Standing under the hot water felt good. I scrubbed my skin until I was pink all over. I was beginning to feel a little better, until I got out of the shower and saw that I had a missed call from Jake. I shuddered. I was starting to perk up, but there was no way I was ready to talk to him yet. I slouched back onto the sofa, exhausted from the effort of showering.
As I sat there, wondering what to do with myself, the phone pinged again. It was a message from Rachel:
I’ve got a day off. Are you at home with Betsy? Can I pop round? xxx
My heart sank, and I felt nauseous at the prospect of seeing her now that I knew what Amy had done. I sighed. This was the universe punishing me. I had to face her sooner or later – might as well do it when I was already feeling rotten.
I’ll come over to you, I texted back. Remind me of your address? I’ll bring the coffee xo
I pulled on my jeans with Amy’s big coat and a beanie and headed out. After last night’s rain, the air was clean and the sky was bright, drained of clouds.
The coffee from Clarke’s bakery wasn’t anything special, but it was infinitely better than the jar of freeze-dried instant granules that Mum had given me. I decided I had to get one of those Nespresso machines for Puffin Cottage – maintaining my caffeine standards was non-negotiable. I bought two cups and two hot bacon rolls to go.
The main road cut through the centre of Seahouses and across Harbour Road, dividing the village into four quarters. Rachel and Phil lived on The Green, the small housing estate at the back of the village that had been built in the seventies as our part of the coast had grown in popularity among weekenders, inflating the prices of homes closer to the sea.
Dad used to complain about the people who snapped up the best properties to only use them a few days a month, pushing up house prices beyond the reach of everyone else. People on local salaries could just about afford to buy on The Green.
I walked along their street, looking out for number twenty. Rachel and Phil’s place was a modest semi-detached, and one of the smarter houses on the street with its manicured garden and glossy white door.
‘Those smell gorgeous,’ Rachel said, taking a coffee from me and leading me inside.
The front half of the living room was dominated by a black leather sofa facing a widescreen TV, while the back was set up as a dining area. Rachel had been ironing her nurse’s uniform and it hung from the top of the dresser like a ghost. A fake fire was roaring with golden flames, the mantelpiece above it crowded with framed photos jostling for position around a carriage clock that took centre stage. I ran my finger along the ledge. There was Rachel and Amy, Rachel with Amy’s kids, Rachel and Phil… I picked up their wedding photo for a closer look.
‘That’s when Phil had more hair and I was still ginger,’ Rachel said with a laugh.
I carefully put the picture back and joined her on the sofa. Rachel handed me my bacon roll on a plate and I took a sip from my steaming cup of coffee.
‘We got married in 2006. I was only twenty-four. We thought we were so grown up.’
‘Did you not want kids?’ I said, before catching myself. ‘God, sorry, I…’
Rachel shrugged and dismissed me with a wave. ‘Don’t worry about it. I think me and you are close enough by now to talk about things like that!’ She gave me a brave smile. ‘I mean, we tried for years, but it just never happened. We didn’t have the money for more IVF, and in the end, we had to decide that we were enough for each other. By then I’d met your Amy and become an honorary aunt to her three.’
‘How did you meet?’ I was sure Amy had told me, but I couldn’t remember, and now that I knew about Phil and Amy’s affair, I had so many more questions about her friendship with Rachel.
‘We moved to Seahouses right after we got married. Phil’s grandma had a caravan up here and he used to spend weekends with her when he was a boy. He was taking over the garage and I was working in a care home near Newcastle, but I wanted a job closer to home. I thought that would be better once the baby arrived. I started working at the hospital and I met Amy in my first week. A few people confused us for sisters, which gave us a good laugh. We just clicked, I suppose…’
Her eyes were filling up. She turned from me, directing her attention out of the window at some faraway point. It was true, I thought: Rachel did look like Amy, with the same light brown hair – just like mine used to be, before I discovered highlights – and cut into a long bob, similar to how Amy wore hers. In fact, she bore more of a resemblance to my sister than I did, these days.
