MY DARLING
Amanda Robson

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2020

Copyright © Amanda Robson 2020

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover photograph © Ildiko Neer/Trevillion Images (building); Shutterstock.com (figure in window)

Amanda Robson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008291907

Ebook Edition © August 2020 ISBN: 9780008291914

Version: 2020-07-08

Praise for Amanda Robson

‘A fabulous rollercoaster of a read – I was obsessed by this book’

B A Paris, author of Behind Closed Doors

‘Fast-moving, compulsive reading’

Jane Corry, author of My Husband’s Wife

‘An addictive, compelling read, full of tension’

Karen Hamilton, author of The Perfect Girlfriend

‘Compelling and thoroughly addictive’

Katerina Diamond, author of The Teacher

‘Characters you will love to hate and an ending that will make your jaw drop’

Jenny Blackhurst, author of How I Lost You

‘A taut thriller full of page-turning suspense’

Emma Flint, author of Little Deaths

‘Expertly injects menace into the domestic’

Holly Seddon, author of Try Not to Breathe

‘No one does toxic relationships quite like Amanda Robson’

Sam Carrington, author of Bad Sister

‘Twisty, taut, vibrant and addictive. The queen of the page-turner’

Caroline England, author of My Husband’s Lies

‘A compelling page-turner on the dark underbelly of marriage, friendship and lust’

Fiona Cummins, author of Rattle

‘Totally addictive and unputdownable’

Roz Watkins, author of The Devil’s Dice

‘Very pacy and twisted’

Colette McBeth, author of Precious Thing

‘What a page-turner! This is one highly addictive novel’

Wendy Walker, author of All is Not Forgotten

‘Thoroughly intriguing, high-quality domestic noir’

Paul Finch, author of Stalkers

Dedication

To my family

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Amanda Robson

Dedication

1. Emma

2. Jade

3. Alastair

4. Jade

5. Emma

6. Emma

7. Alastair

8. Emma

9. Alastair

10. Emma

11. Jade

12. Emma

13. Alastair

14. Jade

15. Emma

16. Alastair

17. Emma

18. Jade

19. Jade

20. Emma

21. Jade

22. Jade

23. Emma

24. Alastair

25. Jade

26. Emma

27. Jade

28. Jade

29. Emma

30. Alastair

31. Emma

32. Jade

33. Emma

34. Alastair

35. Jade

36. Emma

37. Jade

38. Emma

39. Jade

40. Emma

41. Jade

42. Jade

43. Alastair

44. Emma

45. Alastair

46. Jade

47. Jade

48. Emma

49. Alastair

50. Jade

51. Emma

52. Alastair

53. Alastair

54. Alastair

55. Emma

56. Emma

57. Jade

58. Alastair

59. Alastair

60. Emma

61. Alastair

62. Jade

63. Alastair

64. Emma

65. Alastair

66. Alastair

67. Jade

68. Alastair

69. Jade

70. Alastair

71. Alastair

72. Emma

73. Alastair

74. Alastair

75. Emma

76. Alastair

77. Jade

78. Emma

79. Jade

80. Emma

81. Alastair

82. Alastair

83. Emma

84. Jade

85. Alastair

86. Emma

87. Emma

88. Alastair

89. Emma

90. Alastair

91. Jade

92. Emma

93. Alastair

94. Emma

95. Jade

96. Alastair

97. Emma

98. Alastair

99. Emma

100. Alastair

101. Jade

102. Alastair

103. Emma

104. Alastair

105. Emma

106. Alastair

107. Emma

108. Jade

109. Alastair

110. Emma

111. Alastair

112. Emma

113. Alastair

114. Emma

115. Alastair

116. Alastair

117. Jade

118. Alastair

119. Emma

120. Alastair

121. Emma

122. Alastair

123. Jade

124. Alastair

125. Jade

126. Alastair

127. Jade

128. Alastair

129. Jade

130. Alastair

131. Emma

132. Alastair

133. Jade

134. Emma

135. Jade

136. Emma

137. Alastair

138. Emma

139. Alastair

140. Emma

141. Alastair

142. Emma

143. Jade

144. Emma

145. Jade

146. Emma

147. Emma

148. Jade

149. Emma

150. Jade

151. Emma

152. Jade

153. Emma

154. Jade

155. Emma

156. Jade

157. Emma

158

159

160

161

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Amanda Robson

About the Publisher

1
Emma

After my last relationship, I was looking for love in all the wrong places. Until I began to use Tinder. Until I found you, Alastair, and swiped right. It’s hard to find the perfect man. Men can be so controlling at times.

2
Jade

We move into our new house, Fairlawns. A large Victorian detached, near the river in Henley-on-Thames. Top-end comfort. Top-end price. Arriving in our Porsche, just as the removal men are entering the house with our walnut dining table, I look up and see a man and a woman standing at the side window of the house next door, staring down at us.

The woman is seriously tarty. Long blonde hair, bleached, not natural. Smelling of Botox. Not wearing very much clothing. Her short house coat does not leave much to the imagination. Very much your sort of thing, Tomas. Not a woman, but a stereotype. As I watch her looking down on us, I determine you will not get away with it again. Don’t even try it, I tell you with my eyes.

3
Alastair

‘Spill the beans, what are they like? Save me from getting out of bed,’ you say.

‘The man is a serious looker – like Jason Donovan in his prime, with darker hair and darker eyes.’

‘I’ll look forward to meeting him then.’

‘Watch it, Emma. You know I can’t cope when you admire other men,’ I joke.

‘And is there a woman?’

‘Yes. Big-boned. Neat-featured.’ I pause and continue staring out of the window. ‘Four removal men. Furniture coming out now. Expensive furniture.’

‘How do you know it’s expensive? Can you see the price tag?’

My stomach tightens, because money is an issue between us. Dentists earn far more than forensic scientists. Especially dentists who have inherited a lot of money. Top career. Expanding your dental practice to inject Botox and facial fillers, it all adds up. Whereas I’m always struggling. A child and a difficult ex-wife to support means any unexpected extra expense is a mountain to climb.

‘A walnut dressing table.’

‘Brown furniture isn’t as expensive as it used to be.’

‘It’s still expensive to me.’ I pause. ‘OK then, what about this? A fancy sofa. Candelabra. A racing bike.’ I press my face against the window. ‘A large box marked “Silver”.’

‘You sound as if you’ve got the binoculars out,’ you say, slipping out of bed, pulling your silk dressing gown across your naked shoulders and coming to join me.

Your cat Casper yowls from the bed. He doesn’t like it when you leave him. He follows you everywhere. Sure enough, seconds later, this special animal who looks like a cross between a baby polar bear and a tiger – stripy face and tail, fur like white candyfloss – leaps off the bed to join you, rubbing his head and body against your ankles. Smiling, you lean down to stroke him. You dote on him. I know he’s some unusual pedigree breed that you insist on not allowing out, but don’t you think that keeping a cat inside is a little cruel, however highly strung and dependent he is?

You put your hand in mine. I pull you towards me and kiss you. You taste silky. Like strawberries and cream. My erection stirs and I want you again. Even though I know you’re too good for me, every time I have you I want you again.

4
Jade

I walk around our new home. Almost everything is in place after the move. I set out towards the Stereotype’s house, to invite her and her partner over for supper. Time to get to know her. Time to see what I’m dealing with.

5
Emma

Dinner parties have never been my thing; trapped around a table making small talk. But my new neighbour Jade coerced me into accepting her invitation. With a nod of the head. With the solidity of her face. So at 8 p.m. on Friday evening, I find myself standing with you, Alastair, on Jade and Tomas’ doorstep, clutching a bottle of red wine and twelve yellow roses. The door opens. Jade. A big woman. Nearly six foot tall. Short dark hair. The ‘make-up-is-a-sin’ type.

‘Do come in,’ she beams.

We step inside a hallway of mirrors and lights. I hand her the roses and wine.

‘You shouldn’t have,’ she says, voice so hard I almost guess she means it.

She leaves them on a glass dresser as we follow her along the hallway. Through the dining room. The table is laid for supper. Silver mats. Silver goblets. Heavy silver cutlery. A centrepiece of shiny black orchids. We arrive in a large sitting room containing toffee-coloured sofas draped with cowhide, which scream against the period of the house. Why did they choose a Victorian house when they own furniture like this? Jade’s husband is standing by a cocktail bar built of oak, with brass cupboard handles. I’ve only ever seen anything like this in 1970s sitcoms.

‘What can I get you?’ Tomas asks. His eyes sparkle at me. ‘We’ve got everything. Beer. Cocktails. Bubbles.’

‘Bubbles, please.’

‘And you, sir?’ he asks, turning to you.

‘Beer please, mate.’

Jade is standing by Tomas’ side, back straight, hands by her side. She is wearing a simple black cotton shift with a belt. Too plain. Too simple. Clothing suitable for a funeral. Not much fun for a Friday night supper.

Tomas fixes our drinks and we sit down. Couples together on opposing sofas.

‘You look pretty organised. How are you settling in?’ I ask.

‘I can’t function if things are out of place. I’m a bit OCD. Aren’t I, darling?’

Tomas stirs uneasily. ‘Isn’t everybody? No one likes their house to be a mess.’

‘Where did you move from?’ you ask.

‘Hampton Hill.’

‘And what made you choose the Thames Valley?’

‘Why do you ask that?’ She leans forward and pushes her eyes into mine. ‘Are we the new neighbours from hell, or something?’

I shake my head. ‘No. No. I just wondered whether it was a job thing?’

‘The job conversation always feels like pulling teeth.’

‘That’s an apt thing to say to me, because I’m a dentist,’ I say, trying to keep things light.

She shrugs. ‘OK. So now, thanks to you, we do the job thing.’

I stiffen inside. I didn’t mean to offend her. You glance across at me. He puts his beer on the table in front of him, leans back and folds his arms.

‘It’s fine with me. I’m a forensic scientist. I’m happy to tell you what I do. What’s wrong with talking about work?’

‘It’s good with me, too,’ Tomas smiles. ‘I work in the City, as a hedge fund manager.’

Jade gives her husband a look, to scold him for joining in.

Not wanting her to get away with this, ‘What do you do?’ I ask.

