But what should I think? I’d been wrong about Niamh. She hadn’t led me to Immy, after all. Even DI Jones, the only copper who agreed Immy could have been taken, now seemed to think she’d drowned. And every day she was missing, hopes of finding her alive were fading. We were running out of time.
‘Cleo?’ Stuart said.
I swallowed hard. ‘Yes. We’ll tell her everything.’
Melanie’s car was outside the house when I arrived home from dropping Nate at school. I pulled up behind it and sat for a moment, summoning the energy to go in.
Niamh’s death, shocking as it was, wasn’t what dominated my thoughts. Finding Bill wasn’t my priority. Yet the minute I walked in the front door, Stuart and Melanie would expect me to take charge. They might be screwing behind my back, but that wouldn’t stop them looking to me for answers. Their sheer bloody cheek was mind-blowing, if you thought about it. But I didn’t want to think about it. I wanted to think about Immy. She was what mattered.
I took a deep breath, let myself out of the car and headed for the house.
Stuart and Melanie were in the kitchen, sitting at right angles to each other at the island, their heads bowed together and their fingertips touching. As I walked in, they sprang apart like scalded cats, guilt etched on their faces.
It was the final straw. I’d had enough of their pathetic attempts at deception. I slammed my bag on the worktop and addressed the nearest kitchen cupboard.
‘Look, I know you’re having an affair, OK?’
Melanie gasped. Stuart was silent. I turned to face them. ‘I saw you in the churchyard the other day.’
‘It wasn’t what you think,’ Melanie pleaded. Stuart’s eyes widened, and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
‘Of course it was,’ I snapped. ‘I’m not stupid. How long has it been going on? A year? Two? More?’
They glanced at each other, a furtive look that was as easy to read as an open book, and in that moment I knew. ‘Jesus, it’s been years, hasn’t it?’ A memory of Stuart getting wasted and proposing to me out of the blue at Bill and Melanie’s wedding snuck into my head. My breathing quickened. ‘You were shagging at university.’ A statement, not a question, and Stuart nodded miserably.
All at once my past was being rewritten, and I was seeing every holiday, every Christmas, every celebration we’d spent with our best friends with fresh eyes. Stuart inviting Bill and Melanie over for supper, not because he wanted to see Bill, but because he wanted to be close to Melanie. Melanie persuading us to join them on holiday, not because she valued my friendship, but so she could steal time with my husband right under my nose.
‘Before or after we met?’ I asked him.
‘Before,’ he mumbled.
‘We split up just before Stu introduced me to Bill,’ Melanie said.
I turned on her, my eyes blazing. ‘I wasn’t asking you!’
She recoiled as if I’d slapped her. I found it strangely satisfying. ‘When did you start seeing her again?’ I asked Stuart.
He picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and twirled it in his fingers before replacing it. ‘After Nate was born. You were so caught up in him and work that you barely remembered I existed.’
‘What a fucking cliché.’ I barked with laughter. ‘I’m sorry I was too busy working my arse off to provide all this,’ I swept my hands in an arc, knocking over a tumbler by the draining board. We watched in silence as it rolled over and crashed into pieces on the flagstone floor. Melanie jumped up and retrieved the dustpan and brush from under the sink. As she swept up the broken glass, more memories crowded into my mind. Shattered glass on a stone terrace in Corfu. Bill scooping Niamh into his arms, his feet crunching on the shards. Bill giving Niamh money for a taxi and telling her to let her beautiful red hair down at the party on the beach. Niamh, dishevelled and tearful the next morning, admitting she’d been raped, but claiming her attacker was no one she knew.
‘Were you together in Corfu?’ I asked.
Melanie stopped sweeping. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘But I ended it the night of the barbecue. I didn’t want to lie any more.’
‘Very noble.’ I paused, remembering how Melanie had given Niamh an earful for flirting with Stuart earlier that week. Not because she was looking out for me, but because she was jealous. I’d misread so much. How could I have been so off the mark? I dragged my thoughts back to the night of the barbecue. ‘Is that what really happened that night? Not the cock and bull story you told me about confiding in Stuart about Bill’s drinking?’
Stuart looked up. Melanie nodded.
‘But you’re seeing each other again.’ I stared at Stuart. ‘Couldn’t you keep it in your trousers?’
Melanie started sweeping, slowly and rhythmically. Stuart buried his head in his hands. When he spoke, his words were muffled. ‘I’m so sorry, Cleo. I was going to tell you, but then Immy disappeared and I… I couldn’t do it to you.’
That’s not how I remembered it. It had been Melanie who’d wanted to spare my feelings. It seemed Stuart couldn’t tell the truth if he tried. I stared at him, this man who looked like my husband, who sounded like my husband, and I realised he was a stranger to me. I braced myself for a new wave of grief to settle like a fresh layer of snow over my heartache over Immy, but nothing happened. Nothing at all. My pride had been dealt a grievous blow, but my suspicions were correct. Our marriage died a long time ago.
‘Cleo, please say something,’ Stuart begged.
Ignoring him, I turned to Melanie. ‘We need to talk about your husband.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Melanie listened in silence as I recounted DI Jones’s visit
