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“Thank you for agreeing to help me with this, Victoria. I don't think I could do it by myself, but I guess it's time.”

“You don't need to apologise for anything, Frank. I know it's difficult, and it's only been two weeks since Jessica… well, it's not been a long time. I'm glad to help.” Victoria took Frank's hand as they entered the bedroom. It had been the master bedroom, but as her cancer got worse, Jessica insisted Frank move into the spare room so he could get some sleep rather than listen to her all night. They both glanced at the bed, almost expecting to see Jessica’s frail and pale figure popping up on the pillows. Now there was just the fresh bedding.

“I haven't been able to sleep in here since she went. I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep in here again, Victoria.”

There was nothing she could say, so she just squeezed his hand. “Come on, Frank, let’s make a start.” Victoria has agreed to help him dispose of her sister’s belongings.

They were down to the third drawer of the dresser before they found a big envelope addressed to them both. They could not face opening it yet, so they carried on sorting Jessica’s clothes. Now there were four neat piles. Things Victoria wanted to keep; things Frank wanted to keep; stuff for the charity shop and stuff for the dump. They’d run out of excuses.

The large white A4 envelope lay face down on the mattress. When Victoria turned it over, she felt a shiver, as if someone had walked across her grave. It was the handwriting on the envelope that did it. Jessica had to send them a message from the grave. In her neat hand, the front of the envelope said:

To Frank and Victoria.

If you find this while I'm still alive, please don't read it until after I'm gone.

I love you both dearly.

Jessica xx

They looked at it and at each other. “I'll do it,” said Frank, plucking up courage. He took a penknife from his pocket, but his hand shook as he went to slide it into the flap. Victoria put her hand on top to steady his, and he opened it. There were two envelopes inside, one for each of them and a covering letter. It said:

Dear Frank and Victoria,

Thank you for waiting until I am gone before opening this. Before you read anything else, I want to remind you that you are the most important people in the world to me and I would not do anything to hurt you on purpose, but when you read your letters, that will be what I’ve done. I have to tell you the truth, even though it will upset you and will change what you think of me. But I don't want some false sainthood, and I don't want you to waste time before finding happiness. That's the only gift I can give you now. It’s the only saving grace from the whole awful situation. Please read your letters by yourselves before you speak to each other. Victoria, your letter is longer, so Frank will have to wait a while. I love you both and I hope you will forgive me.

Jessica xx

The sister and the husband took their individual envelope, fearful of its contents. There would be no going back once they read what Jessica had wanted to keep secret until she was gone.

“We don’t have to do this, Frank.” Victoria was trembling and clutched his hand for support.

“We’ll never be able to rest without knowing, Vicky. We won’t be able to get on with the rest of our lives.” Frank put his other meaty paw on top of hers and squeezed it gently. “I'll go next door. Tell me when you're ready to talk.” He picked up his envelope and left the room.

Victoria stared at her envelope. For a while, she considered just burning it, but over the years, she had been conscious of times when Jessica had wanted to tell her something but had stopped short, somehow wishing that Victoria could know what it was without her having to say. Perhaps this letter would provide those missing words. She had a premonition the news would be bad, so she breathed slowly, waiting for her anxious feelings to subside.

Frank had a different attitude. His career in the Army had taught him to face his fears in combat and in everything else that had happened since. He tore open the envelope and plunged in.

Dear Frank,

I'm sorry what you will read will hurt you. I wish I could undo it all and make things different, but I don't have that power. My gift to you is that you can now follow your heart and find happiness for the rest of your days.

The whole mess started eight years ago when you were on your second tour in Iraq. Things are better now, or at least more honest. But back then there was no post-traumatic stress disorder, just Gulf War syndrome, as they called it. It was a stigma, a symptom carried by those who were not fit for war. Back then, the way soldiers and their families coped with the stress was the way they had coped since the Napoleonic Wars. Keep quiet, drink too much, argue and show violence to yourself and to the people who try to help you. That doesn't excuse what I did, but I hope it explains my unhappiness.

We’d only been together two years, and half that time, you were on a tour of duty. I was twenty-three, and you were nearly thirty, and we were still trying to find out what our life together was all about. If you remember, you came home from that second tour withdraw and uncommunicative. You could not show or receive any tenderness. Love to you was just sex, often rough and painful. I was sorry when you went back on duty, but also relieved. Sometimes I didn’t know if the worst news I could receive was that you had been killed or that you were coming back.

As you know, I’m not from an Army family and could not confide in the other Army wives who supported each other. Widows-in-waiting, one of them joked darkly at one coffee morning. I did not want to find comfort in enduring the situation; I wanted to escape it, just for a while at least, just until I knew whether you would come back.

