Her Deadly Secret: A gripping psychological thriller with twists that will take your breath away

Chapter Three

Rosie

On the afternoons when she wasn’t working as a supply teacher at one or other of the local comprehensives, Rosie always walked to Fay’s school. Today, the stroll through tree-lined streets in the June sunshine soothed her. When the doors opened she saw her daughter break away from the teacher, her face creased with delight as she ran through the jostle of little figures.

But Fay wasn’t looking at her today and she was shrieking, ‘Nana, Nana,’ as she ran.

Rosie closed her eyes. Please, no. But it was too late; her mum was beside her, and Fay dropped her book bag and lunchbox and threw her arms around her grandmother’s waist.

‘Nana, you came to meet me. Mummy said we couldn’t see you. Why not? I’ve been missing you.’

Marion knelt, looking at Rosie over Fay’s head with the apologetic smile she always seemed to use lately. ‘I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ve been busy, but I’m here now.’

‘Can we come for tea then? Please, Nana.’

Rosie looked around and saw the second little girl running towards them, dark pigtails bouncing. She had her excuse. ‘No, darling, you know we can’t. We’re looking after Harriet; she’s having tea at ours. Say bye to Nana. We’ll see her again soon.’ She took Harriet’s sticky hand and reached for Fay, but her daughter clung, mule-faced, to her nan and kicked the lunchbox that still lay on the ground.

‘Tell you what …’ Her mother picked up Fay’s things, avoiding Rosie’s eye. ‘I’ve got the car. Why don’t I take you all into town? We can get some ice cream to eat on the beach. Maybe go to the amusement arcade.’ This was greeted by bounces and shrieks from the girls.

Fay pulled her grandmother towards the car, calling behind her, ‘Come on, Harriet, come on, Mummy.’

Rosie stayed where she was for a moment, shaking her head, but there was nothing she could do as her mother opened the car and the two girls climbed into the back. Harriet, dark plaits as chunky and neat as the child herself. Fay, a total contrast, with her thin little legs in her favourite lace-trimmed socks, and the untidy honey-coloured hair she’d inherited from Rosie floating around her pointed face. Fay’s bright eyes looked back at her, their expression a mixture of triumph and pleading. Don’t be cross, Mummy, was the message. Rosie knew she risked a major tantrum if she tried to intervene and, anyway, what could she say? How could Fay understand that they could no longer trust her grandmother?

By the time Rosie got into the car the girls were already buckled up, giggling and chattering together. She tried to keep her voice light. ‘I told you I’d ring.’

Marion started the car, but didn’t pull away. ‘You keep saying that, but you never do and when I ring you won’t talk.’

‘There’s nothing to say, Mum.’

‘You can see how much Fay misses me. Please, Rosemary, come round. We’d love to see you.’

‘So it’s “we” now, is it?’ She was conscious of the bitter note in her voice and glanced back at the girls, but they were happily swapping hair bands and clips.

‘If you could see him. He’s changed so much. Sometimes, I can hardly bear to look at him.’ Her mother’s voice was gruff and she brushed at her cheek with the back of her hand.

Rosie forced herself to whisper. ‘I haven’t been able to look at him for fifteen years. And how you could bring yourself to take him back—’

‘But if you just talked to him.’

‘My god, can you hear yourself? You know what he did. Christ, what he was probably doing for years.’ Rosie stopped, aware of the listening silence from the back seat, and she turned, twisting her mouth into what she hoped might pass for a smile. ‘Tell you what, girls, shall we ask Nana to take us to the soft play centre? You can have tea there if you like.’

A squeal from both girls and then Fay, ‘Oh, yes please, Mummy, I love you. Nana, can we?’

Rosie felt her mother squeeze her knee with a soft, ‘Thank you, darling,’ before adding loudly, ‘Of course, if that’s what you want. And when you two are playing, Mummy and Nana can have a nice chat.’

If the girls were hungry they soon forgot about it when they saw the brilliantly coloured apparatus. They threw off their shoes and headed away. As they disappeared into the mass of shrieking children, all twisting and bouncing with excitement, Rosie shouted: ‘We’ll be over here. No going down head first, remember.’

