Keep Her Quiet Read online

  Emma Curtis

  * * *

  KEEP HER QUIET

  Contents

  PART 1: 1989

  1: Jenny

  2: Leo

  3: Hannah

  4: Jenny

  5: Leo

  6: Hannah

  7: Leo

  8: Hannah

  9: Leo

  10: Hannah

  11: Leo

  12: Jenny

  13: Leo

  14: Jenny

  15: Leo

  16: Jenny

  17: Leo

  PART 2: Sixteen Years Later: 2005

  18: Jenny

  19: Zoe

  20: Jenny

  21: Zoe

  22: Hannah

  23: Leo

  24: Zoe

  25: Leo

  26: Zoe

  27: Jenny

  28: Leo

  29: Zoe

  30: Hannah

  31: Leo

  32: Jenny

  33: Zoe

  34: Leo

  35: Hannah

  36: Leo

  PART 3: Two Years Later: 2007

  37: Jenny

  38: Hannah

  39: Leo

  40: Jenny

  41: Zoe

  42: Leo

  43: Jenny

  44: Hannah

  45: Zoe

  46: Leo

  47: Hannah

  48: Leo

  49: Zoe

  50: Jenny

  51: Zoe

  52: Jenny

  53: Leo

  54: Jenny

  55: Leo

  56: Hannah

  PART 4

  57: Jenny

  58: Hannah

  59: Zoe

  60: Jenny

  61: Zoe

  62: Hannah

  63: Zoe

  64: Jenny

  65: John

  66: Jenny

  67: Jenny

  Epilogue: Jenny

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Emma Curtis was born in Brighton and now lives in London with her husband. After raising two children and working various jobs, her fascination with the darker side of domestic life inspired her to write her acclaimed psychological suspense thrillers One Little Mistake, When I Find You, The Night You Left and Keep Her Quiet. Find her on Twitter: @emmacurtisbooks

  Praise for Emma Curtis

  ‘An excellent read! So original and clever that I was completely absorbed … Gripping, tense and twisty with an unexpected ending. Phenomenal.’

  Claire Douglas

  ‘Psychological suspense at its best.’

  Nuala Ellwood

  ‘A dark, gripping page-turner.’

  Sarah Vaughan

  ‘A twist that almost made me miss my flight.’

  Jane Corry

  ‘Filled with drama and twists that exploded on to the page at every turn.’

  Lauren North

  ‘A tense and utterly engrossing story.’

  Tammy Cohen

  ‘A dark page-turning debut of friendship, deceit and lies.’

  Woman & Home

  ‘Starting from a brilliantly twisted premise, the tension simply doesn’t let up.’

  Nicola Rayner

  ‘I loved it from start to finish.’

  Phoebe Morgan

  www.penguin.co.uk

  Also by Emma Curtis

  ONE LITTLE MISTAKE

  WHEN I FIND YOU

  THE NIGHT YOU LEFT

  and published by Black Swan

  For Steve

  Part 1

  * * *

  1989

  1

  Jenny

  I LOOK DOWN AT MY ENORMOUS BELLY AND TOUCH where the baby’s heel is pressing. It’s getting on for midnight and my contractions are five minutes apart. The rain is illuminated by streetlights, glistening on the eerily quiet road. Leo darts a glance at me and I smile back. His concern is gratifying.

  Ahead of us the traffic lights switch to red and Leo brakes too hard, startling a woman about to cross the road. She sends him a look of indignation and strides forward. Her short, belted coat looks inadequate. She’s wearing extremely high heels. On her way home from a first date, I decide, as a gust of wind turns her umbrella inside out.

  Has she been good? Or has she done something she might regret, like I have? I stifle the thought. Nothing is going to spoil this.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Leo says. ‘All right?’

  This time my smile is through gritted teeth. ‘I’m fine. Just don’t kill anyone.’

