CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lysette was perched on the side of her unmade bed, slipping her small, dainty foot into a red-soled Louboutin. It was black patent, skyscraper high – I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

‘I’ve never seen you in those.’

‘They were in the sale.’ They didn’t look like they’d have made the sale. ‘Don’t tell Ged,’ she said, shoving the box deep under the bed. She stood up, a black baby-doll dress falling into a flattering triangle, her legs elongated by the beautiful heels.

‘You look lovely,’ I said, hearing the relief reverberating in my voice. She didn’t look like anything was wrong, and however hard we try, it’s hard to remember that the outside and the inside of people are two very different things. Jim’s words were ricocheting around my head too violently for me to fall for the seduction.

‘Yeah, well, it’s Kimberley’s. I didn’t want to turn up looking like trailer trash.’

I glanced at myself in the mirrored door of her wardrobe. I thought skinny jeans and a silk shirt would make me look chic without trying, but now I wondered if I’d pitched it wrong. I checked myself. What did it matter? It was a bowl of pasta in someone’s kitchen. Lysette was looking at her reflection too; she grabbed her deep red lipstick. My eyes met hers in the glass as she looped it around her mouth. I sat down on the bed.

‘Lys, are you alright? Sorry, stupid question. I just feel like we haven’t talked enough about what’s been going on –’ I hesitated. ‘I haven’t wanted to trample in and upset you.’

She blotted her mouth with a tissue, eyes no longer meeting mine. ‘You haven’t.’

‘But it’s not like I’m not thinking about you every second. I know you thought from the beginning she hadn’t killed herself, but them confirming it . . . You were just trying to get your head round it, and then they started questioning you.’

She turned to face me.

‘I’m not alright, Mia, no. I feel like my heart’s been ripped out.’

‘Is there anything more I can do?’ Her eyes held mine, pleading and guarded all at once. I took a risk. ‘Do you still think Peter didn’t do it?’

Her voice, when it came, was thin and indistinct. ‘I don’t know. I can’t . . .’ She paused again, like the words were expensive. ‘He wasn’t like that.’

I felt a shiver. She’d been right about Sarah’s death, what was to say she wasn’t right about this?

‘But if he didn’t do it – well, someone did.’

Lysette’s eyes flashed. I’d gone too far.

‘I can’t cope with any more questions.’ She looked down at her perilous heels. ‘It’s enough for me to put one foot in front of the other.’

‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ I said, hastily apologetic. ‘I just want to help. Be your friend.’

She quickly swivelled herself back towards the mirror, baring her teeth to check for lipstick.

‘Thanks, Mia.’ She grabbed a clutch bag from her dressing table, signalled to the door. ‘And I’m sorry if I – if I was a bit – you know – tired and emotional at the funeral. I . . .’ She smiled at me, petered out, the apology I’d so desperately wanted at the time there in her eyes.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m here.’

I don’t know why I thought it was down to me.

*

‘You were ages at the police station.’

The cab had one of those smelly, tree-shaped air fresheners attached to the rear-view mirror. I focused on it, toying with the idea of simply telling her I’d seen Jim. The words died in my throat.

‘You know what it’s like,’ I said. ‘They kept me hanging about for hours.’

Was it a white lie? No, it was definitely grey. Back when we were teens, she’d hated the fact that me and Jim started our ultimately disastrous relationship behind her back. I didn’t want to disturb that ancient burial ground.

‘He’s a smooth operator, that main guy, isn’t he?’

‘Krall?’ I said. ‘Yeah.’

‘I think he reckons he’s solved it already,’ she said softly, her eyes trained out of the window, lost in the inky blackness.

The cab driver’s gaze flicked towards the rear-view mirror, his eyes trained on her. I gave Lysette a warning look.

‘Saffron’s reading’s really coming on, isn’t it?’ I said, hoping fervently we were almost there. The dark country lanes seemed endless to me.

*

Kimberley’s house was even more impressive close up. As the cab driver got out to ring the intercom, I cast a sideways glance at Lysette, wondering how it felt to come from her modest rented cottage to something as palatial as this. With my friends in London, the gaps never felt so gaping: unless I befriended the Beckhams, everyone was getting by, mortgaged to the hilt. I wasn’t sure I could handle a scenario like this.

‘Well, this is a shithole!’ I said, linking my arm through hers as we walked up the drive.

‘I know,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘We should’ve eaten before we came. I hate McDonald’s.’

We leaned into each other, laughing far harder than our stupidity merited, stumbling our way to the door like a four-legged animal. It was already open, but it wasn’t Kimberley who stood there. The girl looked like a teenager, a cap of dark curly hair framing a pretty, timid face, a white shirt worn over a pair of black trousers, like she was approximating a waitress uniform but wanted to leave some doubt.

