The Ex-Boyfriend: A completely addictive and shocking psychological thriller Page 3

  The police? Becca thought she was going to faint and could only nod her response. She was being picked on, made a scapegoat by a woman who had her favourites amongst the nursing staff, and Becca wasn’t one of them. Had a colleague pointed the finger? Was anyone else being suspended? She had no answers, only questions, as she was sent home.

  From that moment on, Becca’s life spiralled down into the worst hell she could have imagined.

  Days at home, ostracised by her colleagues while the investigation was underway, made her start to doubt herself as she walked through her medication rounds in her mind, trying to remember every detail. But memory is a fickle creation at the best of times, and instead of reassuring herself that she was in the right, she became convinced that it was possible she’d made some terrible mistakes. That people had died because of her actions.

  She found herself repeating mundane tasks, and the repetition turned into an obsession until she couldn’t drink from a mug until she’d washed it three times. Couldn’t empty the washing machine until she’d done another rinse and a spin. Had to check three times that she’d locked the door when she went out. Switching things on and off, washing her hands before meals, after meals, while she was cooking. Her hair started to fall out. She couldn’t eat, and when her sister found her collapsed on the bathroom floor, she was admitted to the mental health unit, suffering from anxiety and depression.

  The truth, when it eventually came out, that the ward manager had been behind the problems, was shocking. Although Becca was exonerated from any crime, she’d been broken by the experience, both mentally and physically, her confidence shattered.

  She’d become incapable of caring for herself, and her mother suggested she come and stay in the family home for a couple of weeks so she could be discharged from hospital. It turned into a couple of months and became increasingly clear she’d outstayed her welcome.

  Tina’s invitation to go and stay with her in Australia was a major turning point in Becca’s life. Their friendship had started at university, where Tina had trained as a mental health nurse, and although she specialised in caring for dementia patients these days, when Becca arrived at her house, she spent hours helping her to see that she’d done nothing wrong. Gradually, Becca started to get control over her obsessive behaviour, and one by one she managed to eliminate all her little tics. By the time she met Connor, she was feeling like her old self again, and the bar work was making her socialise and interact with people. She began to think that she could leave the whole traumatic incident behind and move on with her life.

  Leave the past behind? How naive to imagine scars like that could ever properly heal. It only took a bit of pressure, a bit of stress, to pull the wounds apart, and all the old doubts and fears and obsessions came bursting out again, like the stuffing from a ripped cushion.

  4

  The sound of her phone ringing roused Becca from her thoughts. It was Carol again. There was only one reason for her to call, but Becca answered, hoping she was wrong.

  ‘Hi, Carol. I just picked up your message. Everything okay?’

  ‘Hello, love. Yes, fine.’ She gave a quick laugh. ‘I always say that, don’t I? To be honest, I’m under pressure today. There’s two off ill and we’ve four new patients just out of hospital. I wondered if you could do an extra shift this week. You know I wouldn’t ask unless we were desperate, but could you manage to come in tomorrow morning?’

  Becca worked three mornings a week, which felt like a lot with Mia to look after and Dean away so much, but she had to work a certain number of hours to keep her nursing registration. It was such a long-winded process getting back into the profession if she were to let it lapse, and once Mia was at school, she’d want something to get her out of the house and fill her days.

  Quite apart from that, nursing was a vocation for her, rather than a job, and something she really enjoyed – looking after other people was a fundamental part of who she was. Admittedly, it had been a struggle, an extra pressure going back to work when Mia was six months old, but she’d landed a position as a district nurse, based at the local medical centre in Llandudno. It used to be a short walk from the house they’d been renting at the time and gave her flexible hours, the staff covering for each other if ever there was a problem. They were like a little family, all getting along, and she loved being part of a team. She also enjoyed the variety of the job – being out and about in the community – much more than she’d ever enjoyed working on a ward.