I guess I was a prime candidate for an affair. Young, unworldly, isolated and desperate for happiness. When he appeared, it was by accident, but I did not put up much of a fight. I'm sorry I should have valued us more, but I was at a low ebb. He did not have to try too hard. Just a smile and make me laugh and feel interesting and wanted as a human being. I think it was the third time we met when we had sex. He just turned up on the doorstep, I opened it and he stood there. He did not have to say anything, we just knew. I let him in and we went upstairs and that was the start.

There were many things wrong with him as I was to discover later, but back then at the beginning, he was a skilful and considerate lover. He made me come often with his mouth and his hands and his cock. Like most young women, I romanticised his enthusiasm as him loving me. I could not be honest and just admit that I enjoyed the sex as much as he did. My guilty conscience said there had to be more, even though he did not suggest he felt the same.

I continued to see him after you came back for good, even though I vowed I wouldn't. You were a sick, broken, angry man, Frank. You were in denial about the horrors you'd seen, and you could not accept help from me or the professionals who were finally addressing these problems. He was my safety valve in dealing with you.

I remember when it all changed. We’d watched that Panorama programme on Gulf War syndrome and how there were thousands of men like you suffering in silence and their families were suffering too. You said nothing but later that night, but I woke up and you were not in bed. I went downstairs and found you crying in the dark on the couch. You said you could not do it by yourself. I said you did not have to; I was there to share the load with you. That was when you broke down and clung to me. At that point, I loved you more than I had ever loved you before, Frank. It was the day you really returned from the war. The start of you becoming the man I've loved and admired for the rest of my life.

I ended the affair and thought that was it. You started therapy, and I was there for you, please believe me. But there were tragic circumstances which led to the affair starting up again, against my will. I'm ashamed of what happened during that period, but thankfully, it ended after two horrible years.

Frank, in all that time, despite what I did, I never stopped loving you. When it was over and I was free it was wonderful, but who knew we had such little time? They were the four best years of my life. There were several times before I became ill that I wanted to tell you everything, to confess and throw myself on your mercy. But there are other people, people who we both care about who would have been hurt by my selfish need to purge my conscience. So, I kept quiet. Then the cancer came, and that changed everything. My courage failed me, could not face the thought of losing my husband and my sister. I've had to wait until now to make my peace with both of you.

You can see that I’ve omitted much of the detail in my confession; that is to spare you unnecessary pain, because I hope that it will help you find happiness with someone I know you love and admire. Victoria knows the full story, so I'll leave it to her judgement about what she tells you. My dying hope is that you can find each other and enjoy the happiness you both deserve. Don’t let any feelings of impropriety delay you. If your feelings for her are reciprocated, as I think they will be, then you owe it to yourselves not to waste time. You have my full blessing for whatever that's worth.

I love you both. Please be happy now.

Jessica xx’

Frank's tears fell on the page, smudging the ink. He carefully put the pages on the bed. He thought he should be angry, but what he felt was a profound sense of relief. He suspected over the years there had been someone else. At the time, his initial reaction was anger and jealousy, but he could not confront her over it. He could not deal with incontrovertible proof of Jessica’s adultery, because he feared she would leave him. Instead, he fought fire with fire, sneaking around and fucking other Army wives as if that evened the score. When he felt guilty about their husbands, he would use the whores who hung around the base. Then he stopped.

His breakdown was the turning point. The therapy and support he'd received showed him how lost he was. Jessica had been right there for him, and she had taken the brunt of his anger and confusion. He did not begrudge Jessica her occasional escape from him. Pressure valve was the right description. In the years when he was recovering, he hoped that it was over and he ignored any feelings to the contrary. He was glad she confirmed it had ended by the time he felt they were at their best. She was right; the four years before she became ill were genuinely happy years for both of them.

Frank read the letter again, this time conscious of how carefully Jessica had censored herself to protect someone else. He realised it was Victoria.

'What have you done that is so bad, Jessica? What have you said to Victoria that you want her to decide if I should hear it?' His mind was racing with possible answers. He was glad that Jessica saw his feelings for Victoria were honest. Her attempt to match-make with her dying breath was a genuine act of devotion.

He would ask Victoria. He would take that chance for himself and Jessica. Frank put Jessica’s letter back in the envelope and went downstairs to make a cup of tea. He would wait for Victoria's signal. He would wait for the start of the rest of his life and he would thank Jessica for the opportunity.

