by B. A. Paris
I use the time to catch up on the work I didn’t do on Thursday and Friday, and by the time Sunday evening comes around, I’ve finished the first read-through of the book.
I’m pulling out the sofa bed when Leo knocks on the door.
“Thank you for not leaving,” he says, helping me move the cushions.
“I still might. I haven’t decided what to do yet.”
He nods. “I’m going to commute to Birmingham this week, so that you won’t be alone in the house at night—if you decide to stay,” he adds.
“Thanks,” I say, because I’d forgotten that I was meant to be by myself until Thursday. We make up the bed and I close the door behind him, struck by the irony of the situation. This was meant to be a new start, a chance—once his current contract was finished—for us to live as a normal couple where, after a day’s work, we would meet again in the evenings—every evening—to chat about our day face to face. Even if we can get over this, what if it doesn’t work out? What if we find we can’t live together day after day? Maybe our relationship only worked until now because we lived apart for most of the time.
I’m almost asleep when I remember I need clothes for the morning. Since Friday, I’ve lived in clothes pulled from the ironing basket but they’re now back in the wash. My clean ones are in the bedroom, where I don’t want to go.
I text Leo.
Before you leave, please get me some clothes from the bedroom and leave them on the chair in the hall. My white shorts, my red dress, a pair of jeans, two white T-shirts, two navy T-shirts and four sets of underwear. My white sneakers and the blue sandals with the gold bar. And socks. Thanks.
I turn off my phone and go back to sleep.
FOURTEEN
I wake in the night, my heartbeating hard against my ribs. Something woke me, I don’t know what. I lie without moving, holding my breath, my body tensed, trying to work it out. And then it comes to me. There’s someone in the room and I know instinctively that it isn’t Leo.
There’s no light near me, the nearest lamp is on my desk. I’m too scared to move, too scared to open my eyes. My eyes dart around under my closed lids. Where are they? Shouldn’t I be able to hear them breathing, detect some sort of movement? There’s nothing, just a feeling that someone is watching me. Then, when the effort of not moving, not breathing, becomes too much, the sense of someone being there leaves me.
My held-in breath whooshes from me, a shuddering gasp in the suffocating silence of the night. I wait for my heartrate to slow, then move my legs from under the covers. I feel too vulnerable to leave my bed so I stretch my arm toward my desk and turn on the lamp. The weak yellow light doesn’t reach into the corners of the study but I’m able to see that there isn’t anyone there. The door is slightly ajar, and I can’t remember whether or not I closed it before going to sleep.
I get out of bed, about to call for Leo, then stop. I can do this myself. My heart in my mouth, I switch on the light in the hall. Taking a deep breath, I walk through the downstairs rooms with pretend confidence, giving myself courage, turning on lights as I go. There’s a neat pile of clothes on the chair in the hall; Leo must have brought them down once I was asleep to save him doing it in the morning. I continue upstairs, checking his study and the guest bedroom. The door to our bedroom is shut. I put my hand gently on the handle and push it open. It creaks slightly and I hold my breath, expecting Leo to wake up, ask who’s there. But there’s no sound. I peep in; he’s sleeping soundly, his breathing deep and regular.
I’m going back downstairs when I see it, a white rose cut from the garden lying on the window sill next to the front door. I smile grimly to myself, amazed that he thinks I can be won over so easily. I carry it through to the kitchen, open the bin and dump it inside.
Back in bed, I leave the light on and my door half-open so I’m not in complete darkness. I expect to have trouble getting to sleep but suddenly, it’s morning and Leo has already left for Birmingham.
* * *
The next morning, a text comes in from Eve—Coffee? I check the time; it’s already nine o’clock but I can start work a bit later today. I go straight over. She comes to the door dressed in white running gear, eating toast spread thickly with peanut butter.
“I did a five-mile run this morning, so I’m allowed,” she says, offering me her plate. “And you’re allowed, because you had a crap weekend. Or maybe you didn’t?”
