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“Yes—but stay where you are.”
He sits down in the doorway, draws his legs up, rests his elbows on his knees.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Go on.”
“Why did you marry Ned?”
I can’t lie, it would make me as bad as him. “For money. I married him for one hundred thousand pounds.”
“Wow,” he says softly. “You sold yourself for a hundred thousand.”
The judgment stings. “Don’t you dare,” I retaliate. “You’ve done far worse things. What happened to the journalist?”
“What journalist?”
“The one Ned asked you to find out about—you know, the woman who dared ask about the sexual assault charge during the press interview? Sally something? Is she dead?”
“No, why would she be?”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“No, but—”
“Did you do as Ned asked, did you find out who she was, did you give him her name?”
“Yes.”
“Carolyn was killed in a hit-and-run three days after the press interview, three days after she called out to Ned, asking where Justine was.”
“Christ.” He rubs his chin, runs his hand through his hair. I see the doubt in his eyes, the questions he’s asking himself.
He gets to his feet and walks out of the shed. I don’t know where he’s gone, or why he’s gone, I don’t know if I should go after him. But before I can do anything, he comes back with his phone and stands in the doorway, looking down at the screen, searching for something.
“Thank God.” He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “She’s okay, she’s fine. I found her Instagram, she posted yesterday.”
I hear the shake in his voice and I’m ashamed of what I did. But it’s too late to take it back.
“I’m so sorry about Carolyn,” he says quietly. “I could do with some water—would you like some?”
“Yes, please.”
“Do you want to come into the house? I have a fully functioning kitchen.”
“No, I’ll stay here, thanks.”
“Okay.”
He leaves, and I wipe sweaty palms on my jeans. It’s getting hotter in the shed but I don’t want to leave the semidarkness. I don’t want him to be able to see my face in case he sees how hard it is for me to be near him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
He comes back with two bottles of water and throws one to me from the doorway.
“Thanks.” I unscrew the top, take a drink.
I wait for him to sit down but he stays standing.
