As she sat in my living room, I noticed she had her phone in the pocket of her cardigan, and kept fingering it as we spoke. Waiting for a call, clearly, or a text. One that hadn’t come, and I didn’t think it was Nick’s. She was so nervy too – she jumped when a tree branch scratched the window, spilling tea on her jeans. ‘Crap! I’m sorry. It’s the pregnancy, it’s made me so clumsy.’ At least she’d opened up about that now – foolish to try to hide it, when it was so obvious. I wondered if she was the kind of person who was good at pretending things weren’t real.
There was so much I wanted to ask her now she was here, inside my house, but nerves made me tongue-tied. I was so curious to meet the husband. She talked about him a lot during our tea. ‘Nick hates it when I forget to start dinner.’ ‘Nick’s always on at me to shut the gate, in case the dog gets out.’ ‘Nick says Poppet needs at least an hour’s walk a day, but it’s so hard in the frost. I’m afraid I’ll slip.’ The opening was there. I was standing in the kitchen doorway, drying a china cup with a tea towel. It had been my mother’s set, a wedding present, printed with small blue cornflowers.
I said, ‘I could come with you, if you like. I’ve been meaning to walk more. And that way I could fetch help, if anything happened.’
She reacted with too much pleasure. ‘Amazing! I would love that. I’m such a disaster, really, I need someone to make me go.’
For some reason, Suzi had thoroughly internalised the message that she wasn’t good enough. That she was bad somehow. I wanted to find out if that was true. ‘How are you feeling, with the pregnancy?’
She put her hands on her stomach. ‘Pretty good, now the sickness has stopped. It was so unexpected. We tried in London, but I guess I never really thought it would work.’ She blushed slightly. ‘And now – well, it’s happening. I can’t get my head around it.’
‘Nick must be pleased,’ I probed.
Her face paled and I wondered why. ‘He’s thrilled. He worries I don’t eat right during the day, or I’ll slip in the fields or something.’ And yet he’d got her a dog that she had to walk for an hour a day. I found that interesting.
‘It must be hard, out here alone,’ I said, and she bit her lip, and I thought she was going to tell me something, and I almost had the crazy urge to tell her things back, explain what had brought me here and what had happened to me. Loneliness can make you do mad things. And I thought Suzi was lonely, maybe even lonelier than me. At least I was used to it.
Suddenly she leaped to her feet, phone in hand. I wondered if it had gone off, though I knew it wouldn’t be the message she was hoping for. That would never come. But then I heard the sound of a car in the lane, slowing down as if to stop. It was rare enough that it must be Nick. ‘Crap! It’s almost five! He’s early!’ Fumbling, she set her cup down, splashing brown liquid against the wall. ‘I’m sorry, Nora. I need to explain about the alarm. He’ll do his nut!’ Fumbling, she wrapped her scarf round her neck. ‘Oh God, I’m so forgetful. I meant to ask if you’d join us for dinner on Saturday?’
I made a show of thinking about it, even though I didn’t and wouldn’t have any other plans. The chance to see inside their house, meet the husband – of course I wouldn’t turn that down. ‘That would be nice, thank you. Can I bring anything?’ That middle-class call and response. Then she would say, ‘Just yourself,’ and of course I would bring something anyway.
Suzi played her part, then said, ‘Great! Looking forward to it. You can meet Nick properly.’ Then she ran across the road, not looking to see if there was traffic – there rarely was, but even so – and I thought how light and energetic she was, even pregnant, even sad and afraid. The fire of her hair stood out about the autumn leaves and the hanging shadows of the lane. I saw her run to greet the husband, her hand gesticulations. I imagined what she was telling him – excuses about being locked out, probably. He wasn’t at all what I’d expected. A slight man, barely five foot eight, with a square face and short hair. He wore a Superdry jacket over suit trousers, a tie. The kind of man you’d walk past in the street and hardly notice, and yet Suzi was so afraid of him she’d practically flung her cup down to go to him. Very interesting.
I wiped up the splash of tea turning a pale brown on my white wall. Already I was starting to find out so much about the people next door. I was right – this move had helped me. As my mother used to say, a change is as good as a rest.
