Praise for Lisa Hall

‘Compelling, addictive … brilliant!’

B A Paris

‘A classic twisting mystery from the Queen of Suspense, Lisa Hall’

Woman’s Own

‘Brilliantly plotted … a gripping read’

Alice Feeney

‘An uneasy creeping feeling followed me through the book – I was never quite sure who I should be trusting… I read this book in one sitting because I had to know what was going to happen next. An excellent thriller that had me hooked from the start’

Katerina Diamond

‘This is an unrelenting and scarily plausible story weaved expertly around some very real characters. Good luck putting it down…’

Heat

‘Relentlessly pacey and brilliantly written’

Phoebe Morgan

‘An addictive read’

Closer

LISA HALL loves words, reading and everything there is to love about books. She has dreamed of being a writer since she was a little girl and, after years of talking about it, was finally brave enough to put pen to paper (and let people actually read it). Lisa lives in a small village in Kent, surrounded by her towering TBR pile, a rather large brood of children, dogs, chickens and ponies and her long-suffering husband. She is also rather partial to eating cheese and drinking wine.

Readers can follow Lisa on Twitter @LisaHallAuthor.

Also by Lisa Hall

Between You And Me

Tell Me No Lies

The Party

Have You Seen Her

The Perfect Couple

Lisa Hall

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Lisa Hall 2020

Lisa Hall asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © May 2020 ISBN: 9780008356460

Version 2020-05-07

Note to Readers

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

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 Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008356453

To my lovely Mum

Contents

Cover

Praise

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Acknowledgements

Extract

About the Publisher

Prologue

How well do you really know the people in your life? The person closest to you – the one you live with, share a bed with, have children with… have made an entire life with? The one person you think you know every little detail about, the one you choose to let in – your significant other. It’s a question we rarely have cause to ask. You think you know it all – you know that he can’t play football anymore because he’s ruined his knees, that he has high blood pressure, that sometimes he laughs in his sleep, that he’s a good dad and a hard worker. You know that she tells everyone she is allergic to mushrooms but really she just hates them, that she can’t tolerate liars, that sometimes when she’s tired stupid things make her laugh so hard, she cries. You notice gestures, gait, intonations that are exciting at first, until they become part of everyday life, things that are as familiar to you as your own movements. But do you know what lies underneath? The secrets that hide beneath the skin, burning and branding their way into that person until they’re indelible. Until they are a part of them, hidden from view, but still there, waiting to be exposed.

And then, how well do they know you? You let slip little details as you sit over dinner, sipping wine on the perfect first date, and then as time goes on, more is uncovered. Accidentally, you reveal little bits of yourself on romantic weekends away, holidays, and then snatched moments on the sofa in the evening after a long day at work.

You think you know them inside out and you let them think the same about you, but do they really? Have you told them every little detail of what makes you, you? Do they know what really drives you? The things you keep hidden, tucked inside yourself, too ashamed to ever let them see the light of day?

Secrets. We all have them. They are the things that turn the ordinary everyday into an enigma, sometimes exciting, sometimes explosive. But some secrets are so shocking, so devastating, that you’ll do anything to keep others from finding out. So, I’ll ask you again. How well do you know the other person in your life?

Chapter One

It’s time you got yourself sorted out. Sadie’s words echo in Rupert’s ears as he drains the last of the red wine from the bottle into his glass, grubby with greasy fingerprints. He greedily swigs at the purple liquid, shuddering slightly at the furry film it leaves on his teeth. Can he really be blamed for letting things slide? He’s been on his own for months since Caro died; surely everyone is allowed some sort of mourning period, in which they don’t have to wash the dishes every night, and red wine is allowed for dessert?

He pushes himself upright from the depths of the sofa, a struggle in his mildly inebriated state, and glances around the living room, in the house he used to share with Caro. The cushions – ridiculously expensive electric blue Wolf & Badger cushions, which he’d had to bite his tongue over when Caro brought them home – are saggy and squashed without anyone to plump them. Two empty pizza boxes sit on the marble coffee table, although he hasn’t had pizza since he worked late into the evening last week. An empty white wine bottle sits alongside the now empty red wine bottle on the floor by the sofa and Rupert knows for a fact that his recycling bin is crammed full of more. He gets to his feet, stumbling slightly, almost sloshing red wine all over the cream rug in front of the open fireplace.

As he walks into the kitchen, past the pile of unopened post that sits on the worktop, the dishes that are stacked in the sink even though the dishwasher sits empty beneath the counter, cornflakes welded to the rim of the crockery, he catches sight of himself in the reflection of the kitchen window. Outside is pitch black, and his face in the glass is a stark, white oval. His hair falls over one eye, and dark circles ring his eyes. He peers into the glass, squinting at the purple stain on his lips from the wine, and bares his teeth, the purple carrying over to the enamel. It’s been a long day. Moving to the sink, Rupert tips the wine down the drain, watching as it swirls away before running the cold tap and refilling the wine glass. Sadie’s voice nips at the back of his mind, and he has to concede that maybe she does have a point, but did she have to choose today to voice her opinion?

Rupert slides into a kitchen chair, weariness infusing his bones. Today was not the best day for Sadie to tell him to get his act together. Today was Caro’s memorial. He closes his eyes and takes a sip of water, the liquid cold on his tongue and leaving his mouth full of a sharp, metallic taste.

