I Invited Her In: The new domestic psychological thriller from Sunday Times bestselling author Adele Parks. Adele Parks

suddenly turns from upset to angry. She’s always been mercurial, and drink doesn’t help. Nor does an adulterous husband. ‘I’ve always feared it might happen. I’ve never really trusted him. He wasn’t the sort you could trust.’ She stares at me, fuming. ‘How had I forgotten that?’

      ‘I guess because you’ve been together for a long time,’ comments Ben, gently. ‘Obviously, this is really hard.’

      ‘Yes! Eighteen is no age at all to make a decision as gargantuan as who you should spend the rest of your life with, but I did.’ Abi is swaying on her chair slightly. ‘The thing was, besides my mother, who doesn’t really like anyone, everyone adored him. Didn’t they, Mel?’

      I shrug, unsure I can agree but feeling she really expects me to.

      ‘You know her husband?’ Ben asks, surprised.

      ‘Yes, absolutely she does,’ confirms Abi. ‘He was studying for his PhD when we were undergrads. He tutored some of our classes.’

      ‘Not mine,’ I chip in.

      ‘His power was very magnetic. Plus, he was absolutely beautiful. Wasn’t he, Melanie?’ She nudges me with her elbow.

      ‘Erm, well you remember him far better than I do,’ I mutter, embarrassed. I don’t want to fortify the image of Rob as an astoundingly sexy, desirable but ultimately unobtainable man. It’s too sad.

      ‘He was!’ she insists. ‘Irresistible.’ I nod – it’s just easiest to go along with her.

      ‘You know what you need, Abi,’ says Ben, lightly. ‘You need to get back in the saddle.’

      ‘Nice thought,’ I mutter, glaring at him. He ignores me.

      ‘Seriously. Give yourself a treat. Even the score,’ insists Ben.

      Abigail stares at him from under her damp eyelashes but doesn’t comment. I put my hand in the air and wave at the waiter, make the universal sign that asks him to bring the bill. Ben doesn’t mean to be insensitive but at the risk of generalising, women just aren’t like men. We don’t move on so easily.

      It’s a long night. When we finally get home, Abi suggests we all have a nightcap. Tanya says she can’t stay but will come back for Sunday lunch tomorrow. Liam walks her home, just ten minutes away. I don’t want to be rude – Abi so obviously wants company – and so agree to a quick one. Ben stays up with us as well. It’s a relief when Abi stops being maudlin and instead makes us laugh with stories about her old colleagues; the way she tells it every one of them was a marvellous character. Liam returns and delights me by not shuffling off to bed but instead settling down to hear Abi’s stories and drink with us, although he sensibly stays off the hard stuff, and just sips on beer.

      We only call it a night at two in the morning. I can’t remember when I last stayed awake until that time, let alone stayed up drinking. We polish off the whiskey Ben got from my parents at Christmas. I think I suggested we start on the brandy, but Ben says he can’t find it. I’m pretty sure it’s in the kitchen, in plain sight, on the tray where we keep spirits. I wonder if he is really drunk and honestly can’t see it or if he wants to pull the night to a close? I’m too drunk to bother to look myself and something in the back of my head is saying it’s probably a good thing since, if I drink the brandy, I’ll feel even worse tomorrow. Ben and I haul ourselves upstairs, Abi says she’s going outside onto the patio to smoke a cigarette. I see Ben, an avid anti-smoker, shake his head but I’m just relieved she hasn’t lit up in the sitting room. Liam, the angel, starts to clear away the glasses.

      ‘You’re a good kid,’ I say, but am surprised that it comes out as a bit of a slur. ‘I’ll increase your pocket money.’ This is a joke we still run. Liam doesn’t have pocket money anymore – he has a part-time job in Costa and earns a bit through babysitting – but whenever he does anything helpful or kind, we joke that he’s doing it for economic reasons and that we’ll increase his pocket money.

      ‘Do I get extra if I bring you water and paracetamol in the morning? I think you’re going to need it.’ There’s nothing a teen likes more than teasing a parent because they’re handling their alcohol poorly.

      ‘I’m on it,’ laughs Ben. Holding up a glass of water.

      Abi stumbles back into the kitchen. ‘God, he’s amazing, isn’t he? Tends to your every need.’ Then she suddenly pulls me into a tight hug. ‘I love you, guys’ she says with the absolute conviction of a drunk, I don’t care if this affection is alcohol induced. I feel warm and glowing when she adds, ‘You are the best.’ She hugs Ben and then Liam too with equal ferocity.

      I go to bed knowing all is right with the world.

14

       Abigail

      Abigail lay on the sofa bed, her long, tanned limbs stretched out in front of her. The room was not dark enough – the girls preferred the landing light to stay on during the night and the bedroom door didn’t quite fit as snugly as would have been ideal, so light flooded under and over. Also, the room was too hot. She’d tried turning the radiator down but it didn’t seem to make any difference. She got out of bed and flung open the window. The cold night air rushed in, a relief. Ben’s words floated around Abigail’s head. ‘You know what you need, Abi. You need to get back in the saddle.’

      Back in the saddle.

      Giddy up.

      People wanted her to move on. They were bored of her mooning. Rob had stopped loving her and, chivvy along now, she had to stop loving him. Giddy up. The thought made her smile. It was a good idea. He was right; there was no time to waste. No more time. You know what you need, Abi. You need to get back in the saddle. She wondered, just briefly, was it a suggestion or an offer? They seemed like such a happy couple but who knew? No one ever really knew what went on in a relationship.

      Abigail checked her emails. Even though it was a Saturday, Rob had sent her two: one from him and one from his lawyer. He must have his lawyer working on this around the clock. Naturally he had; he knew he was in trouble. Being caught having sex is pretty damning evidence of fault. She planned to take him to the cleaners. Make him pay in every way she could. His email suggested they could make this divorce quick, clean, and as painless as possible. Fuck that. She saw that offer for what it was: a man who knew he was going to be paying through the nose, running scared. She opened the email from the lawyer and looked at the details of the proposed settlement. It was fair enough, some might say, not exactly generous, but reasonable. She typed her response.

      Fuck you.

      She was drunk enough to think this was hilarious and bold.

      She was sober enough to regret it the moment she pressed send. She wondered whether it was possible to recall emails and Googled it. She wasn’t sure, even after she’d read the chat forums debating the issue. It seemed it was but the recipient would know you’d done so. That was just as bad. Worse. She’d rather Rob think she was bold and rash than cowed and insecure.

      She started to cry. She hated crying, it was ageing and hopeless, defeatist.

      She heard a quiet knock at the door, so quiet she hardly dared call, ‘Come in.’ Slowly the door opened just a couple of inches. He put his head around.

      ‘I thought you might need water, too?’

      Abi hurriedly brushed the tears away; she didn’t want him to see them. ‘Oh, thanks, yes.’ He handed her a glass of iced water. Thoughtful, not tepid from the bathroom tap. Their fingers brushed together.

      You can’t make some things up, you can’t imagine them, even if you want to wish them away or even if you plan to ignore them. There was a flicker of electricity. It shot through her arm, her shoulder, her chest and then down into the pit, the core of her body. She hadn’t felt anything like it for years. She met his eye, acknowledging the flash