It must have been his eyes I felt on me. He smiles.
Oh God, I can do without this. As I say, neither he nor any of his mates interests me. No time for them. He might be the hottest dude in town but, you know, the Queen Bees can have him. I am about to fling my phone down on the grass when I think of something – it might be worth a flirtation just to piss off the Queen Bees. Yeah, could be fun. I text back, hiding a smile.
hi.
I don’t have to wait long for his reply.
wanna hook up later?
Nice chat-up line.
maybe
the old summerhouse?
Original in his destinations too. He sure knows how to woo a girl.
maybe
’bout 8?
maybe. If I can get out
course you can. see you then.
Actually, I feel normal doing that. Not that I have any intention of going. I look across at him. He gives me a small wave and then turns back to talk to his group of mates.
They are laughing, and my face burns.
The skin on the back of my neck prickles. I know someone is watching me. And it’s not Theo.
Hey you, it’s me.
That was when it first started, wasn’t it? You … lying there on the grass, long, tanned legs stretched out in front of you, talking to Tara, texting that boy. And there I was. Looking at you. I couldn’t stop it you know, looking and wondering about you. Thinking, you don’t know how gorgeous you are. Wondering if you would let me get close to you or if you wouldn’t want to know. That’s when I thought: I will try. I couldn’t waste the opportunity. You see, I thought my life wasn’t going anywhere, that I was trapped. But I was frightened, worried about how you might react if I made a move. Then I told myself I shouldn’t worry about it, that I should go slowly and test the water. I looked at you again. You felt me looking at you, didn’t you? You even turned and looked at me, but didn’t see me.
But you didn’t know then that it was me.
June
Murdered.
The blunt word hung heavy in the air.
‘Cat,’ began Alex, her voice still gentle, ‘is that right?’ She’d had plenty experience of living with the thought that someone you loved had been murdered. It was something that never left you: that feeling of helplessness; the useless ‘if only’ thoughts that came in the depths of the night. Alex was still trying to live with all of that.
Catriona sighed long and hard, then sat up straight, her mouth in a determined line. ‘Yes. It is. I feel it in here.’ She thumped her breastbone with her fist. ‘Elena wouldn’t have done that to me. We went through a lot together, especially after her dad died. She wouldn’t leave me this way.’
Alex nodded and thought back to what she knew about the 17-year-old’s death. The teenager had been found in the early morning at the bottom of cliffs not far from her very exclusive boarding school, only days before the school broke up for the Christmas holidays. Alex could imagine what sort of Christmas the Devonshires would have had. She’d been through many of those when her sister’s children had disappeared. She frowned. ‘Cat, forgive me but the police found a text on her phone, didn’t they? To you from her?’
‘Yes, there was no doubt about that. But—’
‘And she had been depressed and anorexic or bulimic or both,’ Mark Munro cut across his wife.
‘No, she had not been either of those things.’ Cat balled her fists. ‘She was well. Completely well.’ The strain on her face deepened the lines around her eyes.
Alex frowned. ‘What made you think she was ill, Mark?’
‘I—’ His eyes darted around the room.
‘Mark?’ Cat’s voice was sharp.
‘Catriona. Can we do this when we’re alone, please?’ He had regained control and his voice was stern.
Cat looked at him then shook her head. ‘No. I want Alex to help me. Us. I don’t want to hide anything from her. But if you’re hiding something from me—’
He stared at Cat for a few moments before wiping his face wearily with one hand. ‘Very well. If you must know I spoke to her. A couple of weeks before … before she died.’
‘What? You never told me that.’
‘I didn’t think it would get this far.’ He went over to a cupboard in the corner and took out a bottle of whisky. ‘Drink?’
‘Mark, you can’t solve this with a drink.’ She let out a hiss through her teeth.
‘I’m not, Catriona. I just want a whisky, that’s all. It’s not a crime.’ He banged a tumbler down on the top of the cupboard. ‘Alex?’
‘Not for me, thank you.’
‘Mark.’ Cat again, pain naked on her face. ‘What do you mean you spoke to her? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t want to upset you.’
‘And did she say she was ill?’ interjected Alex. She had to get a grip on this, see what she might be getting herself into.
Mark poured himself a drink then drank it down in one swallow. ‘Not in so many words, no.’ He poured himself another couple of fingers.
‘What does that mean?’ demanded Cat. ‘What the hell does that mean? And why didn’t you say something sooner? Why didn’t it come up at the inquest?’
‘Nobody asked me, and as you know, I didn’t go to the inquest. I was abroad at the time and it wasn’t thought necessary to call me. You know all this,’ he said simply. ‘And I didn’t want to make things any worse than they were. The text had been found and that was that.’
He was too smooth.
‘So you thought,’ said Cat, bitterly.
‘Mark,’ Alex made her voice firm, ‘what made you think Elena was ill?’
He shrugged. ‘Just the way she was talking. A bit lost, a bit helpless. She said things hadn’t been going well at school. I suggested she talk to her housemother or whatever they call them at the school, that’s what they’re there for.’
‘That’s what I’m here for,’ said Cat, a break in her voice. ‘I’m her mother.’
‘But you weren’t around, darling, were you?’ her husband said, gently. ‘You were in Brussels. Some high-level meeting or something – I can’t remember now – Elena said she had tried to speak to you but your mobile was off all the time.’
How could the man be so cruel? thought Alex. Did he realize what he was doing to his wife?
‘The migrant crisis. All those displaced people. That’s what it was. I wanted to help. But I—’ Cat looked bewildered. ‘If she’d left a message or something I’d’ve got back to her. She knew that. I always did.’
‘But she phoned me instead,’ said Mark.
‘And you didn’t tell me?’
‘We thought it best not to. You were busy, had a lot on your plate; we thought it was best you weren’t worried.’
‘My daughter was feeling suicidal and you thought it was best not to worry me?’ The fury was