The Bad Things: A gripping crime thriller full of twists and turns. Mary-Jane Riley

throat behind her. Then she spoke.

      ‘By the way—’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘All those years ago, what were you doing with Martin Jessop?’

      Alex pretended not to hear.

       9

      He’d held her hand a little longer than necessary when they first met, but Alex hadn’t minded that. He was tall, with dirty blond hair just touching his collar. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing strong, tanned forearms.

      They met, about six months before the murders, at a talk being given by a couple of well-known authors at the college in Ipswich. She asked a question – she couldn’t for the life of her now remember what it was – but it must have ignited a spark of interest because at the toe-curling have-a-glass-of-warm-Chardonnay-and-meet-the-author event after the talk, he approached her.

      ‘My name’s Martin,’ he said.

      They chatted for a while, he asked her to go for a drink with him and she did, realizing that the attraction was mutual. He was clever and witty, and made her laugh. The drink led to dinner, dinner led to a hotel and a clandestine relationship. Oh, she knew there was a wife somewhere but she fell for the classic ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ line and that there was a ‘messy divorce’ going on, which was why he’d prefer to keep their relationship quiet for a while. It was Alex who found him the flat in Sole Bay, who was careful not to be seen when she visited, and was convinced no one knew about the two of them.

      When she looked back and wondered why she had been drawn in, she realized it was because she’d been lonely. She was struggling to get her freelance career off the ground and look after a lively baby boy on her own. She was young, and having a clandestine lover made her life more exciting, which was why she never questioned Martin closely about his personal life.

      It wasn’t until after he’d been arrested that she found out he was spinning her one great lie. Several lies. There was a wife, but very much married to Martin (no ‘messy divorce’ in the foreground or background), and two teenage children living in a small village in Cambridgeshire. He stayed in Sole Bay two or three nights a week, sometimes weekends because of his job at the college. Not because of her. She didn’t figure at all. She read all the details in the papers and knew she had been well and truly duped. The classic woman who believed everything her cheating lover told her.

      At the time, it was all she could do not to fall apart. Something she had started for fun had been destroyed. She had brought a murderer into the family. The only reason she kept on living, kept herself together, was Gus. If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t have been able to get out of bed in the morning. She also had to put on a show. No one had known about her affair with Martin and she wanted to keep it that way. How she managed to get through each day, putting one leaden foot in front of another, was now a blur. But she had done it.

      Alex saw Martin’s wife in court, not unexpectedly. Tall, blonde, always well turned out – well groomed, well dressed. She never said anything or displayed any emotion, not, that is, until Martin was sentenced to life in prison. Then Alex watched as a solitary tear rolled down her cheek. She didn’t wait for him to be taken down.

      The only emotion Alex felt when he was sentenced was thankfulness. He would be out of her life forever. Throughout the hearing she was terrified he would bring her into it, but he never did. Perhaps he thought she had suffered enough.

      The last thing she could do was confess to anybody that she knew Martin Jessop.

      But it was worse than that.

      She walked quickly out of the caravan park and went to sit on a bench overlooking the sea. In its seeming infinity, the water always made her feel as though nothing was as bad as it seemed. And she sat there, hunched over, watching the grey waters dash against the harbour wall and feeling the wind tug at her clothes while the salt air scrubbed her skin, making it sore.

      How did Jackie Wood know?

      The question gnawed at her. She must have seen them at some point. Same block of flats. But why didn’t she say anything at the trial? Why didn’t she stand up and shout, ‘the sister knew the murderer too!’

      Why?

      Alex arrived home to hear the grunting speak of teenage boys and the drone of the Playstation in the sitting room, and no sign of Malone.

      ‘Hi guys,’ she said as she took stock of the dirty plates and cups on the floor, magazines lying about, and the feral smell of male youth. It was good, though, she had to return to normal mode, forget about Jackie Wood and think about everyday life. To be honest, it was a relief. She didn’t want to wrestle with her conscience any more and she didn’t want to be going over and over in her mind what Jackie Wood might have meant by ‘things’ and what might have happened to Martin’s diary.

      ‘Hey, Alex. How’s tricks?’

      ‘Fine thanks, Jack,’ she said, resisting the urge to tidy up. ‘You?’

      ‘Great.’ He didn’t look up from his laptop perched on his knee, fingers flying over the keyboard. Jack, gangly and yet to grow into his cheekbones and aquiline nose and full mouth; was a little different to Gus’s other friends; into computers and gaming, though he did enjoy his sport. Alex liked him. He always said hi, and when Gus was going through his difficult phase (the difficult phase that nearly gave her a mental breakdown), he stuck by her son; helped him shake off the bad group of lads he’d been hanging about with. Probably something to do with them both being in the local youth football team and the fact that he didn’t go to Gus’s school.

      Gus stood. ‘Hey, Mum, hope you don’t mind a few of us hanging out here.’

      ‘Nope,’ she said, counting, as well as Jack, two boys she hadn’t seen before and, sitting with slim legs curled under her bottom in an armchair in the corner, flicking through a magazine, a girl. She almost did a double take. This was the first time she had ever known a girl penetrate the male circle of Gus’s friends.

      ‘Great. We might go to the cinema later.’

      ‘Okay.’ Alex hung on, hoping for some introductions, and trying not to stare at the girl who was gorgeous. Curvy figure, masses of auburn curls, brown doe-eyes which she turned on Alex now, her bee-sting lips curved in a smile. Her nose, slightly too large and a tad crooked gave her face character.

      ‘Thanks, Mum,’ Gus said in that dismissive voice, giving her a fierce look, which meant she was supposed to leave.

      ‘Okay,’ she said again. ‘Enjoy yourselves, won’t you?’

      She backed out of the room, and, although she was sorry not to be introduced to the girl, she was pleased that the presence of Gus’s friends meant he wouldn’t be able to quiz her on how the interview with Jackie Wood had gone.

      She made herself a coffee and sat in the kitchen, sipping it slowly and watching the wind blow through the bare trees in the back garden. All that was needed was a bit of tumbleweed rolling on through. It was how she felt. Empty, spent.

      Come on.

      She needed to concentrate on the interview in the context of the article she would be writing; make herself forget about any personal connection between her and Jackie Wood.

      Okay, so she’d discovered the woman had a boyfriend. Who? Surely someone local; and it was odd that Jackie Wood hadn’t given up his name then or now. He might have been able to help her by providing some sort of character reference. Did he get cold feet? Not love her enough? Just wanted to have his name kept out of the whole mess, plain and simple? And she couldn’t say she blamed him. Or maybe he had something to hide. Or Jackie Wood did. But now? Well, if she’d told her about him now it might make her seem more human to the readers. Elicit some sympathy, maybe.

      Alex took her notebook out