My Girl (13 page)

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My Girl
?
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Thank you so much for choosing to read
My Girl
.

If you enjoyed
My Girl
, it would be great if you could post a review on Amazon (and if you’re addicted to Goodreads like I am, a review would be fantastic there too!). We may not judge a book by its cover, but we do judge a book by its reviews. Spreading the word by leaving a review inspires others to choose
My Girl
as their next read! I would love to hear what you thought of the book. Thank you so much for all of your support!

All the best,
Jack

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First of all, I would like to thank
you
for reading this book. By holding this story in your hands, you are helping to make this author’s dream a reality.

Thank you to Averill Buchanan for your editorial help and advice, and for working to a tight deadline – you’re great. Thank you to Sarah Nisbet for your sharp eye for detail when proofreading this book, and for all of your great feedback – you’re a star. Thank you to Emma J Hardy for creating the book cover of my dreams!

I would like to thank all of the amazing book bloggers who helped spread the word about this book, especially Liz Barnsley, who held my hand throughout the process.

I couldn’t have delivered my second book without the undying support and love of my biggest fans: Sandra Yuill, Pamela Jordan, and Luke Holdaway. Thank you for everything. I’d also like to thank everyone else who has inspired me to follow my dreams and never give up.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jack Jordan lives in East Anglia, England. He is an introvert disguised as an extrovert, an intelligent man who can say very unintelligent things, and a self-confessed bibliomaniac with more books than sense.

To find out more about Jack, check for updates on future projects, read some of his social media ramblings or get in touch, visit:

	Twitter: www.twitter.com/_JackJordan_
	Facebook: www.facebook.com/JackJordanOfficial
	Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/jackjordan
	Instagram: www.instagram.com/JackJordan_author
	Website: www.jackjordanofficial.co.uk

If you enjoyed
My Girl
, read the first chapter of Jack Jordan’s debut thriller…

ANYTHING
FOR HER

ONE

Louise had never wanted her husband to die. Not until he ripped their family apart.

Testicular cancer? Rabies? A fatal fall from a windy clifftop? Lightning strike to his adulterous crotch? She hadn’t decided. All she knew was, once a husband told his wife that he had been having an affair with her younger sister, it was more than acceptable, if not entirely necessary, for his wife to imagine his gruesome death over and over for her own pleasure.

They had argued all night: ever since Michael had confessed to the ten-month affair. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, he divulged.

‘I’ve been sleeping with Denise.’

She instantly forgot to how to breathe.

‘I love you, Louise. I don’t want our marriage to end because of this.’
Her throat constricted. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest.

‘I… I don’t understand.’

‘I’ve been meaning to tell you—’

‘No,’ she turned to face him. ‘Say it again. Look into my eyes and say it again.’

She stared at her husband’s bewitching face, and waited for him to explain that it was a sick prank. He would laugh hysterically as her mouth relaxed into a relieved smirk and she would slap his arm playfully.
You really got me for a moment there, Mike!

‘I’ve been having an affair with your sister.’

Michael’s complexion paled as he watched his words sink in.

He was lying – he had to be. Michael wouldn’t do that. Maybe she had fallen asleep; maybe she was having a nightmare. Was it possible for her to feel her heart break while she slept?

Her eyes began to sting with tears. She couldn’t escape the thought of her husband writhing naked on top of her sister, both of them glistening with sweat and panting like excited dogs; she imagined Denise clutching her husband’s buttocks as he slammed into her, while Michael caressed her breast with his hand as the gold wedding ring on his finger cooled her nipple.

Louise got out of bed, rushed to the en-suite, and vomited.

***

After an exhausting night of tears, yelling, apologies, and expletives, they occupied the room in stifling silence, with every word they had spoken echoing in their ears. Louise sat on the end of the bed – the side of their marital bed that she had occupied for twenty years.

She looked out of the window, as the sun rose and began to warm the December frost that sparkled on the London rooftops, and wondered if she would ever be able to look at her husband again without wishing him dead.