I changed the subject. ‘God, this bacon butty was exactly what the doctor ordered. My head is throbbing.’
‘Struggling a bit today?’
I mumbled something that sounded like agreement while biting into my sandwich.
Rachel reached out and took my hand. ‘We’re all devastated about Amy, but drinking doesn’t heal the pain, it just delays it for another day. And drinking alone is never good.’
I didn’t know if the delayed pain part was true – my head still hurt. Anyway, I hadn’t been alone.
‘Jake Ridley called in,’ I said. ‘The solicitor.’
Rachel’s eyes grew wide.
‘But it’s not what you think!’
‘I didn’t say anything at all!’ she chuckled, holding her hands up in surrender.
‘He just came by to give me news on the investigation.’
Rachel stopped laughing. ‘So they are investigating it? They really think it might have been more than just an accident?’
A young woman pushing a pram walked past outside, distracting me for a second. ‘Some things just don’t look right,’ I said, keen to leave it at that.
I tried to change direction and asked how Phil was. I was hungry for any details she could give me, anything that might tell me why and how he and Amy had become involved.
Rachel just shrugged, but I pressed on. ‘We should get out to the pub one night, drag Mike and Phil along. I owe him a beer to say thanks for the car.’
She pushed the remnants of her roll around her plate. ‘That would be nice. We haven’t been to the pub for a while. Not since before Amy…’ Her eyes filled again and she looked away. Only the ticking of the carriage clock filled the silence.
‘It would do Mike some good,’ I said, watching her over the top of my cup. ‘I know how close you all were.’
‘Yup,’ she said with a sniff. ‘Me and Amy – well, we were best friends. And we dragged the boys along with us most of the time, so yeah – we were quite the foursome.’ She sipped her tea, holding the mug with both hands.
‘Phil must be upset about Amy too,’ I said.
Rachel looked at me I had just said the dumbest thing in the world. ‘He’s devastated. He adored your sister.’
Her words hung in the air between us. There was no way she knew what was going on between them. The poor woman was completely oblivious to the betrayal right under her nose. What a mess.
I headed home, pulling my coat tight against the chill. Jake called me again, and I let it go to voicemail. The phone pinged with the arrival of a message from him:
I need to speak to you. Can you please call me back when you get this?
I cringed. What had got into me last night? Jake’s ‘no hard feelings’ chat would have to wait until tomorrow, when I had the emotional strength to cope. Right now, I just wanted to eat crisps and wallow in my own self-pity from the safety of Puffin Cottage.
As I walked, though, I was hit by a sudden urge to see Phil. I wasn’t sure how helpful it would be to just look at him, but it felt like the only constructive thing I could do right then. Or was this the action of a woman who was slowly going mad? Was this how an obsession started? I was almost at Sea Street. I pulled my beanie further down and carried on walking in the direction of the caravan park.
Phil’s garage was busy. There were three or four cars parked out on the road and two inside that he was working on. From my vantage point across the street, I watched as he took a p
ayment from a customer and handed back her keys with a smile.
So, this was the man that Amy had risked her marriage for. Had he been worth it?
He was chatting to his colleague now, a streak of grease on his cheek. He did have a nice smile, I supposed. Even from here, I could appreciate his rugged masculinity. Not that it was my thing at all, and I didn’t think it had been Amy’s thing either. But how well had I known my sister lately?
Phil had spent weekends here as a child, but I didn’t remember him. Had he and Amy experienced a flash of recognition when they’d met again as adults? Or had he just been there, in the background, when she’d befriended his wife?
Where had they had their affair? Had he popped over to the house when Mike was away on business, or had Amy visited him at the garage? How often had they met; where had they had sex; how had they avoided being caught? Why had they ended things? Had Mike found out and wanted to hurt them? I had so many questions. I needed to know everything.
