I encourage the steady stream of visitors at home because without distractions, my thoughts threaten to tip me over the edge. I consider calling Christian for an emergency phone consultation, but no one can help me but me. I must keep busy.
On Sunday, I announce that I have a surprise. I bought Felix and Em new outfits online in colours that suit their complexions and Stuart a new T-shirt, which I ask them all to wear.
‘Let’s go outside, guys!’
It’s a beautiful afternoon, a good sign. It’s so nice to feel in control of something, I feel almost manic with joy. I prepare a picnic with all the children’s favourites. I even buy some meat sausage rolls to show that I’m being open and happy to compromise.
I lay the table outside, creating a magazine-perfect picture. The crockery and napkins match (peach, Emily’s favourite colour at the moment). I fill two jugs of water, one plain for the children, adding freshly cut slices of lime to the other. The tablecloth edges waft gently every time a slight breeze picks up.
My phone rings: Greg.
‘I’m outside your front door,’ he says.
I let him in with all his camera equipment and show him out to the back.
‘Right, everyone, Greg has come to take some informal portraits of us all,’ I say with a grin I’ve seen so many times on children’s TV presenters. ‘The sooner it’s done, the sooner we can have our yummy picnic with lots of special treats!’
‘What’s all this about?’ says Stuart.
The T-shirt is too tight on him; having me looking after him has made him regain all the weight he lost after Nina’s death.
‘I’ve asked Greg to take some new family portraits,’ I say. ‘They’re overdue. We need Jack and Goldie in them.’
‘I’m not keen on the guy,’ Stuart says under his breath.
‘Well, he’s here now,’ I say. ‘It’s too late to send him away.’
Perhaps Stuart did suspect or sense that there was something going on between him and Nina.
Greg has a surprisingly authoritative voice while he’s working and does not come across as the sort of person that anyone would want to disagree with, which is a relief as neither Stuart, Felix, Emily, Jack nor Goldie are acting thrilled with the impromptu photo shoot. Their sulky expressions (not Jack or Goldie, of course) grate.
By the time it’s over, even I’m glad. It’s hard being on the other side of the camera – I don’t think I’ve ever fully appreciated that. It will make me a better, more patient photographer when I return to work. The children are hungry. They pile a random assortment of food onto their plates. Goldie hangs around, ever-hopeful that the children will feed her something under the table.
Greg declines my offer to eat with us, thankfully (Stuart invented an excuse to escape almost as soon as the final picture had been taken), so I accompany him back to his car.
‘Thanks, Greg. Any chance you could get these to me as soon as possible, please?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
He loads his bags into the boot. This is my opportunity to talk to him.
‘I know it’s none of my business, but . . .’
‘You want to know why Camilla and I broke up?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re right, it is none of your business. I thought I could make it work with her, but I have too much baggage. I do have something to tell you, though. I’ve been trying to hold it in or time it properly, but I’ve realized that there’s no perfect time or way.’
My heart thuds.
‘I’m all ears.’
‘There really is no easy way to say this, but, Marie, Nina was a murderer.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘What on earth makes you say such a thing? Who, exactly, did Nina murder?’
‘Because it’s true.’ He doesn’t answer my second question.
‘Why do you think Nina was a murderer?’
‘She told me.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Not in so many words. But who goes looking for the relatives of some guy they hardly knew when you’ve had a terminal medical diagnosis? Something didn’t add up. She spun some story, but it failed to convince me.’
‘What was the story?’
‘That she was on holiday with you and Camilla and a bloke went missing. She felt bad for his family and it was something that had always preyed on her mind.’
‘Yes, that’s true. But it doesn’t sound like much to me. What good would it do raking over it? Think of her children.’
‘That’s what she said to me when I started probing.’
‘Well, then. You definitely told me in your office that you did some work for her but hadn’t reached a conclusion.’
‘I wasn’t sure of all my facts then, hadn’t quite put everything together.’