Frank’s heavy tread on the stairs brought Victoria out of her trance. She looked at the clock on the bedside table and realised she'd sat frozen in fear for over half an hour. She knew at some point he would be back to ask what was in her letter, and that gave her the courage to open it. Victoria’s hands shook too much to hold the paper, so she put the pages on the dressing table and sat on the chair in front of the mirror. The chair Jessica had sat on to do her makeup for all those years. Victoria had to sit on her hands to get them under control, then she took a deep breath and read.

Dear Victoria,

Please remember, whatever you read, I did not intend to hurt you. If I did not think knowing what I'm about to say could improve your life, I would take my secret to the grave. It's my deepest hope there will be no misplaced eulogising about me and that you will have a happy future with a man I know you like and who admires you very much.

Now I'm here, it is difficult to know how to start, so I guess I'll start at the beginning, just like I wanted to start this conversation with you so many times over the years. I have always admired and looked up to you, Victoria, even though you are my younger sister. You were one with the brains and determination to go into nursing and when you joined the Navy and put yourself in harm’s way to help others; I was so proud of you. I felt so inadequate with my safe little job at the building society.

I was glad to know there was at least one hero in our family, and I'm happy mum and dad were overjoyed. I used to tell them I did not have a problem with them singing your praises to all and sundry, because it was a big deal, and I knew they loved us both. That is the truth, I was not saying it just to make them feel better. When you ended up on a hospital ship, treating wounded servicemen from the same Gulf War Frank was fighting, I felt we were all connected and that Frank would be okay because you were there to make him better if he got injured. I know it sounds stupid to think in such simple terms, but that was my way of making sense of it all.

Army wives don't see the big picture of how politicians want people to. They just want to know their husbands will come home safe, whatever the merits of the cause they are fighting for.

When Frank came home from his first tour, he did not come home whole. I remember when the ship docked, there was a cordon holding back the families on the viewing platform. The women I was standing with were nervously passing a pair of binoculars between them.

"Why do they keep us so far away?" I asked one of the older wives who looked at me and said, “They do it so you can prepare yourself before he sees you. So you can get ready for the things he can't tell you in his letters.” 

heard a woman behind me cry out in joy when she spotted her husband's face in the crowd. Then I heard her groan of anguish as the crowd parted and she could see his arm in a sling and his hand was missing. What should have been a joyful homecoming became tinged with anxiety and fear. I got the binoculars from her and scanned the disembarking crowd for Frank. There he was, all his arms were and legs were there. I broke down in tears and gave thanks to God for that. But what I could not see through the binoculars was how damaged Frank was inside.

Back then we didn’t have the internet where ordinary people could share their experiences. So, no one openly discussed the stresses and strains of war, and the MoD were quick to shut you up if you asked questions. They feared the impact on morale, so these men suffered in silence. Then TV programmes started talking about Gulf War syndrome, or as they call it now, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The Army belittled it at the time as something unreal, like man flu; something to pity rather than accept and treat.

Frank became withdrawn, prone to losing his temper at the slightest thing I said. He wanted to make love, or rather have sex all the time, as if to prove he was still alive. But even in that, he was angry and rough almost to the point of abuse. I asked him to talk to me about things and he said I was not there, so I could not understand. It sounded like some clichéd line from a Vietnam War film. But it was true.

We bumbled along for the next six months, and when he said he was going back for another tour, I took the news with equal measures of fear and relief. I’m telling you all this, Victoria, so you understand the frame of mind I was in for what happened next.

I've never got on with the other Army wives, Frank was thirty and I was twenty-three when we met. Many of his comrades were older than him, veterans of other campaigns, and so were their wives. I felt inadequate because I could not take things in my stride like they seemed able to. At some gathering, one of them made a crack about widows-in-waiting, and the others laughed at this black humour, but I could find no comfort in it. I needed something outside of Army life to help me deal with the pressure.

With hindsight, my affair seemed inevitable. A scared young Army wife missing love and affection. Easy prey for an experienced charmer. I first met him when he came to fix the faulty central heating. He was a civilian contractor working on the base, repairing the dilapidated housing stock. He was only a couple of years older than me and had a cheeky grin he knew went down well with women. He did a temporary repair, then cadged a cup of tea.

“There you go, love, another running repair until the MoD to replace these ancient machines. I’m always fixing old boilers on this estate,” he said suggestively.

“You cheeky sod, I'm only twenty-five and I don't need any fixing, thank you very much.” It was nice to have some banter with a man who was not involved in war.

“Ok, love, but just in case there's anything else, this property is on my patch. I’ll make sure I deal with any problems, personally. You can't trust those other cowboys.” He gave me his card.

