Page 36 of Perfect Wives
He nods, squeezing my hand again. ‘Leave Lanie with me today and I’ll cook dinner tonight,’ he adds.
It’s not the answer. Not a way forward, but it’s something.
I stand, kiss Lanie goodbye and walk out of the house without a word.
All day, Marc’s lies sit heavy on my chest, shoving against the plans he’s made. The lies he’s told. The future he’s promising. It feels like there’s no room for both. But whichever way I look, everything has changed.
The one thing I know for certain is that I can’t tell Georgie or Beth. They’re my best friends. But so was Lily Gallagher. Lily, who once hosted the summer garden party every year. Who brought brownies to every PTA meeting. Who was one of us. Part of our friendship group. Right up until the moment she said she was moving to Brighton and everything unravelled so fast. She wasn’t the kind, honest woman I thought she was. By the timethe moving vans pulled up to number two, no one in Magnolia Close was speaking to her or Kevin. No one said goodbye.
If I tell Georgie and Beth what Marc has done, if they realise I’m leaving, will they push me out the same way we did to Lily? We said we’d say nothing to the police. Just tell them we were all at the quiz night together. We’re each other’s alibis. If I’m pushed out, will they still protect me?
It’s a question I don’t want to know the answer to. Whatever happens, they can’t find out what Marc has done and the plans he’s made for us.
NINETEEN
GEORGIE
‘Keep going, Georgie,’ I gasp to myself as I push through the final climb, legs burning as I pedal faster, the rhythmic whir of the Peloton beneath me drowning out the sound of my breath coming hard and fast. The spare room is small, but the sage-green palm-print wallpaper gives it a boutique studio vibe – perfect for the reels I post about my fitness motivation. There’s just enough room for the bike, a yoga mat, a set of hand weights and a head-height phone stand. And after Nate’s study, it has the best view of Magnolia Close.
I stand as I pedal, forcing my legs to keep pumping as I watch the police forensic team in white plastic overalls move in and out of Jonny’s house. Every time they walk out with another box – another evidence bag – I feel myself flinch. What have they found? The question nags and pokes until I close my eyes, scrambling for a mantra to quiet them.
‘You can conquer every obstacle facing you,’ I tell myself before pulling in a deep breath that fills my lungs. ‘You are in control of your thoughts.’
I exhale slowly, my heart pounding in my ears from the intensity of the workout. Then I open my eyes just in time to see the detective leaving Tasha’s house with a colleague in tow. Iexpect them to head straight to the Fletchers at number eleven, knocking on each door one by one, but instead, they set off in a determined stride, heading straight for my front door.
I’m suddenly nervous and not sure why. What did Tasha tell them? I push the question aside. Tasha wouldn’t be so stupid as to mention the night in the pub with Keira. We agreed to say nothing to the police.
‘Last sixty seconds,’ my Peloton tells me, and I sit back in the saddle and dig deep for the final minute. As the bike shifts into cool-down, there’s movement from the floor above, followed by the thud of feet on stairs. I climb off the bike and reach the door in time to see Nate jogging down each step, a hand on the front door before the first knock comes. I guess I wasn’t the only one watching.
I don’t follow Nate to the front door but slip into the hall, padding to the kitchen while I catch my breath and compose myself.
The morning sun streaks through the bifold doors, spilling light across the marble worktops. I listen to the click of the front door and Nate’s greeting, followed by the low murmur of voices moving down the hall.
‘Come through,’ Nate says with his usual charm. ‘I was just about to make a coffee. Would either of you like one?’
The detective with the dark hair and boring suit appears in the kitchen. She hesitates, and for a moment, I think she’s admiring the space, but then her gaze fixes on Nate’s coffee machine and a small smile tugs at her lips. ‘That would be great, if you don’t mind.’
Nate flashes a boyish grin as he sets to work. ‘Life’s too short for bad coffee, right?’ he says before gesturing to me as though only just noticing I’m in the kitchen. ‘This is my wife, Georgie.’
‘DS Sara Sató,’ the detective in the suit says before nodding to her colleague. ‘This is DC Amanda McLachlan.’
The second detective has a heart-shaped face and is dressed more like a schoolteacher than a detective.
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, aiming for bright and bubbly, but my welcome is drowned out by the hum of Nate’s coffee machine.
Sató takes her mug from Nate, inhaling the steam appreciatively before drinking slowly. ‘That’s good coffee. Thank you.’
He gestures to the stools at the island, and we settle with the detectives on one side and Nate and me on the other. I rest my hand on the countertop, hoping Nate will get the message and take it. A show of unity. A team. But he doesn’t.
‘Thank you for taking a few minutes out of your day to talk to me,’ Sató begins, reaching into her jacket for her notebook. ‘I’m the SIO – the senior investigating officer – of Jonathan Wilson’s murder.’
Murder. The word clangs in my mind. Last night, the PC on our doorstep called it an investigation. Today it’s murder, and even though I’m not surprised, the word still sends an inky dread circling through my veins. It’s so extreme. I wanted Jonny dead. I even talked about it. But someone went through with it. Who? And how was he murdered? The questions swim alongside the dread inside me.
I sip my coffee, swallowing past the tightness in my chest.I’ve got this!
‘We’re happy to help in any way we can,’ Nate says, his tone light and friendly. ‘Do you know how he died yet?’ He wants to know what’s going on. I’d say he’s desperate for it, in fact.
Sató lowers her mug, ignoring Nate’s question. ‘We’re currently searching Mr Wilson’s house?—’