‘Hello. The ladies are having drinks on the back lawn,’ she said, her English halting.

‘Thank you,’ said Lysette, formally. Why had that precious warmth drained away so instantaneously?

‘Hi, I’m Mia!’ I said, overcompensating. I stuck out a hand. ‘Lovely to meet you. What’s your name?’

‘Oh, I am Lori,’ said the girl, quick and nervous. ‘I am very pleased to meet you.’

‘Where are you from?’ I asked, as we followed her down a wide hallway.

‘Romania,’ she said.

‘Lori’s only been here a few weeks,’ said Lysette, still uncharacteristically chilly – she was usually the last person to treat someone serving us that way.

We passed a huge sitting room, a state of the art TV blaring out something with dinosaurs. A couple of small boys were sprawled on the sofas, cans and crisps strewn across the floor. The long hallway opened up into a predictably stylish kitchen, all chrome and granite, with appliances that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Michelin-starred restaurant. The back wall was glass, sliding doors opening into a garden so large and landscaped that it could have passed for a park. The three women were standing on the patio, drinks in hand. It was odd: as I first contemplated them, they felt more like an art installation than a gang of friends, each of them sculpted and still.

‘There you are!’ cried Kimberley, breaking away to come towards us. She cast a look in Lori’s direction. ‘I was starting to think you’d lost them!’

It was a balmy evening, and she’d decided on a silky green jumpsuit, the neckline tapering into a low V, revealing the curve of her small, shapely breasts. A silver dagger hung between them, automatically drawing the eye downwards. I quickly moved my eyes back to her face, leaned in to kiss her and say my hellos.

‘Thanks so much for inviting me,’ I said, still taken aback by the opulence of my surroundings. She could see me gawping as she embraced Lysette.

‘Let’s get you some drinks,’ she said, turning to Lori, who was standing nervously on the fringes of our circle. ‘Off you go,’ she told her, and I smiled thanks at her retreating back, moving my attention to Helena and Alex.

‘Hello again,’ said Alex, sticking out a stiff hand, like she was a reluctant Royal, forced to walk down a line-up of plebs. I could tell she’d also felt compelled to make an effort, but the overall effect was very different from the polish of the other women. Her dark, messy hair was pulled up into a bun, streaks of grey visible. She wore a shapeless blue dress which skimmed the ground, and had painted her mouth in an orangey-pink colour that was bleeding from her lips. ‘I only just heard you were staying on.’

Helena leaned in and kissed me. ‘Nice to see you again, Mia,’ she said, warm and guarded all at once.

We were on the far side of the wooden decking, the view perfect. The lawn went on for miles, a white summerhouse planted next to a pretty little pond, frogs serenading us with joyful croaks. I knew better than to think wealth equalled happiness but it was hard to imagine being unhappy in such beautiful surroundings. I remembered with a jolt why we were here.

‘I’m so sorry – what’s come out since we met – it’s just awful.’

Helena smiled painfully, whilst Alex’s face refused to register my sympathy.

‘I gather you’re staying on to help people to pick up the pieces,’ she said briskly.

‘I wouldn’t go that far . . .’ I started, just as Lori appeared at my elbow with a glass of champagne. It jarred somehow – champagne in the wake of what had happened?

‘Just bring out the bottle,’ trilled Kimberley. ‘You need to remember to keep the guests topped up.’

I couldn’t help sneaking a look at Lysette, observing the fact her first mouthful was more of a gulp than a sip. Told you so, said Jim in my head – the last thing I needed was Jim in my head.

‘I’m just going to be here as someone for people to talk to for the next couple of weeks,’ I continued. Alex looked deeply unimpressed. ‘I’m not part of the investigation.’

‘Are the police paying you?’ she fired back.

‘Well yes, but . . .’

‘She’s being modest!’ said Kimberley, smiling at me as if I was a small child who’d failed to announce my triumph in a finger-painting competition. ‘Ian said you were a great help to him on Monday.’

‘Really?’ I said.

‘Oh . . .’ said Kimberley, cocking her lovely head. ‘Did you not think it was a success?’

‘It’s . . .’ They were all staring at me now, even Lysette, the lush view providing an unsuitably tranquil backdrop to the awkwardness. ‘It’s not really a case of success or failure. It’s just about providing a safe space.’

I sounded pompous even to my own ears. Helena shuddered.

‘Safe isn’t a word I’m using much right now.’

Alex’s small, intense eyes swivelled towards her, then moved away.