A week later, I reported a leaky tap. He came round and did a double-take when he saw me. I was wearing a nice dress and makeup. “I’m going out soon,” I explained. He just smiled because he knew it was for him. He talked for an hour while he pretended to fix something under the sink so he could sit on the floor and have a good look at my legs.

The third time, he came to fix a whistling noise from the cooker. He did not even get into the kitchen. I closed the front door behind him and as I turned around, he took me into his arms and kissed me. I didn't put up a fight and his kisses were tender and passionate and I responded to him. This was something I’d missed for so long. My head was spinning and by the time I took stock of the situation my dress was open and his hand was in my knickers and there was no point in stopping even if I wanted to.

He was a skilful lover, and he made me come many times. He put me into positions I never knew existed, and I loved it all. Afterwards, he showed me his wedding ring, which he kept in his trouser pocket. “So it doesn't get caught on anything while I'm working,” he said.

His story was his wife was a nurse working in Dubai, making a lot of money. When she came back, they would buy a big house and start a family. I thought it made us equal, we both had something to lose, and we were just giving each other comfort until our loved ones returned. We met off base after that; away from the nosy parker neighbours. Most of the time, it was in his pokey bedsit or his car. Sometimes we would brave the outdoors if we were feeling adventurous.

When Frank came back after his third tour, I told him we had to stop. But Frank was even worse than before, and I knew he would explode again. I’m sorry to admit it, but I could not be around him all the time waiting for it to happen. It was only two weeks later when I phoned my lover, asking to meet him again. I realised by this time, the relationship was more than a bit of fun and casual sex to me. I thought he felt the same. How could he spend so much time fucking me if he did not care about me, right? I knew it gave him a kick that we were meeting behind Frank’s back, but I could tell he was uncomfortable with me getting serious about him.

When he announced two months later that he was being moved off base because his team was preparing another MoD facility for service personnel coming back from the Gulf, I was sad but he was relieved. With hindsight, I was glad circumstances ended the relationship, because I didn't have the courage to. It was not long after he left things reached a crisis and Frank had a complete breakdown. This time, there was professional help available, and they made families feel part of the solution. I committed myself to making Frank better. I was glad to play a part in his rehabilitation and grateful life was not complicated by what could have been a messy end to the affair.

You had also come back from your tour of duty and were living on the base near Portsmouth. I remember how excited I was to see you again and how supportive you were in helping me deal with Frank's problems. You said you’d seen so much of it on tour. I was so happy as when you told me you started seeing someone, but you did not want to say too much, because you didn't want to jinx it.

It was about six months later when you both came over to see us. I’ve replayed that day in my mind many times over the years. We had not long moved into new MoD accommodation near Aldershot. You came to our door, and I greeted you excitedly. You could not wait to tell me you were engaged and your fiancé was bringing us a housewarming present from the back of the car. We hugged, and I looked over your shoulder and saw him. Then the world stopped.

That's right, your fiancé James was the man I’d been having an affair with for almost eighteen months. He looked shocked to see me, and then a big grin spread over his face. He covered it by the time you introduced me, but I lost my words under my pounding heartbeat. What a terrible thing to happen. It was almost two hours later before I got the chance to grab a few words with him on his own. I said this was a terrible coincidence, and I begged him not to say anything to you or Frank, and we should just be polite and keep our distance from now on.

James just laughed and said it was nonsense; it was fate and good fortune. He joked that he always wanted to have two sisters, and maybe we could work something out when we were all better acquainted. I was horrified, and then I remembered the wife abroad and threatened to expose him if he did not leave you alone. He laughed. He just made that up, so he had an excuse to get away if women were getting too clingy like I had at the end. I realised what a naïve fool I had been. He was unfazed by it all. He even had the nerve to look around to see if the coast was clear. Then he lifted my dress and put his hand in my knickers, as he had on that very first occasion. I'm ashamed to say I responded to his touch. “See you want it just as much as me, Jess,” he said.

When the two of us were alone, I asked you how you met James, and your story was not a million miles from my own. He was doing repairs on a radiator in the Mess and he gave you his cheeky-chappie banter. I felt sick inside and had the awful thought the two of us were not the only ones he tried it on with.

Do you remember me asking if it wasn't all too fast and that perhaps you should take things slowly? I hoped in time you would see what I did not. But I could not get through to you. “Be happy for me, Jess, I think he's the one.”

So I tried to be happy for you, Vicky, I really did. I smiled when we were together on dinner dates and the stays at our parents. Ignored it when James tried to touch me up when no one was around. Laughed at his jokey requests to meet him somewhere for a quick blowjob. I hoped he would just lose interest after a while. But then he became menacing. He said he wondered how Frank would react if he knew what a whore his wife had been while he was away. James said if he heard news like that, it would drive him mad.