  The woman is still fighting with her umbrella as the lights change from red and amber to green. Leo grunts in annoyance.

  ‘C’mon, for Pete’s sake.’

  I laugh at him, then groan as a contraction rolls through me.

  ‘Breathe,’ Leo encourages.

  The wipers sluice the rain from the windscreen and I focus my mind on their steady beat. When the contraction has passed, I uncurl my shoulders and lean back with a sigh.

  I’ll forget what I did. It’s in the past, it’s gone. Constantly beating myself up over it will achieve nothing. Leo and I love each other, so why rock the boat? The truth can be so destructive.

  I check his profile. Grim determination. My contractions are still five minutes apart, so there’s no need for him to be stressed – certainly no more than I am. I place my hand on his thigh.

  ‘We’ve got plenty of time,’ I say, smiling. ‘Don’t worry.’

  We pass Vauxhall and have a clear run along the Albert Embankment. Across the river the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben are lit up, their reflection a shimmering gold in the black water. I hardly have time to appreciate the beauty of it before we arrive at the hospital.

  This is it. There will be three of us by morning, all being well: me, the baby and my husband. My heart constricts. I will make up for it. I will be the perfect wife. Leo needs to feel loved. And I do love him, so that part is easy. I’ll support him too, and make sure the baby doesn’t get in the way of his writing. I made him a promise and I won’t renege on it.

  Leo reverses into a parking space, switches off the engine and turns to me.

  ‘Ready?’

  I nod.

  ‘Don’t get out yet. I’ll come round.’

  He reaches for my overnight bag through the gap between our seats, narrowly avoiding butting me with it as he lifts it through.

  He gets out of the car and runs round to open my door, tucking his hand under my arm to help me out. Another contraction. I lean against him, close my eyes and breathe, sheltered from the rain by his coat. The pain goes, and I straighten up and draw cold air into my lungs.

  Kate’s wrong about Leo. But Kate doesn’t know what I did.

  2

  Leo

  ‘SHE’S BEAUTIFUL,’ THE MIDWIFE SAID. ‘WHAT A LITTLE darling.’

  The look Leo gave her was probably not what she had been expecting, but after Jenny’s fourteen-hour labour he was blurry with exhaustion and his back was killing him. Added to that, his sense of betrayal was laced with a disconcerting euphoria, creating a wholly unexpected turbulence in his mind.

  ‘She looks like her mum,’ he said, pulling himself together and smiling down at the raspberry-faced baby swaddled in a blanket on Jenny’s swollen breast. ‘Hello, Sophie.’

  It was the name they had decided on only yesterday. Jenny looked up and smiled at him.

  ‘What’s the time?’ she asked.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s just gone half past three.’

  He stroked the baby’s cheek and pushed back the dark cloud. Funny that he had always thought he knew Jenny better than she knew him. Maybe that was just something he’d told himself because, after four years together, he was onc
e again curious about his wife. He had to admire the sheer audacity of the woman.

  What the hell had been going through her mind? Had it been passion, or cold calculation? Did she think, My husband won’t give me a baby, so I’ll shop for one elsewhere? He wondered about her conscience. She was probably consoling herself with the possibility that there was a one-in-a-hundred chance Leo was the father. She had no idea.

  Whoever the man was – and Leo didn’t want to know – he was probably married. Jenny’s male colleagues tended to be. A European conference; a gathering of accountants. What was the collective noun for that? A calculation of accountants? A liability? He would have laughed if it hadn’t been so sad.

  He twisted the signet ring on his little finger. Hers had not been the only cold calculation. I’m not losing you or what we have, Jenny.

  He had been arrogant and he had been humbled. Yet, despite the situation and his reignited anger, he hadn’t been able to distance himself from what she was going through, or feel a torrent of emotion when she finally gave birth. She had fought through pain, she had reached for him as the agonizing spasms rolled through her. The undiluted love he felt had surprised him.

