Silent Victim(6)

I didn’t know what to expect when I walked through the front door. I adjusted my eyes to the darkness of our narrow hall, negotiating our uneven terracotta tiling, which was in need of repair. The smell of spicy food wafted from our kitchen and, despite my anxieties, my stomach grumbled in response.

‘Hey, you, how was your day?’ Alex said, looking relaxed in sweatshirt and jeans. His enviably clear skin still glowed from the Indian summer we had enjoyed before the cold autumn winds took hold. Taking my coat, he kissed me on the cheek. I slid my fingers beneath his jumper and he gasped at the contact of my icy skin.

‘Sorry,’ I said, chuckling as I withdrew my hands. ‘Work was fine. I’m really pleased with the new lines. Well, all except one. It’s a beautiful dress but it’s got this whopping big footprint on the train.’ I did not care about the dress, much less want to talk about it, but he would think something was up if I didn’t share my day.

‘I’m sure you’ll work your magic on it,’ Alex said. He was proud of what I had done to the business, though he had no idea just how lucrative it had become. Had he known, he would have pushed for a move long before now. The thought sent a frisson of worry through me. Had the person interested in the house come through? Was that what this surprise dinner was all about?

Alex opened the door to our dining room and I saw that the table was set. With soft music playing and candles flickering, he had transformed it into a warm, cosy space, but still there was a chill growing inside me and I could not hold back the question on my tongue. ‘What’s the special occasion? It must be good, you’ve bought oysters.’

‘Fresh off the bay,’ he said, avoiding the question as he poured me a glass of champagne. Oysters were my favourite food and I rarely went a week without indulging. Jamie called them fish bogeys, and Alex wasn’t much better, reluctant to admit liking anything that my birthplace produced. I took a few sips from my glass, my nerves jangling as I waited for him to tell me what was going on. We ate in silence, my thoughts racing. It was not until we had finished our desserts that he let me in on the secret. He topped up my glass with the last of the bubbly and I wondered if he had been hoping for the alcohol to take effect before he broke the news.

‘Here’s to new beginnings,’ he said, gently clinking his crystal glass against mine. ‘I’ve sold the house.’

My hand raised in mid-air, I stared at him. ‘Our house?’ I lowered my glass, unable to drink its contents. I knew this moment could come, yet hearing the words leave his lips made me feel sick inside.

‘Yes,’ he said, his tone forcibly light. ‘I had a lovely couple view it today. Cash buyers. They want to restore it to its former glory.’

‘Really? But there’s so much to be done . . .’ I said, amazed he’d accepted their offer without telling me. I should have been annoyed, but I’d made him put his life on hold for long enough. I knew I could not stay here for ever.

‘They’re artists; they fell in love with the setting more than anything. They’re very keen.’

My face was a picture of calm but inside my heart felt like a jackhammer. ‘Did they check out the land?’ I said, praying the answer was no. What if they had? Alex said they were artists. People like that would immediately be drawn to the trees that bordered the paddock. What if they’d discovered my secret? The police could be on their way right now. I might never see Jamie again.

‘No – it was raining and they didn’t have any proper shoes. They offered the full asking price without seeing it. A dream sale.’

I knocked back the contents of my glass, the once pleasant bubbles now leaving a vinegary taste in my mouth. ‘Looks like we’re moving to Leeds,’ I said, knowing Alex had probably already earmarked a property to buy.

‘You’re going to love it,’ he said, the relief visible on his face as he reached over and squeezed my hand.

I offered him a tight smile, my mind on the body I’d buried in our back yard.





CHAPTER SIX

EMMA





2017


With Jamie home and tucked up in bed, it felt as if the whole house was sleeping. Alex snored softly, tired from a full day’s work then coming home and cooking as well. I stared up at our low-beamed ceiling – the cobweb magnet, as Alex called it. At six foot two, he had to duck slightly each time he entered a room. Everything was small in our little L-shaped cottage; it was easy to see why he was fed up of it. It was not as if it were filled with happy memories for me either: my mother’s departure, nursing my terminally ill father, and what had happened out back . . . It felt entrenched in misfortune. I only hoped that the new owners would have more luck.

Alex was quiet and thoughtful when we first met. Our friendship was firmly established before he made his feelings clear. He knew I was still recovering from what I called a ‘bad relationship’, although that was as much as I told him at the time. It was the little things that endeared him to me: smuggling food into the library when I was snowed under with studying, and knowing when I needed some time on my own. When I was struck down with a bad case of the flu it was Alex who nursed me through it. When I was snotty and dishevelled it was Alex who missed important lectures to stay by my side. Alex’s continued support was a debt I was only able to begin to repay when his father died from heart failure, squeezing his hand tightly as the man he loved most in the world was lowered into the ground.