The Perfect Couple

by Lisa Hall

  ‘I don’t doubt that, Em, but we don’t have any proof. Trust me, I had enough dealings with the police when Caro was alive – she’d get herself into a state, saying people were watching her. She called the police multiple times and they never did a thing.’

  ‘Oh.’ The kitten stirs on my lap, maybe reacting to the tension that makes my nerve endings sing, and I scratch behind her ears to soothe her back to sleep.

  ‘How about I get a couple of extra security cameras? Ones that I can link to your phone. And I’ll get one of those doorbells with the camera in it, too, so you don’t even have to answer the door if you don’t want to.’

  It’s not as good as Rupert rushing to my defence, telling me that of course he believes me and that we’ll slay this particular dragon together, but I guess it will have to do.

  Once we are home, Rupert disappears into the small spare bedroom to get some work done, despite the fact that the construction industry mostly shuts down for the last two weeks in December. I potter around downstairs, finding homes for the gifts we received, the kitten winding her way around my feet. Everything feels OK – I don’t get the feeling that someone has been in the house, and the telephone has stayed silent, although that doesn’t surprise me as Rupert is still home.

  Feeling at a loose end I wander upstairs to see if Rupert wants a cup of tea. Pushing open the door to the spare room, I realize it is empty, the chair behind the small desk he’s put in there shoved back towards the wall. He said he was coming up here to work, but although there is a faint blueish glow from his laptop screen, his desk is clear of paper, an empty coffee cup the only thing on the desk besides his computer. Moving quietly, I slip behind the desk, crouching over the keyboard of his laptop. The whirling motion of his screensaver casts light across my face and I nudge the mouse. If there’s a password, I’ll leave it, I think, even though I know I could probably get past it, thanks to my years in IT. But there is no password and the screen comes to life.

  It’s Caro’s Facebook page. Rupert has been looking at Caro’s Facebook page. I feel sick as I run my eyes over the screen, over her face pressed against his in the top photo. He has clicked onto her photo albums and her face dominates the screen over and over again, tiny pictures of the woman who came before me. I press my hand to my mouth, pulling in a shaky breath. Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves. My mother’s voice rings in my ears, and I can almost feel her grip on my arm as she marched me back to bed after she had caught me sitting on the stairs one night, listening to her spin lies to her latest flame. Clearly snoopers never see good things either. I hear the faint flush of the toilet, and jab at the top right-hand button to send the computer back into sleep mode.

  ‘Em? Are you OK?’ Rupert’s face is flushed as he rubs his hands together, his socked feet silent on the carpet.

  ‘Just seeing if you wanted a coffee?’ I say brightly, waving the empty coffee mug at him from the desk.

  ‘Err… yeah, OK. Thanks. I won’t be too long.’ He kisses the top of my head as I squeeze past him, and he takes his seat at the desk, not touching the keyboard until I leave the room.

  I wrap my fingers around my mug, letting the warmth soak into my cold hands as I stare out of the kitchen window. Despite what Rupert says, he’s not over Caro, and I have to face up to the fact that perhaps he never will be. Why else would he be looking at her Facebook photos? I move towards the double doors to the orangery. We don’t use this room, and as I push open the doors I am struck by the light that fills it. There is a faint hint of dust on the air, which tells me that Anya doesn’t clean in here regularly, and underneath that is the tiniest hint of nectarines. I know why we don’t use this room. It’s Caro’s room. She wanted it, and Rupert built it for her just before she died. She never even got to use it, not properly. After she died Rupert closed it off and we have an unspoken agreement that the room doesn’t get used.

  Not anymore. The words come to me as I move towards the huge windows, looking out onto the garden. Maybe we should use it, lay Caro’s ghost to rest a little. I stare into the garden, Caro’s other domain. It would have looked amazing once, when Caro was here and tending to it regularly, but now, although Rupert cuts the lawn, the bushes have been allowed to run riot and brambles fill large patches of the borders at the end of the garden.

