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Sasha smiles. ‘That’s so lovely,’ she says.
This time, she thinks, might even be easier than the first. Nicole is as dumb and innocent as a lamb being led to the slaughter.
10
SUNDAY
Nicole
Sasha leaves to greet her yoga students and Nicole is relieved to be alone. She feels uncertain about what she just shared with Sasha and regrets being so open because Sasha’s smooth reaction was unsettling. It’s like everything Nicole told her just rolled off her. Nicole isn’t used to people like that. Her parents – God rest their souls – and Tom wore all their emotions on their sleeves. Sasha says all the right things, but Nicole’s not sure what’s going on behind the eyes.
Were Tom and I too co-dependent? she wonders. She should have worked harder to keep her friends close, especially after her parents died, and then again when they won the money and everything changed, but she didn’t, because Tom was all she needed. It never occurred to her that she would lose him young.
She watches through the window as a few cars pull in and disgorge Sasha’s yoga pupils, all women. Sasha greets themfrom the porch with a ‘Namaste’ and a serene smile. Nicole feels jealous of them. Their lives haven’t been blown up. It’s almost insulting that they get to have a normal day.
Once they’ve gone inside, Nicole is left gazing at the empty front lawn. I must get out of here, she thinks, I want to go home now that I can; but she doesn’t move and can’t find the energy or the courage to get up and walk back to where she and Tom lived because it’s where he died, too.
At first, she doesn’t react when she sees a man walk through the gate. He’s probably come for yoga. Even from this distance he looks outdoorsy and fit. He wears shorts and a T-shirt and is carrying a small pack. But unexpectedly he swerves to the right and disappears behind some tall hedging. She waits for him to reappear, but he doesn’t. It makes her feel nervous.
It’s probably nothing to worry about, she tells herself. He must have a good reason to be here. Maybe he’s a gardener or a friend of Olly or Sasha. But there’s something about the furtive quality of his movement, the way he slipped so quickly out of sight, and glanced over his shoulder as he did, that makes her feel something wasn’t quite right about him. Could he have had something to do with Tom’s death?
She stands up abruptly, the chair legs scraping the flagstone floor. Her heart thumps. She’s about to run to get Olly, but then she sees the man again, emerging from the hedge and slipping back out of the gate and onto the lane. He turns left, in the direction of the path that leads to the nature reserve. He’s probably a hiker who wanted a private spot to take a pee. She mustn’t overreact. Her adrenalin ebbs and she sits back down. All of this feels so surreal.
She thinks about the detectives and what they said. The card they found in Tom’s pocket preys on her mind the most. She didn’t tell Sasha about it because she felt ashamed of it, of the fact that, no matter how much she doesn’t want to believe it, it opens the door to the possibility that Tom might have been paying for sex and she can’t bear the thought of anyone else suspecting that he was unfaithful.
His death must have been an accident. Nothing else is plausible in her mind. Nicole could tell Sasha thought she was dumb when she insisted on this, but she’s certain of it. Surely the police will come to the same conclusion soon enough.
She turns away from the window and surveys the large kitchen. Banks of painted wooden units line two walls. There’s a pine table scrubbed pale, shelves of cookbooks, a Welsh dresser stacked with china and a rocking chair in one corner, a cushion sagging on its seat. Fresh flowers from the garden sit pretty in a vase. She watched Kitty arrange them yesterday. The place feels homely, Nicole supposes, though it’s too shabby for her taste. Even the grander rooms and areas in the Manor feel a bit unkempt to her. You can see and sense the wear and tear of centuries of history everywhere, even in here, one of the more modernised rooms. She misses her own kitchen, the coolness of its immaculate hard surfaces, the gleam she can achieve with a bit of elbow grease.
The old-fashioned and somewhat creepy vibe of the Manor House also seems strangely out of sync with what she’s observed of Sasha. It fits Olly better, with his corduroy trousers and baggy knitted sweaters, the slight stoop to his narrow shoulders. She’s never asked them how they came to live here, but she’d putmoney on Olly having inherited the place. Nicole wouldn’t want it. She doesn’t feel at home in the Manor and is certain she never would, not unless she renovated it from top to bottom.
