The Missing Husband
Natasha Boydell
Copyright © 2021 Natasha Boydell
The right of Natasha Boydell to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2021 by Bloodhound Books.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Print ISBN 978-1-913942-51-9
Contents
Love crime, thriller and mystery books?
Prologue
1. Kate
2. Pete
3. Kate
4. Pete
5. Kate
6. Pete
7. Kate
8. Pete
9. Kate
10. Pete
11. Kate
12. Pete
13. Kate
14. Pete
15. Kate
16. Pete
17. Kate
18. Pete
19. Kate
20. Claire
21. Pete
22. Claire
23. Pete
24. Claire
25. Kate
26. Pete
27. Kate
28. Claire and Kate
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
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Prologue
There is nothing remarkable about the last time you saw your husband. It was a typical September day, a wet weekday morning just like any of the thousands that have passed before it without ceremony. You were alone in the kitchen, tidying up the aftermath of the children’s breakfast when he walked in. His hair was still damp from his shower and the fresh, clean smell of toothpaste and lemon shower gel emanated from him, just as it did every morning. It was one of your favourite smells and even after all these years of marriage you still paused for a second to breathe it in.
You switched on the coffee machine, sliced some sourdough bread and put it in the toaster, while he grabbed the coffee cups and milk; years of cohabitation creating a routine so ingrained that you were hardly aware you were doing it anymore. The children had gone to school early that morning, so you had a rare, uninterrupted breakfast together, sipping your still hot coffee and talking about the mundane topics of family life. Then he wiped his mouth, stood up, kissed you and left – his mind, you imagined, already preoccupied with the tasks of the day ahead.
It has now been five months and you haven’t seen him since.
You’ve replayed that morning over and over again in your head. You’ve obsessed over every single second of that day and the days leading up to it. Recently someone asked you, ‘If you knew then that it would be the last time you saw him, would you have done anything differently?’
The answer is, you have no idea anymore. Because, what do you do when your husband has betrayed you? When he has turned his back on everything you built together, on your children, on your intertwined life as a family unit? When his selfishness has broken you and the life you thought was real? When every time you think you’ve found the answers, something happens to plant a new seed of doubt in your mind?
You carry on. You put the kettle on, you look after the kids and you get on with your life.
Because, really, what else can you do?
1
Kate
Kate sat at the kitchen table and stared at her iPhone. It was a pointless exercise really. She already knew it wasn’t going to provide her with any answers. She scrolled mindlessly through her Facebook, Twitter and Instagram feeds, scanning the endless conveyor belt of other people’s lives without processing any of it. It was simply a habit, a distraction from real life and in particular the situation she was in. She looked at the clock on the wall and then back at her phone. She tapped her fingers on the table, her manicured nails clicking on the hardwood surface, one, two, three, one, two, three, four, five, playing scales in her subconscious – an old habit from years of piano lessons as a child.
The kettle boiled and clicked off for the third time that morning. No tea had been made yet.
The house had the stillness that comes after the whirling tornado of children – school shoes flying across the room, the frantic search for missing coats or bags, bickering over who gets the pink earmuffs – have finally departed for school and peace is temporarily restored for a few blissful hours. Normally she treasured the silence but today it was too loud and too obvious. Something was missing and she had that horrible, sinking feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you know that the world has fundamentally shifted but you’re not sure exactly what that means yet.
Finally, she exhaled deeply, picked up the phone and called her sister Erin. As usual, it went to voicemail and this wasn’t the time for pleasantries or small talk. Five words were enough, so she took a deep breath and said simply: ‘I think he’s left me’. There was nothing else to say and she put the phone down and stared at the clock again. It continued its steady ticking, oblivious to the chaos that was erupting around it. Time didn’t stand still for anyone.
The clock was grey and elegant, an impulse purchase to fill a blank wall and the final touch to the family kitchen which had been Kate’s project of passion for months. She’d finally got to buy the sunken sink, central island and huge Aga she’d always dreamed of. ‘Like a modern farmhouse kitchen in the city,’ her husband Pete had commented when it was finished. She’d been desperate to create a rural chic effect and