Suzi
Saturday arrived, and I found I was so strangely nervous. I kept getting that lurch in my stomach like when you have to do something part of you is dreading. I didn’t know why. I thought about Nora’s loss again, my own illicit grief pressing hard against the walls in my chest. A glass of wine would have helped, but that was a no-go. Nick was already cross at me for getting locked out yet again, the third time since we’d moved here. I couldn’t seem to remember the code, or maybe I’d hit the wrong keys with my cold, pregnant fingers.
As Saturday wore on, we were both weirdly jumpy. We had even dressed up, pathetically, me in a black maternity dress and tights, Nick in a navy shirt and trousers I hadn’t seen before. They fitted him well, and I noticed in an abstract way that he had lost weight, gained muscle. All those gym trips, keeping him out even longer, while I stewed at home, getting fatter by the day.
When we first moved we’d had a few people down to stay, and it was only then I’d realised how isolated we were, not a house or shop for miles about, only the empty cottages and fields in every direction. Claudia had said she couldn’t sleep, it was so quiet – I’d found her reading the paper in the kitchen at 5 a.m. ‘I’m sorry you had a bad night,’ I said, a little defensive.
‘It’s OK, love,’ she’d said. ‘Some of us just aren’t made for the country. I miss the traffic and the choking fumes!’
But I didn’t think I was made for it either.
As seven drew near, I found Nick and I were snapping at each other, as if we were going to be inspected.
‘Did you put out clean—?’
‘Of course, I’m not stupid.’
He jumped up suddenly. ‘What if she has allergies? I mean, so many people don’t eat wheat or dairy now . . .’
‘She said she ate everything.’ We almost couldn’t look at each other. As if our whole life were suddenly going to be put under scrutiny.
We were so quiet we heard her footsteps on the driveway, bang on time at seven. Nick rushed forward – I put up my hand to stop him. It’s just weird if you think people have been sitting there in silence waiting for you. I went to the door myself, holding my bump self-consciously under one hand. I put on a smile to open the door to her. ‘Nora! So pleased you could make it.’
She entered, wiping her walking boots on the mat. I wondered why she’d worn them for the short journey over, and I saw they were dirty, as if she’d gone scrambling about the fields first. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked round the hallway.
‘This is Nick,’ I said, ushering her into the living room.
She gazed at him keenly. ‘Hello. Nora.’
‘Our new neighbour!’ Nick moved clumsily to take her hand. ‘Um . . . can I take your . . . ?’ He gestured for her coat, a waxed Barbour, and they sort of got tangled up together. I closed my eyes briefly at the awkwardness.
‘Do sit down.’ I lunged forward. ‘There’s olives . . . crisps . . . eh, and dinner will be ready soon.’
‘Thank you.’ She didn’t sit. ‘These are for you. I thought you wouldn’t be drinking, so perhaps alcohol wouldn’t be right.’ It was a punnet of apples, small and sweet and fresh, water still clinging to them.
I saw Nick nodding, pleased. When I’d first told him I was pregnant, shaking with guilt, terrified he would add up the dates and know the truth, he’d put Operation Baby into action. Immediately I was banned from any alcohol, even a sip. ‘But surely I could have a bit,’ I’d said weakly, watching him pour an open bottle of wine down the sink.
Nick had slammed the bottle into the recycling bin with what
for him was a lot of force. ‘Would you feed it a glass of wine when it was born? Everything you drink goes right into the baby. You ought to know that.’ Not only booze but also fish, seafood, nuts, caffeine, soft cheese and plastics were on the banned list.
I took the apples. ‘How lovely! From your garden?’
‘I found them when I moved in. Creeping up between the stones of the wall.’ Nora gave an odd, stiff smile as she lowered herself to the sofa. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’
‘Not at all. You just moved in?’ Nick sat down opposite Nora as I poured wine, looking longingly at the silky red liquid.
‘Yes, I lost my husband recently.’ She said that with a strange intonation, as if he had simply disappeared down the back of the sofa and might turn up again.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Nick lowered his voice respectfully.
‘And how long have you two been married?’ She looked between us, her keen gaze like a searchlight.
