‘Are you all right?’ Sadie asks. There is concern in her eyes, but she still reaches for her champagne glass.
‘Yes, sorry. I just needed to cool off for a moment.’ I laugh and mime fanning myself.
‘Well. As long as you’re OK,’ Sadie says, a slight tinge of suspicion in her tone. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be a mother hen,’ she tries to smile but it doesn’t quite work, ‘Caro kept dashing off like that before she died.’
I open my mouth to ask why, but Amanda breaks in, clearly unable to wait to tell us her news.
‘Girls, I have something I need to tell you.’ Her face glows as she struggles to hold in a smile, pushing her plate away. When Sadie does the same, I lay down my fork, my food untouched, grateful for an excuse to leave it.
‘I’m pregnant!’ Amanda announces, and Sadie lets out an ear-splitting squeal, shoving her chair back and running round to squeeze Amanda tightly.
‘Oh, darling, this is wonderful news!’ Sadie beams, turning to me, as I smile and whisper my congratulations. ‘Em, it’s taken Will and Amanda simply ages to get pregnant, hasn’t it, darling?’ She squeezes Amanda’s hand tightly.
‘Lovely news,’ I say, unsure of how to react – after all, although I don’t know Amanda terribly well, this child will be my niece or nephew. ‘How far along are you, Amanda?’
‘Only six weeks,’ Amanda says, her joy evident on her face. ‘To be honest, I only did the test last night. Will is the only one who knows – apart from you two now – so please, please don’t say anything just yet. I’m feeling a little superstitious. Plus, you know, Will wants to tell his parents before anyone else.’ Amanda’s hand goes almost unconsciously to her belly to stroke her still flat stomach.
‘Oh, Diana and Eamonn will be over the moon,’ Sadie cries, ‘especially after…’ She falls silent and Amanda says nothing, leaving me to look at them both questioningly.
‘After what?’ I say, a confused smile tugging at my mouth. Amanda gets up and takes the plates from the table, moving to the sink, her back turned to me. ‘Sadie? What do you mean, especially after? And what were you saying about Caro rushing off earlier?’
‘Caro was…’ Sadie lays her hands flat on the table, looks down at them. ‘Caro was pregnant when she died.’
‘Pregnant?’ My mouth is dry, and I reach for my water, condensation making the glass slick under my fingers.
‘Didn’t you know?’ Amanda turns from where she stands at the sink, her hand still cradling her non-existent bump. ‘Did Rupert not tell you?’
‘No. No, he didn’t.’ Why didn’t he tell me? ‘I had no idea. How… how many weeks was she?’
‘Eight, ten. Something like that. Not many, but still. It made everything even harder.’ Sadie sniffs, knocks back the rest of her champagne. ‘I’m sure Rupert had his reasons for not telling you.’
‘Yes. I’m sure he did.’
I don’t know what to think. If Caro hadn’t died, Rupert would be a father. His child – a little boy with his cowlick and his dark blue eyes, or a girl, with Caro’s smile – would be a toddler, starting to walk, to talk, to be a little person in their own right. How could she do that to Rupert? To her own child?
Marching back up the drive, my head down and lost in thoughts of Caro, and Rupert, and the baby that never was, I am on top of it – of her – before I realize what it is. A bundle of fur curled up at the entrance to the drive. At first I think she is sleeping, although why Lola would be sleeping on the cold block paving instead of her warm bed is a mystery, and it’s only as I scoop her up that I spot the blood on her head, the way she is limp in my arms.
‘Oh no,’ I whisper, tears starting to fall as I begin to process what has happened. My tiny kitten, my little companion, dead. I stumble inside with her in my arms, calling to Anya even though I know she has left for the day. Wrapping Lola’s tiny, cold body in a towel, I rush upstairs for an empty shoebox to bury her in, my feet slowing as I reach the top of the stairs and the scent of nectarines fills my nose. My heart starts to hammer in my chest as I inch forward, pushing open the door to the spare bedroom. The perfume is stronger in here, and my stomach does a slow roll. I think for a horrid moment that I am going to be sick, right there on the carpet, and I suck in a deep, shaky breath, grabbing at the shoebox and hurrying back downstairs. Once Lola is tucked safely in the box, the splash of blood on her fur the only sign that she isn’t just sleeping, I call Rupert.
‘Rupert? Something awful has happened.’ I blurt out the words as soon as he answers.
‘Em? What is it? What’s happened?’
‘It’s…’ My throat is thick, and I have to push the words past the lump there. ‘Lola is dead. I came home and she was curled up at the end of the drive. I think… someone hurt her.’
‘What? Em, are you sure?’ Rupert’s voice is quiet, and I have to strain to hear him.
‘Of course, I’m sure! There’s blood on her head, she was definitely hurt by something. She didn’t die naturally. Rupert, listen, someone called the house this morning. They called me a bitch, they whispered it down the line. What if someone deliberately did this to her?’
As the words leave my mouth I start to shake, and I have to sit down before my legs give way.
‘Emily, please. We live on the main road into the village; the chances are that she was hit by a car. Please don’t freak out
