by Alice Hunter
‘Have you met Lucy’s boyfriend?’ Julia’s voice makes me jump – I hadn’t realised she’d followed me into the kitchen.
‘Oscar? Yeah, once or twice. He’s been to the café on occasion to see her.’ I take the Prosecco from the fridge and pass it to Julia. Hopefully, she’ll drink most of this bottle. Judging by this evening’s standard, she makes light work of it. She doesn’t seem too tipsy, either, which brings me to the conclusion that she drinks regularly. I shouldn’t judge, but I’ve seen where alcohol dependency can lead.
‘Do you think he’s a bit … odd?’ Julia says, her eyes narrowing.
‘Not really. He’s quiet, doesn’t seem particularly confident around other people, but he comes across as pretty normal to me.’
‘Hmm. Probably just me, then. He doesn’t seem to have any male friends that I’ve noticed. Strikes me as a loner, aside from the fact he’s seeing Lucy, that is.’
‘Maybe he isn’t keen on fair-weather friends either?’ I raise my eyebrows.
‘Touché,’ she says.
‘Tom’s taken his car to his garage a few times to get a service. And he’s fitted new tyres and fixed an issue with the battery apparently. He’s never vocalised any concerns about him to me. I think it’s just that he keeps himself to himself outside of his work, that’s all. Lucy seems happy enough with him.’
‘I’m projecting again, aren’t I? Assuming anyone whose life looks perfect on the outside must have problems they’re not sharing. I’ve become quite the cynic!’ Julia walks back into the lounge and pours wine into both our glasses before I can stop her. I’ll take mine slowly. She plonks herself on the two-seater sofa and puts her feet up.
‘Cheers,’ she says. ‘Here’s to living with secrets.’
I half-heartedly raise my glass, but I don’t repeat her toast.
Chapter 40
BETH
Now
It’s my first hangover for quite some time and I’m not relishing having to face the day with this lurching stomach and muzzy head. And a three-year-old. Poppy has already jumped up and down on my bed to wake me; for a horrible moment I thought I was on a ship, rolling on the waves. I’m never drinking on a weekday again. I wonder how Julia is faring this morning – I guess I’ll see soon enough. Will she act weirdly with me given how much she disclosed to me last night? Will she even remember what she said? I’ll have to play it by ear – see how she responds to me first and take the lead from her. The last thing I want is for her to feel awkward because she spilled her guts and now regrets it.
I’ve another missed call from Maxwell – I put my phone on silent last night. I’ve not been able to face a conversation with him. I know I can’t put it off forever, but for now I would like to avoid it; deny the situation. If I refuse to talk about it, it’s not happening. Such a juvenile reaction, I’m actually ashamed.
And what about Tom? He must be beside himself. Am I expected to go and see him? I wouldn’t have thought that was possible given the circumstances. I imagine we can speak on the phone though. No doubt these are all things Maxwell is waiting to inform me of. If I were to pick up his calls, I’d know the answers.
As we’re up super early, and I don’t have to make breakfast for Tom, I think I’ll cook up a batch of cookies. It’ll take my mind off this hangover, and a spoonful of the batter will give my sugar levels a boost. Sugar always used to help my hangovers. That and a can of Coke, which, thankfully, I have in the fridge. It’s one of the few things I learnt from my mother.
Poppy stands on a chair beside me as I spread the ingredients out on the worktop, and she helps by lining them up in the order I need them in. I sing along to Michael Bublé as I measure, and Poppy hums out of tune, smiling as she scoops some extra ingredients that I’ve given her in her own special bowl. The smells associated with baking always take me back to when I lived with my nanna. It was her who taught me the basics of cooking and baking, not my mother, who had no desire to do either. She mainly only had time for drinking, vomiting, and sleeping.