  Leo reached into the pocket of the coat he’d folded over the back of the chair. He had taken the sensible precaution of bringing a bottle of whisky with him. He turned away from Jenny to pour a slug of it into the white plastic beaker in which his tea had arrived. He had earned it.

  He felt something for the baby too, although he couldn’t put his finger on what it was – protectiveness, maybe. Poor little mite. It wasn’t her fault she was here, after all. But he wasn’t besotted, like his mother had insisted he would be.

  ‘You’ll fall head over heels in love,’ Lola had said. ‘Especially if it’s a girl. She’ll have you twisted round her little finger in no time.’

  When Leo had rolled his eyes at the cliché, she’d added wistfully, ‘I wish I’d had a girl.’

  The room was hot and smelled of blood and other bodily fluids. Leo wanted to open the window and stick his head outside, but he’d only be told off. It was pelting down out there.

  Watching Jenny gaze at her daughter, something in Leo twisted. He’d found it hard to square living off his wife’s money while he wrote his novels. Not any longer. He considered their bargain fair. She had the baby she wanted, he had a financial cushion that meant he could write full time.

  Human nature was fascinating. It was so contradictory that the wrong someone had done you had the power to hold you to them as well as push you away. He put his hand on Jenny’s shoulder and she looked up at him with eyes that shone. He couldn’t say a word.

  The door opened.

  ‘Oh, Mr Creasey,’ the midwife said. ‘There’s a phone call for you. You can take it at the reception desk.’

  She didn’t have any idea who he was. None of them did. Not even the consultant. Leo Creasey, author of A Time for Bleeding, meant nothing to them. That was going to change. One day they would tell their friends they had met him at the birth of his child. They would be asked what the great man was like.

  ‘Leo!’ his father-in-law bellowed down the phone. ‘How are my girls?’

  Leo held the receiver away from his ear. ‘They’re doing well. Have you booked your flight?’

  ‘We’re on the earliest one. We should be at the hospital by ten tomorrow. But that’s not why I called. I’ve just got off the phone to James Turner.’

  James Turner was Leo’s closest neighbour to Sparrow Cottage, the Kent bolthole where Leo wrote his books. An over-anxious retired head teacher and local magistrate, James could be pompous, but he was also the helpful type. Leo didn’t mind him.

  ‘Oh yes? What did he want?’

  ‘The storm’s hitting the area hard. He very kindly checked on the cottage and there’s a fallen tree. The sycamore.’

  Leo groaned. ‘Hell. How bad is it?’

  ‘Some broken tiles and guttering hanging loose. He can’t say without getting up there, but he’s fairly certain a branch has gone through the roof. Sorry, Leo. I know this is the last thing you need, but what with the rain, someone needs to take a look before it does any more damage.’

  ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Gracious, no. I didn’t mean that. I meant phone round, see if you can find a builder.’

  ‘No. They’re going to be busy enough. It’ll have to be me.’ He didn’t want to sound too eager, so added a tired groan. ‘I may have to stay the night.’

  He glanced back at the door to the ward. He didn’t need the aggro, that was true, but in spite of that he was elated. He could do with a few hours’ break from all this.

  ‘It’ll be dark by the time I get there, so I won’t be able to do much until morning, but at least I can put buckets under the leaks.’

  ‘Good man. It wouldn’t do to let the place deteriorate. It’s been in the family such a long time.’

  Leo set his teeth. His father-in-law was fond of reminding him that Sparrow Cottage belonged to Jenny.

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘But, darling, you’re exhausted,’ Jenny said. ‘Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? You can set off in the morning.’

  ‘I’d better not. It sounds bad. I’ll drive carefully, I promise.’ He looked around, checking his pockets. ‘Do you know what I did with my keys?’

  ‘No. I was a little distracted last night.’

  ‘Shit. Maybe I dropped them.’

  ‘I doubt it. Try the overnight bag. Your dad is always losing things,’ she cooed at the baby. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t lose you.’

