I think about how charming Tom was; how easily I fell under his spell. And how I remained under that spell, too. Katie only lasted six months. He’d been burned by her, he’d said – she’d changed, wanted different things.
I got to marry him. Have his baby.
I always considered myself the chosen one.
Chapter 6
BETH
Now
I hear the jets of water hitting the shower screen and lazily turn over to face the en-suite. Tom’s left the door open, as he always does, and I can see him through the glass, gel lathered all over his torso, shampoo running down from his head. I watch intently, all the while wondering exactly what DI Manning asked him last night and how Tom responded. He appeared calm when he got into bed, so maybe that’s the end of it. I tear my gaze away from him and rather than attempt to fall back to sleep, I get up.
He was right: I am knackered. I catch the dark circles beneath my eyes as I look towards the mirrored wardrobe. I’m going to need a trowel and heavy-duty concealer and foundation to cover those up this morning, plus a vat of coffee to perk me up. I’ve a busy day ahead and a child’s party to get through. It’s not until four p.m. and it’s only for ten people – a handful of three- and four-year-olds and their parents – but it’ll still take time to set up and I know the hour-long session will feel double that. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea agreeing when Sally, the mum, had asked to book. Younger children are generally more difficult to cater for: their attention spans aren’t quite long enough; they aren’t so keen on sitting down for longer than five minutes. I was about to say no – but she mentioned Jess would be coming with Adam, and a twinge of guilt turned my no into a ‘yes, of course’. How could I say no once I knew they would be coming?
Poppy’s footsteps pad across the landing.
‘Morning, my little one,’ I say, sweeping her up. She squeezes me with her chubby little arms. ‘And how did you sleep?’
‘I had a long sleep, Mummy.’ She beams at me, then suddenly scowls. ‘But Daddy was naughty.’
‘Oh, was he now?’ I know what’s coming.
‘Yep.’ She pouts. ‘He didn’t kiss me goodnight.’
The shower screen creaks, and within moments, Tom is out, his lower half wrapped in a towel. ‘I’m so sorry, Poppy poppet! Daddy is a silly man, isn’t he?’ he says, grinning and reaching for her, his arms outstretched.
She giggles as he splashes her with droplets of water.
‘Daddeeee!’ she squeals as she dives behind me.
‘Just let me get dried and dressed, then I’ll give you the biggest bear hug ever to make up for it. Okay?’
‘O-kaay,’ she says, running out of the room. ‘I going for my bekfast now, Mummy.’
‘I’ll be down in a second,’ I call after her. ‘Just wait at the table.’
‘I know you’re going to start on me straight away, Beth, but we really don’t have the time now. Look, I’ll give you all the details when I get back later, okay?’
‘I’m not Poppy. Don’t speak to me as though I’m a bloody kid, Tom.’
‘Darling,’ he sits on the bed beside me, taking my hand in his. ‘I’m not. We will talk about it, but you know our mornings are hectic. There’s honestly not much to say. And definitely nothing to worry about.’
‘Really? Nothing?’ I hear the incredulousness in my tone. Tom straightens, moving away from me.
‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ he repeats, his eyes cold and serious. ‘Like Manning said, it was just some questions.’
‘Fine.’ I let a long, slow breath out. But I can’t shake my unease. Or the uncomfortable feeling that I don’t believe him.
The walk to nursery is slow, with Poppy stopping every few steps to admire something she’s spotted: a tabby cat; some flowers in a garden; a snail on a wall. We bump into Shirley Irish from the pub, who asks me about the book club.
‘I was surprised to see your poster when I popped in for my order yesterday afternoon,’ she says, her pointed nose wrinkling as though she’s caught a waft of something unpleasant.
‘Oh, really? I wouldn’t have thought a book club was much of a surprise in a community such as ours, Mrs Irish,’ I say, lightly. I always call her Mrs Irish to her face for some reason, despite her telling me to call her Shirley.
‘Well, no. But you do remember it was Camilla Knight’s book club before, don’t you?’
I bite the inside of my lip to prevent myself saying I don’t think she’ll mind, now. It’s not as though she’ll know. Instead, I smile and tell her I thought it would be a nice nod to Camilla, and that she’d have loved to know the villagers were continuing something she’d started. Shirley bobs her head several times, her sheer, silky black hair swinging each side of her face in what I assume to be agreement, and I escape while I can. Is everyone going to be against me starting it up again?
‘I didn’t think I was ever going to get here this morning,’ I say when I finally make it into the café.
‘I was beginning to wonder if something was wrong,’ Lucy says.
‘Oh, no. Nothing wrong,’ I say quickly. Too quickly. ‘Just that Poppy was on a go-slow and then I ran into Shirley, from the pub.’
‘You were lucky to get away, then. She doesn’t half go on, doesn’t she?’
I laugh at Lucy’s comment. She’s not wrong. As I go to take my things into the back room, my eyes fall on the book club poster. I take it down. Not because of what Shirley said – I’m determined to go ahead with it regardless of what