We’re making my speciality – butterscotch oatmeal cookies. Poppy loves butterscotch and it’s my go-to feelgood recipe for when I’m anxious or worried. As I blend the ingredients together in my Cath Kidston mixing bowl, I recall how Julia spoke about Camilla last night. I had no idea how she really felt – she certainly masks her emotions well on a day-to-day basis. I can’t believe I missed that they were best friends; I’d only seen them hanging around in larger groups, never just the two of them. Poor woman. I’d been a little surprised to hear about how Camilla had been so kind. If I’m honest, I’d struggled to get to know her initially – she’d seemed somewhat aloof. I was always trying to slip into her and her group’s conversations, but I never really connected with her. In the end, it was over recipes that we finally bonded – if you can call it bonding. Camilla was quite an experienced baker herself and had some great ideas. In the weeks before she died, we’d started to discuss new flavour combinations and swap recipes. I remember that she even made some suggestions to help me perfect these butterscotch ones.
Of course, our friendship had never progressed much beyond that, as she died not long afterwards. Such a shame. Typically, she had been one of the only new women I talked to that Tom found bearable. He has little time for the others; he says they’re shallow and false. I’ve tried to tell him if he gives people a chance he’d be surprised.
I was due to invite a small group of people around for a meal before all this kicked off. That won’t be happening now, I realise with a sinking feeling. Will my life be anything like normal from here on in?
‘Can I lick the spoon please?’ Poppy says, grabbing the bowl after I dollop the mixture in even splodges on the baking tray. I know she shouldn’t, not with the possibility of salmonella from the raw eggs, but it’s one of the best memories I have with my nanna. She always let me take the wooden spoon and lick off the gloopy, sweet mixture. It was part of my childhood. I can’t let Poppy miss out on this tradition. You have to take some risks in life, I rationalise, as I pass her the spoon.
‘Ooh, thank you, Mummy,’ she says, her eyes wide.
I wipe my hands on my apron and pop the tray of cookie dough into the oven. ‘Right, come on, little one. Time to get ready for nursery.’ I set the timer and we go upstairs. The gorgeous smell of baking fills the cottage. It’s incongruous against the horror-backdrop of the situation I’m in.
We still have a bit of time before we need to head out, and Poppy is engrossed in a cartoon on telly – she sulked for a full five minutes when I told her she couldn’t have Daddy’s iPad – so I finally take this opportunity and pluck up the courage to return Maxwell’s call.
‘I was beginning to think you’d dropped off the grid,’ he says. ‘You know I’ve been trying to get hold of you, don’t you?’ His strained voice sounds exhausted. I remind him, wearily, how I’ve had a lot to deal with these past few days. He somewhat huffily informs me that Tom is in a worse position, and maybe the support of his wife would go some way to helping him cope with it. I want to hang up. How dare he take the moral high ground. Poppy and I are the innocent ones in this situation. Whether Tom is innocent or guilty, this whole situation is Tom’s problem – not ours. I never even met Katie. He could be as pure as the driven snow and it wouldn’t make any difference – it’s still me and Poppy at home having to deal with his problems. I think I have every right to be angry; hurt; confused. Scared.
‘Look, I understand how hard this must be,’ he says more softly, obviously taking my silence as a sign he’s been too harsh. ‘It’s not like you saw it coming, is it? You’re well within your rights to feel a whole host of emotions right now. I want to try and help navigate both Tom and you through this.’
‘Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. You’re right – I’m all over the place. But my main priority is Poppy. Tom would want that too. He’s capable of looking after himself; Poppy isn’t.’
‘He is very worried about how this is all affecting her – and you,
of course. I want to be able to reassure him, Beth. He’s got zero control over what’s happening outside the custody suite: I’m his only link to the outside world; to his family. I have to try and keep his hope alive, however grim it’s looking.’
‘Oh? It’s looking grim?’ It’s a pointless question, I know, but I had assumed Tom’s own solicitor would at least attempt to make it sound a little positive.
‘The police have found other incriminating evidence, Beth. Still, nothing they have so far is irrefutable proof he had a hand in her disappearance, or murder, or anything else, but with all these separate things mounting up, it certainly helps keep the finger of blame firmly pointed at him.’
I let out a juddering sigh. ‘I understand. A body would be that irrefutable evidence, wouldn’t it?’
‘Depends.’ I imagine Maxwell shrugging.
‘On?’