Frank was making excellent progress and he depended on me as I wished he would have done at the beginning. But it would devastate him if James carried out his threat. Frank would never trust me or anyone else again. It was horrible to discover the man James really was underneath all the false smiles and good humour. He got such a kick from having had both of us and was always making comparisons I did not want to hear. Said things like I should come round and give you some lessons in cock-sucking. Vile man, I knew it would not end; I would have to find a way to warn you.

I remembered you phoned one day and said we should all get together at the weekend. You sounded excited, but wouldn't tell me what your news was. I could not wait any longer, I was determined to tell you about me and James, beg your forgiveness and beg you not to tell Frank. Not for my sake, but for his, as a fragile patient recovering from psychological injury.

I drove down to Portsmouth on that rainy day to confess, but before I could get my story out, you told me your news, you were pregnant. We hugged and I congratulated you. You asked about my news. I could say nothing then. Had to pretend I could not wait until the weekend to hear your news. You were so excited you believed my lame excuse. You could not take bad news after what you just told me. I’d have to wait and hope all was okay in the meantime.

I could only see one way out of this terrible situation. I would have to sacrifice myself for Frank's sanity and your safety. At least, that's how I rationalised it. I did not want James going with any other woman and bringing back God knows what diseases to you and your unborn child. Also, the thought of Frank suffering again after he had suffered so much already was impossible to bear. So, I saw James again, I'm ashamed to say, behind your back and Frank’s. At first, it was just quick assignations in lay-bys where he’d be happy with a blowjob. But that did not last long. He drove out to secluded woodland areas where he could fuck me properly in the car. I always felt nervous that someone might come along, and then one day it happened.

We were in the middle of it and a group of men appeared from nowhere and gathered round the car and started wanking. I wanted us to go, but it turned James on and he made me turn this way and that to make sure the men could see all the action. I felt ashamed and disgusted with myself, and my only saving grace was the thought that, at least, I was sparing you this ordeal. I told him afterwards that I never wanted to go there again. “Okay, no dogging,” he said, and that was when I discovered what they called it.

But James had other ideas, and a couple of weeks later, we were in a different place. We were drinking a cup of tea from a petrol station and looking at the view. This was unusual because he rarely had much time for pleasantries. He started undressing me and I felt funny, but aroused at the same time.

"Just a little something to loosen you up," he said, looking at my tea. I felt I was in a dream as he took my clothes off and screwed me. I did not notice he had opened the windows until I heard the voices outside the car. There was another group of men. They were saying filthy things to me and trying to stick their cocks through the windows for me to touch and this time, I was ashamed to say, it turned me on, the crudity of it and the disgusting comments they made.

“You love it, don’t you, Jessica?” James taunted. “Victoria is as big as a pig now the baby is due, but even if she weren’t, I could not enjoy this with her the way I do with you. You were made for fucking like this.” He opened the window so these strange men could cum on me. I was so ashamed. I didn't know what depths of depravity I was capable of, but James was keen to explore them.

I know the birth of your first child Ellie was very painful. You had a lot of stitches, were not going to be ready for intimate relations with James for quite some time. I guess because of this, he demanded we meet more often. He took me to a flat he said belonged to a mate of his. The place looked empty, and James took me into the bedroom and showed me some things he wanted me to wear. He asked me to come into the living room when I was ready. I put on the suspender belt and black stockings, the gaudy, open-crutched knickers and a pair of red stilettos that were two sizes too big for me. In the living room, James was naked on the couch and excited to see me get up.

He did not waste time and soon he was fucking me on the couch, turning me this way and that, making me bend down with my arse in the air. I don't know when I got the sensation that we were not alone, but I looked up and saw through the open kitchen hatch a man was filming us. I struggled to pull away but James is big as you know and he held me down until he was almost finished. At the last moment, he pulled out and came over my back. I realised he had set this up to make his own porn movie.

“Didn’t I say she was a natural?” James said to the cameraman who came out of his hiding place. By this time, the other man had his fly open and his cock was out. Then James held both of my arms in one hand and the camera in the other and filmed while the man came up and jerked himself off over my breasts. They both laughed, and I fled into the bathroom to clean myself up. I cried bitter tears over how I had let myself get into this mess. I felt ashamed that I had been so used and abused.

When I came out again, the two of them were laughing and drinking tea. I said I never wanted to come back here again. James said that this was just an audition tape and that we would make others, unless I wanted him to send a copy of what we'd just been doing to Frank. He said they would edit it so James could not be identified and the other man, Harry, would do the commentary. It was straightforward blackmail from there on in. What little feeling James had for me, he lost in his quest for kinkier thrills.