A saccharine smile. ‘Since you’re wanting to judge people by their jobs, why don’t you try to guess?’

‘Are you an estate agent?’

She shakes her head.

‘Travel agent perhaps?’

‘No.’

‘Teacher?’

Her head continues to shake.

Frustrated by this silly game, ‘Circus acrobat?’ I suggest.

She laughs. I sigh inside with relief. At least she has a sense of humour. ‘No. I’m retired. But I used to be in forensics too,’ she replies.

‘What sort of forensics?’ Alastair asks.

‘An academic. Professor of Forensics at the University of West London.’

‘So why did you quit?’ he pushes.

She hesitates. ‘It’s difficult to feel fully involved in crime when you’re based at a university. So distant from the cut and thrust of the police.’

‘So why didn’t you move to my side?’

‘Too boring and repetitive.’ A slow, strangled smile. ‘In this life nothing is ever perfect.’ There’s a pause. ‘And I would like perfect.’

‘Wouldn’t we all,’ Alastair replies. ‘But I have to say, I get a lot of satisfaction from my job.’

‘Each to their own.’

She turns to me. ‘Come on, Emma. Enough small talk. Come and help me with the starter.’

I stand up and follow her from the room. Out through the dining room, across the hallway. Into a smart, shiny kitchen with white cupboards and a black granite top. A large arrangement of black and white orchids adorning the central station. The type of orchids that look as if they are plastic, but if you squeeze their stems they bleed. She opens the stainless-steel larder fridge, takes out four dishes of prawn cocktail and bangs them onto a tray.

‘It’s ready. I don’t need your help, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you in private.’ She leans towards me, across the kitchen counter. ‘I want to warn you that my husband Tomas has a wandering eye.’

‘What do you mean? Are you trying to tell me that he’s unfaithful?’

She sighs. ‘He’d be upset if he knew I was talking about him behind his back.’ She shrugs. ‘But, yes. He has a penchant for having affairs.’

I stand looking into Jade’s sad face, unsure of what to say.

She blinks and shifts her weight from side to side. ‘Come on, let’s go back and join the men. Make yourself useful – carry the tray.’

6
Emma

‘What do you make of our new neighbours?’ I ask you, later that night, as we lie entwined in my king-sized bed.

‘Tomas seems all right,’ you reply. ‘But Jade’s a strange one – disparaging about my job. Unenthusiastic about her own.’ You pause. ‘A glass-half-empty type to be wary of.’

I snuggle up closer. ‘When I was on my own with her in the kitchen, she said Tomas has “a penchant for having affairs”.’

‘Strange thing to tell your neighbour the first time you meet.’ You kiss my neck. ‘I reckon she’s a clusterfuck.’

I giggle. ‘Clusterfuck. I like that. But maybe it’s a bit unfair. Lots of people are glass-half-empty about their jobs.’

You laugh, ‘But not many people are so disparaging about their husband to a complete stranger.’ You roll away from me and slide into your sleeping position. ‘Living so close to her, I guess you’ll soon find out what she’s like.’

7
Alastair

Driving home from the lab after a boring day. Hanging around in scrubs for too long, waiting for some evidence that required urgent analysis to arrive. So urgent the police hadn’t found time to bag it. By the time it came it was 5 p.m., so I stayed a few extra hours to make a start, but I’ll have to finish off tomorrow. The salary I’m on is not enough to justify pushing the boat out and staying all night. Perhaps I would if they promoted me.

Stuck at the lights, longing to get a beer. Longing for a chat with Mother. Hoping Stephen is in bed. I fancy a quiet time. Supper, beer, TV, chat with Mum.

I park on the street outside the Italian restaurant and open the door beside it, which leads upstairs to our flat. As usual the scent of toasting mozzarella and basil assaults my nostrils, making me feel hungry as I climb up. As soon as I step inside my home, Mum scuttles into the hallway.

‘Heather is here. In the sitting room. Waiting to speak to you,’ she whispers. ‘Stephen’s in bed.’ My heart sinks. Heather, my ex-wife. Another clusterfuck. ‘Now you’re here, I’ll leave you in peace and go and relax in my room,’ Mum continues.

She pads along the narrow corridor rubbing her back. Sixty years old, hunched, as if she was eighty. Why won’t Heather take responsibility for our son? What’s wrong with her? Mum disappears into her cramped bedroom. I’ve made it as nice as I can, with a small TV, and big cushions, to make her bed double up as a sofa. I wish I could afford a nanny. Mum needs a break. If I could, I’d send her on an exotic holiday, to Mauritius, or the Caribbean.

Sighing inside, I open the door to the lounge. Heather is sitting on the sofa, glued to Love Island. As soon as she sees me she turns the volume down, but leaves the picture on. A group of women with pouty lips and extravagant figures are sitting by a swimming pool drinking cocktails; an orangey-brown mixture decorated with pink umbrella cocktail sticks. And laughing. A male Adonis walks towards them, beer in hand, and their eyes fix on his pecs. I try to ignore the screen and look at Heather, but I become glued to his pecs too. I really should work out more.

‘We need to chat,’ Heather says, forcing me to drag myself away from the on-screen overdose of oestrogen and testosterone.

‘OK then. But let’s turn the TV off.’

‘I can watch and chat,’ she snarls, her upper lip curving upwards like a horse’s.

‘Well, I can’t. So if you want to talk to me, you need to turn it off.’

She waves the remote at the screen, remaining transfixed as it closes down, then turns to look at me. Her hair is a mess, and she’s gained quite a bit of weight. I thought newly divorced women tended to smarten up. With Heather, divorce has had the opposite effect. What is going on with her?

‘What do you want to talk about?’ I ask, hovering in the doorway. I haven’t had a civil conversation with her since the day she left me.

‘I need more money. I can’t cope.’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t have any more to give you.’

‘Yes you do. You’ve shacked up with that wealthy bint.’

‘If you mean Emma, I’ve only just met her. And I haven’t shacked up with her. As you may have noticed, I live here with our son Stephen, who you’ve abandoned. Hardly the lap of luxury, is it? A flat above an Italian restaurant. If I’d taken better advice I’d still be in the family home.’

She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Well, I’m not in the family home either. The Robinsons who bought it off us are.’ She hesitates. ‘You know I’m living with a girlfriend for now, while I decide what to do.’

I frown, exasperated. ‘I know you’re living with Shelly. But that’s your choice. You got your share of the house sale.’ I pause. ‘What have you done with it? Why are you asking me for more money?’

‘That’s a no-brainer, isn’t it? You know I’m out of work at the moment.’

‘Get a job. Any job. It was your choice to stop your teacher training.’

She sighs. ‘I was finding it too stressful, after everything that had happened between us.’

‘Life is stressful,’ I say, really losing patience now. ‘You need to get a grip.’

‘Always so empathetic, aren’t you?’

‘Look, Heather, you only have Stephen every other weekend. I’m already bearing the brunt of the expense. I don’t see what’s unreasonable about suggesting you get a job.’

‘You’re selfish, Alastair. You even went to Paris for the weekend.’

How does she know that? I didn’t even tell Stephen where I was going for my birthday treat with you, Emma. You must have put a picture on Facebook and Heather must have seen it.

‘Alastair, I need you to cough up, please.’

I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t afford to, Heather.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Try. Just try and get more money out of me,’ I hiss.

8
Emma

On Tuesday evening as soon as I pull into my drive, Tomas scurries towards my front door. I park the car and step out.

He looks pale and worried. ‘Is everything all right?’ I ask.

‘I’ve got toothache. It’s killing me. I was hoping you could take a quick look.’

Not what I wanted after a long day at work, but how can I refuse to help?

‘Come in then, I’ll find my equipment.’

I open the front door. He follows me into the house, through the hallway into the kitchen. I reach for the spare dental tools I keep in the dresser, in case of an emergency. I pull out my bag, unzip it and take out my sterilised tools: a probe and a mirror stick.

‘Let’s get you comfy in the sitting room.’

He follows me through.

‘Please sit in the leather chair.’ He does as I ask. ‘Open wide,’ I instruct, leaning over him. I examine each tooth carefully and sigh inside. Poor man. His mouth is in such a mess.

‘The gum by your lower right molars is red and inflamed. It looks like a pretty painful infection. I’ll write you a private prescription for some antibiotics.’ I find my prescription pad in the drawer by the telephone and prescribe metronidazole. ‘No alcohol while you take these tablets. I’m giving you a five-day course. But if you don’t see a substantial improvement in a few days’ time, come and see me in the surgery.’

His soft brown eyes melt into mine. ‘I’m terribly grateful, thanks.’

9
Alastair

Heather’s voice grumbles down the intercom. ‘Who is it?’

‘Alastair. I need to speak to you.’

‘Come on up.’

The intercom buzzes and I push the door to open it. Up the staircase to the fourth floor. To Shelly’s flat. Shelly. My least favourite friend of Heather’s. Bridesmaid at our wedding. Shallow. Artificial. Always looking to find a rich husband, rating boyfriends’ attraction by the value of the car that they drive. Well, she hasn’t found one yet, otherwise she wouldn’t be living in this dump of a flat. Lord only knows why Heather has decided to live here with her, when I have given her half of everything I have, even though I have custody of our son.

Flat 4B. I knock on the door and Heather opens it. She is wearing a navy Juicy Couture tracksuit which clings to her heavy thighs. Her hair needs brushing.

‘I suppose you’d better come in,’ she says with a snarl.

I wince. Her breath smells acidic and I know she’s been drinking. I follow her into a small, dark sitting room, with a brown faux-leather sofa and a russet carpet. She picks up a bottle of beer and takes a swig.

‘Can I get you anything? Coke? Dope? Beer?’ she asks with a sneer.

‘No thanks.’

‘Only joking about the drugs.’

Does she really expect me to believe that, when her life is in such disarray and she has no money? We sit on the plastic sofa. She turns to me. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ she asks.

‘Where’s Shelly?’

She shrugs. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I just want to know whether we’re alone. Whether this conversation is private.’

She pushes her hair back from her forehead. ‘Shelly’s out.’

‘Good.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I need you to stop texting me asking for money. There’s no way you’re getting any more money out of me.’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘No way? And how do you figure that?’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong – I’ve paid my dues.’

