‘When are you coming to visit again?’ Her voice wobbles. ‘I miss you.’
‘Soon, Mum. I’ll come soon.’
Before my sister’s death, I used to go home about once a month. I need to go more often now. As soon as I leave here, I’ll head to Cambridge.
A knock at the door makes me jump. ‘I have to go, Mum. I’ll speak soon.’
All day, I’ve questioned how I’ve ended up here. This afternoon, while Beth and Justin were at the hospital, I sat doing a jigsaw puzzle with Hattie and tried to talk myself into leaving, but every time I came up with something, my sister’s voice wormed its way into my thoughts like I’ve wormed my way into their lives. You must stay, she kept saying.
The door opens slightly. The music grows louder. A herby aroma of cooking lamb filters into the room and for a moment, it smells like a Sunday at home. Mum cooking. Granny helpingbut hindering. Me and Daisy asking how long dinner will be. The memory catches in my throat.
Beth pops her head through the gap. ‘Immy, dinner will be ready in five minutes.’
I clear my throat. ‘Sure. I’ll be there.’
I can’t believe Justin is cooking inside. One of those modern, egg-shaped barbecues sits on the patio overlooking the grounds. The perfect opportunity in this weather. But Justin, I’m slowly learning, likes to do things his way.
I messaged my Monday clients early this morning, apologising profusely, but I couldn’t see them today. Now I send a blanket text cancelling the rest of the week’s bookings. I offer their next session for free in the hope they understand. I send a paragraph I haven’t been ready to send before, telling them that the circumstances were traumatic, that my mum needs me. It still doesn’t say half of it. I reassure them that I’ll be back next week.
I hope.
My mission here could take longer than that.
But I’m here for the long game… however long that takes.
I check my emails. Damn. The one I sent George this morning – telling him where I am and attaching the file where I’ve collated everything to date – failed to send. I suspect his file is far more extensive judging by the comments he made on the phone the other day. I resend the email, waiting for it to go. It sits in the outbox above the one I sent this morning. A sense of unease creeps through me. At this precise moment, no one knows I’m here. If something happened to me tonight, no one would know where to start looking.
I’m scaring myself. I snap the laptop shut. The email will send at some point. It has to. Justin can’t run a business from home without Wi-Fi.
When I get to the kitchen, they’ve turned the music down. Beth is laying the dinner table. Hattie sits with a napkin tucked into the collar of her blouse, muttering to herself. A tall, slim portable air-conditioning unit produces a wave of cool air, but it’s not enough to battle the stifling heat. ‘Could you chop up Hattie’s dinner?’ Beth points to the worktop where Justin is calmly serving food onto plates. ‘Justin’s just dishing up.’
‘Sure.’
I cross the kitchen and wait at the worktop beside the cooker. ‘I’ve been trying to send some emails, but the Wi-Fi appears down.’
‘I noticed the same.’ He shuffles roast potatoes into a waiting dish. ‘It’s not great in the house, to be honest. The router is in my office, and it can be patchy now and again in here. Flits in and out at times. I wonder if it’s the weather. Maybe there’s a storm brewing.’ He laughs it off. ‘Don’t worry. It should come back. I always take it as a message to dedigitalise. Switch off.’
He’s smiling as he plates the food. He moves with effortless charm – a man who knows how to keep his cool. I wonder if it’s a trait he’s always had or one he’s had to adopt. It’s not hard to see how young girls fall under the spell of his confidence and charisma. But something lies beneath this accomplished man that I can’t put my finger on, something colder. Something that doesn’t quite fit. Perhaps it’s the way his eyes linger a little too long on me when he thinks I’m not looking. But that could be my imagination. It has been working overtime lately.
I look out of the window. ‘The lake looks inviting. Do you swim in there?’
He drops a serving spoon into the dish of carrots. ‘No. No, you mustn’t. It’s out of bounds. The reeds. Beth got caught in them once. It was awful. Frightening.’
I cube the slices of lamb and cut the potatoes into manageable mouthfuls. Beth is watching me from the table,folding paper napkins and sliding them under the cutlery as though she isn’t. She catches my eye. I smile sweetly. She pretends she didn’t see. But she did.
Justin asks if I enjoy cooking.
I nod. ‘I cook a lot.’
‘I’ve made enough for dinner tomorrow.’ He scoops spoonfuls of green beans into a bowl. ‘I won’t make it home for dinner, but I’ve decided to come back instead of staying the night. I’ll be back late evening.’
‘I’ll be fine here if you do want to stay away,’ I suggest, realising it’s my preference he does.
He lowers his voice and turns his back to Beth and Hattie. ‘I think it’s best I come back.’ There’s something far from reassuring in the way he says it.
I pick up my glass of water and take a slow sip, watching him.Could this man really have harmed my sister?I turn the question over in my mind as I have done since I first set eyes on him. On the surface, no. I don’t think so. After all, he’s been nothing but civil to me, kind to those around him. And I’m the one here under false pretences. But beneath it all, I think he probably could have. I shiver. That’s a terrifying thought.
He takes control at the table, ordering Beth to eat. ‘You need to keep up your strength.’ And to Hattie, he says, ‘Eat up, Mum. It’s your favourite.’
