The Honeymoon, page 9
‘I can’t cancel, it’ll look too—’
‘Jamie?’ someone calls his name. I can hear people talking in the background.
He lowers his voice to a whisper. ‘It’ll look too suspicious if we cancel on them, babe. We just have to act normal. Life carries on. We did nothing wrong, remember? Trust me. Maybe give the house a quick tidy. They’ll be here at seven. I’m sorry, but I have to go.’
‘Wait! But what will we cook—’
He hangs up before I can say another word. I place my phone on the kitchen surface with trembling fingers. We did nothing wrong. I repeat the words, my new mantra, and wonder if I’ll ever end up fully believing them.
21
Sophia
Sunday 18 September
‘Barney! Watch that sword! I’ve told you, you’ll take the twins’ eyes out!’ a harassed mother calls.
My ears ring with the sound of high-pitched excitable shrieks and up-tempo music that echoes around the enormous soft play warehouse. We thought we’d time our arrival to catch the tail end of the party. The plan was to show our faces before enjoying a nice evening meal with Mark’s sister, Juliet, and her husband.
‘Ah, there you are!’ Jules drapes a skinny arm across my shoulders. I can tell by her eyes that she’s had a drink. I don’t blame her. She’s already surviving on zero sleep with the baby, and this is how she spends her Sundays. ‘So pleased you could make it. Oakley is thrilled!’
Right on cue, Oakley, the birthday boy, leaps past wearing a superhero cape and an oversized ‘five’ badge stuck on his chest.
‘So, tell me all! You’re both glowing. Gosh, I bet the weather was glorious! And when I say glowing, I mean . . .’ She gives me a very unsubtle wink.
Ever since announcing our engagement, it seems the world is desperate to know the ins and outs of our procreative desires.
‘It was great. Very relaxing.’
‘I want to hear all about it! I’ll try not to be offended that you’re not joining us for dinner. How you had the time to leave the bedroom to make friends, I have no idea. Surely it was non-stop shagging. Whoops! Hang on. Melody is getting tangled in the rope swing.’
I frown as she dashes off.
Mark puts down an inflatable guitar he’s picked up from somewhere. ‘You OK? What’s that face for?’
‘Jules just said that we’re not going for dinner with them?’
‘Ah. I forgot to mention it but,’ Mark scratches his neck, ‘I’ve told Erin and Jamie we’d pop in.’
‘What? The couple from our honeymoon?’
‘Yeah. I was messaging him about something in the week, and he invited us for dinner as I said we’re down here for this party. Sorry, I thought you’d actually prefer that to hanging around, helping to clean up and all that.’
I think back to the meal in the Blue Fin. The spilt drink. The awkward tension and rushed goodbye.
‘Fine, I guess.’ It’s not ideal, but it’s better than sitting through the aftermath of the sugar comedown Oakley and his friends are going to experience later. ‘Hang on – what were you messaging Jamie about? I didn’t even know you two swapped numbers?’
‘He said he’d sort us out with an upgrade for the alarm system.’
‘An upgrade?’ I stare at him. ‘I’d hoped we’d be getting rid of the cameras soon, not upgrading them.’
Colour rushes to Mark’s cheeks. ‘He’s doing it for barely anything, if that helps!’
He flashes an apologetic smile just as Mark’s brother-in-law strides into the room with an enormous birthday cake and starts a powerful rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, which makes a nearby toddler burst into tears.
The bellowing, out-of-tune singing is giving me a headache. I’m hot, uncomfortable and keep getting pungent wafts of unwashed feet every so often. Perhaps if I were dressed a little more casually then it might not be as bad. My chiffon leopard midi dress with laced leather boots isn’t practical. I’ve already clocked the unimpressed looks from the cluster of mums seated around an indoor picnic bench in their uniforms of Breton-striped tops and stretchy leggings.
‘Sorry, potential trip to A&E averted.’ Jules is back at my side. She blows her long blonde fringe out of her eyes. ‘So, where were we? What’s been going on with you?’
I tell her that I’m working at the Post, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. She responds with over-the-top enthusiasm that I know is for my benefit. ‘What’s the maternity leave situation like?’