  I gently open the door to the garden and walk out, the damp grass seeping into the end of my shoes, wetting my toes. I wander along the borders, pulling at leaves, poking into bushes trying to figure out what is supposed to be there and which is an intruder. Like me and Caro, I think. I dig my toe into the soil, enjoying the earthy scent that rises. I can do this. I can bring the garden back to life. I scan the plot, excitement fizzing in my veins. There’s a lot of work to do, and there are a couple of dead patches in the grass that I maybe need to reseed, but I can bring this garden back to its former glory. We could put in a pool, like Sadie and Miles have. I imagine the garden in the summer, a riot of colour and heady scents, as Rupert and I spread open the doors to the orangery and let the sunshine back into the house. I picture myself, bringing out trays of drinks, champagne maybe, to Will, Amanda, Sadie and Miles, just like at Sadie’s party, as Rupert flips high-end burgers on a barbecue – I look around, and there doesn’t seem to be one, but I can buy one – and we’ll all drink, and laugh, and make memories together. I imagine Sadie and I laid out on sun loungers, letting the warm summer air brush over our tanned bodies as Miles and Rupert splash with the children in the pool… maybe even mine and Rupert’s children, one day. I imagine Rupert and I sitting out on the grass on a hot summer’s evening, watching the stars come out. I imagine no more messages, no more phone calls, no more feeling as though eyes are on me. I imagine belonging.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rupert is back at work following his short Christmas break, and if he’s honest, despite the heavy work load he’s under, he’s almost relieved to be out of the house. Every time he’s been asked if he had a nice break, he’s just nodded and said how lovely it was, but in all fairness, things have been so strained between him and Emily since she opened the present on Christmas Day evening, he’s glad to escape the atmosphere at home. It doesn’t help that in a week’s time it will be a year exactly since Caro’s memorial and he’s sure Caro’s mother will be in contact.

  He hadn’t realized when he married Emily quite how different things would be compared to his life with Caro – after all, marriage is marriage, right? Wrong. Emily is completely different to Caro, and that comes as something of a relief to him. He knows he didn’t react very well on Christmas Day to the photograph appearing again, and then when Emily showed him the text message on her phone. How can he tell her that the last thing he wants is to get the police involved? The stress he felt when they descended on him after Caro died, the way they looked at him, asking questions about the most intimate parts of his life with Caro. Rupert isn’t sure he could go through that again, and he’s pretty sure that his relationship with Emily would suffer if they had to deal with the police as well. Thankfully, Emily hasn’t mentioned it again, and he’s hoping now that she has the kitten to keep her occupied, it will be enough to shed this (irrational – there, he’s said it) fear that someone is out to get them.

  Rupert had spent an hour looking over Caro’s old Facebook photos on their return home after Christmas, telling Emily that he’d had work to do. It’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to look at Caro’s pictures, guilt punching him in the stomach every time he looks at her, the curve of her jaw, the way her hair falls over one eye. The way she looked the last time he ever set eyes on her. He needed to do it, though, to remind himself that the life he’s making with Emily is the right one. She is what he was looking for, his missing piece after Caro died.

  Since they’ve been home from his parents’, the atmosphere has been strained, with both of them on their best behaviour, as if they are roommates, not a married couple. The breathing space that has been afforded to Rupert by his return to wor
k has given him a chance to think about things, and he’s come to a decision. He can’t let things with Emily go the way they did with Caro. By the time Caro died things were far from perfect between them, and he knows that a lot of it was his fault. Emily is his second chance, his chance to put right all the things that went wrong before. Looking down at the notepad on the desk in front of him, he realizes he has doodled a picture in biro of two hands joined together. A sign, surely, that deep down he knows he must make things work with Emily.

  Suddenly decisive, he snatches up the phone and dials the home telephone, drumming his fingers impatiently as he waits for Emily to answer. The voicemail kicks in and it gives him a jolt, even now, to hear Emily’s voice on the recorded message instead of Caro’s. ‘Darling, it’s me.’ He pauses a second, wondering what to say for the best. ‘Listen, I know things have been a bit… you know, but I wanted to tell you I am on your side. I’m sorry. I hate arguing with you. Let’s start again from the beginning and forget about all of this, the messages, and the photograph. I’ll come home early tonight, and we can get dinner or something. I love you.’