‘Where the body has been all these years; the cause of death; whether there’s any DNA linking Tom to the body, or the scene. That sort of thing.’
‘But still – if there was a body, and they found evidence of someone else’s DNA on it, that would rule Tom out as a suspect, surely? Every other bit of evidence is purely circumstantial, and a jury couldn’t convict him on that basis. Are the police even looking for her body?’
‘One would assume so. They’ll be trying to find possible locations, but they can’t search everywhere. They’d need a strong lead to begin digging in a particular area. If, indeed, the body was buried, and not disposed of in another manner.’
‘Yes, I suppose.’ My mind wanders and I think of the places Tom and I used to visit when we lived in London. It was only a year after Katie that we got together and I moved into his flat. The flat that Katie had no doubt spent time in. I shiver at the possibilities that I can’t help imagining.
‘Anyway, another reason for my call was to let you know that Tom’s initial hearing is tomorrow. The magistrate will refer the case to the Crown Court because it’s an indictable offence he’s been charged with. There’ll be something called a plea and trial preparation hearing at the Crown Court first, hopefully within about twenty-eight days of tomorrow. Tom is entering a not guilty plea, obviously, and the way it’ll likely go is they’ll refuse bail on the same grounds as before, and he’ll be placed on remand until his trial. Any questions?’
My mind goes blank. This information dump has overloaded my tired brain; I can’t take it all in. So I just say no, I don’t have questions, and that I understand everything. Even though I do have questions, and I understand very little.
‘Okay, great. Well, call me anytime if there’s something you want me to clarify.’ The line goes quiet, and I think this means he’s hung up without saying goodbye. But then he adds, ‘Tom would really like to see you.’ And my limbs go weak.
Do I want to see him?
Chapter 41
BETH
Now
Julia isn’t at nursery; it’s her husband Matt I see instead. Maybe she is nursing a hangover after all. If I’d had someone else to bring Poppy, I’d have gladly allowed them to. Matt doesn’t stop to converse with anyone; he just drops the triplets and rushes off. Not without first casting me a withering look, though. I lower my eyes – he must know Julia spent the evening with me. Perhaps he blames me for her state this morning. Hopefully, Julia will be collecting, and I’ll be able to speak to her to get the lay of the land.
A few of the Mumsgate mums say hello, but they don’t approach me or involve me in their conversations. That’s fine by me. I need to get to work anyway to get the fresh goods on display early. I want to try and keep to my routine despite not feeling much like working. It would be far easier to go home; to bury myself beneath my duvet and allow the world to continue revolving without me.
But ‘easier’ is the coward’s way. I refuse to go down that road.
Lucy is back to her usual self; I hear her singing before I even open the door to the café. It’s a good sound: normal. Comforting. And I think that’s what I need – even if my life has been turned upside down, if my surroundings stay the same, at least when I’m out of the house I can pretend things are fine. Be in another, safer, kinder world for a while. However brief. News that Tom has been charged with murder will circulate throughout the village quickly; ‘safer, kinder’ might not last.
The singing stops as Lucy sees me.
‘Beth, hi. I wasn’t sure if you’d be in after you left early yesterday. I texted you last night, but when you didn’t respond …’
I pull my phone out of my bag and scroll through my messages. ‘Oh, sorry,’ I say as I find her text. ‘I was kind of ignoring my phone. Thanks for opening up as usual. I need to try and keep things going.’ I continue into the back room and hang my bag on the hook behind the door. Lucy has followed me in. I can sense she wants to ask me something.
‘Are you okay? I mean, like really okay?’
‘I’m trying my best to be, Lucy. It all feels so hopeless though. Tom wants to see me.’
Her eyes widen. ‘I expect he does. I guess he must be feeling very alone. Not knowing what’s going on, worrying about being sent to prison for life.’ Lucy gives a little gasp. ‘Sorry, that was insensitive of me.’
‘No, you’re right. God, it’s all such a mess. How has this even happened to us? Everything was going so well.’
‘Are you going to see him, then?’
‘I really don’t know. That’s awful of me, I know. But I can’t bear to see him like that. It would destroy me.’