I grit my teeth. ‘I don’t know. It’s only a trial at the moment.’
Thankfully she must pick up on my mood, as she changes the subject, not before hollering at her son to stop eating Haribo rings off the floor.
‘I thought of you last week: there’s a place not far from here that’s just come on to the market. It would be ideal for you two. You could probably sell your place and live mortgage-free.’
She passes her phone over, and Mark’s eyes light up as he flicks through the images of a respectable three-bed semi with a neat garden and an opportunity for an extension. It is so cheap compared to London prices. Suddenly there’s an ear-piercing shriek from the ball pit. One child has pushed another and caused a nosebleed. All the Breton-top mums bolt into action, wet wipes are thrown in the air and harassed calls are made to seal off the bloodied play equipment.
We leave not long after.
I fiddle with the dial on the radio. My ears still haven’t adjusted to the sudden change in volume since leaving the soft play venue. I’m grateful Mark is the one driving up the winding track.
I peer at Google Maps. ‘Er, left, I think. God, it’s remote here, isn’t it?’ We’ve already had to stop to let a couple of sheep wander past.
We drive for another five minutes down a narrow and very bumpy road with farmers’ fields on either side. There’s the faint hum of a hidden tractor. Lines of blackbirds sit atop a telephone pole before they all take flight at once.
‘Hang on.’ I shift in the passenger seat as a lone grey house comes into view. ‘Is that it?’
‘Yep. It looks like we’re here.’
‘Whoa,’ I gasp, getting out of the car.
A full sky greets us just as daylight is leaking away. No smog, no planes, no sirens. The scents of damp earth and fresh manure from the fields carry on the cool wind.
I look up at the imposing grey building in front of me. The house is nothing like I imagined. Roof tiles are misplaced, ivy has claimed half of one side and the chimney has a bird’s nest in it. The roof appears to be sinking in the middle; each end looks as if it’s been pulled up by invisible rope. They weren’t lying when they said there was work to be done.
The strong breeze whips my hair as I walk along the uneven gravel drive. Tufts of hardy weeds poke through, sharp and snagging at my chiffon dress. The land around is entirely flat and uninspiring. They could be the only two people left in the world and they wouldn’t know. A chill dances up my arms.
Judging by his face, this is hardly the rural dream Mark had pictured either.
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting this,’ he says, craning his neck to take it all in.
The silence is deafening. I have no idea how they cope, being so remote. I would feel suffocated in a place as quiet as this.
‘Do you reckon they can still get a Deliveroo?’ Mark grins, pressing the doorbell. A traditional ringing chimes from somewhere over our heads.
I clutch the bottle of nice wine we picked up on the way here closer to my chest but there’s no time to worry about how awkward this reunion might be, as there’s an ominous scrape of a lock and the sound of a chain being pulled back. Then the door starts to open.
22
Erin
It was pretty much non-stop scrubbing, spraying, wiping and dusting the moment I got off the phone with Jamie. I then had to go to three different farm shops to get everything I needed – only the best-quality ingredients for our guests – including driving to the Pig & Pepper, a fancy deli in Somerford, a forty-minute round trip, just before it closed. It was a frantic dash to grab sourdough bread, pots of olives, a selection of dips and some cured organic meats that I’ve artfully arranged on a platter for the starter, then a couple of artisan pies for the main. My fingers still smell of chorizo and caramelised onions.
Sophia on the other hand smells like a summer meadow. It still doesn’t feel real that she’s in my house. Her leopard-print dress is so chic. Her hair is tied in a low fishtail plait that drapes across one shoulder, strands of honey-blonde hair teased loose, framing her face. I wish I were a bit more casual. The dress I picked out would look more suited to a beach bar. Even Mark commented on how I was bringing the holiday vibes, until Sophia nudged him and told him not to tease me. I wasn’t aware that he was.
We’ve done the polite small talk about their journey (not as long as you’d think, actually) and the weather (how different from what we’re used to in Bali, ha ha). Soon the men are talking about football. Sophia pulls out one of the bar stools and wraps her long legs around the frame.
