by B. A. Paris
“I can’t be here,” I say, overwhelmed by a feeling of mounting panic. Going over to the chest of drawers, I grab a pair of pajamas and some underwear then run out of the room, away from the evil I can feel seeping into my pores.
ELEVEN
“Here.” Eve holds out a mug of tea. “Drink this, and then we’ll open a bottle of wine.”
“Sorry. I don’t know why I made so much fuss about being in the bedroom.” Curled up on the pale leather sofa in her sitting room, my feet tucked under me, I realize she deserves the truth. “Actually, I do. My sister’s name was Nina, so anything to do with anyone called Nina always affects me more.”
She gives me a hug. “Oh, Alice, I’m so sorry.”
“If my sister had lived, she would have been the same age as Nina Maxwell. I know it sounds horribly dramatic but it makes me feel as if my sister has been killed twice over.”
“That, coupled with Leo not telling you about the murder, would be enough to make anyone freak out,” she says. “It’s a lot for you to cope with.”
A glass of Chablis later, I’m beginning to feel better. “What was she like?” I ask.
“Nina?” Eve takes a sip of wine. “I didn’t get the chance to know her well because we only moved here five months before she died. She was lovely, quite spiritual. As well as being a therapist, she was also a qualified yoga instructor.” She smiles. “She started our yoga group and after she died, we carried on with it, in her memory.”
I like that Nina Maxwell enjoyed yoga, because my sister had too. She had tried several times to get me to go to her class with her, but I’d always had something to do. After, I wished so much that I’d gone, even once. I also like that Nina Maxwell was a therapist; it seems she was a caring person.
“And her husband?”
“The nicest man you could hope to meet. From what I knew of him, anyway. But you never really know, do you?”
“You must have been shocked when he was arrested for her murder.”
Eve reaches toward the low glass table that is neither round nor square but an indeterminate shape, and picks up her glass. “Everyone was.” She takes a sip of wine. “We couldn’t believe it, we thought it was a case of ‘it’s always the husband until they find the real culprit.’ But then we heard he’d committed suicide.”
I remember what the investigator said about a miscarriage of justice. “And that made you think he must have killed her?”
“Yes.”
“But why?” Eve looks suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry to ask all these questions,” I say. “I’m just trying to understand. But if you prefer me not to ask, that’s fine.”
“No, it’s OK. It’s actually a relief to be able to talk about it to someone who wasn’t here at the time. It’s sort of become a taboo subject.” She pauses, thinking about my question. “Apart from there being no signs of a break-in, there were several reasons why we believed Oliver must have killed her. First, the fact that he committed suicide made us think that he couldn’t come to terms with what he’d done, because he truly loved Nina—that’s what’s so tragic. And other things came to light which made us think it was not just possible, but probable.”
“What things?”
“The first was that he lied about the time he got home that night.” She frowns, catching herself, then looks at me apologetically. “Actually, it doesn’t feel good to be repeating things I only heard second or third hand. As I said, I didn’t know Nina that well. Tamsin knew her better than I did. And Lorna was the one who witnessed everything.” Putting her glass back down, she reaches for the bottle of wine. “Here, let me top up your glass for you.”
Although I’m curious, I’m happy not to talk about the murder. I also respect her for not wanting to gossip.
“Shall we watch a film?” Eve suggests. “Something light to take your mind off things for a while?”
“Good idea,” I say.
“I don’t suppose you want to watch When Harry Met Sally, do you? I’ve only ever seen it once.”
I laugh. “Why not? I could do with something light-hearted.”
* * *
Although my mind keeps wandering back to the murder, the film keeps us occupied until Will comes home.
“Please tell me you’re not hungry,” Eve says, jumping to her feet and giving him a kiss. “Alice and I have been chatting. She’s going to stay the night, isn’t that nice?”
I can see her signaling to Will with her eyes to make him understand that there’s been a bit of a crisis.
Will shrugs off his backpack and puts it down on the floor “Very,” he says, smiling at me. “And yes, I’m hungry, I always am after rehearsing all day. Have you two eaten?”
“No,” Eve says mournfully. “Not even a bag of crisps.”
“Then how about I make a big bowl of pasta?”
She flings her arms around him. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She turns to me. “Will makes the best pasta in the world. His great-grandmother passed down her recipe for the most delicious sauce. You’re going to love it!”
“Except that if I make it from scratch, it will take two hours,” Will points out.
“Oh yes, I forgot about that.” Eve looks so crestfallen that I laugh. “All that simmering to reduce down the tomatoes.”
“Exactly. So, I’ll make a carbonara, if we have bacon.”
Eve beams at him. “We do. Would you like a glass of wine to drink while you’re cooking?”
“No, don’t worry, I’ll get myself a beer.” He heads to the kitchen. “See you in about twenty minutes.”
The sound of my cell phone ringing sends me into a panic.
“It’s Leo. I can’t speak to him, not yet.”
“Then don’t,” Eve says. “Send him a text and tell him you’re having dinner with us and that you’ll speak to him later. That will give you time to work out what you’re going to say.”