I take a piece of toast and follow her to the kitchen. “It was crap on the Leo front but the upside was that I managed to get a lot of work done. It took my mind off everything, which was good.”
“You were able to stay in the house, then?”
“Yes, but I slept downstairs, in my study.”
Eve puts her plate down, hoists herself onto the worktop, then picks up her plate again.
“How did it go with Leo?”
“We’re keeping our distance while I try and work out how I’m feeling. I’m so confused about everything. I feel I should be running away from the house, maybe even running away from Leo. But he said we should create new memories.”
She tilts her head to one side, looking at me. “How do you feel about that?”
“I’m not sure. This might sound strange, but since Leo said that, I’ve begun to feel as if I owe it to Nina to stay. I feel drawn to her in some way. When I went back to the house on Thursday, I could almost sense her presence, I could see her in the sitting room with Oliver, see them together in the kitchen. And when I think how she must have suffered,” I add quietly, “any hardship that I might be feeling is nothing in comparison. Maybe Leo is right, maybe the only way to rid the house of the evil that happened there is to create new memories.”
“Good vibes chasing away bad ones doesn’t sound strange at all,” Eve says. “Don’t you want to sit down?”
“Sorry,” I say, realizing I’ve been pacing the kitchen. I pull out a chair. “Leo should be staying in Birmingham until Thursday, like he usually does, but he’s going to come home every evening so that I won’t be alone at night.”
“That’s good of him.”
“What would you do, Eve, if you were in my place?”
“I think if I was kind of managing, which you seem to be, I’d stay for a while, see how things pan out.”
“I’d feel much better if I could go and see everyone here and explain that I didn’t know about the murder before moving in. But I suppose that would be kind of weird.”
“If you really want it out there, I could tell Tamsin and Maria and they could tell their neighbors, who would tell theirs, and before you know it, it will be common knowledge,” she says. “Would you like me to do that?”
“Yes, please. I really need people to know I’m not callous.” A new thought comes to worry me. “But what will people think when they know that I know about the murder and am able to carry on living in the house, at least for the moment?”
“They already thought that you knew, and the only thing they thought was that you were incredibly brave. So that’s what they’ll continue to think, that you’re brave. And not many people would be able to afford to move out and rent somewhere else to live while the house is being resold, so they’ll understand that too. Your cottage is rented out, it’s not as if you can go back there. Anyway, why do you care what people think?”
“I don’t want to be shunned when I’ve only just arrived here.”
Eve bursts out laughing. “You’re not going to be shunned!”
“So, if I invite you, Tamsin and Maria to lunch on Wednesday, before you go to your yoga class, will you come?” I say, surprising myself, because I hadn’t actively thought about inviting them over.
“Sure we will! We came to your drinks evening, didn’t we?”
“I’d like to invite Cara but I don’t think she’s around during the day. Did she say she works for Google?”
“Yes, she’s a software engineer. She works crazy hours so you’ll only be able to get hold of her at weekends.”
&nb
sp; “Just the four of us, then.”
I leave soon after. Eve told me I could work at hers but if I’m to stay here, in this house, I need to get used to being alone. “What would you do, Nina?” I murmur to the photo of my sister pinned to the fridge. “Would you stay or would you go?” But there’s no answer, just the absolute stillness of an empty house.
* * *
Instead of doing a second read of my book, I decided to start translating straightaway. Translating requires focus and right now, I need to be able to concentrate on something other than the murder.
The day passes surprisingly quickly. When Leo arrives home, he goes out of his way to apologize, to try and make good the harm he’s done.
“Your hair looks nice,” he says, referring to the way I’ve plaited it to keep it out of my way while I’m working.
“Thanks.”
He sighs. “Tell me how I can make it up to you.”
“I don’t know, I don’t even know if you can. How can I trust you if you’re able to keep something so momentous from me?”