I’m sorry to say we went back again and made other films, with both of them having me at the same time and then with another woman involved. The sex was sleazy and degrading, but I could not help recognising that part of me was also turned on by this humiliation. I did not know that about myself, but James had seen it from the beginning and he latched on to it and exploited it. I was cursed for an illicit affair and felt it damned my soul. I even contemplated suicide as a way out, but I was too cowardly to do that. I told myself, how would Frank survive without me?

This terrible situation went on for another year, by which time Frank had almost recovered and you were expecting your second child, Nancy. It was difficult being a sister and your friend with all the terrible things I was doing, Victoria. I hope you can see I was not doing them to hurt you. By this time, any sleazy pleasure I got from the filming and group sex had long since disappeared after mindless repetition. I convinced myself it was someone else doing these things, that there was a good person inside me who could come back if only I had the chance. But I could not see where that would come from. Then one day, a miracle happened, and what was an awful tragedy also became my salvation.

One July afternoon, a police car arrived at my door and a WPC asked me if I was a relation of James Mulhern. I said yes, but why didn't they contact his wife? They just asked me to come with them. We arrived at Farnborough Hospital, where I was told James was seriously injured in a coma following a road accident.

They took me to the ICU, and I saw him; a mask over his bruised face and the respirator going up and down. There was also an enormous cage around his body, holding the blankets away from him. Then they asked me if I could identify the deceased passenger in his car. My heart almost stopped as I thought it was you. I went to the viewing room in the morgue and held my breath as they opened the curtains. I've never been so relieved in my life as when I discovered it was not you.

They pulled the sheet back and I looked at the young woman on the slab. She was about the same age as I was when I started seeing James, and I knew my efforts to spare another person from James’s attentions had failed. He’d been doing the same thing with someone else's wife, or girlfriend, or daughter. Now she was lying dead because of him. I looked at the shoes and the stockings and suspenders and I realised where they'd been. It made me so angry. I wanted to destroy it, to destroy it all. I saw my chance.

“I don't know her, but I think he's been having an affair,” I suggested to the WPC.

“What makes you say that?” asked the female detective who had joined us.

“Well, please don’t say any of this to my sister, but he’s made improper suggestions to me several times.”

“There is evidence that this young woman had sex recently,” the detective confirmed.

“Perhaps you should look for a match with James.”

She nodded and made a note in her book.

A couple of days later, I drove past the flat where they used to do the filming and then down to the junction with the major road and noticed an accident information board requesting witnesses. I phoned in an anonymous tip that I'd seen two people arguing outside a flat and get into a car which then careered down the road before crashing. The police raided the flat and arrested the man who did the filming, but they could prove nothing because he and James kept the tapes somewhere else. I panicked him enough to leave the flat and not come back, so I hope I spared other women his attentions.

You had been away on some secret briefing about how to deal with nerve gas attacks, and that's why they could not contact you on the day of James's accident. I know, you may hate me for saying this Victoria, but I consider with happened to James a godsend. I remember the two of us sitting together outside ICU for two days and nights before James regained consciousness. I prayed he would die while you prayed for his life. The doctors conducted tests before they would allow us to see him. I suspect you knew what they were looking for, but did not want to alarm me.

When they came out and delivered the news James was paralysed from the waist down, our reactions could not have been more different. As his wife, unaware of all his other deeds, you broke down and wept tears of genuine love and anguish. I had to pretend to be in shock because inside, I was rejoicing. I’m sorry to say I took a spiteful delight in his injury. My ordeal was over. His hold over me was broken and he would never terrorise me or any other woman again.

But then I thought it through and could see that his enslavement of me had been replaced by his enslavement of you, because now he needed your care for the rest of his life. I knew you wouldn't desert him and I knew I couldn't tell you, not just then. This evil and undeserving man would get the love and attention of his unsuspecting wife. I was so sorry it would trap you with him for the rest of his days.

While you went to tell mum and dad, the news he was still alive, I stayed with him in the room. Leaned over him and said the young girl was dead and soon he would wish he had died in the car with her. I was the first to tell him he was paralysed from the waist down and that his cock would be of no use to him now, not even for pissing out of. I told him I would do everything I could to persuade you to put him into a home and leave him there to rot. I Said I would tell you about our affair, not the first one, say that after you were married, he spiked my drink at a party and fucked me while I was out cold, tell you he took pictures to blackmail me into seeing him again. James said you would not believe me, then he remembered me asking for some as souvenirs of our adventures. He never thought I'd ever be able to use them against him, so he was happy to give them to me. But now he’d provided his own evidence to support my story.