‘But won’t he want to know you support him? Believe he’s innocent? You do believe that, don’t you?’
And that’s the million-dollar question, I realise.
Do I believe my husband is innocent? Is that what everyone wants to know?
She must’ve known.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Right. Best get out on the floor – shouldn’t leave the shop unattended.’ I walk back and go behind the counter, busying myself with restacking the glasses and wiping down the coffee machine.
‘A latte to go, please.’
I turn to see Adam. ‘Well, hello. Don’t usually see you around here during the day,’ I say.
‘No, I’ve popped out for a coffee break.’ He leans forwards conspiratorially and grimaces slightly. ‘I’m on a bit of a begging mission.’
‘Oh, are you?’ I raise one eyebrow and smirk.
‘Yes. And I wouldn’t usually ask favours from people – I hate being indebted – but I think you sort of offered, so I’m hoping it’s not too much to ask …’
‘Go on,’ I say, guessing what’s coming.
‘Would you possibly be able to collect Jess from nursery when you get Poppy and have her at yours until around six?’ He scrunches his eyes and puts his hands together in prayer form.
‘Is that meant to melt my heart, like a puppy-dog looking at me with its big ’ole brown eyes?’
‘Yeah, that’s the hope,’ he laughs.
I suck in a breath, giving a dramatic pause before releasing it and answering him. ‘Sure. Of course I’ll do it. And you’re right – I did offer to have Jess over for tea this week. So you don’t need to think of it as a favour and I won’t hold you to repaying the debt or anything.’
‘Thanks so much, Beth. You’re a life saver. I could’ve asked Constance, but I feel I’ve called on her a little too much lately. And I think spending time with Poppy would really help Jess.’
‘Sorted then. Just remember to inform Zoey I have permission to take her.’ I turn my back to make his latte, and when I’ve finished, I hand it over, popping a freshly made cookie into a paper bag too. ‘You must try these,’ I say, handing it to him. ‘On the house.’
‘Freebies too! I’ll come again.’
‘Well, not too often. You’ll start tongues wagging.’
‘Oh, God, do you think? Maybe I shouldn’t …’ He trails off, his face aghast.
‘No, Adam – I only meant that giving out free cookies too often will, not you bein
g here,’ I say, surprised at his reaction. But then I remember how he was when I dropped by his place to see him. He really seems concerned about gossip.
Is it that he’s just a bit sensitive? That is a good quality, I guess, but surely he can’t be that worried about what Camilla’s friends think? I wonder if there’s more to it; that maybe his intentions towards me aren’t as innocent as he makes out and he feels a bit guilty.
‘Ah, right.’ His cheeks burn with embarrassment. ‘I’m so good at reading situations,’ he says with an awkward chuckle. ‘You should see how I interpret emails and texts.’
We both laugh.
‘You’re better than you think,’ I say. ‘Now, you’d best get back to work before they think you’ve gone AWOL.’
‘Yep, I had. I’ll see you at six. And thanks again, Beth. I really appreciate this, especially given … you know.’
‘No, what?’ I say, trying to keep my expression serious.
Adam’s eyes widen, his mouth dropping open. He’s about to say something, then I can’t prevent my smile any longer and the penny drops.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Beth! I almost fell for that. Ha ha.’
I watch as he leaves, and a strange sensation stirs inside me.
I must be careful there.
Chapter 42
BETH
Now
The wind whips up as I head down the lane. I pull up my hood to shield from it – and anyone that I might see along the way. Some fallen leaves ahead of me lift and swirl, creating a vortex. I stand still watching the mini tornado, fascinated, thinking how this is a good representation of my life right now.
The hum of an approaching car pulls me out of my trance and I quickly back up to the wall to let a Land Rover go by. The passenger cranes his neck as it passes, staring at me. I don’t recognise him or the vehicle. Does he know who I am? Whose wife I am? I suppose I should get used to this kind of paranoia. I’m tempted to take my phone out of my pocket and snap a photo of the number plate, but the Land Rover disappears before I can process the thought and put it into action. It was probably nothing anyway.