‘As you know, I was on that holiday as well, and believe me, it was a tragic accident. If that wasn’t the case, it would’ve been investigated more thoroughly at the time.’
He falls silent.
‘Do you know how long I’ve waited to have a family? I love Felix and Emily as if they were my own. I promised Nina I’d look out for them.’
The look he gives me isn’t pleasant. ‘I thought you’d be on my side. But it seems you’ve known all along and, worst of all, you seem to find it acceptable. I had you down as a person of integrity.’
‘We do need to talk. There’s a lot I can maybe help you understand. Charlie, the man whose relatives she was looking for, was my boyfriend. I loved him. She was trying to help me.’
‘I know what I know,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure, but then Camilla filled in the blanks. Inadvertently, admittedly. There was just too much that was a coincidence. She said that the two of you had fallen out over a man. I was curious as to why she showed up at your house that time and joined the book group. I could sense a story straight away. Maybe I should’ve pursued a career in journalism – I have a sixth sense when people are trying to hide things. I did consider it before I became a PI.’
‘Are you trying to tell me that you targeted Camilla deliberately?’
‘No. But it helped that she provided the missing pieces of the information.’
‘Did you and Nina . . .? What I’m trying to say, was she the woman you loved?’
‘Yes. We clicked immediately. But . . . she was married, unhappily, but she said that her husband had a hold over her. And the only way she could make amends for a mistake she’d made was to stick it out with him. She didn’t love him.’
‘Yet you moved here to be close to her?’
‘She wasn’t happy about it at first, but she came round. We only slept together once more after I moved. It happened so naturally and unexpectedly. We went out for a walk together. I intended to take photos of the bluebells. Nina longed to paint them. There were carpets of blue – we both agreed that we’d never seen them look so stunning. We got carried away, we couldn’t stop.’
‘I get the overall picture, thanks. Think about what you’ve just told me. Can’t you see, Greg, when you talk about integrity, sometimes it’s not that simple?’
He ignores me. ‘We knew it was wrong, that she’d never leave Stuart, but I hoped. And then it was too late. She came to me for help, so I gave it, willingly, because I respected her and had feelings for her. But I didn’t know the real her, it turns out. It made me feel like I’d been lied to or misled.’
For someone who gave me such a live and let live lecture in his office, he is very judgemental.
Greg hates books where the villain gets away with it. He likes bad people to get their just deserts. He believes in an eye for eye. He believes in vengeance.
‘This isn’t a novel, Greg. You’ve got conspiracy theories about actual people with real lives who could be gravely impacted. Children, I’m talking about.’
He doesn’t budge. If I don’t accompany him to a police station (‘which will, long-term-wise, help you, Marie. You really don’t need to be an accessory by keeping s
ilent’), he’ll go alone.
‘I’m being cruel to be kind, Marie. One day you’ll thank me. The longer you ignore this, the worse it will get.’
‘You’ve got this all wrong, Greg. You’re going to get done for wasting police time. I’m sure there’s nothing they can do about an alleged historic crime abroad, possibly caused by someone who has passed away. It will just cause grief for her family. And me. I thought we were friends.’
‘If you knew she’d done absolutely nothing wrong, you wouldn’t be trying to buy time. Do the right thing. I can’t keep such damaging knowledge inside my own head for much longer. It’s unhealthy and stressful. On top of that, her accomplice, or silent witness, whichever you’d prefer, is Camilla.’
Good Lord. Who does he think he is?
‘There’s guilt in silence,’ he says. ‘It gives away more than people realize.’
He’s not wrong. If Charlie’s accident had been genuine, I believe that Camilla and Nina would’ve tried to get help and spoken up about what happened. Their guilt was most definitely in their silence.
I try a change of subject.
‘Greg, did you put all those horrible notes through the door? Was it to scare me off? Was the camera a ploy to throw me off your scent?’