‘So, how are things?’ I ask, pouring her a glass of the white wine they brought. Even though it looks fancier than anything we would normally drink, I’m sticking with tap water; I mustn’t miss a thing.
‘Fine. Back to reality.’ She clinks her glass to mine. ‘Thanks for having us, it’s lovely seeing you again.’
‘No problem,’ I stutter under her gaze, trying not to blush at her bright smile. She really is so beautiful. I can’t stop looking at her handbag, a classic black quilted Chanel on a silver chain strap, which she tucks beside her feet. Nothing in my wardrobe is a designer label but if I did own anything as fancy as that, I certainly wouldn’t be shoving it on the floor.
‘So,’ I take a deep breath. ‘Are you back at work?’
The smile drops. She picks at her nail polish. ‘Yeah.’
‘It must be hard, going back after the holiday.’
‘Yeah. It’s been a bit of a shock to the system.’
‘What is it you do again?’
‘I’m freelancing at my local paper at the moment.’
‘Oh? You’re a journalist?’ I ask, screwing the bottle cap back on, trying to act as casual as possible. ‘What sort of stories do you write?’
‘I cover all sorts, really. Before this I was a crime reporter on a national but . . . I fancied a change.’
‘So you don’t write crime stories any more?’
‘Last week I wrote a feature on Ethel, a great-grandma who has launched a charity appeal for others to start knitting, and an in-depth double-page spread on how the cladding crisis is affecting a block of flats near the tube station.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘But my passion is crime.’ She moves a touch closer; her inviting scent fills my nose. ‘Between us, in the background, I’m working on a few things.’
I nod, trying not to freeze mid-smile. Inside I’m screaming, desperate for more details, but I stay silent, wary of pushing it too far. I don’t want it to look as though I’m taking too much of an interest in her job.
‘Erin. Are you OK?’ she asks, looking at my arms, at the goosebumps which have appeared across my bare skin. I excuse myself to go and throw on a cardigan. An ugly mohair thing that itches.
When I return, Jamie has seated them at the kitchen table – not in the places I would have chosen, but I don’t mention it.
‘What have I missed?’ I ask as brightly as I can.
‘I was just showing Mark the app, giving him a quick run-through.’ Jamie glances up from his phone, his fingers scrolling the activity feed, the HD playback feature, the intuitive interface and voice control options.
‘Have you had it long?’ I ask Sophia. ‘Your alarm, I mean.’
‘Mmm, I hate it. It gives me the creeps,’ she says. ‘Sorry, Jamie – no offence.’
Jamie laughs. ‘None taken.’
‘We got it when Soph was getting a bit of attention because of one of the stories she was working on,’ Mark explains. ‘As I said to you before, it’s more of a deterrent.’
Jamie has his tongue out in concentration, syncing Mark’s phone to some piece of upgraded kit. ‘I’ll give you a sixty-day free set-up. Will that be long enough?’
‘Nice one, cheers, man,’ Mark clinks his beer bottle. ‘Hear that, Soph?’
Sophia dips her eyes to the table and then finishes the rest of her glass in one long gulp.
23
Erin
Intrigued to see more of the house, Sophia and Mark have gone off on a self-guided tour. I rush to help Jamie dish up the starter.
‘You OK?’ he asks, passing me a serving spoon.
‘I was about to ask you the same thing. What do we do about Sophia? She’s a journalist. She’ll know something’s up!’
He gives a firm shake of his head. ‘She was a journalist. Now she works at the Islington Daily Bugle or some bollocks. It’s not like she’s dominating Fleet Street. Trust me, you’re worrying too much.’ He leans over the counter and gives me a reassuring kiss. ‘Thanks for sorting this. I didn’t expect you to go all the way to the Pig & Pepper.’
I turn the dial on the oven to 180 degrees. Pie and mash may not be exotic but it’s tasty – and foolproof.
‘It’s fine.’ Then I pause. ‘I didn’t think I’d told you that I went there.’
He gives me a look I can’t quite read. ‘Are you OK, babe?’
I’m about to say something when I hear Mark and Sophia’s voices from the hallway.
‘Come on, let’s get this over with,’ I say, giving him a peck on the cheek.
We’re all seated around the table once more.