She puts her head back and laughs. ‘Do you think your precious Emma will believe that?’

I breathe calmly. In. Out. ‘Of course she’ll believe me. She knows I’ve always done everything I can to look after both you and Stephen.’

A wry smile. ‘All truth is relative.’

‘So you’re a relativist now, are you?’

‘At least I’m not a bullshitter. I bet you don’t even understand what relativism is.’

‘I didn’t come here to discuss philosophy – I came to tell you I’m not reading any more of your texts. And, I don’t have any spare cash.’

‘The collapse of our relationship has ruined my life, Alastair. You deserve to pay up more than you already have.’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t know where you’ve got that from, Heather. You’re just being irrational.’

‘Don’t you dare call me irrational after the way you’ve treated me,’ she almost spits.

‘But it was you who left me.’

Anger burning inside me, I stand up and leave. As I walk away my heart bleeds for the way she has treated me. The way she has abandoned Stephen. I need to protect him. To give him all my love. My love stretches without bounds to Emma. To Stephen. To my mother. But Heather? I shudder inside. How did I ever let her pull me in?

10
Emma

After slinging my Mercedes across my parking slot, I stop for a few minutes to admire the gardens that surround my dental practice. The perfectly manicured lawn caressed by cascading willow. Snowdrops dangling their delicate teardrop heads. First crocuses trumpeting bold colour across the grass.

However well my life is going, however much your company gives me a high over the weekend, Alastair, pulling into work on a Monday morning always fills me with a sense of peace. The surgery is the one place in the world where I have total control. I bought this practice when my relationship with Colin ended, four years ago. It gave me purpose; kept my life moving forwards after my loss.

I say good morning to my receptionist as I walk past. Andrea Smith. Auburn hair. Handpicked. Intelligent. Bursting with helpful ideas and common sense. Attractive, but not attractive enough to put me in the shadow. I smile at her. She smiles back hesitantly. Her smile for me is always hesitant. She knows if she smiles too hard I will criticise her teeth. I criticise everyone’s teeth from the Queen to Victoria Beckham. Dentists prefer looking at mouths of perfection.

I walk through the waiting room – no patients yet – stopping for a minute to admire the new leather sofas. The fish tank; neon tetra, danios, guppies and platies. The piles of perfectly arranged glossies. Into my consulting room where Tania is waiting for me, removing instruments from the steriliser, laying them neatly on a tray.

‘Good weekend?’ she asks.

I nod. ‘And you?’

‘Not bad.’

Tania. My dental and aesthetic assistant. A plump girl of twenty-two, with mousy hair, a mousy face and mud-coloured eyes. So young she still has spots. Young. Sweet. Gentle. Her mousiness disappears when she smiles. Perfect teeth. The Hollywood kind.

The internal telephone rings. I pick up.

‘Hello again, Andrea.’

‘Hi Emma.’ A pause. ‘Just to say you have an emergency patient coming in first thing. Tomas Covington. Pain in his back teeth.’

Tania looks up from laying out the instruments. She flashes her film-star smile. The internal phone rings again in warning, and Tomas is here. Entering my consulting room. City suit. Suave. Sophisticated. White shirt. Red tie. Hair smoothed back. Closely shaved.

‘Hello, Tomas. Sorry to hear you’re in pain again.’

He winces a little. ‘It seems to be getting worse. I’ve been taking co-codamol.’

‘Sit in the chair and I’ll take a look.’

He slides into my chair. I have to adjust it as he is so tall. I put a bib around his neck and his eyes catch mine. Warm brown eyes, dappled with pain.

‘Which tooth hurts?’

He pats the rear part of his lower right jawbone. ‘This whole area.’

‘Open wide.’

He puts his head back and obeys. I press my probe on his lower right rear tooth. He jerks in distress.

‘The root of your back molar is infected. I’ll drill a root canal through your tooth, remove the infected debris and deaden the nerve now. The pain will stop. But your tooth will die so you’ll need a crown.’

‘Work your magic. Do what you must.’

I inject his gum with anaesthetic. When his mouth is numb I drill through his tooth and deaden the nerve. I apply a dressing coated in antibiotic to kill the infection.

When I have finished, he rinses his mouth out with the glass of pink antiseptic I hand him. He slips out of his chair and stands looking at me gratefully.

‘The pain is gone. Thank you so much.’

‘It’s not over yet. You need to come back in a few weeks’ time for your crown to be fitted.’

‘Thank you so much, Emma.’ He turns to leave. As he reaches the doorway he looks back. ‘Why don’t you and Alastair come to our place on Saturday evening and have a drink with us? I’m sure Jade would like to thank you, too.’

‘That’s very kind, but surely it’s our turn?’ I pause. ‘I insist you come to mine.’

11
Jade

I’m standing beneath the willow tree, watching you. Looking through the surgery window. You are looking into her eyes. She is lovely, isn’t she – in a predictable skinny blonde way? As soon as I saw her, I knew she was your type. Lots of men’s type. Men are like lemmings; they all follow the same thing. No individual taste.

Memories

My earliest memory was before the violence started. A time when I felt free. Running along a beach, holding my mother’s hand. Sun on my back. Sand between my toes. Where was my father then? Was he back at the holiday cottage working? Waiting for us to come back?

The memory flashes across my mind and fades. I can’t hold it or place it. It never stays for long.

12
Emma

Following my invitation at the surgery, Tomas, Jade and Alastair are at mine for drinks and nibbles. We are all standing around the fireplace making small talk. Alastair is looking suave. Pink shirt. White jeans. Tomas’ kindly brown eyes shimmer towards his wife. Jade hovers next to him wearing a baggy dress with small flowers on the fabric. A modern replica of Laura Ashley that doesn’t quite work. The dull brown flattens her complexion. She is quite pretty really, but she doesn’t know how to dress.

I disappear into the kitchen to take my M&S canapés out of the oven. When I reappear, carrying hot mini quiches and luxury sausage rolls, Tomas and Jade are sitting next to one another, on the sofa opposite the fireplace. Alastair has settled in the winged chair by the TV. Silence floats awkwardly as I walk across the room, laden with protein and carbohydrate.

Jade watches Tomas like a hawk as he leans towards me and takes a sausage roll. I move the plate in her direction. She stiffens and shakes her head.

‘No, thanks. I’m watching my figure.’

‘You have a lovely figure,’ Tomas says, patting her thigh.

She turns her head towards him. ‘Do you expect me to believe you?’

‘As I meant it, I do, yes.’

She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Men never mean what they say.’

Alastair looks as if he is about to object. I glare across at him and grimace to silence him. The word ‘clusterfuck’ resonates in my head.

13
Alastair

Tomas and Clusterfuck are here in your house, Emma, invading my weekend privacy. I cannot warm to the Clusterfuck. Even her scratchy voice annoys me.

My favourite way to spend Saturday night is snuggled on the sofa with you, drinking red wine and watching Netflix. Inhaling the scent of your perfume, your body heat, your sweet, sweet breath. But tonight I sit eating sausage rolls and drinking Champagne watching the Clusterfuck guard Tomas like a mother hen. I look at her and see feathers and beaks and dowdiness. You stand next to her holding a plate of canapés, and shine. I want your guests to go home. I need my Saturday fix of you, alone. Tell them, Emma. Put down the tray of canapés and tell them to go.

‘Are you all right?’ the Clusterfuck rasps, looking across at me and frowning. ‘Are we so boring? You look as if you’re in a total daydream. On another planet.’

Her voice scrapes across my mind.

‘Sorry. I was thinking about work.’

‘Swabs and latex. So much more interesting than us?’

‘No, no. Not at all,’ I mutter. I look at her and smile. A wide forced smile. The Clusterfuck is so annoying that smiling at her has to be forced.

She leans forwards and rests her elbows on her knees. ‘Was it an interesting case, taking your attention?’

‘You know we’re not allowed to talk about individual cases.’

‘Not allowed to, but people do.’

I sigh inside. Why is she pushing this? ‘They’ll lose their jobs if they get caught.’

She pouts her lips. The conversation is getting worse. ‘So, you’re a man who toes the line, are you?’

Trying to flirt now. Flirting that doesn’t work. ‘As much as I need to. As much as anyone else.’

I look across at Emma dressed in blue silk clinging to all the right places. And suddenly, from nowhere, I’m back on the day my ex-wife Heather left. Off to a nightclub in Brighton with her best friend Shelly. Both looking cheesy in matching onesies. Black onesies with orange flowers on. Whatever made them pick those? She rang me, from the nightclub, to tell me our marriage was over. I could hear a man’s voice in the background. Drum and bass music pounded down the line. I could hear the shrill tones of Shelly’s laugh.

Life has moved on. I have a much more attractive partner now. Emma, you are pure class.

14
Jade

Sitting in your drawing room looking across at you Emma, oh jewel of middle-class suburbia. Stereotypically beautiful. Multitoned highlights. Gym-enhanced figure. Long legs. Designer clothing.

If I spend more time with you, will some of your effervescence rub off on me? Shoulder to shoulder. Face to face. Let me get to know you. Teach me your tricks.

I stand up. ‘I need the bathroom, where is it?’ I ask.

‘There’s one off the hallway,’ you answer nonchalantly, keeping your gaze fixed on my husband.

I sidle away unnoticed and irrelevant, but I do not visit the bathroom. I go upstairs and open door after door until I find the master bedroom. Girly and frilly with gold bedding. So girly and frilly it makes me feel sick.

15
Emma

It’s Sunday evening. Jade is standing on my doorstep, smiling at me.

‘Hi,’ she says.

‘Hi,’ I repeat.

‘It was so lovely having you in for drinks. But I’d like some girl time without the men.’ There is a pause. ‘We can talk about them, then.’ She laughs, a small jittery laugh.

I grit my teeth. I like being with men, not talking about them. And we had drinks together only last night. This is claustrophobic. Too friendly, too soon.

‘Would you like to come over for coffee one morning?’ she continues.

I put my head on one side and smile at her. ‘But … but … I work full time.’

‘What if I pop into the surgery tomorrow and take you out for lunch?’

‘Well … I usually have a quick sandwich and do paperwork at lunch.’

