The Second Wife

1

SCOTT

Scott pushed open his front door with a smile. It was his and Casey’s first-year anniversary, and he was glad to be home from school. One of his students had been difficult, taking out her phone repeatedly, causing a scene when he confiscated it. Scott loved his work: inspiring the kids’ passion for history, the sense of fulfilment when a student told him they wanted to study it at college, the knowledge he was having a positive effect on the world.

But there was no denying children could be very, very annoying.

These were problems for Monday. He had the whole weekend to spend with his wife. His second wife. When Scott thought about what had happened to his first, Natalie, his chest got tight. He wondered if that would ever go away. The guilt didn’t help.

Natalie had killed herself in the garage; Scott had found her. He’d never forget how she’d looked sitting there. He didn’t let himself think about it often. And then, seven months after her death, he and Casey had met at a bar and bonded straight away.

People said seven months was too fast to move on. They were even more outraged when he and Casey married a month later. It didn’t help that Casey and Natalie had been in the same book club, a fact Scott only learned two weeks into seeing her… and by then, it was too late. He was already obsessed.

Casey had been exactly what he needed. She was compassionate, attentive. They were always making each other laugh. She’d rescued him from the darkness of his grief. Scott didn’t care what people said. He and Casey were happy.

Hello? he called.

Casey had sent him a text that afternoon.

I’ve got a surprise for you later xxx

Scott’s mind filled with all the possible meanings. Casey’s surprises often involved mad adventures in the bedroom. That was another thing that had bonded them so quickly: the world-shattering sex.

I’m in here, Casey called from the living room.

Scott walked in to find her sitting on the armchair, her legs crossed, a glass of wine in her hand. He’d expected her to be wearing the lingerie he’d bought her the previous week, but she was in her favourite pyjamas, with a hole in the T-shirt.

Even so, she was beautiful. Her red hair spilled down to her shoulders. Without make-up, her features were soft and almost elfish. Scott felt intoxicated every time he looked at her.

Take a seat.

You’re making this sound like a job interview.

Take a seat, Scott.

He did as she said, wondering why she was speaking so strangely. Her tone was low. Her eyes had a quality he’d never seen before; normally they were open, caring, but now they had a nasty glint.

Is something wrong? he asked.

She finished her wine and slammed the glass on the coffee table. She didn’t use a coaster, which was as unusual as the change in her demeanour. Just our whole marriage really.

What? I don’t–

Shut up.

Scott sat back, as though she’d physically struck him. Is this some sort of joke? Happy anniversary, by the way.

"There’s nothing happy about it. In fact, there’s been nothing happy about this entire marriage. The whole thing has been a charade. The whole thing has been leading up to this moment. And finally – finally – I don’t have to pretend anymore."

Scott stared down at the pinkie finger of his left hand, cut away at the second knuckle from an injury he’d received in university. He looked at his wedding band, silver this time; it had been gold with Natalie. He faced Casey again, struggling to think of a response.

I need you to be quiet while I explain a few things, she said. Do you think you can manage that?

She never spoke to him like this. Even if he was being grumpy after a hard day at school, she was always patient and understanding.

I asked you a question, she snapped.

Explain what?

Open your emails. I’ve sent you something.

Scott took out his phone and tapped the relevant icon. Casey’s message had no subject, no text, just an attached video. He clicked it; the video downloaded and then started to play.

The first minute was a slideshow of photos: all of which had clearly been taken in secret. Scott was asleep in bed, naked. He was standing in the shower, mouth open in mid-conversation. She must’ve been pretending to use her phone, discreetly snapping shots. There were photos of him sitting on the toilet. More of him naked in bed.

Other videos played.

She must’ve hidden the camera in the corner of the bedroom, near the dresser drawers. The angle had been expertly chosen. He and Casey were having sex, but Scott could only see his own face, his own shifting body. Casey was on the bottom, out of view. The video changed, and now he was standing at the edge of the bed – Casey still out of view – masturbating.

Scott tossed his phone onto the sofa cushions.

There are more, Casey said. But this gives you an idea.

I don’t understand.

It’s simple. She smiled in a way he’d never seen before, all teeth. I’ve been pretending this whole time. I never loved you. I was thinking about other people every time we had sex. I think you’re a pathetic and selfish man.

Scott blinked. There were tears in his eyes. He pawed angrily at his face as he leapt to his feet. Casey, what is this? What are you playing at?

Would you agree that your career as a secondary school teacher would be ruined if these videos found their way into the wrong hands?

Scott loomed over her. He’d never hit a woman, but his body was taut. He wanted to snap, to shout, to flip the coffee table.

Honey, please. Casey sighed. You can stand there trying to look tough all you want, but it doesn’t change anything. Answer my question.

Yes. Obviously it would have an effect on my career.

So you agree you don’t want me to release these videos?

Scott felt like he was hallucinating. He leaned down, meaning to place his hand on her shoulder; then she would smile for him in that just-Casey way, so sweet, so affectionate, and tell him she’d never hurt him.