‘No, but I do know that it was Tamsin.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I saw her putting something through your letterbox one evening.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it. Believe me or don’t believe me. It doesn’t bother me either way. I thought you’d like to have it confirmed on camera, proper proof and all that. I’m sorry that hasn’t been the case so far. One more thing before I go . . . Tamsin did voice her disgust to me, and others, on more than one occasion regarding you and Stuart moving on so swiftly.’
I watch him drive away, wishing he was leaving our lives for good.
Holding Jack in my arms, I say goodnight to Emily and switch off her light.
‘Marie?’ she says into the darkness.
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Are the photos Greg took going to be better than the last ones?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He took pictures of me, Mummy and Felix when he was still practising, but Mum said they weren’t his best.’
Goose bumps snake down my arms. ‘When was this, darling?’
‘A long time ago. He had a beard then. He made us say “pizza”, not “cheese”.’
‘Can you remember what you were wearing?’
She shrugs.
‘How about if I show you a photo?’
‘OK.’
My legs are weak as I walk down the stairs and remove the first ever anonymous picture I received through the letterbox (of Nina and the children) from my evidence collection. Back upstairs, I show it to Em.
‘Yeah, that’s the one he took.’
‘Thanks, darling. You’ve been a great help.’
I feel such a surge of affection for her. I’ve been too harsh in judging her. She’ll go far, she has a natural energy and curiosity about her that I must nurture and appreciate more.
Why is Greg trying to frame Tamsin for something he’s done?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I’m trapped by all my unwise past choices. As much as I hate what Camilla (and Nina) did, Greg doesn’t have the right to make that decision. One thing makes perfect sense: I cannot allow Greg to break my promise to Nina. She trusted me to protect her reputation for the sake of her (now my) family. If Camilla is investigated for this, she’ll pin all the blame onto Nina because she isn’t here to defend herself. Clearly, she’s spun Greg a version where Nina played a greater role than she did.
An accomplice indeed! Jack does not need to be connected (however loosely) to something so negative and potentially harmful so early on in his life.
I take several walks a day, sometimes with Jack in his buggy, but mostly in his baby-sling, which slows me down as I stop every few minutes to check that he’s breathing. This morning, after school drop-off (it’s wonderful to be back into some kind of routine), I’m braving a longer walk with Goldie by my side. As I head towards the main part of the village, a bird thrashes in a beech tree, making me jump as I exit the pathway.
I bump into Clare and Ellie from my antenatal class pushing a designer buggy with a beige canopy. They both look tired, yet so normal. They had a boy, too, also named Jack.
It’s the first time I’ve met their Jack and vice versa, so we are all obliged to go through the baby introductions and the obligatory sharing of sympathy when it comes to sleep deprivation.
‘Let’s catch up properly next week,’ says Ellie. ‘Florence from the group is going to organize a picnic in the park.’
‘Sounds good,’ I say automatically.
Ellie looks completely fine, serene, even. She does not look traumatized by something as natural as giving birth. Which means that there’s definitely something wrong with me. I turn back.
Camilla is sitting on our back doorstep, waiting for me, clearly desperate for yet another furtive chat.
‘I feel like a sitting duck,’ she says.
I open the door and we walk into the kitchen. ‘We do need to do something. He blamed Tamsin for the creepy messages, but something Emily said makes me think it was him all along.’
I outline my plan.
‘Have you gone out of your mind?’ Camilla says. ‘This will make things worse! We’ll never get away with it.’
I quite like the fact that she doesn’t watch what she says around me. Everyone else avoids certain words which may imply that I’m not coping as well as Nina did. Camilla does no such thing. It’s strangely refreshing and comforting to be around someone with no filter, someone who doesn’t treat me as if I’m fragile.
‘All we have to do is threaten him, make him see that he really has no choice but to shut up.’
‘It’s blackmail,’ she says.