Michael stood at the foot of the bed with the facial expression of a scolded child. His bottom lip quivered as he tried to keep the tears at bay.

‘Why, Michael?’ she asked weakly. ‘Why my sister, of all people?’

‘I… I couldn’t handle the secrets any more. I couldn’t handle the distance you put between us. Denise came on to me and I let her.’

‘It seems we all have secrets,’ she replied, her eyes fixed on the window. ‘But don’t worry, my secrets don’t involve fucking your brother.’

They succumbed to the silence again. Louise looked down at the hastily packed suitcase by her feet. She had to escape her new, agonising reality before it killed her.

‘So not only have you destroyed your business, lost all of our money, and destroyed our family, but you’ve decimated our marriage and severed my bond with my sister forever.’

She looked at him with tears in her eyes, a woman too weak to take another knock.

‘I will never forgive myself.’

‘I will never forgive you either.’

Tears ran down her cheeks and reflected the rising sun in their streams.

She stood and reached down for the suitcase handle; fresh tears dropped to the carpet.

‘Please stay. Please stay until we work this out.’

‘I can’t bear to be near you right now,’ she walked to the door. ‘I can’t even look at you.’

She opened the bedroom door while Michael sobbed behind her. In front of her stood their two children.

Ten-year-old Dominic looked startled to see his mother’s worn complexion and bloodshot eyes. His small hands were shaking.

Eighteen-year-old Brooke, a youthful double of her mother, stood next to him; her checks were streaked with dried tears.

Both children looked utterly drained, as though neither of them had slept a wink. They must have listened to every word.

‘I need to go away for a while,’ she said, wiping tears from her face.

‘Can we come with you?’ Dominic asked.

‘No, darling. Mummy needs some time to herself for a few days.’ She knelt down in front of her son; his eyes shimmered with hurt. ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t need you or love you with every part of me. It just means that I need to go away and have a good, long think. Okay?’

‘What have you got to think about?’

‘Not very nice things. But whenever I need cheering up, I’ll think of you.’

‘You promise you’ll come back?’

Tears began to fill his eyes.

‘I promise you, my angel. I’ll be back.’

Louise spread her arms and her son fell into her chest and unfurled his sobs. She held him to her, her heart breaking all over again, and looked up at Brooke.

Our secret did this.

She didn’t need to say it out loud. Brooke knew.

Louise gave her son one last squeeze and a kiss before she got to her feet to stand before her eldest child. She entered into a tight embrace with her and kissed her quickly on the cheek.

‘Be strong,’ she whispered into her daughter’s ear. ‘Be strong for your brother.’

From the top of the South Kensington townhouse, Louise carried the heavy suitcase down each flight of stairs, trying to ignore the approaching steps of her husband, and the children following behind him like his shadow.

‘Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.’

Louise couldn’t trust herself to reply without crying; she hurried for the last flight of stairs. The suitcase strained her arm and back, but she didn’t care: the sooner she escaped, the better.

When she reached the front door, she stopped in her tracks. Michael stood on the bottom step of the staircase; the children remained at the top. Louise couldn’t take her eyes away from the framed photo hanging proudly by the door for all to see: the photo of her and Michael on their wedding day. Standing next to her was Denise in her maid of honour dress; Michael’s brother, the best man, stood to the right. The four of them were laughing. Their wide grins radiated glee and wedding-day beauty. She had never noticed that Michael and Denise’s eyes were locked, frozen by the click of the camera.

Rage swelled in her chest. Her entire body shook with hate, and her skin flushed hot. She dropped the suitcase with a bang, snatched the photo frame from the wall, and launched it at her husband with a scream. He ducked as it crashed against the wall and exploded into shards of glass and splinters of wood.

Dominic screamed from the top of the stairs and ran out of sight.

Louise looked at the scene, at the mess that her life had become, torn between hurting her husband further and running to his aid. She took her keys from the sideboard, picked up her suitcase, and rushed out of the house, slamming the door behind her. The sound reverberated through the house and sent shudders through those she left behind.