‘Mummy, why did youkillsomeone?’
For a moment I think I’ve heard incorrectly. ‘Why did I…?Whatdid you say?’
My daughter’s voice steadies. ‘Why did you kill somebody? Were they not very nice? You’re not supposed to hurt people, but you killed him.’ Her eyes meet mine and she seems almost afraid.
‘I… Rosie, who told you that?’
‘A boy at school. And another boy too. They said you killed him. They called you amurdiner.’
‘They saidwhat?!’ I snap.
Rosie flinches at my tone and I’m instantly contrite. ‘Sorry, darling, I’m not cross with you. I’m cross with those silly boys for telling lies.’
‘But they said it was true. They said—’
‘Listen to me, Rosie. Sometimes people make things up. They tell lies. So when they do that, we should ignore them.’
‘But everyone else said it too. They said, “Your mum killed someone so she’s a murdiner and she has to go to prison.” You’re not going to prison, are you, Mummy?’ Her eyes fill with tears again.
‘Hey, hey, it’s okay. No one’s going to prison, and no one’s a murderer. Those boys are just making up silly stories and I’m going to speak to their teacher and tell them to stop talking rubbish, okay?’
Rosie’s lip wobbles, but she nods her head.
‘So can I get a cuddle now?’ I tap her nose with my forefinger, and she smiles shyly before launching herself into my arms so hard we bump heads. We laugh, but I don’t feel as happy as I’m pretending to be. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, my skin feels clammy and my stomach is still fluttering. What the hell were those boys talking about? Why would they have told Rosie those things about me? And where did they hear it from? Bad memories echo through my bones, pulling at my sinews and pulsing along my veins, but I damp them down. This can’t be anything to do withthat. Can it?
Two
FIONA
I look up from the conference table at my twenty-two-year-old assistant, hovering in the doorway. ‘Molly, can you bring us a tea and two black coffees, no sugar?’
Molly sighs, nods and walks back into the showroom, her sleek blonde ponytail swinging as she goes. I’m well aware that she’s already becoming disillusioned with the job. I employed her just over two years ago and I’m sure she hoped her role might be a little more creative. I own Salinger’s, an interior design business in the centre of town and, while we’re usually pretty busy, Molly is the one who gets all the mundane tasks. I did warn her at the start that the job wasn’t as glamorous as it might sound, but she had that hopeful glow of optimism back then, which has since worn down to a patchy veneer now verging on rudeness.
I can’t worry about Molly right now. Instead, I try to focus all my attention on my clients, Belinda and Harry Carmichael, a super-rich couple in their early forties that I’ve been working with for several weeks. They’ve just bought the old mill house which sits up near the waterfall. It’s a property with lots of history and plenty of interesting features, so I was excited when they approached me to help them with it. They spend most of their time in the city, but they plan to come up to Ashridge Falls for weekends and holidays once the house is finished.
‘What do you think of these initial ideas?’ I ask, confident that I’ve fulfilled the brief perfectly.
‘Fiona, I really like what you’ve come up with.’ My heart sinks. Belinda is speaking with zero conviction and a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s got one of those ultra-short fringes that reminds me of when my mum used to cut my hair with the nail scissors, and I’d end up in tears. Only Belinda’s hair is like that on purpose. ‘It’s just…’ She drums her acrylic nails on the table top. ‘It’s just that I want more of a wow factor, you know?’
We’re currently talking through the mood board I’ve designed for their home office-slash-library. I’ve been trying to steer them towards the Nordic look we first discussed, which will sit beautifully with the traditional building – lots of sheepskin rugs, woven fabrics and blonde wood. But they’re now talking about possibly ripping out a lot of the original features and going for a sleeker, even more minimalist design. To be honest, I’m not sure why they bought the house in the first place if they’re so intent on tearing it apart. But I don’t want to lose their business. They’re from out of town and extremely well connected. If I get this right, it could potentially mean a whole raft of new clients.
‘Tell you what…’ I slide the boards towards me, stacking them up like a deck of cards and trying not to think about how many days’ work it’s taken me to put them together. Work that they’ve barely even glanced at. ‘How about we forget this look for the moment and I create something more luxe and architectural instead?’ I flash my eyes and grin. ‘Something that will really knock your socks off.’
‘Yes, that sounds ideal.’ Harry turns to his wife. ‘What do you think, Bel?’
Belinda’s expression instantly lifts. ‘Luxe and architectural! I knew we could count on you, Fiona. We just don’t want anything that’s going to date. And while we really love the Nordic look, it seems to be everywhere these days.’ She picks up her phone. ‘I’ve also seen some amazing photos on Pinterest of this Moroccan-type vibe which could be fantastic in the den. As a contrast to all the minimalism, you know?’
‘Sounds gorgeous!’ I sigh inwardly and wonder how many times they’re going to change their minds. I’m willing to lay money on it that Belinda will want me to design the whole place like a middle-eastern bazaar before declaring that it’s all too much and we should go back to the modern look once again. In fact, I’ll keep hold of this last lot of work in case they come back full circle.
Through the interior floor-to-ceiling windows I spot Molly talking to a couple who are standing awkwardly in the reception area. They don’t look like any of my regular clients. They’re actually quite official-looking – wearing ugly grey suits and serious expressions. Molly glances over at me, her eyes wide and somewhat panicked. She jerks her head in the couple’s direction and I realise she wants me to come out and see to them. However, the Carmichaels aren’t the kind of people you can ditch in order to talk to someone else. I shake my head at Molly and try to indicate that I need her to deal with them.
Molly rolls her eyes and turns back to the couple with a forced smile, but they don’t look very happy at what she’s saying. Molly gestures to the sofa and, after a moment’s hesitation, they sit. I tip an imaginary teacup in Molly’s direction to indicate that she needs to get on with making our teas and coffees.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve managed to instil fresh excitement into Belinda and Harry at the thought of how incredible and original and timeless their new holiday home is going to be.
‘I can’t wait until it’s habitable,’ Belinda says with a sigh. ‘These things always take so long.’
Only because you change your mind so many times.‘How’s your stay at the Ripple?’ They’re booked into the beautiful five-star hotel on the other side of the lake.
