After He Died Read online

  PRAISE FOR MICHAEL J. MALONE

  ‘A stark, gripping storyline’ Scotsman

  ‘A fine, page-turning psychological thriller’ Daily Mail

  ‘A beautifully written tale, original, engrossing and scary’ Marcel Berlins, The Times

  ‘A complex and multi-layered story – perfect for a wintry night’ Sunday Mirror

  ‘The story twists and feints, pulling us along with it at every turn’ Alastair Mabbott, Herald Scotland

  ‘This is a story that is much more powerful in the reading than could be conveyed in any review written about it’ Undiscovered Scotland

  ‘Brilliantly creepy, with a dash of Glasgow humour, I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough. A spine-tingling treat’ Lisa Gray, Daily Record

  ‘Michael’s novel is vivid, visceral and compulsive’ Ian Rankin

  ‘Hard-hitting noir that is also emotionally intelligent and engaging’ Caro Ramsay

  ‘Twists and turns designed to keep the heart pumping’ Russel D. McLean

  ‘Malone perfectly balances storytelling with a brutal commentary on a dysfunctional relationship’ Sarah Ward

  ‘A dark and unnerving psychological thriller that draws you deep into the lives of the characters and refuses to let go. This is a brilliantly written book; I could not put it down’ Caroline Mitchell

  ‘A chilling tale of the unexpected that journeys right into the dark heart of domesticity’ Marnie Riches

  ‘A tightly wound page-turner with real emotional punch’ Rod Reynolds

  ‘His incredible skill with language and prose remains, and his talent for characterisation really comes to the fore, creating a story that I won’t forget in a hurry. Malone is a massive talent…’ Luca Veste

  ‘A disturbing and realistic portrayal of domestic noir with a twist. The humour and emotion laced within the darkness was just the right mix for a shocking yet compelling read’ Mel Sherratt

  ‘Malone’s effortless writing style confirms him as a sharp new voice in crime fiction’ Anya Lipska

  ‘The plot is layered and intriguing, my attention never once wandered; it scared the heck out of me in places and kept me reading into the early hours. Overall it was an intense, emotive and beautifully honed piece of “gritty crime” fiction’ Liz Loves Books

  ‘A slick thriller with a killer punch’ Douglas Skelton

  ‘Funny and brutal, heartfelt and compelling. Highly recommended’ Craig Robertson

  ‘Tough, funny, dark and so in your face it hurts’ Ken Bruen

  ‘Malone writes beautifully’ Chris Ewan

  ‘Wow! What an emotionally powerful read’ K. E. Cole

  ‘Highly recommended’ Thomas Enger

  ‘It’s difficult, unnerving, unputdownable, and simultaneously impossibly sad and also hopeful’ Richard Fernandez

  ‘An intriguing tale with a haunting, Gothic quality that compels you to keep reading till the end’ Howard Linskey

  ‘Unexpected and beautiful, the novel has all the gothic elements of classics like Rebecca, and the all the poetry and page-turning trickery you’d expect from Michael Malone’ Louise Beech

  ‘Utterly brilliant! Scary, captivating and beautifully written’ Emma Clapperton

  ‘An unsettling and upsetting story that kept me enthralled, horrified and quite often, in tears. Dark, disturbing and peppered with his trademark humour’ S.J.I Holliday

  ‘Unsettling, thought-provoking, and absolutely riveting’ Love Reading

  ‘Malone drives a compelling narrative with a plot that will twist your stomach and have you on the edge of your seat’ Live and Deadly

  ‘Malone has a superb talent for building up the narrative so subtly and carefully that it is only when you reach the end the reader realises that they have read a book which has completely blown their mind’ Segnalibro

  ‘Have you ever read a book that made you question your beliefs? Pulled at your emotions until you felt stripped bare and exposed? … That is THIS book!!’ Crime Book Junkie

  ‘Undoubtedly absorbing and will get under your skin from the very first blow. It is stunning’ Woman Reads Books

  ‘A book that will leave you on the edge of your seat and take you on an emotional journey, gripped with worry, anger, tension and relief’ Off The Shelf Books

  ‘Dark, powerful and highly emotive’ Bibliophile Book Club

  ‘A fascinating book to read, chilling, difficult to put down and at times difficult to read’ Steph’s Book Blog

  ‘Interesting, gripping and so real that you will not be able to put it down’ Blog Loving

  ‘The wow factor had me completely wrapped up in a twisted, addictive story of how one action can cause a life to spiral out of control, with severe consequences’ Reviewed the Book

  ‘This is a story of survival, in the toughest conditions. A domestic horror story’ Northern Crime

  ‘Malone’s perfectly written prose is both profound and insightful’ Postcard Reviews

  ‘I couldn’t put this down, was frantically page-turning and I feel thoroughly drained now after reading this!’ Mrs Blogg’s Books

  ‘This is a novel full of twists, tension and gut-wrenching emotion’ Chillers, Killers and Thrillers