‘There’s a sandwich bar a few minutes away. I promise to only keep you twenty minutes.’ She pauses. ‘Pretty please.’

Pretty please? Insipid playground talk harking back to the seventies. I feel like putting my fingers down my throat to let her know the phrase makes me want to vomit.

But she flashes another steely smile at me and I find myself saying yes.

16
Alastair

I’m sitting in my lab taking swabs from a crowbar suspected of being used to smash a garage window by a car thief. It was found on the ground at the crime scene. So many swabs. So many changes of pairs of gloves. Twenty-nine of each so far. I’ll be so glad when I’ve finished. Maybe Jade has a point: you require patience beyond compare to do this job. No one warns you when you apply. TV glamorising our work in crime dramas has a lot to answer for. Swabs finally complete, I place them on the collection tray, and step out of my lab into the changing area.

As I open my locker, pleased to be changing back into my normal clothes, my iPhone buzzes. A text. I grab it. Heather.

I’m going to warn Emma about you.

Leave me alone you creep, I reply.

Don’t say that to me. I’m the mother of your child.

I know she won’t do anything. She has threatened me like this before and nothing has come of it. I take off my scrubs and hang them up. As I pull on my jeans, I shudder inside remembering the girl I first met at school. Sixteen years old, so different from the woman she has become. What happened to the girl I met? The shiny girl with swinging chestnut hair? The girl who swept me along with her bold attitude? She says our relationship breakdown is my fault and bandies about words like ‘coercive control’. But anyone with any sense must realise we just met too young and grew apart. It wasn’t my fault she started to sleep around and smoke dope.

17
Emma

It’s Monday lunchtime and Jade is here, stepping into my consulting room, wearing a stripy trouser suit. Her short hair is shorter than ever, too short to be fashionable. She must have had it cut this morning by a butcher not a hairdresser.

I put the tools I have just finished using into a tray for Tania to sterilise in the autoclave later, grab my coat and walk towards her. ‘I’ve not got long.’

She shrugs. ‘You told me and I’m not bothered. I’m used to being fitted in.’

‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

A grimace. ‘Well, you know. Busy husband and all that.’

We walk through my waiting room, nodding at Andrea as we pass. Outside. Into a sharp, cold day, breath condensing in the air in front of us.

‘How long have you been feeling abandoned?’

‘Ever since I met him.’ Her voice is bitter.

In the sandwich bar, a solid wall of heat pushes against us. The hiss and steam of the coffee machine drowns our conversation. We raise our voices above the background noise to order two cappuccinos and two club sandwiches. Then we sidle towards a table at the back of the shop, as far away from the cacophony as possible.

We wait for our lunch to arrive, huddled at a small wobbly table, knees touching.

‘Tell me about your relationship with Alastair,’ Jade asks.

‘We’ve only just met. On Tinder, a few months ago. We’re busy in the week with our careers, so we just hook up at weekends.’

‘Tomas and I met on Tinder too. I’m not sure Tinder is all it’s cracked up to be.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think it encourages promiscuity.’ She sighs. ‘Do you feel tempted to use it to roam?’

I shake my head. ‘No. And I don’t think roaming is a good idea. I’m starting a new relationship. I want to make it work.’

‘I know Tomas visited you on the twentieth and twenty-fifty of February.’ Jade gives me a slow, stretched smile. ‘How convenient to have such troublesome teeth, when you have a beautiful dentist.’ She leans across the table so that her breath touches my face. I lean back.

‘I’m flattered that you think I’m beautiful, Jade, but I can assure you, there is nothing between Tomas and me. He needs a crown. It’s my job to help.’

The sandwiches and coffee arrive. Suddenly not hungry, I look down at the food. Not wanting to put up with any more of Jade’s company, I make a show of looking at my watch, and stand up.

‘Sorry, I didn’t realise what the time was. I need to get back to work.’

18
Jade

I know you’ve slept with my husband. I can tell from the way you narrow your eyes when you talk about him. You feel guilty, don’t you? Too guilty to stay and eat lunch with me.

Memories

My earliest memory of the violence is when I was six years old. The day after my birthday. Walking down the stairs to look for my mother, when I woke up in the morning. A sunny morning, sun streaming through the landing window. Usually I called for her and she came to me. Held me in her arms for a hug. But that morning, I called and she didn’t come, so I went to look for her.

I heard her scream.

I crept down the stairs. She was in the lounge, shouting at someone. The door was open. I hid behind it and peered through the gap. My mother was on the floor and my father was kicking her. Her legs, her arms, her back. She was curled up trying to shield her face.

I ran back upstairs and hid in the wardrobe in the spare room. Body and mind trembling.

19
Jade

‘How’s it going, Jade?’ my psychiatrist, Siobhan, asks, leaning back in her chair, flicking her glossy red hair.

‘Not good. I’m sure Tomas is at it again. With a dentist this time.’

‘Have you discussed this with him?’ She pauses. ‘Do you want to come and see me together?’

I sigh. ‘I have asked him. And, as usual, he denies it.’

Siobhan shakes her head and frowns. I watch her tapered nails tapping together.

‘We’ve been through this, so many times. You know he loves you. You know you perceive this situation incorrectly because of your paranoia. I know it’s difficult for you because of your illness, but you need to trust him.’

I shake my head. ‘I can’t. I just can’t.’ I take a deep breath. ‘And you’re not helping. You’re making me feel bullied and bulldozed into accepting things. Things no woman should have to accept.’

I want to be alone. To scream and cry. To stand on a mountaintop and holler.

Siobhan’s eyes widen in sympathy. ‘I think you need another course of CBT. And I’m going to up your dose of Valium.’ There is a pause. ‘But please, come and see me with Tomas. You always seem so much better after the therapy sessions he is involved in. Try and accept it, Jade. He supports you so much.’

20
Emma

The internal telephone chirrups into my consulting room. I pick up.

‘Your next patient is here. Tomas Covington,’ Andrea announces.

‘Send him in,’ I instruct.

A few minutes later he is stepping towards me. ‘Hello, Emma. Thanks for fitting me in.’

‘My pleasure. Let me take your coat and briefcase.’ I put them on the chair in the corner. ‘Do sit down, make yourself comfy.’

‘Isn’t that a contradiction in terms, when I’m about to have my tooth ground to a stub to anchor a crown?’

‘It should be fine when the anaesthetic kicks in.’ I pause. ‘How has your mouth been?’

‘The pain has gone. I love you for that.’

‘I know you’re only joking, but I don’t think Jade would appreciate what you just said.’

His face crumples. ‘No. I’m sorry; you’re right.’

‘It’s just that whenever I see her it’s clear she’s very suspicious of us both.’ There is a pause. ‘She implied that you only needed dental work so that you could see me. So, I’m feeling sensitive.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘She must be joking. Who’d want root canal treatment, however hot the dentist?’

‘Exactly. Even if the dentist was Brad Pitt or Leonardo DiCaprio, I’d rather have my teeth intact.’ I shake my head. ‘OK, OK. Come on, sit in the chair, try and relax. I’m taking the mould for your crown today and will then fit the temporary one. You’ll need to come back to have the permanent one fitted in a few weeks, when it’s ready.’

Tomas does as I ask, as Tania puts on classical music. Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky slices into the room as I make up the anaesthetic.

‘Open wide,’ I instruct.

He puts his head back and stretches his mouth. I inject his gum.

‘OK. You can relax now while you wait for the anaesthetic to work.’ He closes his mouth and his eyes. He lies in the chair, almost asleep. I stand looking at him. At his sculptured face. Is Jade hard on him because he is charming and beautiful? Or is he as unreliable as she says? For a second I’m back watching her face spitting towards me, telling me the dates of his visits.

Tania and I busy ourselves preparing for the procedure. We work together like a well-oiled machine, as we have been crowning teeth for so long. Tania readies the drill for me. I arrange the mould. As the anaesthetic begins to work I make an impression of Tomas’ teeth with dental putty. He is a very obliging patient, still and uncomplaining.

Shaping the tooth ready for the crown is the tricky bit. Slowly, carefully, I grind the remainder of the dead tooth to a square peg. Bits of bone and spittle flying everywhere. Now that I’m peering down his throat, Tomas does not seem quite as attractive as before.

Nearly there. I put cord around the base of the tooth, to expose it and make sure we get a good fit. Tania prepares the temporary crown, shooting the acrylic into the mould of his tooth. She keeps a spot out on a tray so that we can see how it sets. Then the most uncomfortable part for him. Clamping the mould with the temporary crown into his mouth and making sure he doesn’t move while it sets.

A perfect patient, still as stone.

It’s done. I remove the clamp. Then I check the bite and drill it back a little.

‘All done,’ I announce. ‘You can rinse.’

21
Jade

You are back at Willow Bank Dental Surgery. I stand outside and watch you slip out of the chair, pull on your coat and hold her body against yours before you leave. Not again Tomas. Please don’t do it to me again. I’ve tried taking more Valium, but it is not a magic pill. Taking Valium has not changed the situation. I know you are in love with someone else.

Memories

Trembling like a leaf in the woody darkness of the wardrobe. Back pressed against the door. Surrounded by dust and fear. By air that tasted musty. By coats we never wore, flapping in my face. Trying to close my mind to the sound of Mother’s piercing screams. Then the screaming stopped.

Footsteps. Clumping up the stairs. My father was calling my name. I could hear him padding across the landing. I moved to the back of the wardrobe, closed my eyes and rolled into a ball. I wanted to go away. I wanted to be anywhere but there. My heart was thumping like a piston in my chest. Blood pulsated and thrashed against my eardrums. I was fighting for air, breathing quickly.

Slowly, slowly, the wardrobe door creaked open. I opened my eyes. My father was peering in. Eyes spitting. Red-faced with anger. My heart beat faster. Faster than I had ever felt it.

‘Get out of there,’ he yelled. ‘Now.’

I scrambled out on all fours and stood up in front of him. Heart still racing. Ears still buzzing.

‘Your mother has fallen in the sitting room. Go downstairs and help her.’

22
Jade

‘Thank you for coming to lunch again, Emma.’

You smile your angelic smile; saccharine and artificial. ‘My pleasure. What did you want to talk about?’

Noise swirls around the coffee bar. I push through the background chatter.