She stared coldly. Sit down. I don’t want you anywhere near me.

Casey–

Sit down or I send the videos to every member of staff at your school. Now, Scott.

Scott returned to the sofa. Why are you doing this?

As if I’d tell you that. She giggled; just like with the weird smiling, he’d never heard her laugh like that before. "I didn’t plan on making it last a full year. I had everything I needed after a couple of months. But the thought, it was too captivating, too interesting. Our first-year anniversary. Just look at your face. That alone was worth it. Are you crying, you big baby?"

Scott rubbed his cheeks again, coughing back tears. He’d not always been so quick to cry, but something had happened during his twenties. He’d drowned himself at Natalie’s funeral.

He needed to wake up; this couldn’t be happening.

I haven’t told you the best bit yet, Casey went on. "I’ve set up an email list with all the staff in your school on it, like I mentioned. But I’ve also put Natalie’s parents on there, a few local newspapers, some online clickbait websites that would eat this up. With a single press of a button – poof, your life will never be the same again."

The previous night they’d held each other into the early hours, talking softly about how happy they were, how well their marriage was going. She’d told him she couldn’t imagine being with anybody else. She’d even teared up a little, as they clung tighter and tighter.

Where had that woman gone? Had she ever been real?

I’ve set up a draft, so the email will automatically send in twenty-four hours. If anything happens to me, the email will send. Every twenty-four hours I’ll reset the timer.

Scott imagined the head teacher’s expression as she received the email, the way it would drop, the way her eyebrows would knit and her hand would tremble on the computer mouse. He saw parents looking at him with disgusted glances, and he heard the kids jeering as he left school.

Aren’t you going to say anything? Casey beamed.

Can you please just explain why? We can talk about this. We don’t have to–

Give me your phone.

Why?

Because if you don’t, I’ll send the emails right now.

She took her phone from the arm of the chair, typed in her passcode, and stared at him. "Don’t test my patience. I’ve had enough of that for the past year. God, you’re so slow and boring and annoying and… your phone, now."

Scott found himself doing as she said. The threat of the videos – and the inevitable end of his career – was too high.

She took it and began tapping away.

What are you doing? he asked.

I’ve cropped your dick in one of the photos. I’m going to send it to Lauren so you know I’m serious.

He bolted to his feet. Lauren was the teaching assistant who often worked in his class. They’d never had an intimate moment.

You can’t do that.

Casey shrugged as she threw his phone at him. I already have.

The phone struck him in the chest, slamming like his heartbeat.

He picked it up off the floor.

She was telling the truth. In their text thread – which they used to discuss strictly school-related matters – there was a photo of his penis. And, worse, the status of the message immediately changed from delivered to read.

A moment later, Lauren’s name flashed up on the screen. She was ringing him.

Casey tittered. That was quick. I’d answer if I was you. Oh, and put it on speaker. I want to hear everything. Let’s see if you can you squirm your way out of this one.

2

CASEY

This was too good. Scott looked shell-shocked. It was so much better than Casey had dreamed. And the way his voice trembled as he answered the phone, that was the cherry on top.

A year she’d waited, biding her time, knowing it would hit him so much harder if it came on their wedding anniversary. Plus, Scott was useful. He had money. He had a nice house. He had all the things Casey deserved, but she was done pretending to be harmless and pathetic.

Lauren?

Why did you send me this? Lauren said.

I… it was a mistake.

Casey drunk in every inch of him, her husband, the pathetic waste of skin to whom she’d tethered herself for reasons she wouldn’t share with him. Her body was pulsing, sparkling. She felt more alive than she had in a year. She felt like herself; pretending was easier for her than most people, but it was still a chore. She was relieved to be back.

A mistake? Lauren said after a pause.

His eyes flitted to Casey, oh-so cautious. He wasn’t a bad-looking man. He was tall and lean and had cutting features. His eyes were a nice shade of blue. But Casey felt nothing for him. Or, rather, she was beginning to feel something, though he wouldn’t like it.

Scott? You need to talk to me. You can’t send me stuff like that.

I meant to send it to Casey. He groaned. I swear. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I opened my texts and clicked your name by accident. I’d never send you something like that.

Squirm, squirm, squirm, Casey whispered.

Are you sure? Lauren said. Because if you’re confused about what we are, what our relationship is, I mean… I’ll have to leave the school. Or you will. I’ve got a partner.

I know, I know. He spoke quickly, sounding like he might start blubbing again. I promise. I don’t feel that way about you. I’m so embarrassed. Can you please delete the photo and we’ll pretend this never happened?

Imagine if you’d sent that to one of the other teachers by mistake. Imagine if you’d sent it to the head.

Lauren, please.

She sighed down the phone. Casey almost wanted to speak up, to thank Lauren for making Scott’s cheeks turn so deliciously pale. Let’s put it behind us. But if anything like this ever happens again–

It won’t.