What I hate most is that I feel I’m being unfair. But expecting me to fall into his arms, say I forgive him, is too much. He offers to make me dinner and when I refuse, he eats quickly and disappears to his study. He doesn’t mention the rose I threw in the bin so maybe he didn’t see it.
The house is quiet, too quiet. Realizing I didn’t tell Leo that I thought there was someone in the house last night, I’m tempted to go after him. But I don’t want him to think that I’m using it as an excuse to start a conversation. Anyway, there wasn’t anyone there, it was just the murder playing on my mind.
FIFTEEN
I leave it to Eve to invite Maria and Tamsin to lunch and the three of them arrive together, turning up at twelve with flowers from Maria’s garden and a bottle of wine. They’re all wearing shorts and T-shirts, which makes me feel overdressed in my mid-length flowing skirt.
“Come in,” I say, moving back to let them past.
Eve and Maria walk straight in but Tamsin hovers uncertainly outside the door and for a confused moment, I think she’s having reservations about having lunch with me.
“Sorry,” she says. “It’s just that this house always reminds me of Nina.”
“Of course.” I nod sympathetically, wanting to reach out and hug her. But she steps quickly inside.
“How are you?” Maria asks, giving me a hug. “It must have been such a shock, finding out about Nina like that. I can’t imagine how you must have felt.”
“Angry and scared,” I say, leading them out to the garden. “I wanted to leave, I didn’t think I’d be able to stay.”
“But you’re still here,” Tamsin says pointedly.
If anyone is going to judge me, it’s Tamsin.
I turn to her. “Yes, I’m still here. For the moment.” I smile tentatively. “I was hoping you might tell me about Nina. I’ll never be able to sleep in the bedroom upstairs again but if I knew she’d had some happy times here, it might help me feel less anxious.”
Tamsin’s face softens. “She had lots of happy times here.”
“Shall we chat over lunch?” Eve says. “It’s just that we need to leave here by twenty to two for our yoga class.”
“Yes, I know,” I say. “I’ve made a salmon quiche and salad, and there’s strawberries for dessert. I hope that’s OK?”
Maria smiles. “Sounds perfect to me!”
* * *
It’s one of those beautiful mid-September days, with the sun warming the garden. A gentle breeze carries the heavenly scent of brightly colored phlox to where we’re eating on the terrace, adding to the impression that we’re still in summer. There’s so much I want to ask them about Nina but I curb my impatience and ask instead about Maria’s children, and Tamsin’s two little daughters, Amber and Pearl.
“I love their names,” I tell her.
She smiles. “Thanks. You’ll have to join us on a Wednesday afternoon, then you can meet them in person.”
“I’d like that,” I say, pleased that the invite has come from her. “I’ve only ever seen them from afar.”
I wait until they sit back, their empty plates in front of them.
“I know Nina was thirty-eight and Eve told me that she was a therapist, but that’s all I really know about her,” I say.
Tamsin brushes a couple of crumbs off her immaculate white T-shirt. “She loved her job, she loved helping people. She had time for everyone, you could always go and see her if you had a problem. She helped me so much.”
“And Oliver? What did he do?
“He worked for a shipping company,” Maria says. “I’m not sure what his actual job was but he traveled abroad quite a bit.”
“And they were happy together?”
“Yes, very.”
“Except—” I hesitate. “He killed her.”
Tamsin glares at me from across the table. “Who have you been talking to?”
“No one,” I say hastily. “I only know what I read in news articles.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
I flush, embarrassed at the sudden change in atmosphere, as if the temperature has suddenly dropped ten degrees.
“I’m just trying to understand the sort of person she was,” I say, trying to get things back to how they were. “Eve mentioned that she was quite spiritual and that she started your yoga group. Did she have any hobbies?”
It doesn’t work. “Why does it matter?” Tamsin says coldly. “It’s hardly important now.”
I hate playing the sister card but I can’t think of any other way to get her on my side. I push back my chair. Eve turns worried eyes on me.
“It’s OK,” I say. “I’m just going to get the strawberries. I’ll take the plates through at the same time.”