I promised I’d do everything in my power to make you leave him, reminded him you always got along with Frank, and maybe the three of us should come to an arrangement now that he was no longer up to it in the fucking department. He could ask Frank what it was like to have two sisters at the same time. James started crying, but I just threw every hurtful thing at him. I was panting at the end. Finally, I asked him how it felt to be blackmailed and terrorised like he had done to me.

He recoiled at the anger and hate in my face; even made an insincere apology for it all, said he just got carried away and that he would never have followed up on his threats. I did not believe him and he knew it. But I made him a deal for your sake and the kids. I said that as long as he wasn’t a bastard to you during his rehabilitation, I would leave him alone.

I kept my word longer than he did because less than six months had gone by before James was making life hell for you, Victoria. You were struggling with two young kids and the pressure of being the only breadwinner. The doctors had discovered evidence of cocaine abuse when he was admitted after the accident, so that violated his driving insurance. There would be no pay out for the accident. Added to which, there was the pending manslaughter charge for the death of his young woman passenger. I almost jumped up in the court to object when the judge acquitted him for lack of evidence, saying it would be wrong to separate James from his family after the injuries he had suffered. What about the family of that poor girl? You would have been better off with him in jail. He brought all this shit on you, and he was no help. I saw you struggling to keep on top of it all and I knew I could not let you suffer anymore, so I did something about it.

James always had a very high sex drive. I'm sure you suspected he sated his appetites elsewhere, especially when you were pregnant. It is my shame the source of his satisfaction was so close to home. Anyway, without the ability to have sex now, I knew James would think life was not worth living. He would have no concerns about how you and the kids felt. If he could not satisfy himself, nothing else mattered. So, I provoked him, bending down in front of him so he could look up my skirt. I would lean close so he could see my cleavage and once or twice flashed my boobs. But I never let him touch me, never. There would be no reward for him. These displays got him excited in his mind, remembering what we used to do, and then I would grab his crotch and it would be dead, lifeless, and that realisation would make him break down in tears. But my heart was hard, and my revenge had to be as spiteful as his exploitation of me.

I saw the pitiful look in his eyes as I made suggestions. "If you want to go, to end it all, James, I could help you. I could make it painless." I was like water dripping on a stone every day. I only hoped that he would give in before you broke under the pressure of trying to keep everything together.

Then one day, he asked me to get him some strong pills. I still had the ones left over from when Frank was heavily medicated, and I had to look after them to avoid him doing something stupid. Then I thought that would lead back to me, or even worse to you, as you were a nurse. So, I bought paracetamol, lots of different brands and I gave him strips with some tablets missing. I wanted to make it look like he’d been scavenging them for a while. Also, I went out and bought him another bottle of the whiskey we gave him for his birthday as there was not much left in the first one. He could hide this one away to do the job. But he wasted weeks, trying to summon the courage to do the right thing.

Then you collapsed at work with a dangerous stomach ulcer, and they kept you in hospital for observation for forty-eight hours. I took your kids back to mine for the night, and I could see how guilty and grateful they were not to be spending their time with James. He had become a toxic person and was polluting you all.

I couldn’t watch you suffer anymore. I went to your house that evening and I gave him an ultimatum; asked if he wanted to see you dead and your kids orphaned, threatened that, as Frank and I were their godparents, we’d make sure he never saw them again, told James if there was any human decency left in him, he would die so you could live. He had to find the courage before you came out of the hospital. I put the carrier bag containing the whiskey on his side table and left.

Next morning, I went to your house before I collected you from the hospital on the pretext of bringing you some fresh clothes. I found James dead in his chair. He’d overdosed on pills and whiskey and choked on his own vomit when unconscious. He’d left a note, a few incoherent lines that made little sense and showed not one ounce of remorse. So, I took it. I phoned the police and reported his suicide, told the two officers James had been depressed for a long time.

They put together the clues I'd left. When they said it looked like he'd been hoarding tablets, I had to suppress a smile. I told them I often felt my bag had been disturbed when I visited the house; perhaps he'd taken some from me.

They called for the coroner who took James away. Afterwards, I went to the hospital and told them what had happened to James. Your doctors agreed to keep you in for another couple of days on some pretext. I went home and Frank and I told your kids what James had done, to spare you that pain of having to deal with it.

Victoria, I’m not in a position to judge anyone given the things I've done, but when I saw the mixture of sorrow and relief on your face when I told you the news about James, I knew I'd done the right thing for everybody. The years after James was dead were some of the happiest times of my life, and I think the same goes for you and Ellie and Nancy. For me, it was all worthwhile.

