My heart races as I wait in the background, fiddling with the locket around my neck, pretending to scroll on my phone while they check in their suitcases. When they’ve finished, I follow them into Duty Free. They separate. Beth drifts to the cosmetics, Justin to the aftershaves.
I stalk him, lingering by a sunglasses display, pretending to browse as I watch him in my peripheral vision. Justin starts chatting to a sales assistant. She gives him a gushing smile as he charms her. Then he strikes up a conversation with the customer behind him while waiting in the queue to pay. He clearly likes talking to strangers. He digs into his pocket, produces a business card and hands it to the man.
I tense and release my fists, preparing to deliberately bump into him when he’s finished paying. I can’t let him go. I feel compelled to talk to him, fuelled by the mental image of Daisy urgently poking my shoulder and whispering in my ear:He’ll tell you what really happened to me.My sister isn’t backing off. And neither am I.
Just as Justin is about to pay, Beth returns and hands him a shopping basket loaded with beauty products. He takes it willingly, smiling and nodding as she holds up a box of cream. Suddenly, the need to pee overcomes me. I have no choice but to leave them.
At the gate, I hang back and wait, scanning every face that passes, but I don’t see them. Perhaps I got it wrong, and they are on a later flight. I remember there being one when I was searching for flights. Damn. I’m an idiot. I should’ve taken my chance while I had it.
With priority boarding because of my cabin bag, I get on the plane. I find my seat in row fifteen and watch, waiting to see if they board. Passengers shuffle down the aisle, dodging people packing bags into the overhead lockers and bickering about who gets the window seat.
Soon Justin and Beth appear. Adrenaline pulses through me. I slide down into my seat, enough to see him guide her with a hand in the small of her back into a seat five rows ahead of me.
As the plane fills, Justin gets up to use the bathroom. I pretend to get something out of my rucksack from under the seat in front. The plane door thumps closed. An announcement tells everyone to fasten their seat belts. The seat next to Justin remains empty.
The chance is here, waiting for me to take it.
I stand and walk to their row. Beth is asleep, head lolling against the window, mouth agape, a thin dribble running down her chin. Slipping into the aisle seat, I wait, hands clasped in my lap, and my heart beating so loudly in my ears, I’m surprised that I haven’t woken her.
Justin returns. He pauses to chat to the air hostess securing the overhead locker opposite. When he gets to me, I stand up to let him pass.
He starts chatting as easily as he chatted to that redhead at the bar last night. ‘I’m Justin, by the way.’ He holds out his hand. I offer mine. He holds it for a moment too long as we shake, his eyes not leaving mine.
The woman in front of me shifts. Her seat jolts. She stands to remove her cardigan. Her long blonde hair reminds me of that waitress in the café opposite the offices ofA Meeting of Mindsin Primrose Hill – Immy. The woman who used to work for Justin. The one who flicked back her long blonde hair to reveal her name tag.
So when Justin asks me my name, I reply, ‘Immy.’
He blinks twice, quickly, then smiles.
29
BETH
I stare at the D keyring. The room spins. Clutching the side of the desk, I sink heavily into the chair and squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the keys hard against my chest.
It can’t be a coincidence.
It just can’t be.
I drop the keys. They jangle as they hit the tiled floor. The familiar prickly sensation starts. Heat rises under my skin. Stress always heightens the itching the medication can barely keep under control. It’s insufferable. My nails rake as I scratch my forearms. Decreasing the dose doesn’t work, no matter what the consultant or Justin says. Living with what he believes to be paranoia is far easier than blood-red arms from all the incessant scratching. What did Dr Fletcher say to me about managing my stress levels?
Justin and I need to have words.
I crouch to pick up the keys, return them to Immy’s rucksack and close the door on my way out.
When I reach the stairs, Justin is coming down, dressed in a pair of dark cargo shorts and a white T-shirt. The devoted husband who never puts a foot wrong. He stops near the bottom. ‘I thought you were having a rest.’
‘I… I.’
‘What’s wrong?’ He rushes down the last two steps. ‘What’s happened?’
‘You need to come with me.’
He frowns, but he does what I ask.
I open the annexe door, scratching my arm. ‘Come.’ I produce the keys from Immy’s rucksack. ‘You have to see this.’
‘Beth—’ He sighs. ‘You can’t come in here. It’s not right.’ He glances behind him. ‘Where’s Immy?’
