‘Oh my God, that’s awful.’ I press my hand to my mouth, imagining Caro’s body being dragged out to sea, crashing against rocks, being nibbled by tiny fish. ‘Poor Rupert.’
‘Poor all of us,’ Sadie says, ‘it took us a long time to accept that she was gone. I mean, there was never any doubt that she meant to do it, not with the note and her state of mind at the time. The police said she never would have survived the fall, and that with the current she might never… wash up.’
I have barely slept, her face, underwater, hair drifting across wide, staring eyes, floating into my mind every time I try to sleep. I glance to my left, where Rupert lies snoring, oblivious to the bombshell that Sadie dropped last night. Rupert never told me that they had never found Caro’s body. Another lie by omission. I lie unblinking, staring at the ceiling as another thought strikes me. Who’s to say that Caro is even dead?
Chapter Twenty-Four
The image of Caro, broken and bloated, appears to me when I least expect it – every time I close my eyes, as I tackle the mountain of ironing that Anya has left, as I walk around the supermarket, picking up food items and putting them down again, unable to keep my mind from wandering. Rupert must know that something is up, by the number of times I’ve opened my mouth to ask him things, abruptly changing my mind and pressing my lips closed before the words have a chance to tumble out.
I haven’t slept since Sadie told me they never found Caro’s body, and I feel weirdly disconnected, moving through life as if on autopilot. Finally, after a week of sleepless nights, the final straw comes as I stand in the kitchen, holding an envelope with Caro’s name on it. It’s nothing important, a circular from some charity that she must have donated to before she died, her name still on some list somewhere, but as I stand there staring at her name in bold, black font, the phone rings and I shriek, my frayed nerves jangling. Crushing the envelope deep into the bin, I glance at the clock and see that if I’m quick I can probably catch Rupert as he goes on his lunch break. He’s not on site today, working out of the Swindon office instead, his hi-vis and hard hat still tucked into the cupboard under the stairs as I grab my coat.
The air is damp as I wait outside Rupert’s office, the cold mist settling on my chest as I pull my scarf closer around my neck. It feels as though spring will never come, the days still holding the dark gloom of winter. I long for sunshine, the warmth of the sun’s rays on my back, Rupert’s strong fingers rubbing sunscreen into my skin as we lounged on the beach in Barbados. I wonder how many times he did that with Caro, I think, my eyes filling with unexpected tears. I almost miss him, so busy am I rummaging in my coat pocket for a tissue, as Rupert strides past me with his head down, lost in thought.
‘Hey!’ I run after him, my fingers catching on the sleeve of his thin jacket. ‘Rupert.’
He stops abruptly, a frown etched deep into his forehead before he smiles a puzzled smile. ‘Em? What are you doing here?’ He leans down to kiss me, his breath scented with coffee, warm on my cheek.
‘I thought maybe we could have lunch together.’ I tuck my arm into his, and we start to walk along the street, dodging the rubbish that spills from an overflowing bin as we pass.
‘Oh. We can do, I only have half an hour, though. Are you all right?’ He stops and turns to study me closely. ‘You look awful.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant… you’re pale, and you look exhausted.’
‘I am a bit tired,’ I say, ‘I just wanted some company. Surely you can spare a lunch hour for your old lady?’ I nudge him, and give a laugh, showing him that I am just fine.
‘Of course, come on.’ Rupert leads me to a pub tucked down a small alley. It’s a proper pub, the kind I imagine my dad used to go to. Not that I would know. He left before I was old enough to remember him. We order drinks – a pint of IPA for him, a large white wine for me – and both of us order steak and chips.
‘Rupert,’ I say, once the food has been delivered and we’re halfway through our drinks. ‘I wanted to talk to you about some things.’
‘Oh?’ He pauses, his last few chips crammed tightly on his fork, almost at his mouth. ‘What things?’
‘Well… about Caro. I feel as though you haven’t been entirely honest with me about what happened.’
Rupert sighs, laying his fork down beside his plate. ‘Emily, look, I told you before…’
‘I know,’ I interrupt, ‘I know it’s painful for you to talk about. I do understand that. But to hear from Sadie that Caro was pregnant when she died, I mean… I just felt…’
‘Sadie needs to mind her own business. What happens between you and I is nothing to do with her, nor is my relationship with Caro. Look, I wasn’t going to show you this until tonight.’ He digs deep into his jacket pocket, pulling out a piece of white paper, carefully folded in half. ‘Here, look at this.’
I reach across the table for the paper, uncertainty making my heart skip a little in my chest. Slowly, I unfold it and scan the words written there, as Rupert’s eyes never leave my face.
‘Well?’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ I smile, folding the paper again. It’s a three-night