Although I’m not a religious person, I believe to kill someone is a mortal sin, and the price has to be paid. So, when those little lumps I had ignored for a while turned out to be the start of lymph cancer, I knew that debt was being collected. I can never thank you and Frank enough for how devoted you were during the time it took me to die. Your care was unstinting. Frank thought he could save me through sheer force of will. “You saved my life when I came home broken, babe.”

I said this was different, and the body was not so easy to fix; but when I went into remission, I had to believe in the power of faith. I got another year, for which I'm very grateful. It was another year to see the compassion and friendship and love between you and Frank flourish.

I will end this letter now, Victoria. I apologise once again for everything that happened between me and James; the fates were not kind to either of us. I hope that one day you will understand that I did the right thing in getting James to go. I truly believe he had to die so you could live. I hope you and Frank do not waste time doing something about the obvious love you have for each other. James and I were the broken ones. I wish you two all the luck we did not have.

I love you, my dear sister Victoria.

Goodbye,

Jessica x

*

Victoria dropped the letter and wept. She cried tears of anger and sorrow, relief and love for her sister. James had put Jessica in an intolerable position, and she sacrificed herself more than once to spare her and Frank. Her candid description of sex with James did not shock her.

Victoria always suspected James’ appetites were never fulfilled in their marriage bed, and she put up with not knowing how he got his satisfaction. Victoria could see her unwitting collusion and failure to confront him had added to Jessica's pain, and for that, she was bitterly sorry. The poor young woman who had died in a car was incontrovertible proof of his infidelity. Victoria had believed James' explanation that she had been a prostitute he had picked up, and who had caused the accident by grabbing his wallet in a squabble over money. But in her heart, Victoria knew that had not been true.

“Oh, Jessica, if only you could have told me. If only you could have found some way to make me see,” Victoria said aloud. But in the early days, James had been a charmer with her, just as he had been when he seduced Jessica, and Victoria knew that she would not have believed anything against him.

Victoria recognised the gentle knock at the door becoming louder. She did not know how long Frank had been outside.

“Come in, Frank.”

“I’ve bet you could use a cup of tea now?” He placed a steaming mug on the dressing table and noted the large number of sheets in Jessica’s letter to her sister.

They looked at each other and hugged, trying to give mutual support against the whirlwind of emotions their letters had stirred up. Frank cupped Victoria’s cheek and brushed away a tear with his thumb.

“You've been crying too,” she said, noticing his red eyes. “Jessica didn't mean to hurt us.”

“I know, Victoria. She didn't give me a lot of details, not even his name. I guess she said more to you.”

“Yes, she did, and she left it to me to decide how much to tell you, because she wants us to be happy together.”

“Let me tell you something before you say any more, Victoria. I love you and I’ve admired you for a long time. Seeing the way you coped with the kids after James’ suicide and how you were there with Jessica to the end. I love you for your devotion. It would not have been right to do anything about the way I felt. But now I will take her advice. I will not let this opportunity pass because of some stupid notion of what is right. So whatever else has happened, whatever horrors I have to learn about, answer me this first. Do we have a shot, could we be happy?”

Victoria hugged him and then moved back and looked at his smiling face. She kissed him passionately like she had wanted to do so many times in the past. Her hand toyed in the back of his curly hair. “Yes, we have a shot, Frank. We have a chance, and for you and me and Jessica, I intend to give it everything.”

“Oh God, Victoria!” Frank kissed her, and their tears mingled. They clung to each other, feeling the warmth of their love restoring them both. After an age, they broke their embrace.

“Before we go any further, Frank, I’ve got to read you Jessica's letter, all of it. And you have to forgive her, just as I forgive her.”

Frank took her hand, drawing strength from Victoria to face what he knew would be uncomfortable listening. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. “Okay, Victoria, read me what Jessica wrote.”

*

Don't miss your next bedtime story - A Northern Welcome.

Stranded at night in a Yorkshire village when his car runs out of petrol, Brian Wells is grateful when the landlady takes pity and offers him a room even though the pub is closed for a private party.

When he meets birthday girl June and her saucy sister Jackie, events take a turn for the better, as the unappreciated pair show Brian a real northern welcome, while their husbands are preoccupied with farming talk and drinking too much.

Brian agrees to help turn the women’s business pipe dream into reality and offers them an adventure to escape their rural boredom.

Will June and Jackie seize the opportunity? Will Brian survive their appreciation?

Find out by reading A Northern Welcome.