  ‘Found them.’ He turned to leave.

  ‘Aren’t you going to kiss your daughter goodbye?’

  Leo bent to kiss the baby’s forehead, trying not to inhale her scent. He had made his choice, and he’d had months to ponder it. The baby was here now. It was real. This was his life. It was his job to make sure he used what had happened to his advantage.

  3

  Hannah

  HANNAH SAT IN THE MINICAB, HER TWO-DAY-OLD daughter swaddled in a hand-me-down blanket and held firmly against her, her hand cupping her head. She should have bought a car seat, but she hadn’t been able to afford one. The cab driver had protested, but they were standing outside the hospital getting soaked, and in the end he reluctantly gave in. It was pouring with rain. The midwife had said the weather was going to get worse before it got better. Hannah placed her hand on the baby’s chest, comforted by her animal warmth and the rise and fall of her ribcage. Her mum, in a moment of spite, had predicted there would be something wrong with the child, but she was perfect – the most beautiful baby ever.

  Her heart swelled. So this was what love was. How odd that her mother had put conditions on it. This baby would be loved; she would never have to prove herself worthy. She would be allowed to be whoever she wanted to be.

  This was not her fault. Hannah’s parents had sent her to Michael Brady for counselling after she had been heard to question their beliefs, and even when she’d asked to stop going they had insisted the sessions continue. She had been too embarrassed to explain why she didn’t want to carry on, and they hadn’t bothered to work it out for themselves. Michael had seduced her, and she had complied because she wanted to rebel and because he told her she was torturing him.

  She had been terrified when she realized she was pregnant, and had gone to him for help, only for him to wash his hands of her. He even said the baby wasn’t his, that she was a little slut and if she told anyone they had been together, he would say she had tempted him to sin. He would tell them all the disgusting things she had done.

  When her condition became obvious, she told one person the truth: her mother, who immediately accused her of lying to cover up the fact that she was sleeping around with boys from outside the community. It was better than facing up to the reality, which was that it was their fault for leaving Michael Brady alone with a naive and trusting sixteen-year-old girl. Michael was an elder and, as such, beyond reproach.
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  Even Hannah’s best friend had ignored her attempts to talk to her. But then she was Michael’s daughter. Like everyone else, Rachel assumed it was all Hannah’s fault, and her father had just walked away, free from any blame.

  The baby’s eyes opened and Hannah saw herself reflected in them. She rested her palm over the fontanelle and felt its delicate pulse.

  ‘Bit of a dramatic start to life, isn’t it?’ the driver said as thunder rolled. He kept flicking his gaze up to the rearview mirror, curious about her. ‘Fire and brimstone.’

  Hannah didn’t have anything to say, so she nodded.

  She was awash with hormones and pain, from the ache in her breasts to an almost delirious exhaustion. The midwife had wanted to keep her in for an extra day, concerned that, despite being only seventeen, Hannah had received no visitors and no one had sent cards or flowers. It was impossible to sleep there, though, and if she did drop off, it was only to be jolted awake again by the cat-like cries of newborn babies, so she left.

  ‘Got a name?’

  ‘Zoe,’ Hannah said.

  ‘That’s lovely, that is. My niece is called Zoe.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You got someone at home, have you? Your mum or a friend?’

  ‘My sister is there,’ she lied, ashamed of being so alone.

  She had told the midwife the same thing: her sister was at home but she didn’t have a car, so she couldn’t collect Hannah and her baby. She almost wished she had stayed when the midwife told her she should, because she was scared to death. What if she got everything wrong? She’d babysat Deborah’s two plenty of times, but they were always asleep. She had never looked after them properly on her own; just helped her sister from time to time.

  Twenty minutes later, the cab drew up outside the house, a plain redbrick affair built in the 1950s. Hannah didn’t have enough for a tip, but the driver jumped out anyway and protected them from the rain with his brolly.