‘Are you sure you like it?’
‘I love it, Em. You’ve done a brilliant job.’ He kisses me again, gently this time, his tongue flicking against mine as his hand moves to my breast. I sigh, relaxing against him for a moment before I pull away.
‘There’s more, though,’ I say, excitement fizzing in my veins. ‘I was thinking, what if we put a pool in?’ Stepping away from him, I mark out the position of where I imagine the pool to go. ‘We could put it here. Just think, when it’s hot and you’ve been in the office all day you can come home and we can jump in the water together.’ Waggling my eyebrows at him, I step closer, reaching out to pull him back into my arms.
‘No,’ he says shortly, turning away and walking back into the kitchen, leaving me standing open-mouthed for a moment before I follow him.
‘What do you mean, no?’ I can’t understand why he’s being like this. ‘It would finish the garden off perfectly, and we have the space.’
‘I don’t want a pool, Emily.’ His voice is cold, and he keeps his back to me as he wrenches the lid from a bottle of whisky, before pouring himself a generous measure. ‘Don’t even think about discussing it any further, I don’t want a pool out there.’
‘But Sadie said…’ Hot tears spring to my eyes, tears of frustration and anger.
‘Sadie? Since when does Sadie live here? Since when does Sadie pay the bills? It’s a waste of money, Emily – my money. I don’t want a pool – I don’t need a pool. If I want to swim, I’ll go over to Miles’s and use the pool, or I’ll go to the gym. The garden is fine as it is.’
‘OK,’ I say quietly, ‘I just thought…’ I swallow down the thick lump in my throat. ‘I just thought it would be nice, that’s all. I saw your swimming trophies at your parents’ house and I… oh, I don’t know.’
‘Em,’ Rupert turns, whisky in hand. ‘Oh God, Em, don’t cry.’ He reaches for me now, and I have to force myself not to pull away. ‘Look, it’s a lovely thought. I do love swimming, you’re right, and I do miss it, but not enough to shell out thirty grand on a swanky swimming pool, OK?’
I nod my head and smile, swiping at the damp tracks on my face, before I make a show of starting dinner. All my hard work today in the garden, and still it seems I can’t get things right.
The shrill ring of the telephone makes me jump, as I sit at the kitchen table paying bills online. I have taken over this household duty from Rupert, and I still get a tiny shiver down my spine at the figures that sit at the top of the banking page, still not quite believing they are real. Rupert could afford to put the pool in, I think, if I scaled it down a little. Part of me wonders if he feels strange knowing that it would be Caro’s money he would be spending. But Caro isn’t here anymore. Anya pokes her head around the doorframe, a bottle of bleach in one hand.
‘I get it?’ she asks, a frown distorting her features. She is always frowning, a permanent look of disapproval.
‘No,’ I breathe out, ‘I’ll get it.’ I snatch up the phone and jab at the answer button. ‘Hello?’
Nothing. My heart stutters in my chest. Dead air again.
‘Hello? Hello? Listen, if you’re not going to say anything then just fuck right off, OK?’ Apprehension makes my words weaker than I had hoped for but calling in the daytime is new. I’ve come to expect it on the cold, lonely evenings when Rupert is working late, but not now, when the sun is streaming in through the orangery windows, and I am feeling if not safe, then less threatened at least. Anya’s face appears back in the kitchen doorway, her dark eyes wide.
‘Bitch.’ I hear the faintest hiss, the word floating down the line and I click the off button. Less satisfying than slamming down the receiver, but at least I cut whoever it is off.
‘Is wrong number?’ Anya asks.
‘Yes,’ I say shortly, slamming the lid of the laptop. ‘I have to go out now.’ Another day, another lunch, this time at Amanda’s. ‘If the phone rings, just… don’t bother to answer it, OK?’
I step out into the bright, chilly sunshine, relieved to be out of the house. I am more shaken by the phone call this morning than I care to admit, and I am glad to be headed out for the afternoon, out of reach of that hissing, vitriolic voice. Walking quickly, the back of my neck itches where the wool of my scarf meets it, and as I reach up to loosen it, I think, from the corner of my eye, I see someone behind me. Pausing, I turn, scanning the pavement behind me. There are plenty of people there, all going about their day, but no one is looking at me. Following me.
I let out a breath I don’t realize I am holding, and then start to walk again, conscious of the heels of my ankle boots as they strike the concrete. My heart sinks as I approach the underpass that leads to Amanda’s house. I could walk round the long way, up and over the dual carriageway, but it’s busy and there isn’t much of a footpath. Turning, I can see that the path behind me is empty. There is only me, and the long tunnel in front of me.
Don’t be ridiculous, Emily, I chide myself, it was a voice at the end of the phone. There’s no one following you. Just walk.
Tentatively I take a step forward, pulling my hat off my head and pushing my hair away from my ears. Nothing. It’s fine. I step forward again,
