This Could Change Everything(6)

It was carnage. There were feathers scattered everywhere, and tiny spatters of blood that wouldn’t have shown up if Paul had only chosen a dark patterned carpet rather than a plain cream one. But he hadn’t, which meant they were all too visible. And there were splodges of black-and-white crow poo too. What more could you want at eleven thirty at night?

Essie exhaled slowly. There was nothing else for it; she was going to have to do her best to clear up the mess before it dried in. The carpet had been expensive. If Paul had been here, he’d be doing it himself, but seeing as he was up in London on business, the task fell to her.

Forty minutes later, the cat flap rattled and the would-be murderer strolled back in to sit on the sofa and observe the clean-up operation unblinkingly.

‘Thanks, Ursula.’ As she scrubbed away at the carpet, Essie noted how cosily the cat’s front paws were tucked beneath her. ‘No, really. Thanks so much. You’re a great help.’

It was twenty to one in the morning before she finished the job, having worked on the stains until her arms and shoulders ached. Ursula, who’d been sleeping, opened a laconic eye as Essie carried the cleaning equipment through to the kitchen and gave her hands one last wash. Finally, she left the spare front door key under the plant pot next to the porch so that Jay could let himself in when he turned up.

Right, all done.

Shattered now.

Bed.





Chapter 4


Seven hours later, Essie was dragged out of sleep by the sound of her mobile ringing on the bedside table. Fumbling for it with her eyes still closed, she pressed Answer and murmured, ‘Yes?’

‘Oh my God, Ess! What did you do? What happened after I left you last night?’

Just reaching across for her phone and holding it to her ear had exacerbated the ache in her shoulder from all the scrubbing. Essie rolled onto her back. ‘Don’t remind me. What a complete nightmare! Ursula brought a live crow in through the cat flap and raced around the cottage with it in her mouth, then she let it go and it was flapping its wings and pooing everywhere and there were spatters of blood on the carpet . . . It’s the most hideous thing that’s happened to me in years—’

‘Whoa, whoa,’ Scarlett interrupted. ‘I’m not talking about Ursula. This is about the email.’

‘What email?’

‘The one you sent. The round-robin thing! Ess, did you open another bottle of wine after I left?’

‘What?’ Essie frowned. Had she? No, there’d been no more wine, just plenty of Cif and scrubbing sponges and hot soapy water and stain remover. ‘I didn’t send any email. One hundred per cent definitely didn’t do it.’

‘Well someone did! OK, did you write a round robin?’

‘Yes, but I didn’t send it to you.’

‘You’re right, you didn’t send it to me.’ Scarlett sighed. ‘OK, brace yourself. You sent it to everyone in your address book.’

‘No . . . I haven’t sent anything to anyone.’ Essie’s stomach began to clench with fear, cottoning on faster than her just-woken brain. ‘I wrote it, but that’s all. What do you mean, it’s gone to everyone in my address book? It can’t have done . . . that’s impossible. Are you joking?’ As she said it, she threw back the duvet and jumped out of bed.

‘I wish I was. This isn’t a joke. Ess, I don’t understand, it’s right here on my phone, I’m looking at it now. It’s been sent out to over two hundred email addresses . . .’

Oh fuck. Fuck. Now Essie had never been more awake in her life. Swallowing a wave of nausea, she wrenched open her bedroom door and heard the telltale burble of the TV playing downstairs.

So much for having made up the bed in the spare room. After a good night out, Jay had always preferred to collapse on the sofa and fall asleep with the TV on. And yes, there he was, out for the count and with his shoes kicked off, but otherwise fully clothed.

And there was her laptop, sitting on the marble coffee table. Where had she left it before going to bed? On the sofa with the lid up. Now the lid was closed. Essie’s knees were trembling as she descended the stairs, opened the computer and saw what she already knew she’d see.

But viewing the evidence in black and white brought her to a whole new level of panic and despair, as the enormity of what it signified began to sink in. There was no other conceivable way it could have happened, no way at all.

‘Oh my God, you stupid . . .’ It was no good; words simply failed her. Nothing was bad enough. Essie shook her brother’s shoulder, which elicited no response, then gave him an almighty shove so that he rolled off the sofa and landed on the floor with a thud.

‘Ow,’ Jay complained, jolted awake and gazing up at her in wounded disbelief. He blinked blearily. ‘What was that for?’

‘The email you sent. It was you, wasn’t it? I can’t believe you did it.’ She aimed a barefoot kick at his leg and was so angry she managed to miss it completely. ‘I let you sleep here and that’s how you repay me? How could you even think it would be a good idea?’

‘What . . .?’ He screwed his face up in apparent confusion.

‘Don’t even try to wriggle out of this. I left my laptop open, you saw what I’d written and you’d had enough to drink that you thought it’d be hilarious to send it out to everyone I know. Jay, I actually want to kill you. Because guess what? It isn’t funny. What you’ve done is going to cause me a whole world of trouble. This could wreck everything, don’t you get it? Everything. You sent it to Paul, you sent it to his mother . . . I can’t even bear to think about what’s going to happen when they see it, and it’s all your fault.’