Page 186 of One in Three

Luke hands me the large sweating glass of gin and tonic he was holding behind his back. ‘Thought you might say that.’

I twist my unruly hair up into a loose chignon, and apply the finishing touches to my make-up, then join Luke out on the balcony. The breeze is a little cooler than I expected, and I’m grateful when my husband wraps his arms around me, the two of us gazing out across the sea like Kate and Leo on the prow of theTitanic. It’s possible to see the white horses breaking on hidden rocks between us and the mainland, and I can’t help a shiver. The thought of a boat hitting one of those deadly rocks in the dark, the poor souls on board lost to the treacherous currents, makes me feel oddly dizzy, as if I’ve just peered over a high ledge.

‘You looking forward to this weekend?’ Luke says, gently kissing my neck.

I sigh. ‘I’m looking forward to it being safely in the rear-view mirror.’

Luke gives me a reassuring squeeze. I rest the back of my head against his chest, hoping my sense of foreboding is misplaced. Lou has moved out of Andrew’s house, and given up the job at his wife’s office, both of which are steps in the right direction. As far as I know, she hasn’t seen him alone again, so there can’t have been a repetition of that disastrously mistaken kiss, but the last thing either of them needs is to be thrown together on an island for the weekend like this. I wish for the hundredth time Celia hadn’t got us all into this mess with her meddling. According to Luke, Lou actually phoned her mother yesterday and said shewantedAndrew and that woman to come. I don’t like to attribute any sinister motive to her sudden changeof heart, but how can I not? A week ago she was accusing the woman of poisoning her cat, and now she wants her at her mother’s anniversary party?

‘Stop fretting,’ Luke murmurs. ‘I can read you like a book.’

‘I can’t help it,’ I say moodily. ‘Something bad’s going to happen, I can feel it in my waters.’

‘Give over, Gypsy Rose. It’ll be fine.’

I’m about to argue, when I spot Andrew and his wife coming up towards the main hotel from the Beach House below us. Moments later, Tolly and Kit rush down the slope of the lawn towards them, the pair of them brandishing cheap plastic windmills.

‘Lou looks good,’ Luke says in surprise as his sister emerges onto the terrace to greet them. ‘Has she done something to her hair?’

‘I got her an appointment with Stephen on Wednesday,’ I say, taking a look. He’s right: Stephen’s taken off at least six inches and put in some highlights, and the blunt bob looks great on her. She’s wearing the stunning red dress I badgered her into buying, too. I wish now I hadn’t. Even from up here, I don’t miss Andrew’s double take when he sees her, and from the boot-faced look on his wife’s face, neither does she. I don’t have to be psychic to scent trouble ahead.

‘Come on,’ Luke says. ‘We’d better go down before the boys kick off again. A tenner each only buys you so much peace and quiet.’

We round up the troops and clatter downstairs to the Palm Court bar, where everyone is already waiting for us. I’mbusy trying to prise Dom and Jack’s phones out of their hands before their grandmother has a go at them, so for a moment I don’t notice Bella and her friend sitting quietly near the piano, locked in earnest conversation.

And then suddenly Idonotice them, and everything makes dreadful, shocking sense.

Chapter 41

Caz

‘Could you pass me my cufflinks?’ Andy says, fiddling with his shirt sleeves.

I hand them to him. ‘I take it the whole family is going to be there?’

‘Of course.’ He tweaks his tie in the mirror. ‘That’s not going to be a problem, is it?’

‘Not for me.’

I leave him to finish dressing and go out onto the deck, leaning on the railing and gazing across the vast, empty stretch of beach in front of me. A warm breeze lifts my hair as the tide washes over the rocks below, and I’m briefly soothed by the susurration of the waves on the honey-coloured shingle. The rest of the Roberts family is staying up in the main hotel, but for some reason Celia has put the two of us down here at the separate Beach House, in the most breathtaking accommodation of all. Nestled into Burgh Island’s rock face, the villa has stunning panoramic sea views, and absolute privacy. I couldn’t have chosen a location to suit my purposes better myself. To paraphrase Ridley Scott’s famousAlientagline: At the beach, no one can hear you scream.

Andy finally emerges onto the balcony, looking suave and debonair in his black tie. The real monsters aren’t seamy, sleazy oddballs with lank hair and dead eyes who lurk in back alleys and dark corners. They’re pleasant family men who live among you, handsome and charming, the last people you’d ever suspect.

‘Ready?’ he asks.

I smile. ‘Looking forward to it.’

But it’s all I can do not to flinch when he takes my bare arm. The touch of his hand on my skin makes me want to vomit.Another few hours, I tell myself. It will all be over in a few hours.

Oddly, for such an important decision, I don’t remember actually making it. There was no internal debate, no moral dilemma. A lorry hurtles towards your child, and you fling yourself unthinkingly in its path. A bottle is thrown at you, and you duck. There’s no thought, no weighing up of options. Your survival instinct kicks in, whether you want it to or not.Stop him yourself,my mother said. The part of me that is Kit’s mother and Andy’s wife recoils in horror from what has to be done, but the other part of me, the darkest, most honest side, feels only recognition at its inevitability:yes, of course. This is how my story ends, how my story has always ended. I didn’t stop my father, but I can stop Andy.

We walk up the cliff path to the hotel, and I feel oddly weightless and detached, as if I am watchingmyself from a distance. There is Caz, in her long grey silk column of a gown, arm in arm with her handsome husband in his black tie and gold cufflinks. Here comes their gorgeous little boy, running across the grass towards them, his russet-haired half-brother whooping in his wake, the two of them joyously brandishing plastic seaside windmills. Look at Caz bend down, exclaiming over her son’s toy. Look at her husband scoop a child up beneath each arm, whirling them around before placing them, laughing and stumbling, back on the ground. The perfect, photogenic, modern blended family.

Stepbrother, I correct mentally. I’ve no idea who Tolly’s biological father really is, but it certainly isn’t Andy.

‘Mummy!’ Kit cries, thrusting the windmill at me. ‘Look what Gree gave me!’

‘How lovely, sweetheart. Have you and Tolly been having fun?’

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