It wasn’t until they were settled at a table that Rosie looked properly at her mother. Marion had aged in the past few weeks. Around the time of Alice’s death, she had gone from being plumpish to almost angular. The weight had gradually come back on, but today her face was as drawn and grey as it had been during that dreadful time. The urge to touch her, to say it was all right, was very strong. Instead, Rosie waved at Fay at the top of a twisting slide. Harriet, gasping and pink from her own shrieking plummet down, stood at the bottom urging her on. As Fay leapt forward, Marion pressed one hand to her own breastbone.

‘It’s all right, she’s quite safe. They test these things all the time,’ Rosie said.

Her mum looked at her with a tight smile. ‘Yes, I’m sure they do.’

They watched as two little girls in matching pink jogging bottoms walked by giggling together, followed by a man with a toddler wriggling in his arms and a small boy clutching at his leg, begging to be carried too. As he passed, the man raised his eyebrows at Rosie in mock exasperation.

She pulled her purse from her bag, trying to put off the inevitable. ‘You keep an eye on them and I’ll get some drinks. Do you want tea or coffee?’

Her mother touched her sleeve. ‘Rosemary …’ Rosie could feel her jaw grow hard. ‘Just come round, will you? Bring Fay. Please, dear, it would mean so much.’

She couldn’t trust herself to say anything more than a hard, ‘No.’

‘But he’s your dad and he’s never even seen Fay. He’d be so happy if you’d bring her over just for a few minutes. It’s all he talks about.’

‘Apart from lying about what he did you mean?’

Her mother let out a small groan. ‘He didn’t do it. I know that now and I can’t forgive myself for not sticking by him.’ She glanced round and lowered her voice. ‘It was dreadful for him in there. He won’t tell me much, but he has nightmares and … Oh, Rosie, to think we let him go through that alone for all those years.’

‘He deserved it. Deserved much worse for what he did.’

Marion leaned forward, whispering so fiercely her breath tickled Rosie’s cheek. ‘But he didn’t. He loved Alice; he could never have killed her. I don’t know how we could have let them persuade us. And as for the rest, what they suggested, I never believed that. It was too horrible. I would have known if he was interfering with her.’ She twisted to look into Rosie’s face. ‘You’ve said yourself: he never touched you like that. Well, that proves it, surely.’

‘Maybe I was too young. Or not pretty enough.’

Her mother’s shudder made the plastic table shake. ‘You don’t believe that.’

Rosie felt like screaming at her to shut up, but she took a deep breath and made herself speak. ‘What I know is that, if he was innocent, he could surely have made a better job of defending himself at the time. Even I could see his story didn’t hold up properly and I was desperate to believe him.’ Her voice was shrill enough to stop a small boy in his tracks. He stood staring at them, a red ice lolly sticking from his mouth.

‘Billy, come on, Billy.’ He continued to stare, crimson juice dripping onto his white Tshirt. A woman was beside them now, taking his hand. ‘Oh, Billy, look at you. Come and sit over here till you finish that.’ She shot a glance at them that said very clearly it was their fault.

Rosie looked towards the play area and her mother followed her gaze. Fay and Harriet, running through a maze of foam shapes, waved and laughed at them. Rosie waved back then turned to Marion again, lowering her voice. ‘Just because he’s convinced you – made you believe what you want to believe – that proves nothing.’

‘He has evidence but he wants to let it lie. Can’t face any more police or lawyers.’

Rosie stood up. She needed to get away. Couldn’t hear this. ‘I’ll go for those teas.’

At the counter, she was able to talk and smile as if nothing was happening. But her hands were shaking and the teacups rattled in their saucers as she put them on the table.

Her mother said: ‘I’ve upset you. I’m so sorry. Dad told me not to say anything. Said it would do no good raking it all up.’

The words came out in a rush. ‘This so-called evidence proves someone else killed Alice, does it?’

‘No. Just that Dad didn’t.’

It was rubbish, of course. As she’d known it would be. ‘So why did he admit he did it then, after all this time?’

‘Because his lawyer said it was best to go for parole. He could get out almost immediately if he accepted his guilt. If he hung on hoping for a new trial, he’d be in there much longer. And he couldn’t have survived that. All he cares about now is getting his family back.’

‘So he doesn’t want to find out who really did it?’ It was difficult to get the words out.

‘He said he couldn’t make us go through all that again. It would do more harm than good. But he showed me the new evidence and it convinced me.’

A spurt of anger made Rosie grit her teeth and take a heavy breath. ‘But it was you who told me we must accept that he did it.’

‘I know and I’ll never forgive myself for that, Rosemary. And it was partly my fault he was convicted.’

