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I nod. I do indeed know where Scarlett lives. I used to clean for her when I worked for Frankie. Well, sort of.
“You were still in London at the time,” Frankie goes on. “But there was a huge fuss about it when the planning permission went through. I’m sure your dad made a speech to the community council. Well, a rant, more like. You know how folk can be about new developments up here. That ‘not in my backyard’ kind of thing.”
“And you think that’s what they’ll say about Jack’s plans?”
My stomach joins my head in its bid to increase my anxiety levels. What Frankie’s saying isn’t too far from what I thought myself when Jack first told me about Emerald View. I’d pushed my doubts to the side because I wanted to support him: then I’d forgotten about them altogether when he brought out the ring. But what if my instincts were right for once? What if this new development doesn’t go down as well as Jack thinks it will with the village?
What if that’s why my mystery correspondent wants me not to trust my fiance?
“Look, I really do have to go,” Frankie says, swooping in for a less awkward version of the hug McTavish gave me. “We’ll speak soon, though, right? And remember to tell Jack about that message. I mean it, Emerald.”
I hug her back, then sit there watching as she strides off along the promenade, her blonde curls bouncing as she goes.
I didn’t even get a chance to ask her to be my maid of honor. Or to ask if either of them knows where the closest gym is.
I look down at my engagement ring, which still feels weirdly heavy and out of place on my finger. When Jack and I stopped in to tell my mum and dad — and their poodle, Jude Paw — our news yesterday, they were every bit as elated as I’d thought they’d be. Mum even went and changed into her wedding hat, and Dad broke out a brand new batch of his home-made wine, which tasted only alittlebit like “cat’s piss”, according to Mum.
It was everything I’d dreamed of. (Other than the cat’s piss, obviously. I don’t expect anyone dreams of that.) But the whole time we were sitting in my parents’ kitchen, accepting toasts to our future (And then actuallyeatingtoast, because Mum drank so much of the home brew that she burnt the dinner again…), that message was there on my phone, silently ruining everything. It’s still there now; and its presence means that, instead of chatting excitedly with Frankie and McTavish about the wedding I’ve been dreaming about for months now, we spent most of our time wondering which of our friends — orenemies, I guess — has something against my new fiancé.
The message is ruining my engagement; and, if I don’t do something about it soon, it’s going to stand a good chance of ruining the wedding, too. Who knows: it might even ruin my entirelife if I let it?
Which means there’s only one thing to do about it.
I’m going to have to tell Jack.
Chapter 3
List of People Who Might Have Wanted to Send Me an Anonymous Message About Jack:
Dylan Fraser:hates Jack because of his speeding. Is a police office, so would have to be insane to start an anonymous phone campaign because of it, though.
Dylan’s girlfriend,Scarlett Scott:has form for sending people hate mail, although claims to regret it; was once impersonated by me, but is over it now.Or is she?
Lexie Steele:once set me on fire. Is in L.A. now, though, and dating a movie star, so unlikely to be keeping tabs on what’s happening in Heather Bay, although I wouldn’t put anything past her.
Old Jimmy the farmer :has been known to place curses on people for no apparent reason. Unlikely to use WhatsApp to do it, though.
Ex-Boyfriend Ben:stole all my money, then ran away to California with it. What would he know about Jack? And why would he care?
“Jack!” I shout, bursting through the double doors of his —our— living room not long after my conversation with Frankie and McTavish. “Jack, I need to tell you something. I got this—”
The sentence dies in my throat at the sight of the woman sitting beside Jack on the sofa. She’s tall and thin, with that glossy, well-bred look about her that makes me feel instantly grubby in comparison, even though I spent ages trying to tame my hair into submission this morning.
(Note to self: speak to Brian about the celebrity hairdresser thing, ASAP.)
She’s also snuggled up against Jack’s side in a way that’s totally inappropriate, given that he’s a newly engaged man.
Mynewly engaged man.
“Emerald,” he says, beaming up at me as if I haven’t just caught him cuddled up to… whoever this swishy-haired witch is. “We were just talking about you. Look who’s here!”
He turns to smile at the Sofa Snuggler, who’s just leapt to the very top of my List of Mortal Enemies, which I’ll have to dig out again as soon as I have a spare second.
Oh great, it’s ‘Look who’s here!’ time. My very favorite game.
I look at him pleadingly, hoping he’ll just tell me who the brunette on the couch is, because the last time we played the ‘Look Who’s Here’ Game and I didn’t recognize the person, I was so embarrassed I ended up pretending I couldn’t speak English, in an attempt to buy myself some time. And that’s why Jack’s friend Finn doesn’t visit us any more.
Before I can break out my schoolgirl Spanish for the second time, though, the interloper herself comes to my rescue, unwinding herself elegantly from the sofa, and bounding towards me like an enthusiastic puppy.