‘What gourmet triumph have you magicked up for us this time, Kimberley?’ said Lysette. It was an odd segue, and there was a slight edge to the way she asked it. Lysette herself felt unsafe to me right now, an unexploded bomb. I slipped another question in its place.

‘Is Nigel not here?’

‘My better half!’ laughed Kimberley. ‘Were you looking forward to meeting him properly?’

‘No, I just . . .’

‘He’s in New York, I’m afraid. Just us girls.’

Silence reigned. Why were they subjecting themselves to this? Or was it me – was my presence the reason no one was being real?

‘This is so weird, isn’t it?’ said Helena, almost as if she’d read my thoughts. She looked around the group. ‘I still just can’t believe it. I keep doing normal things – going to the toilet, or making a cup of tea – and then remembering again. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?’

Lysette crossed the grass, put her arms around her in a tight hug.

‘No!’ she said, heartfelt. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

Alex watched them, grief etched into her pinched face. I could sense words that wanted to explode out of her, but she wouldn’t let the dam burst. I felt like a complete imposter there, intruding on their raw grief. I looked towards the kitchen, spying a harried-looking Lori racing between hob and oven.

‘Why don’t I go and give her a hand?’ I said to Kimberley, already pulling away.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said sharply, ‘you’re my guest.’ She looked at the huddle that Lysette and Helena were making, clapped her elegant hands high above her in the cooling air. ‘We all want to honour Sarah, that’s why we’re here, but we can do it over dinner. It’ll be ruined if we don’t go inside.’

As we started across the grass, Alex turned to me. ‘This was your idea, wasn’t it?’ she said.

Her mouth smiled, but her eyes did the absolute opposite.

*

Kitchen supper is such a terrible phrase, all faux casual and homey – at least this wasn’t even making the pretence. The table was set with silver, crisp linens by each plate, small vases of fresh-cut flowers punctuating the length of it. We all ground to a halt: it didn’t invite you to throw yourself into any old place and start chatting. Perhaps that was the point, a mark of respect. Kimberley stood up a little straighter. She looked out to the garden, momentarily pensive, and then back to all of us.

‘Thank you for coming. I know – we all know – how hard it is right now. But the one thing we need to be able to rely on is each other.’ Her gaze landed momentarily on Lysette, who looked away, suddenly fascinated by the table setting. ‘You’re not just my friends, you’re my sisters. This is my sisterhood. In answer to your point, Helena, this is our safe place. We must never forget it.’ She held her glass aloft. ‘To Sarah.’

I hung back, watched them all step forward, their glasses colliding noisily.

‘To Sarah,’ they said, their voices cracking and splintering with emotion. Something was released by that toast, something I couldn’t quite name. Their tears were real, but there was something else they were sharing that wasn’t visible to the naked eye.

Kimberley beckoned me forward. ‘Come and join the toast, you knew her too.’

I softly chinked my glass, my eyes meeting Lysette’s: the depth of her pain felt like something you could drown in. I couldn’t help feeling relieved when the circle broke apart. Helena moved towards a seat, and I started to subtly follow her, but Kimberley gave us an admonishing look.

‘There’s a seating plan, and you,’ she pointed her index finger at me, ‘have got the worst seat in the house, I’m afraid! Right next to me.’

It was so odd – I felt no warmth between us, and yet she was tenacious in her pursuit of me. I gave an unconvincing smile and headed for the seat she’d indicated. Alex was the other side of me, and Lysette was to Kimberley’s right with Helena next to her.

‘That jumpsuit looks great,’ I told Kimberley, looking for an easy win, and then immediately wondering if it seemed callous. ‘I’d never get away with it, but it’s fab on you.’

‘Really?’ she said, looking pleased. She was standing up, and she patted a lollipop-stick thigh. ‘I worry it makes me look like I’ve got saddlebags. It’s old now, Isabel Marant from a few seasons ago.’

Of course – a luxurious French label that looks thrown on but has a per item cost roughly akin to the GDP of a third world country.

‘Not at all,’ I said. Kimberley was as bony as a skeleton, the honeyed sweep of exposed flesh taut and smooth. She knew it too – I’ve got plenty of clients who suffer from the female disease of refusing to appreciate their own beauty, but I could tell Kimberley revelled in her appeal. She was like a show cat, strutting around the ring on perfect paws.

‘Thanks,’ she said, laying a hand on my shoulder as she shouted across the kitchen to Lori. ‘Lori, top-ups needed, and I just know that salmon en croute is borderline burnt!’

I subtly wriggled my shoulder, the warmth of her hand an uncomfortable presence, and looked around for Lysette. She was talking to Helena, animated now, her glass drained. I quelled the teeming thoughts, turned towards Alex.