‘What are you talking about?’

Her mum closed her eyes, swaying back and forth, her voice very soft. ‘I was so angry with him. You remember what it was like when he got ill and had to give up work. Our lives changed so much. You and Alice were arguing all the time and so were Dad and I.’

Rosie swallowed a gulp of tea. She didn’t want to think about any of this. Their dad had been forced to give up his job when he developed rheumatoid arthritis. He was a violinist, and an important one too – leader of the Eastbourne Philharmonic Orchestra – but it was soon impossible for him to play at that level.

They just about managed to keep hold of the big house in the village outside Hastings, but could no longer afford the fees for the private school both girls went to. Somehow, they wangled Alice a scholarship so she could stay there, but Rosie had to move to a state comprehensive.

Her mother was still going on. ‘I knew it wasn’t his fault that he was ill, but he seemed to accept it all so easily. Almost as if he was happy about it. I think it was a relief to have less responsibility and to stay at home. But it damaged us as a family and that didn’t appear to bother him at all.’

Rosie put down her cup so heavily that tea slopped into the saucer. ‘I know all this, Mum.’

Marion’s eyes flicked open. She looked surprised. As if she’d forgotten anyone was there. ‘That last week, when you were at school, we had a huge row and he was going to move out. That was why I went away that weekend. I think I wanted to believe what the police said about him. And I’m sure it was me turning against him that helped sway the jury.’ Marion had refused the defence’s pleas to turn up to the trial, and the papers had highlighted her absence, suggesting it meant she thought he was guilty. Which, of course, it did.

There was no avoiding it. ‘So what exactly is this evidence then?’

‘I can’t tell you. You have to speak to your father.’

Rosie shook her head and turned away. She might have known. It was just some madeup story from her dad, an excuse to get her over there. Nothing had changed. Except that now she knew better than to trust anything he said.

She took a deep breath, and beckoned to the girls. As they came running back she said, without looking round, ‘I need to get these two some food and then take them home.’

Her mother tried to grab her hand. ‘Please, Rosemary,’ but she pulled it away.

‘Oh no. That’s not going to happen. Nothing you’ve said makes any real difference. So, if you want to keep seeing me and Fay, you’d better accept it. I don’t ever want to hear about that man again.’

Joe

Joe watched Loretta in the back garden on her mobile, walking back and forth as she talked. She had come straight in from talking to the girls outside, taken a quick peep at Hannah and then gone out the back. Joe wished he could get out of the house too. Didn’t think he could stand being cooped up like this much longer. Longed to escape. To go back to work. Away from all the questions. But he knew what they would think.

Loretta looked smaller out of uniform, and he registered for the first time that she was a good-looking woman. The call seemed important, although she might just be ordering a pizza, but he wanted to know what she was talking about, so he went down and put the kettle on.

When she came through the back door, he had two mugs of coffee ready. Handed one straight to her so she couldn’t refuse.

She smiled and sat at the table, taking a big gulp. ‘Thanks, Joe. I needed that.’

‘Was that Monique you were talking to out the front?’ He couldn’t even try to be subtle.

‘Yes. She says she was Lily’s best friend. Seems like a nice girl.’

He found himself smiling, remembering. ‘Oh yeah, they were always together since they were little. That was all Lily worried about when she went to the secondary. She had to go to the same one as Monique and they had to be in the same form.’

‘And were they?’

‘Yes. And if they hadn’t been …’ He shook his head and looked down, stirring his coffee and trying to focus on the dark brown swirls. He’d almost said Hannah would have gone mad. An image of the two of them – Hannah, his real Hannah, not the ghostly stranger who lay upstairs, sitting with her arm around Lily, telling her they wouldn’t let her be upset, would always look out for her – came suddenly to mind. The picture was so sharp he flinched.

‘The girls mentioned a boyfriend. Did you know about him?’ Loretta said.

‘No, I mean I don’t think there was anyone.’ But, of course, he’d been working away a lot recently, so he couldn’t be sure. Hannah would have told him, though, wouldn’t she? Something as important as that?

‘Apparently, he’s connected with that sect: the commune.’

Joe stared, thinking he must have heard wrong.

‘You know, The Children of Light.’

Her gaze was steady, and he could almost feel her itching to note down his reaction. He forced himself to speak calmly although his heart was beating faster. ‘No. Lily wouldn’t have got involved with them.’