  ‘No problem,’ she said without thinking, always ready to step in, just like the other nurses would do for her, and because Carol was a great boss. One of those quietly efficient women who mothered everyone and was generally unflappable. ‘I’ll ring the childminder and check and then get back to you, okay?’

  Mia loved her childminder, Ruth, who took the three children in her care out for walks and to the playground whatever the weather. She was a real earth mother, a genuinely peaceful soul who kept her house free of anything artificial if she possibly could. She fed her charges fruit and chopped-up vegetables, made bread with them, did crafts, took them to the library and the beach. The whole day was a learning experience, and she’d been graded as outstanding by Ofsted. She’d been such a support to Becca now she had no mother to call on for advice, and she thought of her as a friend as much as someone she paid to look after her child.

  Ruth answered on the first ring.

  ‘Hi, Becca, funny you ringing. I was just about to call.’ Her voice sounded different; weak and distant. ‘I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to let you down this week.’ She sighed down the phone. ‘Well, it’s not just this week actually. I’ve had some bad news.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry to hear that. Are you okay?’

  Ruth gave a little laugh. Or was she actually crying? ‘Apparently not. I had my first mammogram a couple of weeks ago, since I’ve just turned fifty, and they found… well…’ Her voice turned into a whisper, as if she hardly dared say the words. ‘It’s cancer.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Becca gasped, feeling like she’d just had a bucket of icy water thrown over her. Ruth was never ill – not even a seasonal cold managed to get past her immune system, so the idea she had something seriously wrong was almost unthinkable.

  ‘Oh, yes, unfortunately. But they’re rushing things through, so that’s good.’ She was trying to sound practical and positive, but there was a tremor in her voice. ‘I’ve got to go and see the specialist and sort out what they’re going to do with me. Chop off my boobs, I expect. Whip out a few lymph nodes and then…’ Her voice cracked, and Becca could hear her sobbing down the phone.

  ‘I’m coming round, Ruth. I’ll be with you in twenty minutes.’ She ended the call, her mind busy rearranging her life now she had no childcare. She knew the local nursery was full and there was a waiting list because one of her colleagues had been lamenting the shortage of places. Now she’d have to trawl round and see if any spaces had opened up with other childcare providers. She pushed all the practicalities to one side. What matters is Ruth; everything else can wait.

  Once she’d gathered Mia and had her settled in the buggy, she rang her sister, Kate, talking as she started the walk to Ruth’s house, which was only ten minutes away on foot. Kate was self-employed as a bookkeeper, her hours flexible as she worked from home. She used to work for a large accountancy firm in Manchester but had moved back to the family home to keep an eye on their dad three years ago. After he’d had his heart attack, Becca had popped in on a daily basis, but when she and Dean moved from their apartment in Bangor to a rented house in Llandudno, and she couldn’t call in so often, it was clear he wasn’t coping on his own. Kate had stepped up to take on caring duties. Maybe she’d look after Mia for a couple of days until Becca could get something else sorted out. It was only half-days after all, and Kate could work in the evenings to make up the time.

  ‘Hi, Becs,’ Kate said, sounding preoccupied. ‘Can I call you back? I’m just in the middle of something.’
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  ‘This won’t take a minute,’ Becca said, glad to have caught her sister, who was in the habit of letting her phone go to voicemail. ‘I just need to know if you could look after Mia for a couple of mornings this week. Ruth’s not well.’

  Silence. Becca stopped walking and listened, frowning. ‘Kate? Are you there?’

  ‘Yes, I bloody well am,’ she snapped. ‘Tell me, why is my job less important than yours?’

  ‘It isn’t… I wasn’t…’ Becca stuttered to a halt, thrown by the tone of Kate’s voice. Christ, she’s in one of her moods, she thought.

  After a moment, Kate sighed, sending a crackle of white noise down the line. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, I’m just trying to finish some accounts and they won’t balance and I really can’t stand this guy I’m doing the work for. He makes me so bloody angry the way he treats his staff and he’s a creep and he won’t listen, so…’ She stopped her rant and was quiet for a few seconds. ‘Anyway… I’m sorry to hear about Ruth.’ Her voice softened. ‘I hope it’s nothing serious?’

