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Matt’s head aches. He feels suddenly very sober.
‘I’m sorry, mate,’ Neil repeats miserably.
Someone taps him on the back. He turns to see Bella performing a drunken shimmy, mouthing at him to come back to the dance floor, miming ending the call.
He raises one finger, then turns away from her.
‘No,I’msorry,’ he says to Neil. ‘I should have told her.’
‘Well you need to get home. Is Bella still there?’
Matt turns. Bella is now sitting on the floor laughing hysterically. She holds up her arms and is pulled to her feet by Pete Shepherd. By the bar, Johnnie is smoking what looks like a joint and giggling like a fourteen-year-old at a wedding. A string of fairy lights is looped around his neck. There is no sign of Jennifer.
‘She’s here. She’s having a good time, don’t worry. Listen, I’m going to go.’
‘Sure. I’m sorry, OK?’
Neil rings off.
Bella is back on her feet, dancing. Matt edges around the lawn, sidles into the kitchen and through the hall. At the front door, he looks back at the utter tip that is the Lovegoods’ kitchen, the perfect party lying now in ruins, as if a bomb has gone off, blowing everything to bits.
His own house is silent, save for the dull thud of the music from next door.
He takes off his shoes and tiptoes up the hall, half expecting to find Ava in the kitchen red-eyed and waiting for him. But she’s not there.
He creeps up the stairs, hears the dull clank of the en suite shower door closing. She must have had a shower. She will be drying herself. If she heard the front door, she will be readying herself to face him, to confront him. An old dread bubbles up inside him. He is six. His father is throwing open the door to his bedroom, red-faced with some fresh outrage Matt has committed but as yet knows nothing about. He freezes, halfway up the stairs.
The creak of floorboard on the landing, the slightest alteration in the light, and Ava is a shadow in the bedroom doorway.
‘Ava?’
She recedes into the bedroom. After a moment, he steels himself and follows.
She is sitting on the far side of the bed. Her back is to him. She is wrapped in a turquoise towel, her wet hair pushed back.
‘Ava, I’m sorry.’ He stays at his side of the bed, unsure of what else to do.
‘What for?’ She doesn’t look round.
‘You know what for. Neil called me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m so sorry. But that day… it all went so fast. I wanted to tell you, but the police were there and everyone was asking questions and you were hysterical, and the thing is, I never thought… I never thought we wouldn’t find her. I never thought… and then the day went on and we didn’t… we didn’t find her and then there were dogs and the helicopter and they were talking about the river and then next thing it was dark and me and Neil—’
‘And that’s when you told Neil. When you told your friend but not your wife.’
He feels sick. He wants to climb across the bed and touch her but he knows he can’t.
‘I had to tell someone,’ he says. ‘And it was too late to tell you. And then they found her coat and I knew she was dead, I just knew it, and I thought if you knew it was my fault you’d… I thought you’d leave me. I didn’t think you’d ever forgive me.’
She takes her nightie from under the pillow and pulls it over herself before removing the towel. The action is not lost on him.
‘Ava? Talk to me. I’m so sorry.’
She lifts herself momentarily off the bed to pull the nightie down. Still she doesn’t look at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, his voice breaking.
‘I should hope you are,’ she says quietly. ‘But sorry’s not going to cover it, is it?’
His chest sinks.