‘Tomas,’ I announce.

You sit up. Your face straightens. Trying to cover up your feelings, aren’t you, Emma? You shake your head.

‘Are you worried about him?’ you ask.

‘I’m worried about myself, in fact.’ I pause. ‘I want to make Tomas love me, like he loves you, Emma.’

You splutter into your coffee cup. You compose yourself and lean across the table towards me.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Your voice is rising in pitch. ‘He doesn’t love me, Jade,’ you continue. ‘I hardly know you both. We’ve all only just met. I’m his dentist. You’re his wife. It’s you he’s in love with.’

‘I knew, from the first moment I saw you, that you two would be together. You are his type. Most men’s type. A template. A stereotype.’

23
Emma

A man I hardly know – who has made no advances towards me – in love with me? And I’m a stereotype? Why did such a clusterfuck have to move next door to me? I stand up to leave.

Memories

I raced downstairs, and pushed the living room door open. My mother was lying on the floor, curled in a ball, holding her stomach, groaning softly. I stepped towards her and bent down.

‘What can I do to help?’

She opened her eyes. ‘Where is he?’ she asked.

‘Upstairs.’

She grimaced and sat up, still holding her stomach.

‘He’ll be all right now. His temper is over.’

I sat next to her on the floor. She put her arm around me. She smelt of blood and fear.

24
Alastair

I’m in the Henley Pizza Express with Stephen, for our Thursday night treat. Sitting at a table by the window. Stephen’s eyes shine with anticipation as he orders the American Hot and dough balls. As he sips a pint of Coke.

‘Daddy, Daddy,’ he asks. ‘Can I see a photo of your girlfriend Emma?’

I pull my iPhone out of my pocket and tap to unlock it. Emma’s golden face shines from my screen. I hand my phone across to him and he grabs it eagerly and sits staring at it, engrossed. He lifts his head.

‘She’s pretty, isn’t she? She looks like Dr Who.’

I frown, confused for a second.

‘Dr Who?’

Then I realise how out of touch I am. Dr Who is no longer a man, but a very striking female actor.

‘Well, yes. Although I think Emma is even prettier than Dr Who when you actually see her.’

‘Wow, Daddy. When do I get to do that?’

My body tightens. ‘Soon. Soon,’ I say, wanting that to be true. But, so far, Emma has not shown any enthusiasm to meet my son.

‘Do you love her, Daddy?’

Fortunately for me, he is distracted by the arrival of the starters. Anything I say will doubtless go straight back to Heather, so I need to be guarded at all times. An acrimonious divorce is a constant battle that rattles on for years. Despite the fact she left me, Heather seems disproportionally jealous of anyone I have the audacity to be friendly with. Let alone Emma, who I sleep with.

Stephen wolfs his dough balls. I pick at my Caesar salad, wincing every time I hit on an anchovy.

He looks across at me. ‘Are you a bad man, Daddy?’

I splutter into my beer. ‘Of course not. What a strange thing to say.’

‘Mummy says you are.’

‘Look, Stephen, sometimes when a couple split up, they say things about each other that aren’t true, because they’re upset and angry.’

‘Do you tell lies about Mummy then?’

I shake my head. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then why does she tell lies about you?’

I tap my fingers on the table, nervously. ‘Stephen, I can assure you I’m not a bad man. You know that really, don’t you?’

He looks at me wide-eyed and nods his head. ‘Mummy must have been joking.’

The waitress arrives with our pizzas. Stephen starts to tuck into his greedily. As if he hasn’t eaten for a week. Melted cheese drips down his chin.

‘But it didn’t seem funny. She sounded as if she really meant it,’ he says.

‘Your mother is always cross about something.’

He wipes the cheese from his chin with his napkin. ‘No she isn’t, Daddy. I have a lot of fun with Mummy and Shelly.’

I try to stop my lip curling in distaste at the thought of fun with Shelly and Mummy. I suspect they take drugs and go picking up men together. Drinking heavily. Crossing boundaries.

‘What sort of fun?’ I push, not sure I want to hear the answer. Knowing I must find out.

‘Laughing, singing, playing games.’

And suddenly I see Heather, as she was when I first met her. In a pub with a group of friends. Sharing a joke, head back laughing. It was the sense of fun that pulled me towards her. Fun without responsibility. Fun that went too far with other men instead of me, so far that she left.

25
Jade

Siobhan has Tomas on her side, and together they have forced me into a joint counselling session. We are sitting in her office, in a triangle of high-backed armchairs. Tomas is sitting too close to me. I can’t bear to look at him, so I look at the oatmeal carpet. At the magnolia walls. The room smells of vanilla and cinnamon. Siobhan must hope that the reed diffusers she uses will affect my psyche.

I do not look at Tomas, but I know he is leaning back in his chair, in a daydream, thinking of you, Emma. And you are probably thinking of him as well. He is good-looking. Too good-looking. Overwhelming and enticing. A face that never changes. Always beautiful. Never tired. Never groggy.

Siobhan tosses her exuberant hair. ‘Shall we make a start?’

I nod my head.

‘Yes,’ Tomas says and his resonant voice spreads like honey across the room.

Siobhan looks across at him and smiles. Tomas always makes women smile. She leans forwards.

‘You start, Tomas. What would you like to say to Jade?’

‘I love you Jade. Always have. Always will.’

The words trip off his tongue. So casual. So complacent. How many times do I have to listen to his lies?

26
Emma

Tomas steps into my consulting room to have his crown fitted. Smart City suit. George Clooney eyes. He hugs me and kisses me lightly on both cheeks. Is this friendship? Or is he coming on to me? I step away from him and frown.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asks.

‘I don’t think I should treat you any more.’

His mouth drops open in surprise. ‘Why ever not?’

‘Jade thinks you’re in love with me. We need to be careful. Keep away from each other. She seems most unhinged.’

‘You have to treat me. You’re my dentist. I don’t want to see someone else halfway through my treatment.’

I shake my head.

‘I should have explained,’ he continues. ‘She’s unwell. But it’s under control, with the right meds. Believe me. Please don’t worry. Please let me continue as your patient. She’ll be like this whoever I go to.’

‘Even if it’s a man?’

‘Then she’ll decide I’m bisexual or gay.’

I shake my head. ‘You really, really need to sort things out with her.’

‘Our marriage is fine. When she is balanced we have an excellent relationship.’

An excellent relationship? I’m aghast. How can anyone have an excellent relationship with someone who is so unwell?

‘It must be hard,’ I say.

‘Sometimes. But then she can be wonderful in between. The best wife out there.’

The best wife? Is he in denial? Fooling himself?

He takes my hands in his. ‘Please, please fit my crown. I’m really busy at work. I’m here now. I don’t have much time to arrange to go anywhere else.’

‘OK, if you’re sure. I don’t want to cause any trouble between you.’

He smiles his generous smile. ‘Sure, I’m sure.’

As I remove my instruments from the autoclave, as I buzz for Tania to come back from her break, I remind myself that however unsuited they seem, no one can see into someone else’s relationship.

27
Jade

You are getting closer and closer to the Stereotype. Now you can’t keep your hands off her from the moment you arrive. I can see you from my hiding place behind the willow tree. I see you hug her. I see you kiss her. I do what my counsellor says and count to twenty. Breathe. Breathe. I look up and you are still holding her. Now she is pushing you away. You are standing, eyes locked, fixated by what she is telling you. Infatuated. She has put a spell on you. You hold her hands, melting with love.

Memories

Shouting, so much angry shouting from my father, coming from the lounge. I ran upstairs to hide in the wardrobe in the spare room again. But no. He found me there last time. I stepped into my parents’ bedroom instead. I wasn’t allowed in there. He would look there last. It was cold. I shivered as I crept past Mother’s empty dressing table. No jewellery. No perfume. No photographs. No mementoes.

I opened the wardrobe door. Dad’s clothes on the right. Mother’s clothes on the left. Colourful dresses hanging. Colourful clothes I had never seen her wear. I stepped inside, shut the door and curled up on Mother’s side.

I knew the pattern by then. The screaming, the crying. I thought the screaming had almost reached a crescendo. I sat hugging my knees, breathing deeply, silently praying for it to stop. But it didn’t stop. Mother was screaming like a feral animal. Today – this – was worse.

And then the bedroom door burst open. I could see through the crack where the wardrobe doors met. He was carrying her in his arms. She was sobbing now, her body limp against his. The screaming had stopped. He threw her on the bed and the screaming started again.

28
Jade

Despite the change in my drug regimen, the CBT and our session with Siobhan, it is still eating me up that you are so infatuated with the Stereotype. And I warned you, Tomas, what would happen if you betrayed me again. You have done this so many times. Your liaison with your gym instructor. The girl from accounts. The woman who lived around the corner who you used to meet when walking our elderly dog around the block at night. Men are like dogs. A dog bites once and gets the taste for blood. A man strays once and gets a taste for extramarital sex. You cannot trust him again.

I’m frisking your clothes, your possessions. Looking for evidence of your betrayal, even though I have seen you with my own eyes, holding her, touching her. Pretending you have pain in your teeth so that you can see her regularly.

I open your bedside table. I flick through your socks and underwear. Does she like your bright orange Emporio Armani boxers? Into the wardrobe, checking every pocket of your suits. Brooks Brothers. Ermenegildo Zegna. Roderick Charles.

Nothing. Only loose change. Receipts from Pret. A pair of broken cufflinks. In the last pocket of the last suit I find a receipt for a pair of women’s Brora gloves, purchased yesterday. Seventy-nine pounds. Wow. Lovely. You’ve got me a present. But where are they? I check the drawers in our bedroom. I can’t find them anywhere. Maybe they are in your office. Maybe you will bring them home tonight.

29
Emma

The doorbell rings and I answer it. A chubby woman is standing in my porch, wearing a baggy dress, knee-high boots and an old-fashioned velvet jacket with wide lapels. Her hair needs washing. It is dry like a bird’s nest.

‘I’m Heather Brown, Alastair’s ex-wife. I need to talk to you. Can I come in?’ she asks.

I hesitate. She has caused so much trouble for Alastair. Is letting her inside my home appropriate?

‘Please,’ she begs, running her fingers through her bird’s nest. ‘It’s important.’

