I consider the suitcase, clothes trailing out of it from all directions, as if a bomb has gone off inside. Underneath a crumple of leopard-print fabric, a smooth silver rectangle poking out of the top catches in my eye, a white plug and wire wrapped around it. It looks exactly like Daniel’s laptop. The one that’s gone missing.
I try to remember when it disappeared. A sick feeling gathers in my stomach. Surely not.
I set the mugs carefully back down on the chest of drawers, the plates beside them. With an effort, I lower myself down to the floor, first one knee, then the other. I extract the laptop from the suitcase, unwrap the wire from around it, and switch it on. It blinks into life, a generic loading screen. A scratch on the keypad that I’m sure I recognise.
The little blue bar is inching across the screen. It’s taking ages. She’s probably only gone out for cigarettes. She could be home any moment. I look around the room, in an effort not to focus on it, as if that might make it go faster.
But then I hear a key in the door.
‘Helen? It’s me!’
Rachel. I slam the laptop down, wrap the wire round again, shove it back in her suitcase. It’ll have to wait. But as I stuff it back in, something else falls out. Something red.
‘Helen, are you upstairs?’
I can hear Rachel’s footsteps on the stairs – she never, ever takes her shoes off. I grab the thing that fell out, snatch it up quickly. As I turn it over, my breath catches in my chest.
A small, crimson envelope, with nothing inside it. Just like the one I found at Rory and Serena’s. But this cannot be the one that went missing from my book. Because this one doesn’t have Rory’s initials on the envelope. This one bears just a single initial on the front.
W.
HELEN
‘Just tidying,’ I say, as she reaches the landing. My arms are full of mugs. We eye each other for a moment. I try to disguise my breathlessness.
‘Oh yeah,’ she says. ‘Sorry. There’s some plates in there, too.’ She pauses. ‘I’ll get them.’
I step to the side to let her pass, our eyes still locked. She walks past me, slowly, into her room, looking back at me as she closes the door in my face. The envelope feels hot in my pocket.
In the kitchen afterwards, I put the mugs in the sink, run the tap on hot, my heart still pounding. I try to explain it another way in my mind. But I can’t. The envelope was exactly the same size and colour, as the one I found in Rory and Serena’s bathroom. But if she is the other person – if she is W – then she knows Rory. She knows my brother. But how? What is she up to?
I pray that Daniel will be home early, that I’ll be able to talk to him about it. But he messages to say he will be late, again. I am stuck with her. Should I confront Rachel? Something tells me I shouldn’t. Not while I am on my own with her.
I hope she will stay upstairs, but as soon as she hears me cooking, she appears in the kitchen, wearing her pink velour jogging bottoms and a pair of Daniel’s old socks.
‘Are you doing carbonara? My favourite! Thanks! Shall I put that film on?’
We end up watching the whole of Sliding Doors together, even though it is on ITV so there are adverts to sit through and it doesn’t finish until late. I watch her, her black hair all wet from another bath, as she coils long, sticky threads of my spaghetti around her fork and shoves them into her mouth, eyes glued to the television. As soon as she sets her bowl aside – onto the sofa, nearly tipping grease all over the cushions – Monty leaps into her lap. She tickles him and he bats at her hand occasionally, but he doesn’t let his claws come out. For some reason, he seems to love her.
‘Cats,’ she yawns, turning to look at me. ‘They don’t give a fuck, do they?’ There are little smudges of pasta sauce at the corners of her mouth. She reaches for my hand, squeezes it.
‘This is so nice, Helen,’ she says. ‘Thanks so much. You’re a good friend.’
For a moment, I feel genuinely touched. I think how nice it is, not to be alone. To be watching something I would actually choose, instead of another of Daniel’s police dramas. But then I remember. The note. And the laptop. I’ve just caught her stealing from us, for God’s sake! Passing love notes to my married brother! Any normal person would have thrown her out. Yet here I am, playing best friends with her.
The envelope – the W – it can’t just be a coincidence. But why would she be exchanging notes with Rory, unless … unless something was going on between them? I glance down at the bump in her lap. I feel my stomach churn, like when I was first pregnant. The feeling of seasickness, except you’re on dry land, and nothing will make it stop. Who is she, this girl, curled up on the sofa with my cat? What has she done?