A memory hit me on the short walk back home. Me and Amy, standing in front of the school on a cold and dark evening. It had been after a rehearsal of Much Ado About Nothing, and we’d been waiting in the small carpark for Dad to collect us.
But Dad hadn’t shown up. Mrs Wheeler had offered to take us home, telling us to stop making a fuss when we’d insisted that we were fine. These things happen all the time, she’d said.
The lights had been out when we got back. Mrs Wheeler had got out of the car with us to make sure everything was OK. I’d known it wasn’t, but she wouldn’t leave us alone. We hadn’t had a key, so the three of us had walked around to the back of the house to retrieve the spare from under the flowerpot. When we’d got to the back garden, the lights were on in the living room and the curtains were open. Dad was asleep in the chair, inexplicably wearing a bobble hat, his head thrown back, roaring snores. A drink stood on the table in front of him.
Mum had been away for a couple of nights, probably at Auntie Sue’s. Dad had been left in charge and had assured us he would be there to pick us up. But then he’d got home from a long day’s work and had a glass of wine, or maybe something stronger. And this was the result.
I hadn’t thought about that night in years but it came back now - the burning shame of having Mrs Wheeler understand exactly why Dad hadn’t come to pick us up. She had made it ten times worse just by being there to witness it; I’d been so angry that she had seen him like that.
I remembered having been angry with her, but what about Dad? Had I been mad at him, or upset, or felt bitter resentment? I couldn’t remember.
Because that’s the thing, when someone dies. You forget all the bad things they did when they were alive.
It was impossible to be in Amy’s kitchen and not feel her presence. Walking in there, it was as if she had been there just a moment ago and had only stepped outside to grab something.
While Mike supervised from behind his laptop at the table, Lucas had taken over the cooking. He was wearing an apron and had laid out his ingredients along the counter-top, ready to add to a huge saucepan. A pie crust sat cooling on one side. The windows of the kitchen had steamed up, and it smelled like home.
‘I’m making baked bean pie.’ Lucas smiled as he drained the sauce from a tin of beans.
He started describing how he had made the pastry from scratch, and the different types of pies he could make in the future, and I found myself zoning out.
I thought back to Amy’s pastry phase – the day she’d discovered that it was nothing more than a combination of butter and flour, which had led to a period of experimentation of various pie, quiche, and tart fillings. Baked bean pie could feed two hungry girls for less than fifteen pence per meal, and had quickly become one of our favourites.
I was jolted from my memory by a scream from upstairs, followed by a thud and another scream. I jumped in alarm.
‘Not again,’ said Mike, holding his head in his hands.
Hannah burst into the room.
‘Betsy hit me!’ she wailed. ‘You have to tell her, Dad!’
‘What was it this time?’ Mike’s face was getting red. ‘No, forget that, I don’t even want to know. Betsy!’
Hannah sat beside me, rubbing the top of her arm and snivelling muffled little sobs. Betsy appeared in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and lips pursed in defiance.
‘Hannah was hogging the tablet, even though it was my turn!’
‘I wasn’t, I was just finishing my homework—’
‘Enough!’ Mike slammed his fist down, making the four of us jump. ‘You all have to learn to share.’ He pointed at the three of them, his eyes wide. ‘And nobody hits anyone. Got that, Betsy?’
She started to bawl, and once more, I saw the little girl whose grief was spilling into an anger that she didn’t know what to do with. Lucas went tentatively back to his cooking, silent now, and Hannah became absorbed in her phone. Even I felt like I was in trouble.
We ate dinner shrouded in the sulky silence of the children. I tried several times to get a conversation going, but failed at every attempt, and eventually gave up.
The kids sloped off after dinner, leaving me and Mike to clean up alone. He hadn’t shaved again, and his grey stubble put years on him. The huge bags under his eyes told me he hadn’t been sleeping well. He took a beer from the fridge and sat down at the table.
‘You’re not looking too hot there, Mike.’