‘OK, fine. But I hope it won’t take long. I need to leave for work soon.’

She steps into my hallway. ‘Can we sit down?’ she asks.

‘Come into the drawing room,’ I reply, leading the way.

She sits down and crosses her legs, glancing at the Murano glass painting on the wall. The photograph of Colin and me, in front of Cotswold yellow stone grandeur, taken on our honeymoon. Greedy eyes weighing up my possessions. I shudder inside, but I force myself to be polite.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I ask.

She turns towards me. ‘No thanks.’

‘Is everything OK?’

She swallows. ‘I need to warn you about Alastair. You must believe me – or you’ll end up in trouble. He’s controlling. He’s aggressive.’ She pauses. ‘Not to begin with. He gradually envelops you. I had to escape.’

‘If he’s so dangerous, why did you leave Stephen with him?’

She flicks her hair from her eyes. Eyes with panda bags beneath them. ‘Because he threatened to hurt him if I took him.’

I shake my head slowly. ‘All the more reason to take him, and report Alastair to the police.’

A wry smile. ‘You’re naive if you think reporting the situation to the police would protect us. People regularly break restraining orders. Believe me, I had to leave Stephen with his father, to keep the man sweet.’

‘You should have stayed with him then, to protect Stephen.’

She looks as if she is about to cry. ‘I could only cope with so much pain.’

‘But what about your son?’ I push.

‘Alastair doesn’t hurt children, only women. Children are safe. It’s you who needs to mind your back.’ She clasps and unclasps her fingers on her lap, nervously, swallowing to push back tears. ‘He treated me unfairly – try to understand that.’

I take a deep breath. ‘Alastair is my boyfriend, and I love him. Please go away. Leave us alone. I’ve heard all about you. I know you’re the difficult one.’

‘You’ll regret this.’

30
Alastair

I’ve just arrived at work and am collecting my day’s box of evidence for analysis. The clerk, a woman in her forties with shoulder-length black hair, hands it to me, pursing her cherry-red lips into a reluctant smile as she does every morning. Smiling and frowning at the same time.

I step away from her, into my changing area. Pulling off my outdoor clothes and hanging them up. Slipping into my scrubs. Going through the rigmarole of wrapping myself in my Tyvek suit. Grabbing my sealed box and stepping into my lab.

I yawn inside. Another day working alone for hours and hours. Changing gloves, taking swabs. Hours and hours to think. Too much time to think. About you, Emma. About my monstrous ex-wife, Heather. Trying to cause trouble. Trying to come between us, and between me and Stephen. Telling him I’m a bad man. What if you turn against me, Emma? What if people believe her?

I doze off and drift into a dream. Stephen is sitting in the middle of a roundabout, at the local playground. Heather is pulling it around. Pulling and running. Wearing a grey baggy tracksuit. Her hair is tangled. She runs and runs. Her hair becomes lighter, smoother, longer. Smooth as gossamer. Her face transforms into yours, Emma. My body jolts and I wake up.

I need you, Emma. I need stability. For myself. For Stephen. For the rest of my life.

31
Emma

Back home from work, I park the car. A few minutes later Tomas is standing on my doorstep in his smart City suit and Hugo Boss coat, brown eyes smiling into mine.

‘Is everything all right?’ I ask.

‘Yes. But I would like to talk to you. Can I step inside?’

‘Do I need to remind you about Jade’s attitude to our relationship?’

He shakes his head. ‘You don’t need to worry about Jade. Her bark is worse than her bite.’

‘Good job.’

He laughs, mouth curving into a wide smile. ‘And she’s at a late Pilates class, so she won’t know I’m here.’

‘Even better job,’ I reply. ‘If Jade is out, of course you can come in.’

He steps into my hallway. He rummages in his coat pocket, pulls out a gift bag and hands it to me.

‘What have I done to deserve this?’ I ask.

‘I just wanted to say thanks for helping me with my teeth.’

I open the bag and pull out my gift. Black cashmere gloves. Softer than soft.

‘They’re exquisite, thanks.’

A grin. ‘I just didn’t want you to think I was taking you for granted.’

‘I was pleased to help. I didn’t think that.’ I pause. ‘Would you like to stay for a cup of tea, or do you need to get back?’

‘I’d love a cup.’

He follows me into the kitchen. I lay the gloves on the windowsill and put the kettle on. I make a pot of tea and pour us both a cup. We sit opposite one another at my kitchen table.

‘I know Jade’s attitude towards you is difficult, but I need to maintain my relationships with my friends. I need to fight back.’

He leans across the table and takes my hand. Is this friendship? Or is Jade right? I do not want to get in between a warring couple. I pull my hand away.

32
Jade

I lied, telling you I would be out at a late Pilates class tonight. I parked my Porsche around the corner, outside the church hall, to confuse you about my whereabouts. Now I’m hiding in her garden, behind the rhododendron bush, warmly dressed. Puffa jacket. Beanie hat. Watching your every move. Watching my breath condense in front of me as I breathe. The rhododendron bush is in full bloom, its blood-red flowers dropping petals. Its spicy scent enveloping me.

I knew you were unreliable. I’ve been putting up with your infidelity for years. So many other women. But this is the end of the line; giving the Stereotype my present. Seventy-nine-pound cashmere gloves, lying on her windowsill. Seventy-nine-pound cashmere gloves from Brora that should have been for me. The present I was so excited about.

You are sitting holding hands with your loved one.

It’s over between us, Tomas. I cannot put up with this any more.

Memories

It wasn’t just violence. It was far more invasive than that.

I remember coming home from school on a soft spring day, not long before I sat my GCSEs. Sitting in the kitchen, filling out my application for sixth form. Mother frying chicken thighs in butter for her signature chicken casserole, the warm aroma making me feel hungry. But it would be hours before it was ready to eat. Dad, home from work early, was sitting next to me, leaning over my shoulder.

‘Science A levels? Is that really what you want to do? You’re punching above your weight,’ he said in his sharp, shrill voice. The voice I had grown to hate.

I looked up. His eyes were hard and flat; lips pinched.

‘I need science A levels, I want to be a scientist, not sure which type.’

A smile. Insincere. Mocking. ‘A scientist? Science is complicated. I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Wouldn’t you rather be a big fish in a small bowl than try something too ambitious?’

‘It’s what I’m interested in, Dad. I need to try.’

A dry laugh. ‘Try being the operative word, don’t you think?’

‘Whether try is operative or not, I’m going to go for it.’

‘Good for you. Good for you.’ There was a pause. ‘But I’ll eat my hat if you succeed.’

33
Emma

Jade is standing on my doorstep, short hair sharp and shiny, make-up-free face scrubbed and washed. She stretches her mouth into a smile.

‘I wondered whether you’d like to come around again. For a drink? A girls’ night?’

I’m not in the mood for difficult company. ‘What date did you have in mind?’ I ask, determined that whatever date the Clusterfuck suggests I intend to be out.

‘Well, Tomas is away at the moment. So any night except Wednesday. Wednesday night is book club. Apart from that I’m around all week.’

I can’t be unavailable every night. She has already asked me three times. I take a deep breath. I might as well get it over with. ‘What about tomorrow, then?’

‘Tomorrow’s good,’ the Clusterfuck snaps back. ‘See you at eight p.m.’

34
Alastair

I can’t get you out of my mind, Emma. Your silken hair. Your taut body. Your emerald eyes. I love you. I so want to make our relationship work. I need to hold you. I need to see you. To inhale your scent. Taste your breath. I need to catch up midweek.

I call your mobile. It rings ten times, then you pick up.

‘Alastair, how are you doing?’

Your voice sounds cheery and positive. Pleased to hear from me.

‘Fine. Good.’ I pause. ‘I was just wondering whether I could pop over for a drink tonight?’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to Jade’s.’

‘Tonight? I thought you didn’t tend to socialise midweek? And I know you don’t like Clusterfuck.’

‘She coerced me. I couldn’t get out of it.’

Is it poster boy Tomas who really invited you? ‘Will Tomas be there?’ I ask.

‘No. He’s travelling on business apparently. It’s just me and her.’

I laugh. ‘A mind-blowing party. You and Clusterfuck. I’m jealous.’

‘Come and join us if you like.’

‘No thanks, I’ll pass.’

35
Jade

You stand on my doorstep holding a bunch of lilies in your hand. You pass them to me with a smile. ‘Thanks for inviting me.’

As you step inside I silently admire your dress. Navy velvet caresses your slender figure. Your blonde hair falls in carefully blow-dried ringlets. How many hours a day do you spend manufacturing your appearance? Do you realise there is always a whiff of artificiality about you that spoils your perfect looks? We walk into my boudoir with the bar in it. My main drawing room.

‘I’ve made you my favourite cocktail,’ I say.

I give you a simpering smile as I pour it. I hand it to you. ‘Thanks,’ you say.

I put some music on to relax us. Fingal’s Cave by Mendelssohn.

You take a sip of your drink. I haven’t touched mine yet.

‘Delicious. What’s in it?’

‘My secret recipe with cherry liqueur.’

Do you really think I will tell you the truth? Rohypnol. My favourite drug.

‘So where’s Tomas?’ you ask.

Asking for Tomas already. Two-timing whore.

‘Don’t you know?’ I ask.

You frown and shake your head. ‘Why would I?’ you ask.

Clever posturing, you superficial bitch. When you are sleeping with a man, you usually know where he is.

I smile a wry smile. ‘He’s just away overnight. He sometimes stays overnight in London when he has to entertain clients.’

Another frown. ‘I thought you said he was away this week travelling.’

‘I probably thought that when I said it. His plans change all the time.’ I pause and hand you the peanuts. ‘Do have a nibble.’

You take a handful. You continue to sip your drink. I go to the bar and produce a whole jug of Cherry Bomb. I smile at you and top you up.

‘Tell me, have you had many different partners?’ I ask.

Your body stiffens as if you are affronted by my question. Come on, drink up bitch. Relax.

You shake your head. ‘Not really. One or two. The main ones have been my husband Colin, and now Alastair.’ There is a pause. ‘What about you?’

‘Tomas is my only love. You know the Barry White song? The first. The last. My everything. That’s him for me.’

I top up your glass again.

