The Couple at No. 9(90)

‘What’s in the bag?’ I asked instead.

‘Oh.’ She opened it. ‘Sean gave me this joint of beef.’

‘He’s giving you a lot of things lately. Are you sure he’s allowed?’

‘Mick, the owner, has loads of leftover produce. He doesn’t mind.’

I felt uneasy about it. What kind of farmer just gave away his produce for free? Was it another thing Daphne was lying about?

Later that evening, when you were in bed, we were both sitting on the sofa together, each at either end like we used to do when we first met. Usually we’d be huddled up, a tangle of arms and legs, like a two-headed, eight-limbed creature.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ she said, handing me a small leatherbound book. I took it, reading the title in gold embossed into the leather. Love Poems. ‘Open it,’ she urged.

I did as she said and was surprised to see a pressed red rose between the pages.

‘I love you so much,’ she said. ‘Please forgive me.’

‘So you did lie?’

‘It was stupid. I just wanted to see if you liked him. Or if you liked women. Well, me …’

‘Daphne, you have to be honest with me. I can’t carry on being in a relationship with you unless you’re totally truthful.’

‘I am.’ She inched up the sofa towards me. ‘Of course I am.’

‘And what about when you were a kid? You said killing Susan Wallace was an accident.’

‘It was.’

‘I read the news reports.’

She sprang back as though I’d slapped her. ‘What? You were snooping around on me?’

‘I have a two-and-a-half-year-old daughter.’

The hurt on her face crushed me. ‘You think I’d ever hurt Lolly?’

‘No.’ I’d gone too far, I could see that. I knew she loved you like you were her own. ‘No, of course not.’

She rushed to my side, kneeling at my feet and taking my hands in hers. She kissed them and looked up at me. My heart lurched. She was so beautiful. ‘Rose, I’m sorry for lying about Joel. It was stupid.’

‘I …’

She pulled me onto the floor with her and ran her hands through my hair, her eyes intense. ‘I love you. I’ve never loved anyone like I’ve loved you. You have to believe me.’

‘I do.’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘You can’t leave me. I’d be lost without you.’

‘Daphne …’

‘You promise. You promise me, Rose. You can’t leave me.’

I hesitated, thinking of how I’d been so determined to ask her to move out. But I knew I was just angry. I loved her so much. ‘I’m not planning to leave you.’

Relief flooded her face. ‘Oh, good.’ She kissed me, wrapping her arms around me, the book of poetry she’d given me sliding off my lap and onto the wooden floor beside us. She pulled away, cupping my face with her hands.

‘I know too much about you,’ she said, her face serious.

‘And I know too much about you.’

‘Then we’re stuck together, aren’t we?’ She laughed to break the tension but it did nothing to dispel the unease that crept through me.

And maybe we might have been okay. Maybe we could have moved past this.

If it hadn’t been for Sean.





52


Theo





It’s dark and raining when Theo leaves the restaurant. Since May turned into June it’s done nothing but piss down and he has to sprint through the rain-slicked street to his car, his jacket over his head.

It’s been ten days since the weekend in Beggars Nook. Ten days since he met Lorna and Saffron, his possible family. Lorna has texted him a few times – like him, she’s still waiting for the DNA results. He has such mixed feelings: happy that he might have a sister – he’s always wanted a sibling – but also the gut-churning fear his dad might be a murderer.

His dad had been furious, as he’d known he would be, when he’d asked him about the bodies. He’d shouted, told Theo he shouldn’t let his imagination run wild, and had then slammed out of the door. He hasn’t heard from him since.

It’s late, nearly midnight, and the street is empty. His Volvo is parked under a lamppost, the halo of light illuminating the rain. He slides behind the wheel, slamming the door against the bad weather. The sound of the rain hammering on the car roof is deafening and he’s soaked through, exhausted, as he turns on the engine and whacks the heating up. He’s just about to pull away when his phone vibrates in his wet jacket.

He fishes his mobile from his damp pocket. An unrecognized number flashes up on screen. Who would be calling this time of night?

‘Hello,’ he says tentatively.

‘It’s me.’ His father’s voice is gruff at the other end of the line and Theo is so surprised to hear from him that he can’t speak for a couple of seconds.

‘Hello. Are you there?’

‘Yes. Sorry, Dad. I’m here. What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve been arrested.’

So it’s finally happened. His dad hasn’t been able to wriggle his way out of this one. Even so he still feels sick.