‘This is delicious, thank you,’ Sophia says. ‘Even better than the Blue Fin.’
I know she’s being polite, but hearing that name again is like a twist of a knife in my stomach.
‘God, that was some crazy weather that night.’ Mark shakes his head.
I’m standing at the edge of a diving board, trying to will myself to leap off, not knowing if anything will catch me. Sophia and Mark are both sitting back casually in their chairs. There’s no interrogation, no inkling that anything is off.
‘You left for your flight and missed the aftermath!’ Sophia says, grinding black pepper over her food.
The noise grates through me.
‘Yeah, there was quite a bit of damage to the hotel. One of the main offices got flooded and the bar was a bit mangled,’ Mark explains.
‘And a man died,’ Sophia adds.
‘I knew you’d bring that up.’ Mark wipes his mouth on a napkin.
Dread twists in my gut.
‘Really?’ Jamie asks, going to top up their wine glasses. Only I can see the slight tremble in his hand.
I hold on to the edge of my chair, needing to touch something solid. Needing to feel anchored. ‘H-h-how did you see that?’
‘It came through on the news wires.’ Sophia wafts her hand as if she can’t really remember. ‘I only clocked it as it was near where we went for dinner, literally down from the Blue Fin, on that same night.’ She shudders. ‘I mean, what he was doing out near the cliffs during the storm, I have no idea. It’s like some people have a death wish.’
There is a scrape of cutlery. The sound pierces through my bones.
‘Are you writing a story on this?’ I ask boldly. A bolt of anxiety pounds in my chest. I’ve overstepped the mark.
Sophia points to her full mouth and smiles. I wait for her to finish chewing. It feels like a lifetime.
‘I doubt the Islington Post would be interested,’ Mark replies, scoffing into his glass, replying for her.
She finally swallows. ‘Well, actually . . .’ She stops and scrunches up her nose and sniffs. ‘Is something burning?’
‘The pies!’ Jamie leaps from his chair and pulls open the oven door. Suddenly the kitchen is filled with acrid black smoke.
‘Get the extractor fan on!’ I splutter. My eyes are watering. I can feel it burning at the back of my throat.
‘It doesn’t work,’ Jamie says, coughing into his arm.
Mark gets to his feet and pushes the patio doors open, bringing in a gust of cool autumnal air. Tea towels are wafted. We all laugh awkwardly as Jamie pulls out a large sad-looking pie with a charcoal lid. Inside, I’m mortified.
‘I think you might need a new smoke alarm.’ Mark grins, pointing to the one that’s fixed to the ceiling. The red light is flashing but it’s completely silent.
‘Yeah.’ Jamie shakes his head. ‘Batteries probably need replacing, like everything else in this house. Babe, what temperature did you set this at?’
‘One hundred and eighty.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I cook pretty much everything at one hundred and eighty!’ I say, seeing the look on Sophia’s face at how snappy that sounded. ‘I mean, yes, I’m sure.’
Jamie doesn’t seem to pick up on my sudden outburst. Instead, he looks worried. He drops his voice. ‘Then why is it on max?’
I can feel Sophia and Mark’s eyes on me, as they fan their faces, coughing.
I can’t get rid of the acrid taste of burning coating the back of my throat.
‘Excuse me.’
I almost knock my glass over in my haste to push my chair back and get out of the room, tears falling down my flushed cheeks. I only just make it to the downstairs bathroom before I throw up.
24
Sophia
Monday 19 September
To keep busy this morning I’ve already made two rounds of tea for everyone, ignoring the comment from Brad, who said loudly for all to hear how he never expected Sophia Spencer to be making him a hot drink. I gritted my teeth and willed myself not to give into the temptation of accidentally spilling the rest of the contents of the stained plastic tray over him.
‘Do you need me to do anything else?’ I ask Claudia.
She shakes her head, praising me for working so fast on the small selection of articles I fired off before she’d even turned her laptop on.
Back at my desk, I pick up my phone. I still haven’t heard from Erin after I thanked her for having us. I wanted to check that she was feeling better after dashing off so suddenly. Jamie managed to scrape the burnt crusts off and salvage the dinner but she didn’t rejoin us, complaining of a dodgy tummy.
