she got a sister? Jason typed.

  I’ll ask.

  Jason smiled ruefully. Fill me in tomorrow, he texted back. Cheers for your efforts, mate. I owe you.

  Muting his phone, Jason sighed in frustration and acknowledged he was possibly a touch jealous of his friend’s freedom. What he’d give to be that carefree occasionally. Was he truly envious though? His marriage had hit a rough patch, but it could be fixed, given they could relearn how to communicate. He would quite like someone to be listening when he tried to. Judging by the profile photo, though, he doubted if the woman in it would be up for a night’s not-so-scintillating verbal intercourse. She might well be a complete nutjob, and probably didn’t look anything like her profile. Attempting to console himself with that thought, he climbed the stairs, swallowing back his guilt at even entertaining the idea as he bypassed his kids’ bedroom doors.