I decide to check her suitcase again, as soon as she goes out. The film drags on; the baby shifts in my belly. I change position, then again. I wait for her to fall asleep on the sofa, or go out to the 24-hour shop for cigarettes, like she would usually do. But she doesn’t do either. When the credits start rolling, she stretches extravagantly, arching her back, her arms in the air. Monty leaps off her lap.
‘I think I’ll call it a night.’
She trails up to her room, leaving her dirty bowl abandoned. She closes the door. As I wash up, little blasts of pop music start to blare intermittently through the ceiling.
HELEN
After I found the laptop, and the envelope, I wasn’t able to sleep. I lay on my side, the baby kicking softly, until Daniel finally got home. When he came into the bedroom, I told him I’d been thinking about what he said, and that he was right. We needed to talk to Rachel. Ask her what her plans are.
I decided not to tell him about the things I’d found. He’d have gone mad about the laptop, blamed me for letting a thief into our house. This way was just easier. As I predicted, he didn’t ask why I’d changed my mind. He just seemed pleased and kissed me goodnight. He fell asleep far more quickly than I did.
When I wake the next morning, I can hear that Rachel is in the bath downstairs. I pull on my dressing gown, head to the kitchen, make myself a cup of herbal tea. When she eventually emerges, Rachel is wearing a towel of mine around her body and another on her head.
I tell her I will make us all some breakfast.
‘Lovely,’ she says. ‘Anything I can do?’
I glance down at her. ‘Don’t you want to get dressed?’
She shakes her head, grinning. A flash of pointed teeth. ‘I’m fine like this,’ she says. ‘I’ll make the eggs.’
When Daniel arrives in the kitchen, I have finished the bacon and toast, set plates on the table for all three of us, with glasses of orange juice. Rachel is still leaning absent-mindedly against the sideboard, cracking eggs into a bowl without looking properly, so that the whites are dripping down the sides, tiny pieces of shell flecked in the mixture. She has started reading a magazine, which she has placed next to the bowl.
Daniel walks straight past her, without saying good morning. ‘I’ll just have bacon,’ he mutters.
‘Me too,’ I sigh.
We both sit down at the table. Daniel starts to butter pieces of toast rhythmically, in horizontal lines. He looks at me, then at Rachel, and then back again.
‘Rachel, why don’t you come and sit down?’ I suggest, when she doesn’t join us.
Rachel looks up, closes her magazine. ‘Oh, sorry. I was miles away.’ She sits down and takes the piece of toast that Daniel has just buttered, spears a piece of bacon onto her fork. ‘Thanks,’ she says. She takes the ketchup and empties it onto her plate, a huge red pool. The smell makes my stomach churn.
‘Rachel, we were wondering.’ My voice is reedy, my mouth slightly dry. ‘How are you getting on with finding somewhere else to live?’
‘Oh, really good actually!’ Rachel looks up, smiles at us. Daniel and I are silenced.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah! I found a flat. It’s great. And they said I can move in really soon.’
I glance at Daniel. I don’t remember her going to any flat viewings.
/> ‘That’s great, Rachel.’ I pause. ‘When … When exactly did they say you could move in?’
Rachel opens her mouth wide, presses her bacon sandwich inside, tomato ketchup seeping from the bread. ‘Oh,’ she says through a mouthful of bacon, ‘um, like mid-November?’
I try to gauge Daniel’s reaction. He is frowning slightly. I suspect that, like me, he is unsure quite how to react. On the one hand, the fact that she is moving out – that we don’t have the anticipated battle on our hands – is unexpectedly good news. On the other, that means two and a half more weeks with her in our house. It feels like a lifetime.
‘Listen,’ Rachel says, wiping her face, looking from me to Daniel, then back to me again, ‘you’ve both been so nice to let me stay. Thanks so much.’ She glances at Daniel, her eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I’ll keep out of your hair for the next couple of weeks.’ She waves her hand in the air. ‘You won’t even notice me. I swear.’
Daniel looks away. Nods. ‘All right,’ he says eventually.