‘Jamie?’ someone calls his name. I can hear people talking in the background.
He lowers his voice to a whisper. ‘It’ll look too suspicious if we cancel on them, babe. We just have to act normal. Life carries on. We did nothing wrong, remember? Trust me. Maybe give the house a quick tidy. They’ll be here at seven. I’m sorry, but I have to go.’
‘Wait! But what will we cook—’
He hangs up before I can say another word. I place my phone on the kitchen surface with trembling fingers. We did nothing wrong. I repeat the words, my new mantra, and wonder if I’ll ever end up fully believing them.
21
Sophia
Sunday 18 September
‘Barney! Watch that sword! I’ve told you, you’ll take the twins’ eyes out!’ a harassed mother calls.
My ears ring with the sound of high-pitched excitable shrieks and up-tempo music that echoes around the enormous soft play warehouse. We thought we’d time our arrival to catch the tail end of the party. The plan was to show our faces before enjoying a nice evening meal with Mark’s sister, Juliet, and her husband.
‘Ah, there you are!’ Jules drapes a skinny arm across my shoulders. I can tell by her eyes that she’s had a drink. I don’t blame her. She’s already surviving on zero sleep with the baby, and this is how she spends her Sundays. ‘So pleased you could make it. Oakley is thrilled!’
Right on cue, Oakley, the birthday boy, leaps past wearing a superhero cape and an oversized ‘five’ badge stuck on his chest.
‘So, tell me all! You’re both glowing. Gosh, I bet the weather was glorious! And when I say glowing, I mean . . .’ She gives me a very unsubtle wink.
Ever since announcing our engagement, it seems the world is desperate to know the ins and outs of our procreative desires.
‘It was great. Very relaxing.’
‘I want to hear all about it! I’ll try not to be offended that you’re not joining us for dinner. How you had the time to leave the bedroom to make friends, I have no idea. Surely it was non-stop shagging. Whoops! Hang on. Melody is getting tangled in the rope swing.’
I frown as she dashes off.
Mark puts down an inflatable guitar he’s picked up from somewhere. ‘You OK? What’s that face for?’
‘Jules just said that we’re not going for dinner with them?’
‘Ah. I forgot to mention it but,’ Mark scratches his neck, ‘I’ve told Erin and Jamie we’d pop in.’
‘What? The couple from our honeymoon?’
‘Yeah. I was messaging him about something in the week, and he invited us for dinner as I said we’re down here for this party. Sorry, I thought you’d actually prefer that to hanging around, helping to clean up and all that.’
I think back to the meal in the Blue Fin. The spilt drink. The awkward tension and rushed goodbye.
‘Fine, I guess.’ It’s not ideal, but it’s better than sitting through the aftermath of the sugar comedown Oakley and his friends are going to experience later. ‘Hang on – what were you messaging Jamie about? I didn’t even know you two swapped numbers?’
‘He said he’d sort us out with an upgrade for the alarm system.’
‘An upgrade?’ I stare at him. ‘I’d hoped we’d be getting rid of the cameras soon, not upgrading them.’
Colour rushes to Mark’s cheeks. ‘He’s doing it for barely anything, if that helps!’
He flashes an apologetic smile just as Mark’s brother-in-law strides into the room with an enormous birthday cake and starts a powerful rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, which makes a nearby toddler burst into tears.
The bellowing, out-of-tune singing is giving me a headache. I’m hot, uncomfortable and keep getting pungent wafts of unwashed feet every so often. Perhaps if I were dressed a little more casually then it might not be as bad. My chiffon leopard midi dress with laced leather boots isn’t practical. I’ve already clocked the unimpressed looks from the cluster of mums seated around an indoor picnic bench in their uniforms of Breton-striped tops and stretchy leggings.
‘Sorry, potential trip to A&E averted.’ Jules is back at my side. She blows her long blonde fringe out of her eyes. ‘So, where were we? What’s been going on with you?’
I tell her that I’m working at the Post, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. She responds with over-the-top enthusiasm that I know is for my benefit. ‘What’s the maternity leave situation like?’