‘Well, come up with a better idea. I’m trying to help. Surely you can think of a reason you need to go round to his office? How hard can it be? I’ll come out of this situation mostly all right. You, on the other hand . . .’
‘Yes, I know. He’s trying to have me investigated for murder.’
‘Well then, even better. You have a perfectly valid reason to visit him. Persuade him he’s got it wrong. Use your imagination.’
‘OK, I’ll do it,’ she says. ‘I don’t have a choice. What am I looking for?’
‘Client records we could threaten to leak to make his business lose credibility or, better still, proof that he was behind all the threatening cards. We received a ridiculous plaque-type thing as an anonymous wedding gift. While not threatening, it may help prove something.’
‘Greg is not stupid,’ she says. ‘If he’s gone to all the trouble of executing some malicious campaign to scare you, he’s not going to use a traceable debit card to buy them or nip down to the local convenience store to be served – and remembered by – Mrs Miller, is he?’
‘Fair point, but he’ll have slipped up somewhere.’
I hope.
‘I doubt it. He wouldn’t be so keen to run off to the police if he thought he’d get caught, too. He’s a private investigator. He must have loads of nifty techniques.’
‘Didn’t he ever share any information with you?’
‘No. And why would he want to scare you?’
‘I think he was more in love with Nina than he admitted to and he felt betrayed by her. I think he is getting back at me because he can’t and couldn’t with her. Or he felt that he was looking out for her by frightening me away.’
Camilla shakes her head but doesn’t tell me that I’m wrong.
‘It’s creepy to think that I slept beside that man and didn’t suspect a thing.’
‘It is.’
But not as creepy as Camilla admitting that she has no choice but to carry out the plan. There’s no way she’d be this desperate if she’d made it all up as she now claims.
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We agree to meet the following afternoon.
‘We can surprise him at his mate’s fishing lodge with our findings. He goes nearly every Thursday,’ says Camilla. ‘We can talk to him without interruptions or being overseen.’
‘Well, it’s either that, or we set the place on fire with him in it.’
‘Sometimes, Marie, I can’t tell whether you’re serious or not.’
Mess with my family, mess with me.
It’s another day for visitors, as no sooner does Camilla leave than the doorbell rings. I spy through the camera (the one I insisted on installing myself) and spot Tamsin clutching an actual mini olive tree in a cream plant pot.
‘Congratulations,’ she says as we politely sip Assam tea. (Another gift, from whom, I can’t remember.) It crosses my mind that I’ve never drunk as much tea in my life as I have since I’ve had a baby.
‘Jack’s gorgeous,’ she continues.
Everyone tells me that my baby is gorgeous before they can move on to what they really want to talk about. It’s the rules. I’m not complaining. Jack is gorgeous. I realize that my mind has drifted. Tamsin is speaking.
‘I’m sorry that I haven’t got round to visiting until now. Please let’s start again. I’m sorry I lashed out. It was just brutally unfair that Nina died so young. My sister had a health scare around the same time and it frightened me. I took some of it out on you. We miss you at the book group.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘How’s the online dating going?’
She pulls a face. ‘You wouldn’t believe some of the creeps on there! Do you know, one of them asked me to pay him back for the meal he’d insisted on paying for because I wouldn’t go back to his place! The cheek!’
I pull a sympathetic face.
‘I have something awkward to ask you,’ I say. ‘It’s very awkward, which is hard because we’ve only just made up and you know . . .’ I nod at the olive tree standing on the kitchen counter.
She looks nervous.
‘The nasty cards you’ve been sending . . .’
She frowns and tilts her head. ‘Cards?’
‘Yes, and the creepy flowers?’
She looks over at the olive plant as if she’s made an error and brought flowers instead without realizing. The thing about lies is that if you’re not a bloody good actor, it’s deceivingly hard to act surprised. She doesn’t ask for any details, which is another giveaway. Perhaps I should give her lessons in how to lie.
The Last Wife: The addictive and unforgettable new thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller Page 27