But no matter how little she knows her neighbours, or what she thinks of them and does or doesn’t understand about them, or how mortified she feels about having to endure the worst hours of her life in front of them, she’s grateful to them for having her to stay. They’ve been so kind.
Her phone buzzes. Word of Tom’s death is spreading amongst her friends and former acquaintances. Nicole knew it wouldn’t take long once she posted it. She has almost no followers but Kath, her friend from school, can be relied on to amplify anything. Not that she considers Kath to be much of a friend any longer. Since she found out about the lottery win (Nicole told her but quickly wished she hadn’t), Kath’s been funny with Nicole, as if the money puts distance between them. I’m still me, Nicole said to her, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. I know you are, Kath said, but you’re different, too. It’s like you’re not one of us any more. Other so-called friends had similar, hurtful reactions.
The memory makes Nicole feel bitter. Will I be considered one of you again now that Tom’s dead? she wants to ask. Have I been knocked down enough pegs for you?
She scrolls through her messages, barely bothering to read what people have said, because it’s too painful to see the bland condolences, to sense theschadenfreudefrom those who she knows don’t like her and are just jumping on the sympathy bandwagon. The police have warned her that the press will get hold of this story soon and a press conference will have to beheld. They’ve said they’ll try to keep a lid on the story, to protect the investigation, but there’s only so much they can do. Once it’s out, it’s out. This will undoubtedly get worse when strangers are able to pile in, too. Nicole knows it’ll be a juicy story, because of the money, and their rags-to-riches trajectory. A resourceful journalist will doubtless dig up the fact that they’re lottery winners, if one of her ‘friends’ doesn’t tip them off first.
She resolves that she’s going to stay off social media from now on and decides to delete the few lines she posted letting people know Tom died unexpectedly. One name in the comments gives her pause: Patrick Young. Tom’s best friend from their school days. It feels weird to hear from him. It’s been a while – at least six months – and angry words were exchanged. After the win they gave him a sum of money which she felt was generous, and Tom did, too, but Patrick came back begging for more just a few weeks later. They refused and Patrick said some terrible things, accusing them of being greedy and selfish. It hurt Tom terribly. Nicole had felt extremely angry. Patrick always pushed her to the end of her tether. She insisted that they break contact with him temporarily and if Tom hadn’t been so loyal to him Nicole might have been tempted to ease Patrick out of their lives completely.
She reads his message. He’s distraught, he’s very sorry for what he put them through, and he wants to come and see her. He’s different now, he says.
She weighs this up. She’s heard it before. Patrick had some bad years after school. While Tom and Nicole were at university, Patrick stayed in Swindon and did an apprenticeship. It didn’tlast. He dropped out and was evasive about why. When they went back home for the Christmas holidays, Patrick nearly killed a man in a brawl outside a nightclub. There were Santa hats, and there was blood. Nicole will never forget it.
Tom, always loyal, stood by his friend. Patrick was provoked, he said, which was true. Patrick was remorseful, he said, and this was also obvious. Patrick became a shell of himself afterward, for a while. He promised that it would never happen again. Patrick didn’t mean to inflict so much damage on the guy, Tom said. Nicole wasn’t so sure about that. She remembers the look in Patrick’s eye as he lunged towards the man. It was chilling.
But, she tells herself, the incident and the money were only two bad times in almost three decades of friendship and, as Tom always said, Patrick never had the chances they did. His home life was fractured at best, abusive at worst. And then there’s the fact that, his concerning behaviour notwithstanding, Nicole does have a grudging affection for him. He’s a part of her past. The three of them were close at school. And there’s also the compelling argument that if Patrick came to stay at the Glass Barn, she would feel safer. He could protect her from journalists if they come calling, or from people wandering in, because Patrick’s a big guy, an ex-rugby player, like Tom was. Her only other option would be to stay in a hotel, and she doesn’t want to do that. Hotels always seem to her to be the loneliest places in the world to be alone. This is better.
If he pesters me for money, she thinks, I’m going to kick him out immediately. No ifs or buts. She hopes it won’t be like that. She’s longing to share her memories of Tom with someone whoreally knew him. Her heart aches, and she knows that Patrick will be feeling the same way.
She messages him.
I’d love you to come.
He replies instantly:
Today?