  Rupert keeps his word and – fending off his colleague who wants to see him for ‘five minutes’ in his office before he goes – feigns an urgent appointment as he prepares to close down his computer, bang on five o’clock. He’s just about to leave when his phone buzzes and he scrambles in his pocket for it, thinking that perhaps it is a message from Emily. He hasn’t heard back from her, so he’s assuming she got his message, and all is OK. Either that, or she’s still furious with him and her bags are packed. It isn’t a message from Emily. It is a message request on his Facebook account. Curious, Rupert sinks back down into his office chair, with a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his boss is nowhere in sight and opens the message.

  Sorry for the intrusion. I understand you recently married Emily Beaumont. I would like to meet with you urgently to discuss a few things – it really is in your best interest. Regards, Henry Carpenter.

  Henry Carpenter. Rupert isn’t one hundred per cent sure, but he thinks perhaps this might be Emily’s Harry – after all, Harry and Henry are interchangeable, aren’t they? But Emily Beaumont? Emily’s maiden name is Belrose. Rupert has seen her birth certificate, and it definitely doesn’t say Beaumont. He toys with replying for a moment, but he can’t think what to say. He gets up and pushes his office door shut, suddenly convinced that his boss or one of his colleagues will make an appearance and he just needs quiet for a moment so he can think about this. The message is intriguing, but only if it really is for him, and given that he doesn’t know Harry’s surname, and that Emily’s maiden name is wrong, he has to assume it isn’t for him. And, a voice whispers at the back of his mind, Emily is your second chance to get things right, remember? You’re building a new life together, moving on from what happened with Caro. You’re starting over. Be honest with yourself Rupert, you don’t want this message to be for you. Decision made, he brings up the message and taps out a quick reply.

  Sorry, I think you have the wrong person. I don’t know anybody called Emily Beaumont.

  Satisfied that the message has been dealt with, Rupert snatches up his phone and wallet and shrugs on his coat. He’s already decided that he won’t mention the message to Emily – he truly does want a fresh start, and if he’s honest, a protective streak has kicked in. Emily has been through enough with her ex-boyfriend, she doesn’t need anything else to get paranoid about, and anyway, the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks that Henry Carpenter must have contacted him by mistake. The more he wants to think it’s a mistake.

  When he leaves the building, it is dark, the weather squally with sheets of rain being blown across the pavement by the strong north-westerly wind. A storm is on its way, and Rupert hurries along the pavement towards the tube station, his head down to avoid getting poked in the eye by wayward inside-out umbrellas that some commuters insist on carrying despite the fact they don’t do a jot of good. He battles his way inside the tube station, remembering now why he doesn’t usually leave work this early – the rush hour is in full swing and he has to force his way onto the platform.

  As he stands waiting for the train, he swears he can feel the prickle of eyes on the back of his neck. A bead of sweat inches its way down under his collar and he rubs his hand over the back of his neck. Paranoid, he thinks, with a little internal laugh. Emily’s jumpiness is rubbing off on him. Or maybe it’s the Facebook message. Rupert fumbles in his coat pocket, squeezing the phone out in the tiny space between him and the commuter next to him, but the screen is blank and shows no signal. Of course, there’s no signal, not this far underground.

  He feels the prickle of eyes on him again, and he turns slightly, craning his neck to see over the swarm of people that crowd the platform. No one is looking at him, all eyes are on phones, or peering down the tunnel to see the tell-tale light of the approaching train. He shakes himself, tutting under his breath at his idiocy, as the rumble of the tracks and the rush of warm air tells him that a train is approaching. He steps neatly one step to the left and front, to squeeze into a tiny gap between a tall man who is sweating profusely under a bowler hat, and an overweight woman with a large bag slung over one arm, in the perfect position to rush the open doors as soon as possible.

  Definitely a mistake. And Rupert shrugs the message from his mind, instead thinking only of Emily.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As Rupert goes back to work and we settle into our normal everyday routine, I try to push away the thought of Caro, and the image of Rupert sitting upstairs scrolling through her pictures. Lola has also settled well into the house, and Rupert was right, having a tiny little furry body following me around all day has definitely made me feel less lonely.

