Free The Optician's Wife by Betsy Reavley

married once,’ she said. She helped me to choose some pink roses. I was carried away by her enthusiasm.
    Larry looked so handsome that day. He wore a dark blue pinstripe suit he bought from Debenhams, with a white shirt and black tie.
    We were married in the morning at the Shire Hall register office and went to a pub down the road from the council offices for lunch. Dad got drunk and offended Larry’s mum and Dawn flirted outrageously with Larry’s brother. He lapped it up and that annoyed me.
    We didn’t really have a honeymoon. Larry’s mum was very kind: she insisted we should spend our first night as a married couple together and booked us into a smart hotel in the city centre. Clearly she was desperate for a grandchild.
    A week after the wedding we moved into a two-bed, on Gunhild Way in the south of the city. I couldn’t believe it when Dad offered to help us with the rental deposit. I was grateful even though he couldn’t disguise his pleasure at getting rid of me.
    The house was sparsely furnished with old cheap furniture but I didn’t care. It was home. Over the months I did my best to make it look nice and welcoming. I bought knick-knacks and furniture from junk shops and Larry would restore them. I discovered he was good with tools and a paintbrush.
    Larry was still a trainee optometrist and would take his final exam in the autumn. I was so impressed and proud of him. He was happy working at Rook’s. Mr Rook was a great mentor, Larry said.
    Another body was found in the river. I heard about it from Trisha at work.
    ‘You know they dragged another body from the river yesterday?’ She was loving the drama.
    ‘No I didn’t know. What happened?’
    ‘A young woman apparently. Found in Grantchester Meadows by some kids bunking off school. One of them was my friend’s friend’s little sister and apparently the body was really beaten up.’ She moved closer and whispered. ‘The eyes were missing.’
    ‘How horrible.’
    ‘It’s like something out of a film, isn’t it,’ she mused. ‘I’m going there after work.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘To the site of course. Apparently there’s loads of police and it’s all taped off, but I’d like to see the action. It’s quite exciting really.’
    I didn’t share her enjoyment.
    ‘Do they know who she is?’
    ‘Apparently but they haven’t come out and said yet. I suppose they need to tell the family and stuff first.’ She picked at her chipped purple nail varnish. ‘Do you want to come with me?’
    ‘No thanks. I’ve got to get home to make Larry’s dinner. He loves it when I cook for him. Says my food is almost as good as his mum’s.’
    ‘Proper little wife, aren’t you.’
     

January 10 th 1984
     
     
    The next day it was all over the news. Journalists were speculating that there was a serial killer on the prowl. The police refused to comment on the possibility. All over the city people were talking about it. There was fear in the air and people were being cautious with strangers.
    The victim was a woman called Jane Shanks, aged twenty-two. She had worked in a record shop. Her parents had reported her missing two days earlier when she didn’t come home. The officer on the case said women should remain vigilant and not to walk alone after dark.
    That evening Larry told me he knew Jane. ‘Yeah, I knew her. She worked in the record place on Bridge Street. I go in there to browse albums sometimes. She was really nice. Friendly girl, always happy to stop and talk.’
    ‘When did you last see her?’
    ‘A few weeks ago, I think. Popped in one day after work.’
    ‘I didn’t know you liked music that much.’
    ‘As much as the next person.’ He chewed his dinner. ‘How come you are so interested all of a sudden?’ Larry pushed the peas around his plate with his fork.
    ‘Just sad what happened to her.’ I didn’t have much of an appetite and slid my plate away.
    ‘Something wrong?’ he stopped eating and put his fork down. ‘You don’t