‘That’s not what Monique says. She says Lily started going there and met Samuel. Do you think Hannah knew?’

He tipped the rest of his coffee down the sink then turned to take the mug Loretta held out to him. It was obvious she was watching and waiting for more. Knew she’d hit a nerve. He put the tablet in the dishwasher, switched it on, and continued to stand, looking out at the garden. The shed door at the back was open, the grass needed cutting, and a couple of towels had been hanging on the rotary line for days.

‘Hannah was with them – The Children of Light – when we met,’ he said. He could feel Loretta’s eyes on him and had to turn and look at her. She wasn’t even pretending this was just a chat now. ‘But it was all so long ago and it couldn’t have anything to do with Lily.’

He told her the bare bones: that Hannah was an orphan, only eighteen, and he was a bit older, twenty-four. She had got mixed up with the commune when she became homeless. They gave her a bed, but she was fed up with the way they tried to run every aspect of their converts’ lives. Joe met her, they fell in love and that would have been it, but The Children made it difficult for them, kept sending people round to ask her to come back.

‘They threatened her?’

He’d almost forgotten Loretta was there. It must be one of the techniques they taught them – to become invisible. Be careful. He made himself pause and slow down. ‘I don’t think so. She just said they kept on about how she’d turned her back on the Light. Stuff like that. We laughed about it.’

‘And it stopped?’

‘Oh yeah. She hasn’t had any contact with them for years. Not that I know of anyway.’ Stupid, stupid, why did I have to say that? Hannah doesn’t keep things from me.

‘But she’d have been angry if Lily got mixed up with them?’

‘Not angry, no.’ He wasn’t falling for that one. ‘She’d have been …’ he searched for a neutral word, ‘concerned. We both would. I mean, that was why she was so keen to get away in the first place. Didn’t want Lily growing up there.’

‘Hang on a minute, Joe, I thought you said Hannah left them when you first got together. That would have been before Lily was born, surely.’

Oh, God, she didn’t know. Hannah hadn’t told them. He took a breath. Tried to speak casually. ‘No, because when I met Hannah she already had Lily. She was nearly two. I’m not – I wasn’t – her real dad.’ Very aware of her silence he found himself rushing on. ‘But Lily knew. We told her when she was old enough. She said it didn’t matter because I was all the dad she needed. I always treated her like a dad, loved her like a dad. Well, better than a dad if mine was anything to go by.’

He knew he was rambling, could feel her waiting for the words to dribble to a stop. The guilty-sounding words. But he couldn’t stop, even though his voice was beginning to waver. ‘I thought Hannah would have told you, but I suppose she didn’t think to. As I say, we all thought of Lily as mine. Well, she was mine. I adopted her.’

There was a pause before she smiled at him. It was a lovely smile, and he could almost believe it was genuine.

‘No, Hannah didn’t mention it, but never mind. It’s best if we have all the facts.’ She folded her arms, still with that gentle smile. ‘And the biological father?’

‘He’s never been in the picture, and Hannah didn’t want to talk about him.’ He was doing it all wrong again, but Loretta seemed satisfied. She glanced at her watch and stood, putting her bag over her shoulder.

‘Well, thanks for the coffee, Joe, and for clearing things up a bit more. It’s not easy, I know, to talk about the past at a time like this, but if we can get a detailed picture it can only help. Hannah seems a bit calmer today, but if there’s an emergency you’ve got my mobile number.’

When she had gone he went upstairs. Hannah was lying on the bed, her dark hair spreading over the pillow. She was wearing a sleeveless summer dress with a bluey green pattern. It was one he’d always liked, but she hardly ever wore because she preferred trousers. Her bare legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, her toenails still painted red, and he was filled with such a longing for her he had to bite his lip to keep back a gasp.

When he took off his shoes and lay beside her, as always, now, she turned to face the wall. He wanted to pull her round, force her to talk, but he was afraid of what she might say. What they both might say. Instead, he curled over and put his arm round her. She stiffened, then seemed to relax just a little.

It was enough. He pressed his face into her hair and felt the sobs wrenching out of him. Something deep inside tearing away. Then, unbelievably, Hannah’s hand, feeling so cold and rough he almost didn’t know it as hers, reached up and covered his.

How long he cried, gripping her cold hand, smelling her stale hair, he didn’t know but, finally, he slept.

When he woke, Hannah was gone.