‘How long have you owned your dental practice?’ I ask.

You don’t reply. Your eyes are staring and confused. Your mind is about to go. Your body slumps across the sofa, head back, arms wide. Your breathing is shallow. Chest hardly moving. I hope I haven’t overdone it. But no, I can’t have. I calculated the dose so carefully. I lean over you. I feel the exhalation of your breath on my cheek. Relief floods through me.

I put on the latex gloves from my pocket. With trembling hands I begin my task, fetching the wrench I bought yesterday from beneath the sink.

36
Emma

I wake up, unsure for a second where I am. I see yellow and cream curtains. In my own bedroom. Must be. A loud buzzing sound. But it isn’t buzzing, it’s purring. Casper is lying on top of me. My mouth tastes dry. As if a hamster has died in it. My tongue is like sandpaper. I roll over in bed and disturb the cat. He grumbles with a loud meow. As I roll, clothes pull against my skin and I realise I’m still wearing my velvet dress. I wriggle my toes. I’ve gone to bed in my black suede boots.

Oh my God. What has happened? Where have I been? Have I been robbed? Where is my phone? Where is my jewellery? I check my bedside table; my phone, my favourite gold jewellery, all there. Then I remember. Drinking Cherry Bomb. Not being able to think. Not being able to speak. I feel really, really guilty for having too much to drink. Not a very sensible way for a professional career woman to behave. Another reason for Jade to hate me. Thinking I have no self-restraint.

Drinking so much my memory has gone? Is there something wrong with me? I need to see my GP.

Memories

I had just returned from my A level biology field trip to Anglesey, tired after days of counting crabs and square metres of seaweed. Longing for a hot bath and an early night. Mother was sitting in the kitchen staring into the air in front of her, tears streaming down her face.

I held her against me. But she yelped and pulled away, rubbing her lower right arm.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ I asked.

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s just my arm’s a bit sore.’

‘Let me see.’

‘No, no,’ she said, walking towards the sink, reaching for some kitchen roll to dry her tears. ‘It’s nothing to fuss about. Let me put the kettle on and get you some supper.’

She always said it was nothing when he hit her. When he did ‘something’, what would that look like? I laid the table and peeled the potatoes, shuddering inside. I was seventeen. I needed to take responsibility for my mother. Not just to be subservient to my father and help her peel potatoes. I needed to do something real.

37
Jade

‘Shall we have a quick drink together before I set off for book group, darling?’ I say with a smile.

‘That would be nice.’

‘I’ll get us a sloe gin with ice.’

We sit in the kitchen, by the window, looking out onto the garden. It is early spring, the daffodils starting to brighten the world with their sun-ray heads. I hand you your sloe gin mixed with Rohypnol. A high enough dose. No need to take any risks.

‘Cheers.’ We clink glasses. ‘Here’s to our new life in Henley.’

We sit in silence for a while.

Then, ‘It’s a bit cold in here.’

‘The boiler needs servicing. A guy is coming tomorrow. I switched it off.’

‘Well, being cold is a lot less uncomfortable than toothache. I’m so pleased to have finished all that dental work,’ you say.

I know your pain was never there. I know you made it up so that you could go to the surgery and take her in your arms. Emma, the plastic blonde with a stereotypical personality. The woman who has killed you.

‘Her surgery is very nice. It has a fish tank. I like the guppy best,’ you mumble as your body begins to slump. Your head lolls. Your torso leans backwards. You are out for the count.

I fetch the plastic box with all my equipment from the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink and place it on the table. The latex gloves. The Tyvek suit. Plastic sheet. Masking tape. Sellotape. Cling film. Tape measure. Pipette. Wrench.

This is going to be difficult. I step into the Tyvek suit and put on the latex gloves. Hand trembling I pick up the wrench, taking care to make sure I’m holding the right end. I take a deep breath, pull my arm back as I have practised, and swing it at the back of your head. A gash. A small gash. I have not hit you hard enough. I pull my arm back further and, with all the strength I can muster, I swing again. This time your skull cracks. Blood pools in the wound. Your chest falls still. An almost imperceptible stiffness. And I know you have gone.

I take a photograph of the blood splatter and make notes. Measure the distances. I wipe the blood with bleach and toilet paper and flush the tissues away down the lavatory. Slowly, carefully, I lift you from the chair and place you face down on the plastic sheet. You are heavy. My back hurts. I straighten your arms and place them by your side. Heart thumping, knowing I need to act quickly, I wrap you in the plastic sheet and leave you on the cold stone kitchen floor. The heating has been off all day. Lying on the floor wrapped in plastic will keep your body cool. The low temperature will disguise your time of death. Time of death can be hard to ascertain. Real life is not like Silent Witness.

I take the pipette and fill it with blood from your wound. Now I need to keep the wound fresh. I cover it with cling film and Sellotape. I hide the wrench, wrapped in latex, beneath the kitchen plinth, in the corner by the bin. I will deal with it later. I place the blood-filled pipette in a plastic bag in the fridge.

Job done for now. I wrap my suit and gloves in a plastic shopping bag, stuff them in my handbag, and grab my jacket and car keys.

I drive off, looking at the time. Just right. I sigh with relief. My heart begins to slow. Everything is in order. I stop the car and dump the suit and gloves wrapped tightly in a Waitrose bag at the local roadside recycling bin. Then I continue on my way to book group. Time for my life to move on.

38
Emma

The Angel on the Bridge; my favourite pub. Warm and cosy. Wood-panelled and characterful. Andrea arrives at the same time as me, for our Wednesday night ritual, our early evening drink. She is looking as good as ever, with her shiny auburn hair. Wearing her black leather coat and signature pale-pink lipstick.

We find our table in the corner by the window, the one we always take if we can. I go to the bar to get the drinks. Gin and tonic for Andrea. Bombay Sapphire and Fever-Tree, of course. Nothing but the best for my glamorous receptionist. A small glass of white wine for me.

‘I’ve got an assignation after this. I’m meeting someone at eight-ish,’ Andrea says, voice slightly breathless.

‘An internet date?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘And if the photograph is accurate he looks pretty fit.’

And for a second I envy her. When I’m starting a new relationship I always enjoy the swiping and tasting stage.

39
Jade

Book group is such a bore. But I need an alibi, so I have to put up with it. After tonight I won’t need to come any more. The book group takes place at a different member’s house each month. The person who hosts the group chooses the book and chairs the meeting. Tonight it’s Josephine’s turn. She is a large woman with ginger hair and freckles. A voice that is long-vowelled, overpowering. A friend of hers has self-published a book so, to support her friend, she chose it. I forced myself to read it. It wasn’t very good.

Josephine opens the comments. ‘I thought the book was excellent. Very well structured. The twist about the DNA evidence was brilliant, so incisive.’

I know the DNA evidence twist is incorrect, but I do not say anything. I don’t need to contribute, I just need to be here. I mustn’t draw attention to my forensic knowledge.

Another woman, Anna, with a big nose and curly hair that frizzes, is rabbiting on about the main character in the book; criticising her every action. I close my eyes and see your body lying there. You hurt me, Tomas. You deserve to be gone. But then my stomach knots. I see your tender face moving towards mine, the first time we kissed. When you were obsessed with me. Before my novelty wore off. We loved each other once. Memories of your love come hurtling towards me like a flood. I push them away. I want book group to end. I need to get home to finish what I have started. I pinch myself and open my eyes again. The conversation is beginning to dwindle. I look at my watch and stand up.

‘It’s ten thirty,’ I say loudly. ‘I’m afraid I must be off.’

Josephine steps out of the sitting room and accompanies me to the door.

‘Thanks so much for coming. See you next month.’

I drive home. The pivotal time. I enter the house, heart palpitating. I have to act fast. No room for any mistakes. I turn the central heating on, and step into the kitchen. You are lying face down, wrapped in plastic. I feel sick at the sight of you, marble-skinned and stiff. Already bearing no resemblance to the animated man I once loved. I brace myself and swallow. I put on a fresh pair of latex gloves, and the second Tyvek suit, from my store beneath the sink.

So little time, so much to do. I mustn’t panic. I mustn’t forget a thing. I take a deep breath. I brace myself by bending and stretching, then I lift your body back onto the chair. Putting you into the same position, or as close as I can remember, as when I hit you. Trying not to think of this monstrous pile of stiffness as you, but as an empty shell I need to attend to. Unpeeling the cling film from your head, I’m relieved to see the blood is still wet and fresh. The back of your skull is such a mess. Hands trembling, I look at my measurements and photographs. Mind trembling, I recreate the original blood splatter as carefully as possible with the blood from the wound, using the pipette to get the right droplets. Pushing back tears, I take some blood and hair and put it in a plastic container and hide it in the freezer, just in case I need it later.

Almost finished. Pushing away love that has veered to hate. Gathering the incriminating evidence, all of it. Dirty evidence to be discarded, placed in one Waitrose bag – Tyvek suit, gloves, pipette, plastic sheet. Keeping the wrench in a separate one. Mind fragmenting, heart pulsating, I race upstairs to the loft, pull a mask over my mouth and nose, and dig into the insulation to bury the bags. I need to move them as soon as possible. But I know, from studying police reports, they won’t have the patience, or the time, to look there tonight.

Finally, I dash downstairs, two steps at a time, looking at my watch to check that I have been quick enough. Hands trembling more than ever, I dial 999.

40
Emma

I’m back home, after my trip to the Angel with Andrea. Good intentions about not drinking alcohol midweek over, the small glass of wine at the pub whetting my appetite, I open a bottle of Chablis and pour myself a large slug. Still envying Andrea’s excitement about finding a new relationship, I need to distract myself. I sit drinking the bottle of wine and watching Stranger Things on Netflix.

At eleven-ish, just as I’m about to pad upstairs and go to bed, I hear a police siren. I look out of the hall window. Blue flashing lights. A police car pulling into Tomas and Jade’s drive. There must have been a burglary. I hope Jade and Tomas haven’t had too much taken, I’ll contact them tomorrow to check they are OK. Shuddering at the thought that an intruder might be on the loose, I check my doors are double locked, and my windows are firmly shut.