  ‘This was a really emotional read on so many levels’ The Book Trail

  ‘One of the finest novels within the domestic genre’ The Misstery

  ‘It was brutal and compelling. It was outstanding. This is a book that will stay with me for a very long time and one you certainly won’t want to miss’ Ampersand Book Reviews

  ‘Michael has written an evocative, dark and emotional novel that also works as a compelling psychological thriller’ Bloomin’ Brilliant Books

  ‘It will wrench your heart, challenge your perceptions, turn you upside down, inside out and spit you out, a mangled wreck, on the other side’ Chapter in my Life

  ‘What a story. Beautiful, like a string of fascinating words given new a meaning when put together. Skilled, like the sharp blade of a razor. Riveting, like an obsessive puzzle with missing pieces’ Chocolate ‘n’ Waffles

  ‘Fantastic characters, a gloriously mysterious house and a delightfully twisty plot. Highly recommended’ Espresso Coco

  ‘One of the better novels of this type that I have read this year’ Steph’s Book Blog

  ‘An extraordinary story with a magical gothic setting in today’s reality. An outstanding supernatural and psychological masterpiece. Just wow!’ Books From Dusk Till Dawn

  ‘All those topics wrapped up in one beautiful creeptastic package’ The Pages in Between

  ‘This novel rocked the gothic vibe very well … the ending was amazing, in the most twisted and shocking way!’ Keeper of Pages

  ‘Well-developed and intentionally plotted – resulting in genuinely shocking and satisfying plot twists and sustained suspense from the book’s first page to its last’ Crime By the Book

  ‘Michael J. Malone has created a haunting psychological thriller with so many interesting characters that you will ask for more!’ Varietats

  ‘A very original psychological thriller and one I would urge anyone and everyone to read just because it’s such a powerful and beautifully haunting novel’ The Book Review Café

  ‘Malone had me hooked from the first page to the last in this exquisitely woven story of the past meeting the present’ Emma the Little Bookworm

  ‘An easy read that I sprinted through – just because it’s so darn good – with page after page bringing a magnetic welcoming’ Page Turner’s Nook

  ‘Equally haunting and frightening’ Ronnie Turner

  ‘Michael J. Malone took me on a journey, he filled my head with the unimaginable and made it come alive’ It’s All about the Books

  ‘A creepy and atmospheric tale�
� The Crime Novel Reader

  ‘It’s a psychological thriller mixed with a gothic horror and I loved every single page of it’ The Book Magnet

  ‘With writing that is almost poetic in nature, this is a beautifully written book that keeps readers guessing throughout’ The Quiet Knitter

  ‘A fresh, remarkable read!’ Novel Gossip

  ‘A satisfyingly, chillingly, haunting and delightfully disturbing read, don’t miss it!’ Chapter in My Life

  ‘The author truly shows off his diversity and displays a remarkable talent for storytelling’ Novel Deelights

  ‘A cracking read that combines a real mystery with a genuinely touching and emotionally affecting story’ Mumbling About

  After He Died

  MICHAEL J MALONE

  Contents

  Title Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1

  Through a medicated fog, Paula Gadd looked along the line of mourners waiting to greet her. It took her last scrap of energy not to tell them all to leave. Someone gripped her hand. A woman she didn’t recognise; her face a twist of assumed empathy.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ the woman said.

  Paula looked from the woman’s surprisingly strong hand to the powdered lines around her mouth, caught a wave of her sickly perfume and managed a question:

  ‘Who are you again?’

  The woman gave a small nod, as if acknowledging that Paula’s grief was making her momentarily senile, then moved on. The words Minister for Business nudged at her mind. Thomas knew all kinds of important people.

  Thomas, her dead husband.

  She was way too young to be a widow, wasn’t she?

  When she first met him he was Tommy, but his drive for success meant a return to the name on his birth certificate. You can’t be informal, apparently, when you’re aiming for the big bucks.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ the next person said. A man in a black suit. All these men in black suits were merging into one. Except, the bulb shape at the end of this guy’s nose was threaded with veins; Paula couldn’t take her eyes off them, following the lines as a blue one crossed a pink one.

  Must be the drugs the doctor had given her, she thought. To be fair, the only way she could handle this service was through a haze. She took a breath in through her nose, as if sniffing for a reminder of the name of the drug printed on the small bottle. Whatever it was, she was immensely grateful.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she aped the man. He cocked his head like a dog might, unsure he had heard what he had heard.

  ‘I can only imagine what you are going through, dear.’ His smile was limp, questioning: Don’t you know who I am?

  She was already onto the next person, her hand reaching out, but her mind now retreating from the line of people, all of them keen to demonstrate their support in her time of grief. All of them leaning on ceremony yet shying away from reality, grateful they weren’t in her shoes. At this thought she looked down at her feet.

  Size three Louboutins.

  She had had a great time choosing them. Never thought that when she was handing over her credit card they’d be on her feet at Thomas’s funeral.

  Next in line was a couple in their seventies who looked like they’d been eating nothing but watery soup for the last thirty years – their faces stripped down to nothing but skin and sinew. And they looked so alike. Were they brother and sister? ‘Thomas will be missed,’ said the man.