Chapter Four

Rosie

Fay was at the window before Rosie even registered the sound of the car. ‘Daddy. Daddy’s home.’ She bounced about and dragged at the curtain, threatening to bring it down, as Oliver pulled into the drive with a rattle of gravel.

He had been gone a week and, although they were used to his trips away and he’d rung home every night, Fay hated it. For Rosie, too, the house had seemed very empty.

They stood on the step, Fay still bouncing, until Rosie let go of her hand. Then she ran to throw her arms around her dad’s waist while he tried to lock up and deal with his jacket and briefcase. Watching them, Rosie couldn’t help smiling. They looked like an advert for the perfect family – or part of it anyway. She had the feeling that, if she joined them, everyone would say they’d miscast the mother.

As always, when she saw Oliver after he’d been away, she thought how good he looked. They’d spent a lot of weekends this year messing about on the little cabin cruiser they kept moored at Rye Harbour. He’d picked up a tan, and the way his short fair hair had been brightened by the sun really suited him. He swung Fay into his arms and kissed the top of her head, looking over to smile at Rosie: the sweet smile that made her heart glow.

Still carrying Fay, he struggled through the front door. ‘Now I need to breathe and to talk to Mummy for a bit please, sweetie,’ he said, lowering Fay to the ground and untangling her arms from his neck.

But Fay wasn’t going to let him off that easily. ‘I’ve done you some pictures. They’re in my room.’ She took his hand and pulled him across the hallway to the wide staircase as he laughed and raised his fair brows at Rosie.

Listening to Fay chattering away upstairs and Oliver’s soft replies, Rosie smiled to herself as she made coffee. When Oliver came down again, Fay trotting after him, she said, ‘Why don’t you show Daddy what a big girl you are and help him in with his bags?’

‘Good idea, I need someone with muscles but, first, can you find my keys? I think I dropped them upstairs somewhere.’ Oliver winked at Rosie as Fay turned and raced away again with an, ‘I’ll get them.’

As soon as she was gone he pulled Rosie to him. ‘That should keep her busy for a bit.’ Their kiss was long and warm, and afterwards, she nestled against his chest as he stroked her hair. She felt herself relax and all the anxieties about her mum and dad begin to ebb away. Oliver was here now and together they could deal with anything.

‘I’ve missed you, Rosebud,’ he said. ‘And I need a lie down. Will you come up and tuck me in?’ He raised his voice as Fay appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘And, look at that, the car keys were in my pocket all the time.’

Rosie smiled. ‘You go up. I’ll bring you some coffee.’

She gave Fay a cup of juice and a biscuit to have in front of the TV and stood at the living room door. When it was obvious that her daughter, lying on her tummy, a chocolate digestive suspended in front of her mouth, was absorbed in Thunderbirds Are Go, she carried the two cups of coffee upstairs.

Oliver was in bed, his clothes scattered on the floor, and she put the coffees on her bedside table and curled up close to him. They lay for a while, breathing together, but when he began to undo her buttons she pulled away. He sat up, rubbing at his fair hair until it stood in spikes. ‘What’s wrong?’

She passed him a cup of coffee. ‘It’s just, with Fay downstairs—’

‘That’s not all, though, is it?’ When she didn’t answer he said: ‘Fay told me you’d seen Marion.’

She pulled her shirt closed. ‘Mum turned up outside the school, and Fay would have thrown a wobbler if we hadn’t gone with her.’

‘But you didn’t go over there, did you?’

‘Of course not.’

He picked up a T-shirt from beside the bed, his voice muffled as he dragged it over his head. ‘This isn’t going to stop, you know that. And, eventually, you’ll give in to her, like you always do.’

A spurt of anger made her get up and walk over to the window. ‘This is different. Do you honestly think I’d let Fay anywhere near that place with him there?’

One of her buttons was loose, hanging by a single thread. ‘Damn it.’ She snapped it off and tossed the button onto her cluttered dressing table, knowing she’d probably never find it again.

They both started as the door opened and Fay stood there, her face pinched. ‘You were cross, Mummy, I heard you.’ She had always hated raised voices, but lately she seemed to have developed antennae that vibrated at the slightest hint of tension between her parents.

As always, Oliver knew what to do, grabbing her and throwing her on the rumpled duvet. ‘It’s just,’ tickle, tickle, ‘your bad-tempered mummy,’ tickle, tickle, ‘getting cross,’ tickle, tickle, ‘because she lost a button.’

