The Perfect Couple
JACKIE KABLER
One More Chapter
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020
Copyright © Jackie Kabler 2020
Cover design by Lucy Bennett © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020
Cover photographs © Richard Coombs / Alamy Stock Photo (door), ANGUK / Shutterstock (door knob)
Jackie Kabler asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © April 2020 ISBN: 9780008328429
Version: 2020-02-28
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Keep Reading …
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Jackie Kabler
About the Publisher
It was the silence I noticed first. When Danny was around there was always noise, singing or humming, the tap-tapping of a laptop keyboard, the prolonged clatter of spoon against ceramic mug as he stirred his black coffee vigorously for far too long, in my view, for a man who didn’t even take sugar in it – what was he stirring? But I loved it, his noisiness, despite my regular protestations to the contrary. I’d lived alone for far too long before Danny, and the constant clamour made me feel connected, alive. Happy. So that evening, as I pushed the front door open and slid the key out of the lock, expecting a welcoming yell from the living room or to see, within seconds, his grinning face peering around the kitchen door, disappointment hit me like an icy wave.
‘Danny? Danny, I’m home. Where are you?’
I could tell even as I spoke that he wasn’t in but, flicking the lights on and dumping my overnight bag on the table by the door, I began a quick tour of the house anyway, my footsteps echoing on the polished parquet of the hall floor. My frown deepened as I pushed each door open, the rooms dark and empty. Where was he? He’d promised, the previous evening when he’d emailed to say goodnight, that he’d be here when I got back, that he’d cook dinner. Even promised, I remembered as I headed for the kitchen, to have a bottle of my favourite cava chilling; a welcome home, Friday night treat. If he’d forgotten …
‘Dammit, Danny. Seriously?’
I glared at the contents of the fridge. It looked exactly as I’d left it on Thursday morning – a half-full milk container, a block of cheese with one corner hacked off, a pack of sausages with four missing, the four we’d eaten for breakfast before I’d headed off on my latest press trip. No cava. No sign of any fresh food. He hadn’t even gone shopping? What was going on? Had something happened at work, delaying him? He’d told me he’d be finishing at lunchtime that day, for once, that he’d have plenty of time to do the supermarket run for a change, save me doing it on Saturday morning as I usually did, while he stayed at home to run the vacuum round and flick a duster over the shelves. A break from the little routine we’d quickly fallen into, happily fallen into, since we’d moved to Bristol, and into the beautiful house in up-market