  ‘First you lose your only son,’ said the woman. ‘How can one person take all that grief…?’ She was silenced by a look from her husband. Paula decided they must be married. Who else but a spouse would look at you that way?

  Already, she missed that way of looking. That knowing.

  She ignored the comment from the woman. Pushed it to the back of her mind. That was seven years ago. Almost to the day.

  That grief she wore like an old friend. A welcome reminder that Christopher had been in her life. This one was a new wound. Fresh. Gaping. A pain that plucked the air from her lungs.

  Anyway, who were all these people? she wondered. And who decided we should line up like this at the end of a funeral service? Whoever they were, they were sick in the head. Without the chemicals soothing the barb and bite of her loss, this would have been enough to send her to the nearest psychiatric ward.

  She’d always seen herself as part of a couple. A pair. Her identity was wrapped up in that idea. She loved being married. That it was Thomas was mostly a good thing, but the state of marriage was what really gave her satisfaction.

  Even after thirty years she loved saying to salesmen, ‘I’ll have to speak to my husband first.’

  Now she was in the singular.

  Flying solo.

  Well, not flying so much as drifting.

  Adrift.

  And heavy with regret that in the latter years she hadn’t made more of an effort.

  One more person and she was at the end of the line. Thank the good Lord, the line was running out of the sympathetic and suitably morose.

  A young woman stepped forwards. Wide-brimmed hat, large sunglasses, thin nose, plump lips. A chin that almost came to a point. She offered an embrace. Confused, Paula leaned into it, finding that suddenly, surprisingly, human contact was needed. The woman, a girl really, touched her lips to the side of Paula’s face.

  The woman spoke in a whisper and Paula felt something being slid into the pocket of her jacket. What did she say? Paula heard her clearly, but the words were so out of context in the situation that she struggled to make sense of them.

  She looked down to her pocket as if she was trying to work out what had just happened. She raised her eyes to question the girl, but she was already walking away as if desperate not to be stopped. Through the throng all Paula could see was a back view of her black hat and a fan of long, straight, blonde hair across her shoulders.

  ‘Who…’ she turned to the man at her side, her husband’s elder brother, Bill.

  ‘That was tough, eh?’ he asked, his hand light on her arm, his smile distorting his face. Then he turned away without waiting for her answer. Which figured. She’d always felt that Bill had little interest in her, and just over thirty years of knowing each other – twenty-nine of them in a marriage with his brother – had done nothing to soften that feeling. He must be pleased, Paula thought. At last he had a reason to ignore her.

  Oh, get over yourself, Paula. Thomas always said she read way too much into things. The man was grieving as well, wasn’t he?

  The woman’s voice echoed in her mind, but through the medication she couldn’t make sense of her words – their incongruity. People were here to tell her how much they loved and admired Thomas, surely?

  She craned her neck and looked around the milling mourners for the hat and the blonde hair, but she saw no sign of them. It was probably some young woman who had a fancy for Thomas – he was a handsome man after all and he did attract lots of admiring glances. As far as she was aware he
never did anything to encourage them, though.

  Whatever his faults, he was a one-woman man … wasn’t he?

  Her knees gave, just a little, but she managed to right herself, managed not to fall to the floor in a heap. A wave of bone-aching loss crashed down on her and she allowed her hand to drop away from the pocket. If it was a note, she should simply crumple it up and throw it away, unread. Whatever it was, it was surely just a cruel joke.

  Thomas. My Thomas. She recalled the moment – was it really just a few breaths ago when the curtains slid shut, hiding his…? She couldn’t bring herself to even think the word coffin.

  She turned again to try and find the young woman. There was no sign of her, but her words repeated in Paula’s mind.

  ‘You need to know who your husband really was.’

  2

  Father Joe, Thomas’s younger brother, took her by the elbow.

  ‘We need to go, Paula. The car’s waiting.’

  Again, she saw the curtains closing, imagined the fires lighting up, flames engulfing the coffin, and a sob burst from her mouth, for a moment clearing the drug mist in her mind. She stumbled, but Joe was there, helped her gather strength.

  She looked into Joe’s face, searching for signs of Thomas; saw them in the cast of his eyes, the line of his nose. But where his brother could, in recent times anyway, be withdrawn, she only ever sensed warmth from Joe; an openness to living and life.

  ‘Waste of a good man,’ she said, leaning into him.

  ‘Yes. Far too young to be taken,’ Joe answered.

  ‘I’m talking about you, Father Joe.’

  Joe snorted. This was an old conversation. ‘By serving God I try to make lots of people happy.’ And that was an old response.

  ‘You and your organised religion,’ she sighed, but she was aware she was dissembling. Perhaps if she focussed on something else, someone else, even for a moment, it would take away some of this pain.

  ‘C’mon,’ Joe said and pulled her into his side in half a hug. ‘Sometime next week, I’ll bring over a bottle of gin, we’ll watch the sunset from your rooftop garden and we’ll debate life in all its flavours.’

  ‘Rooftop garden,’ Paula said dismissively. ‘It’s a balcony with some potted plants.’