Rachel beams. Then, before I can say anything, there is a knock on the door.
SERENA
Helen is leaning on the kitchen counter, fiddling with the pile of napkins, avoiding my gaze. ‘I suppose I just wish you hadn’t invited her tonight, that’s all,’ she mutters.
‘I’m sorry, Helen. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to. Could you pass that bowl, please?’
I am not really listening to Helen. I am thinking about the canapés, and whether we’ve ordered enough lamb racks, and whether I should have bought that second case of champagne, and how many people might want elderflower instead. I am keeping an eye on the pale sky, checking whether it looks like rain. Counting napkins, squeezing ice cubes into the water jugs.
I hadn’t intended to go round this morning. God knows I had enough to do. But Helen had been asking for ages to borrow a book I’d been reading about hypnobirthing, and as I was passing her house I realised I had it in my bag.
When I’d knocked on the door, it wasn’t Helen that answered. Or Daniel. It was her. That pale face, black hair, that strange smile showing off little pointed teeth, that sticky-out bump. For a mad moment, I wondered whether it was my body wash she had been using – the entire hallway smelled of rosemary.
‘Hello, Serena.’
She had one of Helen’s fluffy white towels twisted on her head like a turban. Another was tied around her like an indecently short dress. I’d glanced over her shoulder, hoping Helen or Daniel might arrive with an introduction, an explanation. Rachel had tilted her head to one side, shaken her wet hair free of the towel.
‘Are you here to see Helen?’
She asked it as if this was her house, too – as if it were equally possible I’d come over wanting to see her. She twisted her hair up with her finger, piling it onto the top of her head, revealing a pattern of angry purple marks around her pale throat. I winced. They looked painful. As I followed her into the kitchen, I saw that they spread all the way around the back of her neck.
Once we reached the kitchen, Rachel turned to look at me, as if she’d caught me staring, even though she couldn’t possibly have seen. The room smelled of bacon. Helen and Daniel were sitting at the table. When they saw me, they looked up as if they were being held hostage.
‘We’re all having breakfast,’ Rachel said. ‘Can I get you a coffee? I was just about to make one.’ I noticed the skin around her eyebrows was red, as if she’d been plucking them. They were pencil-thin.
Rachel flicked the coffee machine on and reached up into a cupboard for mugs. I sat down next to Helen. ‘Hi, darling.’ I had to raise my voice above the sound of Rachel grinding and banging at the coffee machine, the hiss of steam. ‘I just came to drop that book off.’
‘Thanks,’ Helen said. ‘That’s so nice of you.’ She paused, glanced sideways towards the coffee machine. ‘This is Rachel.’
‘We’ve met,’ Rachel trilled. She started placing coffees in front of us all. ‘Just now, I mean,’ she added quickly. ‘Sorry, there wasn’t much milk. Let me see if I can find some sugar.’ Helen took her cup and peered into it warily, before placing it back down on the table. While Helen was distracted, Rachel shot me a theatrical wink.
I took the book out of my bag, slid it across the table. ‘This is the one you wanted, isn’t it?’ Helen didn’t reply. She was staring at Rachel’s wet hair, which had fallen out of the twist and was now hanging lank over her shoulders, dripping puddles onto the kitchen tiles. I saw Helen’s eyes trace the line of watery footprints that had followed Rachel from the stairs, down the hallway and back into the kitchen. I tried a different subject.
‘I didn’t know your bathroom was finished, Helen.’
Helen opened her mouth to answer, but Rachel had got there first.
‘Oh my God, it’s a-ma-zing.’ She grinned at us both. ‘Best bath ever. It’s so comfy!’
This was odd. I tried to catch Helen’s eye again, but couldn’t. Daniel had picked up the sports pages, and was holding them out in front of him so that I couldn’t see his face, like a child attempting to hide.
‘Well.’ I eased myself off a stool, deciding that whatever was going on here, I’d be best off out of it. I smiled at Helen, as if this had all been lovely, rather than hideous. ‘I’ll see you at Rory’s birthday dinner tonight – right?’
‘Yes,’ she said, glancing nervously at Rachel. ‘Of course.’
Rachel’s head had popped up.