“Good idea,” I say, immediately feeling calmer.
Eve gets to her feet. “I’ll lay the table while you do that,” she says, giving me space. “Come when you’re ready.”
I message Leo and when he sends back a cheery OK, have fun! I immediately feel guilty that he has no idea of what I’m going to be saying to him when we speak. I remind myself that it’s not my fault, that he’s the one who hasn’t been upfront but it only makes me feel slightly better.
The good thing about the houses in The Circle being built to the same model is that I know exactly where Eve and Will’s kitchen is. As I walk down the hall toward it, I can hear them talking quietly together and guess that Eve is telling Will why I’m there.
“Can I help?” I ask, pushing the door open.
“Only by joining me in another glass of wine,” Eve says, taking a fresh bottle from the fridge.
They’ve made a breakfast bar where we have our table. I heave myself onto a steel bistro-style bar-stool, watching as they move around the kitchen together, Will nudging Eve every now and then, pretending that she’s getting in his way. I smile, thinking how good they are together, and then think about me and Leo. Are we good together? I used to think so. Now, I’m not so sure.
We move to the table and while we eat steaming bowls of delicious pasta, I wait for Will to say something about what has happened, and I wouldn’t mind, because maybe he’d have some insight into Leo’s psyche, come up with an explanation as to why he decided to keep something so major from me. But although I’ve relaxed a bit, because Will is brilliant at making me laugh, he doesn’t mention Leo or the murder at all.
* * *
Later, as I lie in their pretty guest room, I remember, not long ago, talking to Leo about one of my friends, who had just found out that her husband had gambled all their money away.
“You should have seen her, Leo, she’s so broken. She doesn’t know what to do, whether to stay with him or leave him. She says all the trust has gone.”
“What would you do if you were in her place?”
“If I couldn’t tru
st you, I couldn’t be with you. And if I couldn’t be with you, life wouldn’t be worth living.” I had stared deep into his eyes. “Do you see how much I love you?”
Back then, I never imagined those words would come back to haunt me. But they have, and worried about the conversation I’m going to have to have with Leo, I’m unable to sleep. He must have thought it strange that I hadn’t called him back but maybe he fell asleep before he realized. Remembering that Ginny called several times, I scrabble on the floor for my phone and send her a holding message:
Leo knew about the murder, Ben told him. I’m with Eve and Will next door. I’ll call you tomorrow xx
I manage to chase Leo from my mind but he’s replaced by Nina Maxwell. It’s hard to stop myself from thinking about what she must have endured but I eventually manage to force my thoughts away from her death, toward her life, and fall asleep wondering what sort of person she was.
PAST
“How are you?” I ask, smiling. This is her eighth session and we’ve been making excellent progress.
“I’m good,” she says. “I’m feeling much more positive about everything.”
It’s true that this is the most relaxed I’ve seen her. She was still wearing classic skirts and formal shirts at her fourth session. Today she’s wearing a pleated skirt that comes to just above her knee. Her hair is tied back, as usual, but if the last few sessions are anything to go by, it will soon be loose around her shoulders.
“Excellent,” I tell her. “I take it you’ve had a good couple of weeks?”
“Yes.” She raises a hand and pulls the elastic from her ponytail. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what we talked about last time,” she says, swishing her head from side to side, settling her newly released hair around her shoulders.
I nod approvingly. It’s taken a while, but at our last session, she finally accepted that her husband is at the root of her problems and that the only way forward, if she is to gain some inner peace, is to leave him. I wait for her to expand.
“You were going to speak to your husband,” I prompt, when she doesn’t say anything. “Could that be the reason you’re feeling better?”
She nods. “We had a long discussion, and it made me realize something. He’s not the reason for my unhappiness.”
I stifle a sigh. It is not my place to show disappointment, but it’s there, nonetheless. I draw my notepad toward me. “During our last session, you had concluded that he is,” I say, consulting the notes I’d made. I pause. “You had also made the decision to leave him.”
“I know. But everything’s different now. I’m not unhappy anymore. I don’t think I ever was, really.”
The sun is bright today, despite it being cold outside, and through the blinds, lines of light run across her face in perfect blocks.
“I think we need to explore the reason for your change of heart.”
“I think it’s just that I came to my senses.” She smiles across at me. “And I have you to thank for that.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. You said honesty was the best policy so I told Daniel how I felt—not that I wanted to leave him, but that I was unhappy—and he said that I wasn’t unhappy, I was bored. And I realized that he was right.” She fiddles with the tiny silver J, which hangs from the clasp of the white-gold Omega watch on her wrist. “I’ve never thought about getting a job because financially, I haven’t needed to. It means I have too much time on my hands—too much time to think, too much time to focus on myself when I should be looking outward, channeling my energy into helping others. Daniel suggested that I do some voluntary work and he’s already put me in touch with a couple of organizations.” She laughs. “I told you he was perfect.”
“That’s progress indeed,” I say, smiling.
“I guess I’m going to have to stop these sessions,” she says. “I feel guilty for never having told Daniel about them and I’m not sure I really need them now. On the other hand, I don’t want to undo all the good work we’ve been doing by stopping abruptly.” She looks at me anxiously. “What do you think?”