If it does, I’ll have to do something.

I understand. I feel like such a moron. I’ll be more careful in the future.

I hope so. Let’s not mention this on Monday. Let’s never mention it again. Sound good?

Scott nodded like an overeager dog. Yes.

See you Monday.

Bye.

Scott slumped on the sofa, letting his head fall back as he stared up at the ceiling. Casey savoured every moment, every hitch in his breath. She imagined she could smell his terror in the air, a scent like sweat. Her body was thrumming with the magnitude of it all; for the first time in over a year, she felt genuinely excited.

What are you thinking about, honey?

He returned his gaze to her, staring bleakly. That could’ve ruined my whole damn life. It still could. One tweet about what just happened, one conversation with the head, one Facebook post, and I’m done. I’m over.

It sounds like you’re finally getting the point.

He rubbed his hands up and down his face, then through his hair, and finally he sat forwards. What do you want?

"I’ve already got what I want. You on a hook, wriggling, trying to get free. But there’s no more free, not for you. Now be a dear and transfer me three thousand pounds."

What?

I didn’t stutter.

She was tempted to start the entertainment early, though she’d planned to ease him into it, break him down little by little. His tone was unacceptable; his tone was – and she hated this cliché in herself, but it was no less true – her father’s voice.

You’ve got seventy-two thousand in savings, she went on, burying that hateful thought. The remainder of what you inherited from your dear dead daddy; you’ve been quite a flagrant spender, sweet Scottie; cruises with Natalie, renovations for the house, play-acting the rich boy. And, of course, there’s the nasty business of your mother still being alive. Your stupid father left that swollen pig quite the sum, right?

Casey…

But it’s still a decent amount, she cut in smoothly. I would like three thousand. It’s not an unreasonable request.

No.

Casey laughed. It started quiet, something like the laughter she’d affected when she was the make-believe Casey, the implausible wife who was always horny and always eager to clean the house and never had a word of complaint. She was a fantasy, and Scott had fallen for her; it wasn’t her fault he was so gullible. But then the laughter morphed, until she was gasping, tears rising in her eyes.

It was a release like a transformation; she was becoming a werewolf. She was growing into her real skin, not this fakeness. She wasn’t the woman who woke up early just to make her man breakfast. She wasn’t the bitch who stood there, silent, not even caring about her own kids, all to please the big bad man of the house.

It was pathetic. They were: men.

No? She picked up her phone. You might want to reconsider, Scottie.

He grinded his teeth from side to side, just one of his countless annoying habits. Casey–

You’re not getting the point. You can give me all the puppy-dog eyes you want, but it won’t change anything. Send the money. Don’t make me end this before it gets good.

Why do you need three grand?

If you speak again before you’ve sent the money, I release everything I have. Dick pics and fuck vids and all the rest of it.

More teeth grinding; more staring. He wanted to hit her, to hurt her. Which was hardly a surprise. You’re not even my wife.

You’re an idiot. Don’t make me do it.

Who are you?

Casey stared, her thumb poised over her touchscreen. He’d called her bluff, which was bloody annoying. But she’d get her way. She’d wear him down. There was something: a feeling.

Finally, he picked up his phone and started tapping. After a minute or so, the notification appeared: three thousand pounds, just like that, the easiest money she’d ever made. It was time she started taking care of her needs, her desires, instead of pandering to her husband all the time.

What sort of life was it, living as the woman her husband wanted her to be, a projection, not even real? In his eyes, she was a robot, a meal-prep sexbot android with no thoughts or desires of her own.

I loved you, Scott said. "I love you."

You don’t even know me. But I know you. And I’ve never loved you. I wouldn’t be able to. I think it’s your bedtime, honey. I’ve got some shopping to do.

Scott glanced at the window, at the autumn sunlight slanting through the glass. "My bedtime?"

Yes. Stay upstairs for the rest of the night. I can’t stand to look at you any longer.

He tried to appear tough again, but it didn’t matter. She could see right to the core of him. She’d lived with him since before they were married; she’d been there during the night terrors, waking in a scream, sheets soaked in sweat, tragic ranting as he vomited up all his secrets and his pain at Natalie’s suicide. There was nothing left in Scott. If there had ever been a man there, it was dead now. He was exactly what she needed him to be.

As she predicted, he obeyed. Rising to his feet, he skulked from the room like the coward he was.

Casey picked up her phone and went to the clothes website she’d been browsing a few days earlier. She felt a spree coming on.

3

SCOTT

Scott stood at the window, looking down on the street. A few kids were kicking a football at the opposite end. The sun hadn’t even set.

She’d sent him to bed. He tried to wake up: to stop dreaming. This couldn’t be happening. Casey loved him. They were happy. They had never even had a proper argument, or even a disagreement. It had been perfect.

Maybe it had been too perfect.

He paced up and down the bedroom. Casey’s bedside table had her latest thriller on it; his had a chunky book on Winston Churchill. Her hair straighteners and her