I grit my teeth. ‘I don’t know. It’s only a trial at the moment.’
Thankfully she must pick up on my mood, as she changes the subject, not before hollering at her son to stop eating Haribo rings off the floor.
‘I thought of you last week: there’s a place not far from here that’s just come on to the market. It would be ideal for you two. You could probably sell your place and live mortgage-free.’
She passes her phone over, and Mark’s eyes light up as he flicks through the images of a respectable three-bed semi with a neat garden and an opportunity for an extension. It is so cheap compared to London prices. Suddenly there’s an ear-piercing shriek from the ball pit. One child has pushed another and caused a nosebleed. All the Breton-top mums bolt into action, wet wipes are thrown in the air and harassed calls are made to seal off the bloodied play equipment.
We leave not long after.
I fiddle with the dial on the radio. My ears still haven’t adjusted to the sudden change in volume since leaving the soft play venue. I’m grateful Mark is the one driving up the winding track.
I peer at Google Maps. ‘Er, left, I think. God, it’s remote here, isn’t it?’ We’ve already had to stop to let a couple of sheep wander past.
We drive for another five minutes down a narrow and very bumpy road with farmers’ fields on either side. There’s the faint hum of a hidden tractor. Lines of blackbirds sit atop a telephone pole before they all take flight at once.
‘Hang on.’ I shift in the passenger seat as a lone grey house comes into view. ‘Is that it?’
‘Yep. It looks like we’re here.’
‘Whoa,’ I gasp, getting out of the car.
A full sky greets us just as daylight is leaking away. No smog, no planes, no sirens. The scents of damp earth and fresh manure from the fields carry on the cool wind.
I look up at the imposing grey building in front of me. The house is nothing like I imagined. Roof tiles are misplaced, ivy has claimed half of one side and the chimney has a bird’s nest in it. The roof appears to be sinking in the middle; each end looks as if it’s been pulled up by invisible rope. They weren’t lying when they said there was work to be done.
The strong breeze whips my hair as I walk along the uneven gravel drive. Tufts of hardy weeds poke through, sharp and snagging at my chiffon dress. The land around is entirely flat and uninspiring. They could be the only two people left in the world and they wouldn’t know. A chill dances up my arms.
Judging by his face, this is hardly the rural dream Mark had pictured either.
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting this,’ he says, craning his neck to take it all in.
The silence is deafening. I have no idea how they cope, being so remote. I would feel suffocated in a place as quiet as this.
‘Do you reckon they can still get a Deliveroo?’ Mark grins, pressing the doorbell. A traditional ringing chimes from somewhere over our heads.
I clutch the bottle of nice wine we picked up on the way here closer to my chest but there’s no time to worry about how awkward this reunion might be, as there’s an ominous scrape of a lock and the sound of a chain being pulled back. Then the door starts to open.
22
Erin
It was pretty much non-stop scrubbing, spraying, wiping and dusting the moment I got off the phone with Jamie. I then had to go to three different farm shops to get everything I needed – only the best-quality ingredients for our guests – including driving to the Pig & Pepper, a fancy deli in Somerford, a forty-minute round trip, just before it closed. It was a frantic dash to grab sourdough bread, pots of olives, a selection of dips and some cured organic meats that I’ve artfully arranged on a platter for the starter, then a couple of artisan pies for the main. My fingers still smell of chorizo and caramelised onions.
Sophia on the other hand smells like a summer meadow. It still doesn’t feel real that she’s in my house. Her leopard-print dress is so chic. Her hair is tied in a low fishtail plait that drapes across one shoulder, strands of honey-blonde hair teased loose, framing her face. I wish I were a bit more casual. The dress I picked out would look more suited to a beach bar. Even Mark commented on how I was bringing the holiday vibes, until Sophia nudged him and told him not to tease me. I wasn’t aware that he was.
We’ve done the polite small talk about their journey (not as long as you’d think, actually) and the weather (how different from what we’re used to in Bali, ha ha). Soon the men are talking about football. Sophia pulls out one of the bar stools and wraps her long legs around the frame.
‘So, how are things?’ I ask, pouring her a glass of the white wine they brought. Even though it looks fancier than anything we would normally drink, I’m sticking with tap water; I mustn’t miss a thing.