‘Oh, are you doing something tonight? Helen didn’t say.’
We both stared at Rachel. I tried not to react.
‘Just a dinner, for my husband’s – Helen’s brother’s – birthday.’
‘Oh,’ Rachel said. ‘I see. Quiet night in for me then, I suppose.’
I glanced at Helen. Her cheeks and neck had coloured, and she was staring down at her breakfast plate. The silence was too much to bear. It had felt unavoidable.
‘You’d be very welcome, Rachel. If you’re not doing anything.’
‘Great.’ Rachel said, grinning. ‘That sounds lovely. Thanks, Serena. Can’t wait.’ Helen looked up at me in horror. But by then, it was too late.
Now Helen has arrived, hours early, alone. She is lingering in the kitchen with me, nibbling at her thumbnail. I decide to give her a job. ‘Please could you set out some more champagne glasses?’
This is not really necessary, but it is the only thing I can think of for her to do. Helen always likes to come early and help when we are having a dinner. I always tell her there is no need, but she invariably insists. I am not entirely sure why she does this. Perhaps she believes it confers on her a special status, like a co-host.
‘Is Rachel coming later, then?’ I ask her.
Helen doesn’t reply. She seems to be unable to set out the glasses without clinking them together. Sooner or later, she is going to smash something.
‘Helen? What is it?’
I look at her in her maternity party dress, teetering on her uncomfortable heels. Her ankles are swollen, her belly enormous. She looks rather unhappy. In fact, she looks like she might be about to cry.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mutters. A single fat tear rolls down one cheek, and she paws at it miserably. There is the sound of a knock on the door.
I go to Helen’s side, hold her hand.
‘Rory will get it, don’t worry,’ I tell her. ‘Do you want to sit down?’
‘I’m OK.’
I sigh. ‘What are you upset about?’
Helen shrugs hopelessly. ‘It’s Rachel,’ she says, burying her head in her hands. ‘I think maybe I made a mistake, saying she could stay with us.’
‘I did wonder what all that was about this morning. She’s your new friend from the antenatal class, right? Why is she staying with you, all of a sudden? How long for?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, how long has she been there?’
‘Only about a week or so,’ Helen murmurs. ‘She just turned up one night.’ She rubs her eye
s. ‘It was the night of our anniversary. I thought she was in some kind of trouble. Did you see those marks on her neck?’
‘You can hardly miss them. What happened to her?’
‘Well, she wouldn’t say exactly but … she was so upset. I felt so bad for her. I felt I couldn’t say no.’
‘I can see that,’ I say carefully. ‘But now – what? She’s driving you both bonkers?’
Helen laughs half-heartedly. ‘No – I mean, well, yes – she is – but it’s more than that.’ Her face clouds over. She brings a cardigan cuff to her mouth, starts chewing on a thread. ‘The thing is, I think – I know this sounds mad, but – I feel like she might have another reason for being here.’
‘What do you mean, another reason?’
Helen looks away, colour rising to her cheeks. She places her hands together, as if in prayer, drops her head. A confession is coming.
‘I know I shouldn’t have, OK,’ she mumbles into her sleeve, ‘but I went into the room where she’s staying and looked in her suitcase.’ She flicks me a guilty glance.
I shrug. ‘And what?’
‘And …’ She stops, covers her mouth, as if she doesn’t want to let the words out.
I try to sound firm. ‘Helen, what was in her suitcase? What are you worried about?’
Helen winces.
‘Serena, I think Rachel might … I think …’
Just then, I hear Rory. ‘Only a delivery,’ he calls. ‘You know, darling, I think I will pop out and get more champagne.’ I can tell without looking that Rory is studying himself in the hallway mirror, smoothing his hair down at the sides. When he steps into the kitchen, he sees Helen.
‘Ah, sis!’ He grins widely, plants a kiss on Helen’s cheek. Helen closes her eyes. ‘Where’s my present?’ Rory jokingly pokes her in the ribs. She makes a stab at a laugh but manages only a sort of cough. She brushes at her eyes with her cuff. Rory looks at my face, then back to Helen. His smile wilts slightly. ‘What are you two looking so serious for?’
Helen straightens her spine, shakes her head.
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