‘Oh – about three years, is it, love?’ I smiled at him. We were good at doing what happy couples did. Maybe no one was really happy. Maybe everyone was just copying it off TV and films.
‘Three years in March.’
Nora said, ‘And you’re expecting. How lovely. People used to rush right in, of course, but it’s nice to wait for a few years, isn’t it?’
‘Er . . . yes.’ Nick filled my silence. ‘We’re very excited. It’s the first grandchild for both our families, so it’s very . . . exciting.’ I wanted to scream at him to find a different word.
‘A boy or a girl?’
He looked at me quickly – Who is this woman? Why have you put me through this? – ‘We don’t know. We asked them not to tell us.’
She drank her wine quickly, greedily. It occurred to me that maybe she was nervous too. ‘Of course. Too little mystery in the world.’
Nick cleared his throat. I brought over the olives and we arranged ourselves around them, grateful for any little prop. ‘So where were you before, Nora?’
‘Oh, just in town. We had a big house there, but on my own it seemed too empty. I’ve always liked cottages.’
‘Yes, we just fell in love with it here, didn’t we, Suze? I always dreamed of living in an old house.’
It’s a strange experience, hearing your spouse talk to a complete stranger. You want to shout out, That isn’t true! You never told me that! Like a test you don’t understand why you’re failing.
‘So what took you out of London?’ Nora said. Nick gave her the usual spiel – we wanted space for our kids to grow up, to breathe clean air, slower pace of life – but she kept staring at me. ‘Did you mind giving up your job, Suzi?’
‘Oh! Not really – I’ve got time to paint, and that’s what I always wanted.’ I was saying my lines as expected. Nick was watching. My director. It was true I used to complain all the time about my boss, the tampon and cornflakes ads I designed, the lack of time for painting. But I liked the salary and boozy lunches and being able to sink thirty quid on wine if I felt like it. I’d long suspected I wasn’t cut out for the privations of the artist’s life. Suddenly, under Nora’s frank gaze, I found myself wanting to be honest. ‘It has been a big change, actually. It’s hard.’
‘Sometimes a change is what’s needed,’ said Nick, his eyes fixed on me. ‘Suze was going down a bad path in London.’ I looked up sharply. He wouldn’t, would he? ‘Drinking too much, staying out late with colleagues. Weren’t you, baby?’ He reached out and tousled my hair, a little too roughly.
I stood up, on the pretence of looking for more olives. ‘You know how it is. London culture.’
Nick laughed. ‘And yet I was there too, Nora, and I never stayed out late.’
‘He’s a home bird,’ I said, aiming for affectionately teasing, and missing.
‘One of us had to be.’
More silence, and I began to curl my fingers into a fist, it was so unbearable.
‘Might I use your bathroom?’ said Nora, no doubt wanting to get away from the knife-cut tension in the room.
‘Of course, let me show you.’ Nick got up.
‘I’ll just . . . check on dinner.’ In the kitchen, I realised I was shaking. I was thinking about Damian again, when I’d tried not to for so long. Had that been Nick’s intention, to throw me off balance?
I felt air brush my neck – Nick had followed me into the kitchen. ‘Isn’t it ready yet? Our guest will be hungry.’
Tears pricked my eyes as I opened the Aga door, still getting used to the way I could no longer bend at the waist. A bloody Aga! I’d never wanted that. ‘What was that about?’ It was risky, but I was too angry to let it go.
‘What?’
‘All that Suzi’s a drunk, Suzi stayed out late crap. I moved here, didn’t I? I haven’t been anywhere in months, have I?’
Nick looked at me, and for a second I almost didn’t recognise him. His voice was cold. ‘If you find it so hard to be here with me – your husband – then maybe you need to have a rethink about your life.’ I was so close to crying. I opened the Aga door again, just to hide my face. He said, ‘Serve it up soon, please, it’s late.’
A direct order. That was where we’d got to now. I removed the casserole dish, the steam scorching my face, and it was almost welcome. For a moment I thought about laying my wrist on the hot iron oven, just to feel something else.