‘Fine. Back to reality.’ She clinks her glass to mine. ‘Thanks for having us, it’s lovely seeing you again.’
‘No problem,’ I stutter under her gaze, trying not to blush at her bright smile. She really is so beautiful. I can’t stop looking at her handbag, a classic black quilted Chanel on a silver chain strap, which she tucks beside her feet. Nothing in my wardrobe is a designer label but if I did own anything as fancy as that, I certainly wouldn’t be shoving it on the floor.
‘So,’ I take a deep breath. ‘Are you back at work?’
The smile drops. She picks at her nail polish. ‘Yeah.’
‘It must be hard, going back after the holiday.’
‘Yeah. It’s been a bit of a shock to the system.’
‘What is it you do again?’
‘I’m freelancing at my local paper at the moment.’
‘Oh? You’re a journalist?’ I ask, screwing the bottle cap back on, trying to act as casual as possible. ‘What sort of stories do you write?’
‘I cover all sorts, really. Before this I was a crime reporter on a national but . . . I fancied a change.’
‘So you don’t write crime stories any more?’
‘Last week I wrote a feature on Ethel, a great-grandma who has launched a charity appeal for others to start knitting, and an in-depth double-page spread on how the cladding crisis is affecting a block of flats near the tube station.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘But my passion is crime.’ She moves a touch closer; her inviting scent fills my nose. ‘Between us, in the background, I’m working on a few things.’
I nod, trying not to freeze mid-smile. Inside I’m screaming, desperate for more details, but I stay silent, wary of pushing it too far. I don’t want it to look as though I’m taking too much of an interest in her job.
‘Erin. Are you OK?’ she asks, looking at my arms, at the goosebumps which have appeared across my bare skin. I excuse myself to go and throw on a cardigan. An ugly mohair thing that itches.
When I return, Jamie has seated them at the kitchen table – not in the places I would have chosen, but I don’t mention it.
‘What have I missed?’ I ask as brightly as I can.
‘I was just showing Mark the app, giving him a quick run-through.’ Jamie glances up from his phone, his fingers scrolling the activity feed, the HD playback feature, the intuitive interface and voice control options.
‘Have you had it long?’ I ask Sophia. ‘Your alarm, I mean.’
‘Mmm, I hate it. It gives me the creeps,’ she says. ‘Sorry, Jamie – no offence.’
Jamie laughs. ‘None taken.’
‘We got it when Soph was getting a bit of attention because of one of the stories she was working on,’ Mark explains. ‘As I said to you before, it’s more of a deterrent.’
Jamie has his tongue out in concentration, syncing Mark’s phone to some piece of upgraded kit. ‘I’ll give you a sixty-day free set-up. Will that be long enough?’
‘Nice one, cheers, man,’ Mark clinks his beer bottle. ‘Hear that, Soph?’
Sophia dips her eyes to the table and then finishes the rest of her glass in one long gulp.
23
Erin
Intrigued to see more of the house, Sophia and Mark have gone off on a self-guided tour. I rush to help Jamie dish up the starter.
‘You OK?’ he asks, passing me a serving spoon.
‘I was about to ask you the same thing. What do we do about Sophia? She’s a journalist. She’ll know something’s up!’
He gives a firm shake of his head. ‘She was a journalist. Now she works at the Islington Daily Bugle or some bollocks. It’s not like she’s dominating Fleet Street. Trust me, you’re worrying too much.’ He leans over the counter and gives me a reassuring kiss. ‘Thanks for sorting this. I didn’t expect you to go all the way to the Pig & Pepper.’
I turn the dial on the oven to 180 degrees. Pie and mash may not be exotic but it’s tasty – and foolproof.
‘It’s fine.’ Then I pause. ‘I didn’t think I’d told you that I went there.’
He gives me a look I can’t quite read. ‘Are you OK, babe?’
I’m about to say something when I hear Mark and Sophia’s voices from the hallway.
‘Come on, let’s get this over with,’ I say, giving him a peck on the cheek.
We’re all seated around the table once more.
‘This is delicious, thank you,’ Sophia says. ‘Even better than the Blue Fin.’
