Page 5 of Rich Little Liars

The air is crisp, smelling of autumn and chill. The sycamore trees lining the street are turning gold at the edges, their leaves rustling in a breeze that’s pleasant rather than cold. Everything looks painterly. Perfect. I force a smile and walk towards the park, keeping my head down.

The park itself is exactly as the realtor described: an oval of grass so perfect it looks like carpet, surrounded by houses that could be tear-outs from Architectural Digest. There’s a fountain at the centre – switched off now – and benches positioned at regular intervals. A few people are scattered about: a man in running gear stretching against a bench, a woman with a stroller, the two women from this morning now sitting on a bench, still talking.

I follow the path around the perimeter, trying to look like I belong here.

‘Excuse me?’

I turn. It’s one of the women from the bench – the blonde one. Up close, she’s younger than I thought, maybe early thirties, with the kind of bone structure that photographs well.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ she says, smiling. ‘But you’re the new resident at number seven, aren’t you? I’m Emma.’ She gestures to the woman in pink, who’s walking over. ‘And this is Natasha.’

‘Kelly,’ I manage. ‘Kelly Reynolds.’

‘Lovely to meet you properly.’ Emma’s smile doesn’t waver. ‘Caroline mentioned she’d popped round yesterday. I hope she wasn’t too forward. She takes her homeowners’ association duties very seriously.’

There’s something in her tone – not quite mockery, but close. Natasha laughs, a bright sound that seems too loud for the quiet street.

‘Don’t mind Caroline,’ Natasha says. ‘She means well. Just… invested in town life, shall we say.’

‘Right,’ I say. ‘She seemed nice.’

‘Oh, she is. Mostly.’ Emma tilts her head, studying me with friendly curiosity. ‘What brings you to East Hampton? If you don’t mind my asking.’

And there it is. The question I’ve been dreading and preparing for in equal measure.

‘Just needed a change,’ I say, keeping my voice light. ‘Somewhere quieter. Fresh start, you know.’

‘God, don’t we all.’ Natasha sighs dramatically. ‘I moved here three years ago thinking it would be peaceful. Turns out town life is just as chaotic as home, only everyone knows your business.’

Emma laughs. ‘She’s not wrong. But you’ll get used to it. And if you ever need anything – recommendations, directions, whatever – we’re both nearby. I’m at number twenty-one, Natasha’s at eighteen.’

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘That’s kind.’

We chat for a few more minutes – surface-level pleasantries about the weather, the best place to get coffee (there’s a café not far from here), whether the homeowners’ association meetings are actually worth attending (opinions are divided). They’re friendly without being intrusive, warm without asking too many questions.

Normal, I think. This is what normal neighbours are like.

When I finally excuse myself and continue walking, my shoulders feel a fraction lighter. I’m halfway round the park when I nearly collide with him.

‘Sorry!’ We say it simultaneously, then both laugh, awkward and startled.

He’s tall – taller than Daniel was – with broad shoulders and dark hair just beginning to grey at the temples. His eyes are brown and warm, crinkled at the corners like he smiles often. He’s wearing jeans and a grey pullover, nothing fancy, but he carries himself with the kind of ease that comes from being comfortable in your own skin.

‘My fault entirely,’ he says. ‘I was miles away.’ He extends a hand. ‘Richard Bancroft.’

His handshake is firm but gentle. His palm is warm.

‘Kelly Reynolds. I just moved into number seven.’

‘Ah, the new arrival. Welcome to East Hampton.’ His smile feels warm and real. ‘I’m at number nine, just a few doors down. And I’m the local doctor, so if you need to register with a clinic, I promise the paperwork isn’t as dreadful as it usually is.’

‘Thank you. I’ll… I’ll need to do that.’

We lock eyes, neither of us moving. He has one of those faces that’s easy to look at – not handsome in an obvious way, but pleasant. Safe. The sort of face you’d trust.

‘Well,’ he says eventually. ‘I should let you get on. But it really is nice to meet you, Kelly. And if you need me – as a doctor or something else – I’m just up the road.’

‘Thank you. That’s really kind.’