You had gone. I needed to face it, now it had been so long, and not a word from you. I couldn’t be in denial any more. I was a married woman in my thirties and I’d been ghosted. A stupid, faithless woman. I shouldn’t have told you about the baby. I realised that now, but what choice did I have? You would surely have noticed at some point. So I’d done it, and you’d panicked. You had gone back to her, and I’d be stuck with Nick and my ruined life and a baby that probably wasn’t his. Of course, my vulnerability was also my trump card. Your child, your DNA, easy to prove. It almost took my breath away, how easily we can destroy each other, when we’re in love. If you weren’t coming back, I had two choices. Your phone number was not in service, I didn’t know where you lived, and my search of local hospital websites had not thrown you up. Either I tracked you down, made you acknowledge me, somehow found a way to forgive you for these weeks of silence. Or I moved to plan B. Making sure I never got caught.
As I ladled the cassoulet on to plates, mechanically running through a checklist – water, bread, vegetables, plates – I realised Nora had not come back from the bathroom. I slipped off the oven gloves and opened the door to the hallway. My studio door was ajar, and from the kitchen I could see Nora standing in it, looking about her with a slightly puzzled air. I called, ‘Did you get lost?’
I could have sworn she jumped. ‘I’m so sorry, I took a wrong turn.’ She came towards me, and then there was the bustle of sitting down to eat, and I soon forgot about it and returned to my own inner torment, the question that had been going round and round in my mind since you disappeared: What the hell am I going to do?
Alison
FEBRUARY – THREE MONTHS LATER
The body lay under the snow for almost two months before it was found.
It happened sometimes in colder countries – Russia, Poland – though it was unusual still in England. But then everything about that winter had been unusual: the plummeting temperatures, the frequency of blizzards, the shock of people who thought they lived in a mild climate suddenly understanding about month-long freezes, snow tyres, pipe lagging.
It was still cold as DC Alison Hegarty stood at the side of the country lane, shivering under the unflattering duvet coat she’d had to buy several weeks into the onset of deep winter. ‘Been here a while then?’
Her partner, DC Tom Khan, was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. ‘Doc reckons so. It’s frozen solid, look.’
Alison made herself look at the body in the recently melted snowdrift, which was being worked on by two CSIs, their white suits blending in with the patches of snow on the ground. The ice crystals in the eyelashes, the grey, ash
y skin that put her greatly in mind of the contents of her mam’s chest freezer up in Bolton. She knew she had to do this – it was part of her job. And this wasn’t the first person to have frozen to death that winter; they’d already found two homeless men stuck to the pavements in Sevenoaks, a damning indictment of a town where just feet away people spunked sixty quid on their Christmas turkeys.
But that was different. They had not been murdered.
‘How long’ll it take to get it out?’
‘Hours yet. Think of it like defrosting a freezer.’ Tom made a chipping motion with both hands. He had moved down here from an East London beat, and liked to remind her he’d seen some terrible things.
Alison shivered even harder. ‘Bloody hell, it’s cold.’
‘Winter is coming, mate. Well, it’s here. Don’t suppose there’s a handy trucker’s stop nearby?’
She shook her head in the Raisa Gorbachev-style fur hat she’d taken to wearing. Those Russian women, they knew how to deal with cold, and that was by throwing all sense of fashion out the window and essentially going out dressed as a bed. ‘There’s nothing nearby at all. Just those houses.’
She looked back longingly at the set of small cottages on either side of the country lane, a few yards down from where they stood. Nothing else for miles except fields and then the M25. This was a place you might pass on your way to somewhere, Gatwick or Heathrow maybe, and not even know it existed. It didn’t have a name, it was so isolated. Not the kind of place she’d fancy living – she liked to be able to pop out for a pint of milk.
She thought fleetingly of knocking on the door of one of the cottages – especially the one that looked all mod cons, fancy sealed windows with tinted glass and a door that wouldn’t be out of place on a vault – for tea and a warm-up of her frozen feet. But it wouldn’t be right. Not until they’d questioned the occupants about the presence of a dead body mere yards from their doors.
‘Come on,’ she said, resigned. ‘My mam uses the hairdryer to defrost her freezer. Maybe they can do something like that.’
The Other Wife Page 4