  ‘That’s just it, she’s been diagnosed with breast cancer.’ Becca could feel her throat tighten, fully aware of the implications for Ruth and the struggle that lay ahead for her. Becca had nursed several breast cancer patients, and the outcomes had been a mixture of triumph and tragedy. She caught her train of thought, told herself to be positive. You don’t know all the facts. Maybe they’ve caught it early. She took a deep breath, steadied herself.

  Kate tutted. ‘Oh my God, that’s awful.’

  ‘I know. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling. Such a shock, and she’s got nobody close to her. No kids, no family. I’m just going over to see her now.’

  Kate sighed. ‘Okay, I can have Mia tomorrow if I get these accounts sorted today. Then maybe Dad would keep an eye on her the other day? I’m sure he could entertain her for a few hours while I get some work done, and I’ll be in the house, so I can make sure they don’t get up to any mischief. Honestly, he’s like a kid himself when he’s with Mia. Do you remember last time he decided to do some drawing with her, borrowed my marker pens and they drew a mural on the kitchen wall?’

  Becca laughed. ‘God, yeah, took us hours to get that off, didn’t it?’

  ‘It might be good for him to have something to keep him busy though. Stop him bothering me when I’m trying to work.’

  ‘Hmm. I did wonder about asking Dad, but I worry about Mia wearing him out. She’s just non-stop these days, and after his heart attack… well, I suppose I don’t want him getting over-tired or too stressed. But if you’re there as well, that’ll be perfect. I’ll pop over after I’ve seen Ruth and we can have a chat.’

  ‘Right, I’ll let Dad know you’re coming. That should cheer him up. He’s been on a downer recently. Feels like you’ve forgotten he exists.’ The little dig didn’t go unnoticed, Kate always keen to emphasise that she’d changed her whole life to care for their father, whereas Becca’s efforts to share the responsibility were increasingly lame.

  Becca was about to reply, say it hadn’t been that long since they’d been over, when she stopped, remembering she’d cancelled both of her usual visits the week before and was ashamed to admit it had been at least a couple of weeks. She cringed and vowed to do better.

  Her sister’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Amazing how you can manage to make it over here when you need something, isn’t it?’ Her words were dipped in a heavy coating of sarcasm and Becca rolled her eyes but didn’t respond.

  Kate and their father, Frank, were only half an hour’s drive from Becca’s home in Llandudno. It was an easy journey down the A55, but Becca struggled to organise visits because Mia had started to get carsick and always resisted getting in the car, let alone going any distance in it. Becca had a system of bribes in place for essential journeys, but on the whole she either walked or did the shopping and other chores while Mia was with Ruth or Dean. Still, it wasn’t good enough, and Kate was right to say something. Her jaw tightened.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve not been there as much as I should have been. I promise I’ll make it up to you.’

  ‘And how exactly are you going to do that?’ Kate asked, her tone suggesting that it wasn’t really possible.

  ‘Shall we check diaries later, see if we can work out a new routine? Make sure you get more time for yourself.’

  ‘Yep. Let’s do that,’ Kate said, still snippy, before saying her goodbyes and ending the call.

  Becca started walking again, her mind darting this way and that, like a little bird trying to catch insects, as she wondered how she could fit everyone’s needs into her tight schedule. Dropping Mia off with Kate and Frank was all well and good, but it added an hour to the beginning and end of her working day, and it wasn’t like she could just roll up there, grab her daughter and drive off when she’d finished, either. There were always things to do, little chores that she got roped into helping with, and her day ended up gone before she knew it. Then she’d have to spend her evening catching up with her own household jobs.