I know she’s being polite, but hearing that name again is like a twist of a knife in my stomach.
‘God, that was some crazy weather that night.’ Mark shakes his head.
I’m standing at the edge of a diving board, trying to will myself to leap off, not knowing if anything will catch me. Sophia and Mark are both sitting back casually in their chairs. There’s no interrogation, no inkling that anything is off.
‘You left for your flight and missed the aftermath!’ Sophia says, grinding black pepper over her food.
The noise grates through me.
‘Yeah, there was quite a bit of damage to the hotel. One of the main offices got flooded and the bar was a bit mangled,’ Mark explains.
‘And a man died,’ Sophia adds.
‘I knew you’d bring that up.’ Mark wipes his mouth on a napkin.
Dread twists in my gut.
‘Really?’ Jamie asks, going to top up their wine glasses. Only I can see the slight tremble in his hand.
I hold on to the edge of my chair, needing to touch something solid. Needing to feel anchored. ‘H-h-how did you see that?’
‘It came through on the news wires.’ Sophia wafts her hand as if she can’t really remember. ‘I only clocked it as it was near where we went for dinner, literally down from the Blue Fin, on that same night.’ She shudders. ‘I mean, what he was doing out near the cliffs during the storm, I have no idea. It’s like some people have a death wish.’
There is a scrape of cutlery. The sound pierces through my bones.
‘Are you writing a story on this?’ I ask boldly. A bolt of anxiety pounds in my chest. I’ve overstepped the mark.
Sophia points to her full mouth and smiles. I wait for her to finish chewing. It feels like a lifetime.
‘I doubt the Islington Post would be interested,’ Mark replies, scoffing into his glass, replying for her.
She finally swallows. ‘Well, actually . . .’ She stops and scrunches up her nose and sniffs. ‘Is something burning?’
‘The pies!’ Jamie leaps from his chair and pulls open the oven door. Suddenly the kitchen is filled with acrid black smoke.
‘Get the extractor fan on!’ I splutter. My eyes are watering. I can feel it burning at the back of my throat.
‘It doesn’t work,’ Jamie says, coughing into his arm.
Mark gets to his feet and pushes the patio doors open, bringing in a gust of cool autumnal air. Tea towels are wafted. We all laugh awkwardly as Jamie pulls out a large sad-looking pie with a charcoal lid. Inside, I’m mortified.
‘I think you might need a new smoke alarm.’ Mark grins, pointing to the one that’s fixed to the ceiling. The red light is flashing but it’s completely silent.
‘Yeah.’ Jamie shakes his head. ‘Batteries probably need replacing, like everything else in this house. Babe, what temperature did you set this at?’
‘One hundred and eighty.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I cook pretty much everything at one hundred and eighty!’ I say, seeing the look on Sophia’s face at how snappy that sounded. ‘I mean, yes, I’m sure.’
Jamie doesn’t seem to pick up on my sudden outburst. Instead, he looks worried. He drops his voice. ‘Then why is it on max?’
I can feel Sophia and Mark’s eyes on me, as they fan their faces, coughing.
I can’t get rid of the acrid taste of burning coating the back of my throat.
‘Excuse me.’
I almost knock my glass over in my haste to push my chair back and get out of the room, tears falling down my flushed cheeks. I only just make it to the downstairs bathroom before I throw up.
24
Sophia
Monday 19 September
To keep busy this morning I’ve already made two rounds of tea for everyone, ignoring the comment from Brad, who said loudly for all to hear how he never expected Sophia Spencer to be making him a hot drink. I gritted my teeth and willed myself not to give into the temptation of accidentally spilling the rest of the contents of the stained plastic tray over him.
‘Do you need me to do anything else?’ I ask Claudia.
She shakes her head, praising me for working so fast on the small selection of articles I fired off before she’d even turned her laptop on.
Back at my desk, I pick up my phone. I still haven’t heard from Erin after I thanked her for having us. I wanted to check that she was feeling better after dashing off so suddenly. Jamie managed to scrape the burnt crusts off and salvage the dinner but she didn’t rejoin us, complaining of a dodgy tummy.