Fay was soon an exhausted bundle of giggles, and Rosie felt a surge of love for them both. This was her family, not that pathetic old pair in Bexhill. When she and Oliver made love tonight, she’d tell him she wanted another baby and that he was right: they needed to get away from here. They had talked about moving abroad ever since Fay was born, but Rosie had always worried about leaving her mum. Well she could forget about that now. Just the thought of her parents living together again after all her mother had said made her feel sick. She wanted to be as far from them as possible. If she stayed here, she would never escape Alice’s death.

‘Fay, you have something for school to finish so leave Daddy to get changed and come down with me.’

Oliver pushed Fay gently off the bed and when she stood, arms crossed and face twisted in a stubborn grimace, he laughed and ruffled her hair. ‘Go on, and if you do your homework you can choose a game for us to play together. A board game, mind, not computer.’

That did it, and Fay was soon filling in her worksheet at the big pine table while Rosie peeled potatoes. It was quiet and all the glass made the kitchen bright and warm. The room was at its best in summer at this time of day and, with Oliver home again, Rosie should have felt happy, but her mind kept going back to Alice’s death.

* * *

She was 14 when it happened; Alice was two years older. They had been great friends when they were younger, but not so much by then. It didn’t help that they no longer went to the same school. The comprehensive Rosie had to move to was all right, but she missed her friends. They’d promised to keep in touch, but she was so angry she ignored their texts and messages until they gradually dwindled away.

Alice was fine, of course. There might be less money around, but nothing else had changed for her. So, Rosie couldn’t understand why she was so mean all of a sudden. Never wanted to do things together like they used to. Instead, her mates would come round when Mum and Dad were out. They sprawled all over the living room, smoking, and playing deafening music. The boys’ long legs and the girls’ perfume filled the place and, once, Rosie found a big towel all crumpled on the bathroom floor and a condom floating in the toilet. She flushed it away and threw the towel in the wash basket, not sure why she was doing it. It would have served Alice right if Dad had found out about her and her horrible friends.

But then – so suddenly – Alice was dead and they said Dad did it, which couldn’t be true because he loved Alice, even when she swore at him or slammed doors in his face. He loved Rosie too and she loved him and knew he couldn’t have hurt anyone. But it all changed one day when her mum sat her down and said they had to face facts. He must have done it. The police had explained their evidence to her and there was no one else it could have been. Even worse, they said he might have done it because he had been molesting Alice and some of the girls he took for private music lessons.

She’d forced herself to accept it and had tried to forget her father for the past fifteen years. There must be a reason why her mother had changed her mind after all this time. But whatever it was Rosie didn’t want to hear it.

It was too late.

Loretta

Philips was furious with Loretta for taking so long to find out Joe was only the adoptive father. That had to be significant. So, she was under orders to discover who the real dad was – and sharpish.

‘Shall I try to get a bit more out of the girl, Monique, sir? You know, about this Samuel lad,’ she asked.

‘No. You focus on the family. Make sure there’s nothing else we’ve missed. That mother knows a lot she isn’t telling us.’

At least she’d shown the rest of them down the nick she wasn’t just babysitting and making tea. Her mate, Andy, said he’d overheard Philips giving DS Davis a ticking off too. Apparently, he didn’t bother to lower his voice when he said they should have known all this – that the husband wasn’t the biological father, as well as about the boyfriend and the connection with The Children. Andy chuckled when he told her this. He didn’t like Davis.

Hannah was asleep when she arrived at the house. It was after eleven, but Joe said she’d been pacing the house most of the night, then took a pill and conked out. He avoided her eyes, and Loretta could see he was even more wary of her this morning. No doubt he realized what he’d told her last time didn’t make him look good. Unlikely, then, that she’d get any more out of him until she made him relax a bit.

‘You look tired yourself, Joe. Can I get you a drink or something to eat?’ He shook his head, as she knew he would, but she pulled out a chair and sat down, shoving her bag under the kitchen table and slipping off her jacket.

Joe began to load the washing machine, hitching at the back of his jeans as he bent down. He still managed to look clean and tidy, she noticed, in contrast to his wife who’d lost it completely. In fact, and she quashed this thought almost as it came into her head, some people might think he wasn’t bad looking.

He was at the back door now. ‘Better get those towels in,’ he said, and she watched as he fiddled with the line, took the towels down, folded them carefully then stopped to inspect something on the path. Anything to stay away from her.