  A burst of anger flared in her chest. ‘You did this, Mum,’ she muttered to herself as she stomped down the pavement towards Ruth’s house. ‘You made Dad helpless.’ She was immediately contrite, annoyed with herself for being mean to her poor dead mum. It wasn’t her fault she was an enabler, treating Frank like he was some form of royalty and she was a servant there to do his bidding. It was the way her grandmother had brought her mum up, an old-fashioned woman who’d been ‘in service’, on the staff of the country home of Lord Lowther up in the Lake District. Ingrained subservience. That’s what it was, and Becca had always been determined that she wouldn’t end up in the same sort of relationship.

  She thought about the big bags of washing Dean brought home after his trips. All the shirts that needed ironing. The golfing clothes – because if you were running corporate development events at a golf course, it would be daft not to fit in a few rounds, wouldn’t it? And always a present to say thank you for ‘looking after him so well’. It had taken her a while to see the pattern that had formed in their relationship.

  I’m just like Mum. It was a truth she was loath to accept but there was no easy way to change things, and now it seemed she needed to commit to keeping more of an eye on her dad as well. Her heart gave one of its palpitations, making her stop and clutch at her chest for a moment. She knew it was stress. Just like the way half her face kept going numb. That was stress as well. And all her stupid little routines that meant it took twice as long as it should for her to do anything. She took a few deep breaths and waited for her heart to settle down before she set off again, walking more slowly, trying to silence the mental chatter.

  Her life was spinning out of control, she was being pulled in too many different directions and her responsibilities were multiplying at the same rate as her nervous tics. This wasn’t the life she’d wanted. How on earth do I change things, though? Instead of making things better, all she seemed to do was take on more work for herself as she tried to keep everyone happy. It would be nice to have someone to talk things through with, someone who knew her history, her vulnerabilities, who wouldn’t judge. Someone who could help her get things clear in her mind.

  Connor.

  His name filled her head again, familiar and comforting. He was, without doubt, the best friend she’d ever had, and she wondered why he’d gone silent after she’d arrived home all those years ago.

  Has he replied to my message now? He’d asked her if she wanted to chat. Well, she did. And she would. As soon as she got home, and had a moment to herself, she’d start the conversation, tell him what was going on. He’d always been a good listener. Always balanced in his views with a knack for finding solutions to problems, seeing things from a different perspective. A people person through and through. If anyone could help her see a way out of this mess without letting anyone down, it was Connor.

  She opened Ruth’s gate and pushed the buggy to the front door, her fingers itching to check her pho
ne. Before she could reach into her bag, the door opened and there was Ruth, with her tear-stained face, and all thoughts of Connor were firmly pushed away.

  5

  By the time Becca had comforted Ruth and answered her questions about her treatment and what to expect as best as she could, she was emotionally drained and dreading the drive to her dad’s house. She wondered, for a fleeting moment, if she could postpone but knew that Kate’s patience was at breaking point and there was no excuse for not going.

  Mia was tired now after Becca and Ruth had taken her for a long walk along the West Shore, stopping at the playground so she could have a run around while they chatted. It was so much easier to talk about emotional things outside, rather than inside, where you were trapped with the problem, no distractions to remind you that life was bigger than just you, and that whatever happened, you’d get through it. One day at a time. That was always her advice to patients who were struggling. Just get through today, and who knows what tomorrow might bring?

  If only she could listen to her own advice sometimes.

  Mia fell asleep in her buggy, and Becca was able to get her home and transfer her into the car seat without waking her up, which made the next part of her day much easier than she’d anticipated.

  Half an hour later, she pulled up outside the three-bedroom, semi-detached house which overlooked Bangor’s harbour, with views out over the Menai Strait. She’d grown up here and it held a lot of memories.

  To Becca, this was where she felt closest to her mum, surrounded by all the little knickknacks she’d loved. Her collection of china animals in a glass case in the front room. All her cross-stitch samplers lovingly framed and hung in the hallway. And above the fireplace, there was the montage of photos that Becca, Kate and their dad had put together. A memorial to the person who’d been the beating heart of their family and whose loss they still felt every day.