‘So what’s your specialism?’ I asked. Her glass was almost full, I noticed, a smear of her odd-coloured lipstick around the rim. Her fingers, the nails bitten and ragged, worried at the plain wooden beads that hung around her neck. They could have almost been a rosary.

‘Molecular biology,’ she said, her voice a full stop. In one way it was a blessing – after all, my molecular biology small talk was seriously limited – but it was already feeling like a long night, and we hadn’t eaten a morsel yet.

‘It’s so beautiful here,’ I said, directing the comment to the table at large. Kimberley was still snarling about salmon somewhere in the background. ‘I bet there’ve been some great summer parties.’

Everyone looked at me, but no one responded. The atmosphere churned and curdled.

Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not really. I’m a single mum, most nights it’s either Bake Off or a pile of marking. I’m right in thinking you don’t have any?’

‘Not yet, no,’ I said. I looked across the table at Lysette, wanting some kind of reassurance. I needed her to lead the way, to teach me the rules of engagement that I blatantly didn’t understand, but her face was as cold as theirs.

Helena jumped in. ‘Mia works with them, though. She caters to every size. The walk we had before the funeral really . . .’ She looked at me, changed tack. ‘She gave me some great ideas for getting the anxiety under control.’

She made a face, acknowledged the irony. The space between us felt even thicker now.

‘My advice, Mia, is to enjoy the freedom while it lasts!’ said Kimberley, sailing back to the table. Lori was following her, plates piled high with steaming mounds of salmon and asparagus, the distraction perfectly timed. Was it my fault, this latest awkwardness? Had I been unconsciously poking a hornets’ nest that Jim had shoved me towards, then complaining when I got stung? Even if they had been partying, there was no reason to assume Sarah’s death had anything to do with it. I caught Lysette’s eye, managed finally to exchange a smile that felt real. Did she want to be here, or was it the very last place she’d have chosen? The fact I had no idea made me feel a rush of loneliness, even here, in the crush of women.

‘Bon appétit,’ said Helena, their eyes meeting in shared sadness. There were murmurs about the deliciousness of the food, heavy cutlery scraping against bone china plates.

‘Are you wanting some wine?’ said Lori, appearing at my elbow.

‘I am, yes,’ I said, giving her a grateful smile, knowing as I did that the last thing I needed was to get drunk.

‘Let’s put some music on,’ said Lysette, that dangerous firework quality back in full force. ‘Not Fleetwood Mac!’

‘God, no,’ said Helena, shuddering. She gave Lysette a sad smile. ‘You did so well to get through it.’

Kimberley waved an imperious hand at Lori.

‘If you fetch me the remote control, and then you can get the boys upstairs. It’s well past their bedtime.’ It wasn’t quite clear from her tone whose fault that was. ‘Tell them I’ll be up to kiss them goodnight.’

It was gone 8.30 by now: I looked at the dark smudges under Lori’s eyes, tried to imagine how she got any kind of break beyond a few snatched hours of sleep. I let the conversation eddy and drift around me, grateful that the odd number of guests created a discreet way to hang back.

When Lori reappeared, bottle in hand, Helena made sure her glass was filled to the brim. ‘I shouldn’t, I know, but I’m just so glad I got the police interview out of the way today.’

‘Mia was there for hours today,’ said Lysette, that edginess apparent again.

Alex looked to me, as if I should elaborate. Kimberley gave a tinkly laugh.

‘I think old Inspector Krall is a bit of looker,’ she said, then noticed Lysette’s expression. ‘I was being silly,’ she said. ‘I’m just grateful they seem confident about solving it. For Sarah’s sake.’

‘They don’t know,’ spat back Lysette.

Helena looked between them. ‘Can we please – let’s try and have a nice time. Be together.’ Her eyes grazed me, as if she was embarrassed I was witnessing all of this, and I gave her what I intended to be a reassuring smile. It was hard to force my features into such a shape.

‘Of course. That’s the whole point of tonight,’ said an icy Kimberley. ‘To try and support each other. And you’re right, we don’t know. But what I do know – from personal experience – is that he was complicated.’

‘OK!’ said Lysette. She stood up, her chair scraping angrily across the floor. She crossed to the speaker dock, which was pumping out some kind of French jazz. ‘Let’s put on something stupid we could sing along to if this was . . .’ Tears sprang to her eyes, and I automatically crossed the room towards her. ‘If this was different,’ she said, her voice low. She briefly accepted my touch, then bent over her iPhone like she was engaged in important matters of national security, eventually choosing a summery playlist that you couldn’t help but shake your shoulders to.

