‘Taking Hattie for a stroll around the lake. Look.’ I jangle the D-shaped keyring in his face.
‘And?’
‘Don’t you see what this is?’
He shakes his head.
I bite down on my bottom lip to keep it still. ‘Immy isn’t who she says she is. Why have a D keyring when your name begins with I?’
He rolls his eyes. The same look he’s been giving me for months. He snatches the keys from my hand. ‘This is what I mean, Beth. You’re paranoid.’
I flinch as though he’s just struck me across the face. ‘I’m not. I’m telling you, Justin. Who have we got in our house?’
He lowers his voice. ‘Lots of people have these keyrings. Look.’ He holds up the D part of the keyring and presses the side. The plastic flickers – yellow, pink, yellow. ‘They’re the new craze. Perhaps her dad gave it to her. D for Dad?’ he continues. ‘Imogen had an I-shaped one.’
‘Don’t say that name.’
‘Beth!’
‘I mean it.’
Imogen used to work at our London offices. She had the hots for my husband. I saw the way she flirted around him. Leaning into him. Touching his arm. Laughing unnecessarily whenever he spoke. She was another one who had to go. But then she only went and got a job in the café over the road where Justin buys his morning coffee when he’s in town. I hate that he still sees her, but whenever I’ve said anything, he just tells me I’m being silly.
I place my hands over my ears. ‘Don’t say that name. It’s bad enough that we have an Immy in the house. Or whatever her real name is.’
He puffs out a large breath. His cheeks flare. They always do when he’s angry, and then, as always, he reins it in. His hands cover mine and guide them down to my side. ‘Just leave it, Beth.’ He replaces the set of keys in the rucksack and grabs my hands. Lifting them, he squeezes them together and kisses the tips of my fingers. ‘There’s no ulterior motive here. Immy is just here to look after Mum while you’re having your treatment and I’m working. I’m going to take as much time off as I can, but you know how hectic things have been. What did the consultant say? You need to relax. Now I need to go and get some work done.’ He turns to leave. ‘Come on, we’re not having this again.’
‘You’re wrong. I’m telling you. Just think about it. Don’t you think it was a little convenient that she managed to miss her flight?’
‘It was an honest mistake, Beth.’
‘Justin, I’m telling you,’ I say more urgently.
He spins, palms to the ceiling. ‘Telling me what?’
‘She must go.’
30
SCARLETT
I sit on my bed, emailing my clients. A portable fan whirrs on the bedside table but does little to curb the overbearing heat. The room is oppressive. A sudden bolt of classical music from the main house makes my hand fly out, knocking my water bottle off the side of the bed. It clanks on the tiled floor and rolls towards the door. My hand clutches my chest to steady my breath. I thought I’d be able to handle spending a few days here – enough time to work out whether that man played a part in my sister’s death – but I’m jittery, constantly on edge. Every noise feels like a potential threat.
The room presses in. Justin insisted I take a break when he and Beth returned from the hospital. I didn’t need persuading. I needed the space. Time to think. I’d taken Hattie for a walk around the lake. It’s beautiful here, and very peaceful if it weren’t for Hattie. She was full-on, talking non-stop about her modelling days as if they were only yesterday.
I call Mum. She answers straight away.
‘I’ve been trying to call you,’ she says. The line is crackly. It’s difficult to understand her. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Sorry, Mum. I’ve been busy trying to catch up with work.’
She tells me about Granny wandering into the garden in the middle of the night and pulling up some weeds. ‘She started singing, thank goodness. Otherwise, I might never have heard her. I found her covered in mud.’ She’s trying to keep her voice even, but she can’t fool me. I can hear the cracks of emotion in every sentence. Since Daisy’s death, it’s like I’ve lost a part of her as well. ‘She’s getting worse.’
‘How did she get out?’ I ask.
The line crackles again. She says something, but I can’t hear her. I ask her to repeat herself. ‘My fault. I left the key in the door. I need to make sure I don’t do that again.’
Granny has become a handful. Just like Hattie. This disease. It’s sad. So bloody sad.