He took a long, deep breath. ‘Well my business isn’t doing great, my kids hate me and each other, and my wife just died, so yeah – things are a bit shit right now.’
I helped myself to a beer, too. It would take the edge off my hangover and tune me up just a little bit. I needed some Dutch courage right now.
‘Any more thoughts on who might have wanted to hurt Amy?’
Mike sighed. ‘We’ve already discussed this. Amy didn’t have enemies. What happened to her… however it looks, it was an accident.’
‘You have to admit though, with the drugs and this mysterious damage to the front wheel…’
‘I’m pretty sure there’s an explanation for both of those things. Just leave it to the police to investigate. You’re not helping here.’
Ouch.
‘But you guys were happy, right? I mean, are you sure there wasn’t anything going on that might have upset her…’
‘Like what, Izzy? You think she was so distraught over the money I’d lost that she wanted to kill herself?’
His anger was starting to flare up again. I was prodding a sleeping dragon.
‘Not that, I’m just thinking now about all the wild possibilities. We should explore every avenue, right? Like… Did you ever worry that Amy had a secret gambling problem? Or might have been unfaithful?’
He scoffed. ‘You think my wife was cheating on me?’
I shook my head, but he carried on.
‘Listen,’ he said, his voice softening. ‘Your sister was well-loved. She had no enemies or secrets. And I can promise you, Amy was not having an affair. We were happy. It was just a horrible accident.’ He started to cry.
My phone buzzed on the table – Jake again. He was persistent, I had to give him that. I fired off a message to him:
Sorry, I’m tied up with family stuff. Can I call you back tomorrow?
The reply came immediately:
It’s urgent. The police want to talk to you.
I tried to keep a straight face as I texted back:
When? Why??
Now, he replied. They’re on their way to your place.
Shit.
I started to write a reply, the phone trembling in my hand. I wanted Jake to come, but my pride wouldn’t let me ask him. As my fingers hovered over the screen, searching for the words, another message popped up:
I’ll be there.
Chapter Thirteen
I made my excuses to Mike and dashed home. What did the police want from me? And what was I going to say? At least Jake would be there with me.
Th
ankfully, the police had come in an unmarked black Mondeo – if any of the neighbours had seen a police car, the whole village would have known by the morning. By the time I arrived, I was sweating, and my hand trembled as I turned my key in the door to let them in. Jake greeted me with a shy smile and I was careful to keep our eye contact to socially acceptable standards, the heat already rising in my cheeks.
It was the same dinner lady and intern, and I invited them to sit down at the kitchen table. The cottage felt ridiculously small with this many people inside it. I could practically feel the intern breathing on me. I sat on my hands to stop myself fidgeting.
This time, I actually paid attention when they introduced themselves.
Dinner-lady-police-officer – or DCI Bell, as I was to call her – was leading proceedings while her work experience-police-boy colleague PC Knowles made notes in a tiny leather-bound book. She assured me that it wasn’t a formal interview, and I wasn’t under any kind of caution – they just wanted some background on the family. I glanced at Jake for reassurance and he gently nodded.
What was that thing about looking to one side when you lied? Not that I was planning to lie. I had nothing to hide, and I would answer anything they asked – but I was nervous that DCI Bell might think I was lying. Was it to the left or right? I decided I would try to keep eye contact with her as much as I could. Or was that weird, too?
I wasn’t sure why DCI Bell made me so nervous. She was disarmingly ordinary, and if she hadn’t been in police uniform, I wouldn’t have given her a second thought. Amazing how a badge could transform someone.
DCI Bell asked me how close Amy and I were, and how frequently we had spoken in the weeks leading up to her death. I fought back tears as I explained that the time difference and my work schedule had meant we hadn’t spoken that often. How often was not often, DCI Bell wanted to know? I struggled to remember the last time I’d had a proper conversation with my sister, sitting down to talk and giving one another our undivided attention. If DCI Bell judged me for that, she hid it well.
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