‘Good choice,’ I told Lysette across Kimberley, then turned my attention to her. ‘This is delicious,’ I told her, shovelling in a large mouthful to prove the veracity of the statement. Kimberley’s fork trailed her plate, never quite making contact with the pile of food that was slowly congealing – no one was that thin without hard work. ‘Did you cook it yourself? If we ever have people round, all my boyfriend wants to do is order pizza.’

Kimberley ignored the question. Of course she hadn’t cooked it – she hadn’t even deigned to carry a plate, so far. ‘I thought you were engaged?’

‘Yeah, no, I always think fiancé sounds a bit pretentious.’ I fiddled with my engagement ring as I said it, aware how tiny it looked next to her ostentatious square slab of a diamond. ‘My fiancé – you’re right, I should say it.’ She stayed silent. ‘It must be hard for you, Nigel travelling so much.’

‘We’ve got very good at waving him goodbye,’ she said. ‘That’s partly why Lucas liked having Mr Grieve so much last year.’

‘He had him as his teacher? I didn’t know that. I’m so sorry.’

‘Yes,’ confirmed Kimberley. ‘He got very involved.’ It was unclear what he was involved in – it could have been as benign as Lucas’s spelling, but somehow it didn’t sound that way. ‘So when are you getting married?’

‘Probably in the spring. Work’s been crazy for both of us . . .’ I didn’t want her to think I was being grand about my career. ‘You know what it’s like, juggling . . .’

I could see Lori out of the corner of my eye, painstakingly rinsing the plates before she loaded them into the top of the range dishwasher.

‘I do,’ she said, pointedly, watching where my eyes went. ‘I’ve got a PR business. The office is in Cambridge. It’s mainly for local businesses, but it’s doing pretty well.’

‘That’s great.’

‘I get some good discounts too. If you’re getting married, you’ll be wanting to think about those photos!’

‘What do you mean?’

Kimberley leaned towards me, animated.

‘There’s a fantastic clinic we look after. They do peels and facials, but they also push the hard stuff.’ My brain was struggling to compute, Jim’s words still ringing in my ears. ‘Come on, Mia, by our age we all start needing a bit of help to keep looking our best.’

‘Oh, Botox and things.’ Patrick always teases me for the way I say it, like ‘buttocks’, forgetting to emphasise the BO. I looked at Kimberley’s smooth face, tried not to envy the lack of crow’s feet. I knew my own eyes had started to tell a story I wanted to keep to myself.

‘It’s all moved on a lot. Fillers can be very subtle now. No harm in giving mother nature a helping hand.’

‘Sure,’ I said, non-committal.

‘You don’t approve? Not holistic enough for you?’ she said, arching her perfect eyebrows as she hovered the wine bottle over my glass. I signalled for a tiny bit, aware how muddy my thinking was becoming.

‘I just think once you start, where do you stop?’

Some of my patients seem to do it in a healthy way – a way that’s not shot through with a dose of self-hatred – but some of them look like swaying, swollen poppies, faces pumped up and bodies starved down to nothing.

‘It must be so hard, doing your job,’ said Kimberley.

‘What do you mean?’ I could tell already I wasn’t going to like the answer.

‘It must be so hard not to analyse every choice you make to death. I’d find it exhausting.’ I’d find it exhausting to try and write press releases about injecting elephant placenta into forehead creases, I thought, but I didn’t say it.

‘It’s horses for courses, isn’t it?’ I said, straining forward to try and pull Lysette into the conversation. She was talking intensely to Helena, her hands flying about, her mascara now a mass of black around her wild eyes.

‘I’d love to understand what it is you actually do,’ said Kimberley, her tone implying that it was something so exotic and unlikely that it might turn out to be a fantasy. ‘Can we book some time for a one to one before you go?’ She paused, angled her face, elegant fingers stroking the stem of her crystal wine glass. ‘When is it you’re going?’

It felt like every single sentence she uttered spun on a contradiction.

‘Don’t say it!’ said Lysette, jerking her body round. ‘She’s never going. She’s going to live here for ever and ever.’

She was drunk, obviously so now, but I still felt childishly gratified by how heartfelt she was. That protectiveness surged back through me, that deep longing to make sure she was alright. I needed to be sure she was safe before I could leave.

‘Not for ever and ever,’ I said. ‘But at least a couple more weeks.’

‘Not long at all, then,’ said Alex, with a hint of satisfaction.

It felt as though everyone’s eyes were on me again.

‘I need a pee. Too much wine,’ I said, standing up abruptly.

I gripped the back of my chair, suddenly acutely aware of how many times my glass had been topped up. I needed to get away. Even if it was only for a few snatched minutes, I needed time to think.