In the kitchen, I deal with the plates, take the strawberries from the fridge, and the photo of Nina from the door.
“Did Eve tell you about my sister?” I ask Tamsin, putting the strawberries down in front of her and going back to my seat.
She shifts awkwardly. “Yes, she did. I’m sorry.”
“This is a photograph of her,” I say, holding it out.
Maria reaches over and takes it. “She was beautiful.”
“Can I see?” Eve asks. She looks at the photo then looks up at me. “She has the same eyes as you.”
“Yes,” I say. I turn to Tamsin and Maria. “Eve probably told you that my sister was called Nina. I know it’s stupid, but since she died, I have this need to know about other Ninas.”
“It’s not stupid,” Maria says. She smiles. “I don’t know about your Nina but our Nina loved taking impromptu photographs. It could be quite annoying sometimes because she would get you at your worst moment, when you were eating, so your mouth was open, or full of food.”
“Or when you’d had a bit too much to drink, so you’d have that glazed look in your eyes and a red nose,” Eve says, miming the pose and making me laugh.
“But she also took some beautiful photos.” Maria looks across the table at Tamsin. “I have some lovely ones of the children, you do too, don’t you, Tamsin?”
“Yes.” To my dismay, Tamsin’s eyes fill with tears. “I still miss her.”
“I’m sorry,” I say guiltily. “I shouldn’t be asking you about her. It’s just that I want—I don’t know—to make her real, to have a sense of who she was, I suppose. It might help me decide whether to stay or not.”
Tamsin fishes for a tissue and blows her nose. “I hope you do. It’s nice to have the house lived in again instead of it being like a mausoleum.”
“Thank you,” I say, because it had sounded genuine.
“Eve said you found out about the murder from a reporter?” Tamsin adds.
“Yes, that’s right.”
She picks up her bag and rummages inside, drawing out a new packet of tissues. “What did she say, exactly?”
“She asked me how it felt to be living at the scene of a brutal murder,” I say, remembering what
I told Eve, because I don’t want my lie to come back to bite me.
“And that’s all she said?”
“Yes. I told her that I didn’t know what she was talking about and she advised me to google the Nina Maxwell murder.”
“Did she give you her name, or tell you which publication she was with?”
“No.” Tamsin’s questions make me uncomfortable. Does she know I’m lying?
“So how do you know she was a reporter?”
She does know I’m lying. “I—I don’t know, I just presumed that she was. Who else could she have been?”
“Tam,” Maria says gently. “Stop. You’re making Alice uncomfortable.”
“Sorry. It’s just that I hate the thought of someone poking their nose in, dragging it up again when we’ve only just managed to put it to rest.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” Eve says brightly. “Like Christmas, or Halloween, or Maria inviting us to supper on Friday.” She looks over at her. “Isn’t that right, Maria?”
Maria laughs. “Thanks for reminding me. Tamsin, Alice, are you free Friday evening? I mentioned supper to Eve yesterday and she and Will can make it, so I hope you can too.” There’s no reply from Tamsin; she’s staring out of the window, lost in thought. “Tamsin, are you and Connor free on Friday?” Maria says again, more loudly this time.
“What?” Tamsin shakes her head quickly as if to clear it. “Yes, why?”
“For supper at mine.”
“That will be lovely, thank you.”
“What about you, Alice, are you and Leo free?”
“I think so.”
“Why don’t you let me know once you’ve spoken to him?”
“I’ll ask him tonight,” I promise.
They leave soon after and while I tidy up, I think about Maria’s invitation. I’d love to go because I don’t want to miss the chance to see the friendship group that Nina and Oliver were part of in action. I want to observe the dynamics between the couples, see how they interact with each other, get to know them a little better. There are things I don’t fully understand, like their insistence that Nina and Oliver were blissfully happy. If they were, why did he kill her? Remembering what Eve had said about Lorna witnessing everything, I decide to go and see her.