  Today, I’m following through on my promise to myself and starting on the garden. I’ve spent hours sketching up plans of how I want it to look, and it’s been good to exercise my brain. Maybe, I think, I could go back into IT. Now everything has died down between me and Harry, maybe I could do something from home. I’d be working under a different name, so there’s a chance people wouldn’t even realize I’m back.

  Humming to myself, I change into old clothes and head downstairs to make a start outside with the plants I picked up from the garden centre yesterday, all stacked neatly to one side on the drive. Yanking the front door open, I step out and shriek, as my foot almost lands in a sticky, congealed mess.

  ‘Jesus.’ I press my hand against my chest, feeling my heart thudding frantically beneath my thin flannel shirt. Leaning down, I examine the bundle of blood and gore, deducing from the ragged feathers and remains of a beak that it was once a bird. Nausea washes over me, and I have to swallow back the saliva that fills my mouth. Don’t puke, Emily. I hold my hand over my mouth, anxiously peering up the drive and out onto the road to see if someone is loitering. The road is empty, and there is a chirrupy purr as Lola saunters around the corner looking very pleased with herself. She sits next to the mangled mess and starts to wash.

  ‘Lola, you naughty thing.’ My heart rate slows to its usual rate as I realize it’s nothing sinister, just the cat acting on her instincts. I scoop up the bird between two pieces of cardboard and throw it in the bin, stopping to pick up Lola on my way back into the house. ‘You gave me a fright.’ The cat yawns and struggles against my shoulder so I set her down and she pads off on silent paws and heads to her bed in the living room.

  I work solidly for hours, lugging the heavy boxes of plants down the side path into the garden, weeding and hacking at the bushes until everything starts to resemble more of a garden than a jungle. I sing along to a Spotify playlist as I work, old songs that remind me of my mum, when it was just the two of us. Before husband number two, then three, four, five… you get the picture. I leave one headphone dangling loose, so I am not completely cut off – I still feel a little jumpy, and to have my hearing blocked completely makes me feel vulnerable – but I still jump and utter a sharp shriek, dr
opping a trowel on my toes as I glimpse movement out the corner of my eye.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Sadie appears, immaculate in a silk jumpsuit and jacket, completely inappropriate for the damp winter chill. ‘I tried the front door, but no one answered so I let myself in the side gate. I hope that’s OK.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry, I had these in.’ I gesture to the headphones and get to my feet, my knees creaking from being stuck in one position all morning. ‘I’m just sorting the garden out. I thought it might be nice to get it ready in time for the spring.’

  ‘You could get a gardener to do that.’ Sadie eyes my muddy leggings distastefully and I feel a hot flush working its way to my cheeks.

  ‘I could… but I wanted to do it myself, for Rupert. Caro kept a nice garden apparently, so I thought he might be missing it.’ I toe one of the patches of dead grass, reminding myself that I need to see to it. ‘I was thinking maybe we could put a pool in? Not a huge one, but somewhere here…’ I wave my arms in a vague circle, ‘it’s not too far from the orangery, and I thought it would be relaxing for Rupe, especially in the summer when he’s cooped up in the office all day. What do you think?’

  ‘Well, if that’s what you want.’ Sadie shrugs. The idea of a swimming pool is clearly not a big deal to her. ‘If you can handle them digging up the garden when you’ve just planted all this… but yes, I suppose Rupert does love using our pool. And you have the space.’ She shivers dramatically in her thin jumpsuit and scrubs her hands over her arms.

  ‘Do you want to go in and put the kettle on? I just need to seed these bits where the grass doesn’t seem to grow properly and then I’ll be in.’

  Sadie looks relieved to have a reason to get inside, and she scurries in through the orangery door with only the slightest of pauses. I sprinkle the seeds and then stand back to survey my work. Not bad for a first day, I think, a tug of pride nudging a smile onto my face. I can’t wait to see Rupert’s face when he gets home.