“I think a few sessions of the relaxation therapy we discussed during our first session would be a good way of transitioning out of therapy. Is that something you think you’d like to consider?”
She nods happily. “Definitely. Relaxation therapy is something that Daniel will understand.”
“Good.” I hate losing clients when I’ve put so much work into them. I check the time on my watch and stand up. “We have time for one now, if you like.”
TWELVE
“Stay as long as you like,” Will says the next morning, taking his plate and coffee cup from the breakfast bar and putting them into the dishwasher. “Just pull the door behind you when you leave.”
“Thanks,” I say gratefully.
“Are we leaving together, Eve?” he asks, pushing his shirt, which he’d been wearing loose for breakfast, into the waistband of his jeans. “Because I need to go now.”
Eve slides off her bar-stool and looks anxiously at me. “Are you sure you don’t want me to cancel my mum? She won’t mind.”
“No, it’s fine, I need to think about what I’m going to say to Leo.”
“Then yes, Will, I’m coming with you.” She gives me a quick hug. “If you need me at all, just call. You have my cell phone.”
“And we’re both here this evening,” Will adds, picking up his backpack.
“Thank you. You’ve both been so kind.”
Eve hovers. “Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I have work to do.”
But I’m too wound up to concentrate on the book I’m meant to be reading. And hurt. And insecure. For Leo to have lied to me, and about me, makes me wonder what else he might have hidden from me. I actually know very little of his life before we met. I know that he left home at eighteen because of his difficult family background and drifted from one low-paid job to another, until he realized that education was the answer to his problems. He studied hard and worked for a couple of investment management companies before setting himself up as a freelance consultant in risk management.
Needing something to do, I open my laptop and then pull out the business card Eve passed to me when she took me back to the house last night. I hold it tightly along the edges; the font is black in a block print: THOMAS GRAINGER. I type “Thomas Grainger, Private Investigator” into my search engine, to see if he’s legit. To my surprise, he is. His website is professional and discreet and his offices are in Wimbledon. I put the address into my phone. With new motivation, I begin to research Nina Maxwell’s murder. I want to know everything there is to know although I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s my subconscious telling me I’ll feel better if I have all the facts. Something to do with feeling in control, instead of completely out of control.
I read article after article, making notes as I go, but I don’t learn much more. She was killed at around 9 p.m. Her husband called 999 at approximately 9:20 p.m. to say that he’d come home from work and had found her dead in the bedroom.
My stomach churns when I remember Leo’s insistence on knocking the two bedrooms into one. “I want to change things around a bit up here,” he’d said. I bet you did, I think resentfully. I bet you wanted to change things around so that when I eventually found out about the murder, I wouldn’t be able to freak out about sleeping in the same bedroom, because essentially, it wouldn’t be the same. Except that essentially, it is.
According to one of the more detailed reports, there had been a struggle during which Nina Maxwell had put up a valiant fight before being rendered unconscious, then tied to a chair with belts from bathrobes belonging to her and her husband. As far as I could see, everything pointed to her husband being the killer.
A text arrives: Hope to be home by 7. I’ve got the Residents’ Association meeting tonight so I’ll only have time for a quick dinner. Can’t wait to see you xx
I text back: Message me when you arrive at Euston.
; Had he noticed that I didn’t put my usual two kisses? When he texts from Euston at six forty-five, I take my courage, laptop, book and bag in my hands, and go home.
Home. This is my home now, I remind myself as I put the key in the door. In the few weeks that I’ve been here, I’ve made it our home, mine and Leo’s. What’s going to happen if I can’t bring myself to stay here?
In the hall, I try to think about the happy times Nina Maxwell must have had in this house. Because she must have been happy; she’d had friends and from what Eve had said, her husband was lovely. Except that he had ended up killing her. From the photos I’ve seen of him during my research and the testimonies I’ve read, he didn’t seem capable of murder. But then, not many people do.
Determined to think of them as Nina and Oliver, rather than victim and perpetrator, I walk around the house using memories of my sister and her boyfriend to picture their life together. I imagine them in the kitchen, chatting as they made dinner, then curled up on the sofa in the sitting room, watching a film, Nina’s legs hooked over Oliver’s, living a perfectly normal life until something terrible had changed their lives forever. Just as it had my sister’s.
By focusing on Nina and Oliver as people, I manage to lose some of the anxiety that has gripped me since yesterday. Wanting to test myself, I move toward the stairs. I’m fine when I get to the landing, fine when I go into the spare bedroom; it’s just a bedroom. But when I push open the door on the other side of the landing and peer into the room beyond, all I can see is what I’ve tried to block from my mind—Nina’s lifeless body tied to a chair, her long blond hair strewn on the floor around her. The image is so vivid I can hardly breathe. Slamming the door behind me, I hurry downstairs, clutching dizzily onto the handrail. Aware that Leo will be arriving at any moment, I go to the kitchen and scoop water from the tap onto my face, then sit down at the table, waiting to find out how it is that I’m living in a house where a woman was murdered.