Up to bed. The usual routine. Removing my make-up. Cleaning my teeth. Dousing my face with cream. I slip into bed and Casper snuggles next to me. His tractor-engine purr increases, soothing me, singing me to sleep. Telling me that Jade and Tomas must be all right.

41
Jade

The police are here, skewing their car across my drive, alarming the area with flashing blue lights. The doorbell rings. Two police constables are on my doorstep.

‘Are you Mrs Covington?’ the taller one asks.

I nod my head.

‘I’m PC Rosco, and this is my colleague PC Hall. May we come in?’

They step into the hallway.

‘What happened?’ PC Rosco asks.

I look at the ground, wracked with distress. ‘I came back from book group and I … and I … I found him.’ I swallow back tears. ‘In the kitchen.’ I pause. ‘Sorry. Excuse me. I’m going to be sick.’

I rush to the downstairs cloakroom and vomit. Then I flush the loo, wash my hands and splash my face with cold water. I take a deep breath to calm myself and step out of the cloakroom to go and find the police officers. They are in the kitchen inspecting your body. I walk towards them, looking down at the floor in front of me. I cannot even bear to glance across. How could I have done this to you?

PC Rosco is on his mobile requesting a crime scene investigator urgently. PC Hall is pacing the kitchen, inspecting the windows. ‘No sign of a break-in,’ he announces.

No sign of a break-in. Murdered by someone who knew you. But not me. They will never work out it was me. I feel blood suddenly rushing from the back of my head.

‘I need to sit down,’ I tell PC Hall. ‘I’ll be in the drawing room if you need me.’

‘Can I get you anything? The family liaison officer is on her way.’

‘Please tell her not to come. I’m so shell-shocked, I just want to be alone.’

I pad into the drawing room and sit, head in hands. After a while PC Rosco comes to sit next to me.

‘Mrs Covington, I’m so sorry for your loss.’ There is a pause. ‘But, we need to declare the house a crime scene and request you sleep elsewhere tonight. Do you want to stay with a friend? Or in a hotel?’

I hesitate. ‘I’ll stay at the Red Lion.’

‘OK, I’ll ring and book a room. We’ll try and get you back home as quickly as possible. Are you sure you don’t want to see a family liaison officer tonight?’

I bite my lip and shake my head. ‘I feel so awful; I just want to be left alone,’ I mutter.

‘Before you go to the hotel I will need to take you to the police station, where our detective sergeant will take a detailed statement, and some forensics. You need to bring something to change into this evening as the DS may want to examine the clothes you are wearing.’

Number one suspect already. Imagination so limited they always suspect the one who finds the body. Just as I expected. Breathe. Breathe.

‘Now I have to watch you pack your overnight bag, is that OK?’

I nod my head.

‘Do you feel up to it right now?’

‘I’ll manage.’

I stand up, still feeling faint. My body sways. I need to sit down again, and put my head in my hands to compose myself. On my next attempt, PC Rosco helps me up and holds my arm to support me. He guides me upstairs. He watches me fling things into my bag. Toiletries, clean underwear. Three clean outfits. My coat. My beanie hat. My phone charger. It looks random. It feels random. But my mind is still functioning, and despite the fug of mixed emotions, I have carefully put together the things I planned I would need. Heart rate calming, I zip up my bag. PC Rosco carries it downstairs, leaving me to trail behind him.

‘I’m taking Mrs Covington to the station to make a statement,’ he explains to his colleague. ‘And then I’ll come back and pick you up. The murder team will have arrived by then.’

PC Hall nods his head. We step outside, the night air brushing against my skin. I feel sick as we walk towards the police car. Sick with an overdose of nerves. There is no room for any hiccups in my statement. Everything needs to be consistent. Ducks in a row, lined up straight.

In the front of the car with PC Rosco, I look across at him. He is short and broad, with rugby-player shoulders. A neat compact look about him, a bit like Tom Hollander, with strong wavy hair.

Into the police station. A woman is walking towards me with toffee-coloured skin, and dark eyes. We meet face to face in the corridor.

‘Hello. I’m DS Miranda Jupiter.’

I don’t reply.

‘I’m sorry to have to put you through this when you must be feeling so traumatised,’ she continues. ‘I need to take you to the medical room to take some DNA and also to remove your clothes.’ She puts her head on one side and almost smiles. ‘It’s routine. Just for elimination purposes.’

I know it’s routine. Most people who are murdered are murdered by someone close to them. Find a dead body. Suspect the person who finds it, especially if they are a spouse.

We go to the medical room. She watches me studiously as I remove my clothes. She bags every item individually into brown evidence bags. I dress in clean clothes. Jeans and a jumper. Trainers and socks. Then she swabs my mouth for DNA and takes my fingerprints.

‘Just to help clarify the DNA we find at the crime scene.’

Just to clarify, DS Miranda Jupiter, I know why. I know more about forensics than you.

‘We need to take a statement from you,’ she says gently.

‘That’s fine.’

She leads me along a corridor into an interview room. The usual. No windows. A recording machine. Grey plastic table. Grey chairs.

‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ she asks as I sit down.

‘I’m fine.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look fine. You look shell-shocked.’

‘I am.’ I bite my lip and almost manage to feign tears. But the tears that fell earlier won’t come again.

There is a plastic jug full of water and some plastic cups on the table in front of her. She pours some out and hands it to me. ‘Here, drink this.’

‘Thanks.’

I sip the water. It is tepid. Its warmth sticks in my throat. PC Rosco enters the room and sits down next to DS Jupiter.

‘However awful you’re feeling we need you to try and concentrate,’ DS Miranda Jupiter says. ‘We need as many details as possible about the lead-up to your husband’s death. We’ll start the machine to record this interview in a few seconds. I need you to keep calm and really, really think.’

She nods at PC Rosco who starts the recording.

‘Wednesday twenty-seventh March 2019. Interviewing Mrs Jade Covington. PC Rosco present.’

‘DS Miranda Jupiter.’

The DS leans back in her chair and crosses her legs. ‘When was the last time you saw your husband alive?’

I see the blood haemorrhaging from the wound at the back of your head. Feel the force of the wrench as I hit you again. I see your loving face leaning in to kiss me on the day we were married. Your golden voice resonates in my head. I look at the ground. I close my mind to the past.

‘At breakfast time, before he went to work.’

‘Did he seem OK?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was everything all right between you and Mr Covington?’

I bite my lip. ‘Not really. We’d been having a few problems.’ Her eyes tighten. ‘He was having an affair with Emma Stockton, our neighbour. I had caught them together several times. I told him I was going to leave him.’

‘When?’

‘Yesterday evening.’

‘How did he react?’

‘As he always does. Says he’s sorry. That he can’t bear it if I leave. That he’ll never stray again.’

‘So he has been unfaithful before?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you like to tell me more about your relationship?’

I push back tears. ‘It’s too painful to talk about right now. All I can say is I loved him so much.’

She stirs in her chair. ‘Where were you this evening?’

‘At Josephine Brooker’s house, 76 Vale Way – at a meeting of the Henley book group.’

‘All evening?’

‘It started at seven thirty p.m. I left at ten thirty p.m.’

Seven thirty, the time you are always home on Wednesdays, Stereotype.

‘Are you happy for me to contact your book group to verify that?’

‘Of course I am, yes.’

She leans forwards. ‘So you came home from work briefly, did you, before you went to book group?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you didn’t see your husband?’

‘No. I didn’t see him until … until …’ My voice is breaking now.

‘Do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt your husband?’

‘No. Not really. Everyone always loved Tomas.’ I pause and shake my head slowly. ‘I suppose Emma must have been upset, if he had finished with her. He told me he was going to.’

Memories

Home from school. Walking into the kitchen to see Mother. She turned from the kitchen sink, where she was peeling potatoes, to greet me. Mother, but not Mother. A monster stood before me. Right eye swollen. Lids closed. A kaleidoscope of purple and black bruising decorating her face.

I went to the fridge, poured myself a glass of milk. I sat at the kitchen table.

‘Mother, you’ve got to do something about this.’

‘About what?’ she asked.

My hand shook. I spilt the milk. It skimmed across the table like white blood. I took a cloth from the sink and wiped it up. She walked towards me, and stood in front of me.

‘I opened the cupboard at the back of the garage too quickly, and the corner of the door banged into my eye.’

‘Do you expect me to believe that? If you don’t do something about it I will.’

She put her hand on my arm. ‘I’m begging you not to, Emma. It’ll only make things worse.’

42
Jade

Into my bedroom at the Red Lion. Body trembling as I throw myself across the four-poster bed. Tomas, I cannot get you out of my head. Remembering you when we first met, after hooking up on Tinder. Watching you walk into the café in Sunbury, thinking I was punching above my weight. Your golden looks. Your flat torso. Shoulders as broad as bricks. So much better-looking than me. I knew as soon as I saw you that I would never be able to keep a man like you. You smiled at me and my insides twisted.

I smiled back. You kept on walking towards me. You sat down opposite me.

‘How do you do? I’m Tomas.’

‘I’m Jade.’

‘Jade, how should we start?’

‘Tell me a few things about yourself.’

‘OK then. I’ve never dated on Tinder before. But I’ve never met anyone I really, really want to be with, so I thought I’d give it a try.’

Silence fell. You looked embarrassed. You grimaced.

‘Go on. Next thing,’ I pushed.

You shrugged your shoulders. ‘Do we have to do this?’

‘Yes,’ I insisted.

‘Can’t we just have a normal conversation?’

‘No. Because I’m spiky.’

‘I like spiky.’

‘Actually, I’m aiming for sardonic wit but it always comes out wrong.’

You put your head back and laughed. ‘I like you, Jade. I think we could have fun.’

And we did, for a while, back then. We married quickly. Our wedding was a small affair, as we were both only children with no surviving parents. It was easier that way. Just us and our witnesses, two friends from work, at the local registry office. Afterwards we ate at a trendy Italian restaurant near the river. We were so full of love for one another. So sure it would work.

I lie across the four-poster bed and sob. Loud, body-wracking sobs. Fighting for breath, too emotionally wrought to give way to the soft release of tears. I see your wound. Your blood gushing. And my sobs increase.

Then I see you in our bed with Emma. Face contorted with passion. And I know what I did was right. You betrayed me. You didn’t deserve to live.

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