Page 30 of Perfect Wives
That all stopped three or four months ago though. The only visitor he had recently was his cleaner.
SIXTEEN
BETH
It’s the day after the police come to Magnolia Close when Keira reappears in our lives in the same whirlwind as the night in the pub. The day is cold and bright, the kind of crisp autumn morning that Georgie finds invigorating, but I’m struggling to shake off the fog of exhaustion. I find myself squinting at the sun, wishing for clouds. From the moment I step outside my front door with Henry and we move to our usual spot to wait for the others, the sense of unease takes hold. I don’t look back to my house or to Jonny’s.
It’s always you waiting.
Because I have the easiest morning routine. I don’t squeeze in a workout like Georgie or have three children to get ready like Tasha. And I’m more organised than the others.
Nate joins me first, kissing me lightly on the cheek. ‘Congratulations on the pregnancy, Beth. How are you?’ he asks.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Georgie and Oscar, hand in hand, running over to us. Georgie starts to speak before I have the chance to reply to Nate.
‘God, this is so weird,’ she says quietly, nodding in the direction of Jonny’s house. ‘Do you think it looks different, Beth? Emptier somehow?’
‘I don’t know,’ I reply, still not looking. I’m not sure I ever will again.
Tasha is last as usual. Marc is with her today. His eyes are puffy, his hair lying flat. Neither of them look like they’ve slept. Nate and Marc go in for a manly hug, hard hands hitting each other’s backs, making me wonder if Alistair should’ve taken the day off too.
The same silver Ford from last night pulls through the gates as we make our way out of the close.
‘That’s the detective in charge of Jonny’s investigation,’ Tasha whispers when the car passes.
I force myself not to look back and wish I’d kept Henry at home today. Baked cookies together, played matching pairs and built his train set over the living room. Just the two of us, shut away from the world. A murder right next door. My pulse starts to race. My head spins. Jonny is dead! What will this do to our lovely community? We took so long to heal after the way things ended with the Gallaghers. The way they left under a cloud of suspicion. And this is so much worse. I hope Jonny’s death will bring us closer together, not drive another wedge.
I don’t know how much of it is the pregnancy hormones or the weight of what’s happened dragging at my limbs, but everything feels off-kilter as we reach the school gates. The school playground is already filled with parents and children. A group of older boys tear past us in a chaotic game of tag as we make our way to our usual corner to wait for the bell to ring. I instinctively tighten my grip on Henry’s hand, fighting the urge to pull him closer. He tugs his hand away, desperate to join his friends, and reluctantly I let him go. He’ll be fine, I tell myself. But the worry clings to me, a whisper in the back of my mind that I can’t ignore.
We move to our usual spot at the edge of the playground, and that’s when I see her. A flash of jet-black hair. Pearly white skin. Bright-red lips.
Keira.
You should have trusted your instincts about her.
She’s wearing shiny black leggings with a silver design that looks like marble running across the tight fabric, and a slouchy hoodie with a deep V revealing a flash of red lace underneath. I remember she said she owned a business selling activewear. She looks just as out of place at the school gates as she did the night in the pub. I swear every parent in the playground is trying and failing not to stare.
She’s holding the hand of a little girl in the school’s red jumper and pleated grey skirt. She has black hair that matches her mum’s. Keira’s lips curve as she catches me looking, and I hear her voice in my head.
‘Let them stare.’
‘Oh my God,’ Tasha mutters.
Georgie spins round. ‘What?’ she asks just as her gaze catches on what we’re both seeing and her mouth drops open.
‘She’s coming over,’ Tasha murmurs.
Keira reaches us in seconds, all smiles, all confidence.
‘Rowan got chicken pox,’ she announces by way of hello, like she’s been gone two minutes not disappeared off the face of the earth for a week. ‘Came down with it the morning after the pub. First day of school – can you believe it?’ Her eyes flick to Nate. ‘Hi, I’m Keira. We’re new, aren’t we, Rowan?’
The little girl nods, looking nervously around at the other children. I feel a pang of sympathy for her. She doesn’t look as though she has her mum’s confidence, but I’m sure she’ll be fine when she’s settled into the class.
‘Sorry,’ Georgie says, pasting on a bright smile. ‘This is Nate. My husband.’
Keira’s lips twitch, her head tilting ever so slightly. ‘Are you now?’
There’s something about the way she says it. Something suggestive that makes the smile freeze on Georgie’s face. But for some reason it makes Nate laugh. ‘For my sins. Which part of Ireland are you from?’