The death knock, he believes that’s what they call it. That hard, fast knock that signals the beginning of the end of something for a family. When that knock came at Rupert’s door, on a miserable, wet January evening, the bare branches of the trees bending and swaying in the wind as rain began to lash at the windows, Rupert knew he would open the door to the police. He’d been waiting for the knock for three days. He knew what they would tell him, and his stomach had rolled as he pulled the door open, slowly, as if to delay the moment.

‘Mr Osbourne-Milligan?’ They’d stood there, grim-faced, before he’d nodded and let them into the house, and they’d told him that they’d found her car, that it was found not far from the Severn Bridge, with her purse and a card with a single word scrawled across it – ‘Sorry’ – on the passenger seat inside. That given her state of mind and previous history, they were in no doubt about what she had done.

Nothing has been the same since those two police officers stood on Rupert’s doorstep, with their serious faces and grave voices, and told him that his life was about to change forever. Everything is washed out, faded, blurred by a persistent tug of guilt every time he lets himself think of her. More so today, the day they held a memorial service in Caro’s name. Everything is over for Caro, she is at peace. He has to keep on going, guilt balanced on each shoulder.

The church had been freezing cold earlier this morning despite the weak sunshine outside, as they all shuffled in and sat, straight-backed, waiting for the vicar to start his speech. All except Michael, Caro’s father. His shoulders were rounded, hunched, grief scored into his face as he finally took his seat next to Esme, Caro’s mother. The tip of Rupert’s nose was cold, meaning he had to keep sniffing, inhaling the cat piss scent of the lilies that adorned the aisles. Thinking he was crying, Esme turned to pat his hand, a tissue pressed against her own nose, and he was grateful when numbness overtook him as the vicar stood to give Caro’s eulogy. A man who barely knew her – Caro hadn’t attended church for years despite Esme’s requests – standing talking about Rupert’s wife, telling the church how loved she was, how generous, how kind, how caring. Rupert felt disconnected, removed from the moment as the voice of the vicar boomed around the echoey chambers of the church, as though they weren’t talking about Caro. As though the vicar was talking about someone Rupert couldn’t recognize, someone he’d never met before. Then he’d had to endure drinks and a buffet at Caro’s parents’ house, as strangers – Caro’s people, not his – told him that they were sorry, but at least he could move on now. He expects this kind of thing from them, but not from Sadie.

‘Rupert? Are you OK? Well, I know you’re not OK, of course you’re not. It’s just, you don’t seem to have spoken to many people. I’m just a little worried that you’re… oh, you know what I mean.’ Sadie appears beside him in the dining room of Michael and Esme’s home, thinner than ever in her black dress, her collarbones jutting out white and bony above her neckline. She holds a glass of white wine in one hand and Rupert wonders if it would be crass to ask her to get him one.

‘I know what you mean. I can’t speak to them, Sadie. They’re Caro’s friends, not mine. I didn’t want a memorial, you know that. I did it for her mother more than anything.’ Rupert resisted the idea of a memorial for almost a year, but when Caro’s mother had cried on his last visit to her, telling him she needed a memorial before she could let Caro go, he didn’t have the heart to deny her any longer. Now, he tries to temper his tone; Sadie is – was – Caro’s best friend after all. She is feeling the loss of Caro today just as much as she did a year ago. Sod it, he needs a drink. ‘Where did you get the wine?’

‘Someone handed it to me in the kitchen. Here.’ Sadie thrusts the glass towards him, and he takes it. The wine is warm, sour on his tongue, but he swallows it down anyway.

‘I don’t even know who half these people are. I don’t even know if Caro would know who half these people are,’ Rupert says. There is a heavy lump in his stomach, weighing him down. Sadie is right, he hasn’t spoken to many people here at all, just accepted their condolences, letting Sadie and Miles brush them away. People mill about in the spacious living room, keeping their conversation to a respectable low level, as Caroline stares out from the huge framed wedding photo on the mantelpiece, her face alive, eyes sparkling, a glass of champagne in her hand as bride and groom beam into the camera.

‘I bet she could tell you the name of every person in here. She was very popular,’ Sadie says, her eyes roaming over the crowd that fills the room. ‘Everyone loved her, you know that. She was… God, Rupert, I’m so sorry.’ Her eyes fill with tears and Rupert has to look away. ‘Shit.’ She dabs at her eyes with a tissue. ‘I thought it was getting easier – it’s been a year.’

‘Old chap.’ Miles appears beside Sadie, giving her a peck on the cheek, his hand sliding around her waist as he aims a thin smile in Rupert’s direction. ‘People are starting to leave. Do you want to say goodbye?’

‘Do I have to?’ The wine has gone to his head, after he necked it on an empty stomach. Caroline would never have approved.

‘Well, not if you don’t want to…’ Sadie starts to say, before Miles interrupts.

‘Best if you did,’ he says. ‘It’ll only take a few minutes, and then they’ll all be gone. Just show your face.’ Subtly reminding Rupert that that’s what you do, when you’re upper-middle class like Miles. Show your face, keep up appearances. It’s what Caro would have wanted. Rupert hauls himself to his feet, ready to shake hands, hug, kiss cheeks until the last of the stragglers depart, and at last he’s able to think about leaving.

Finally, Sadie and Miles drive Rupert home, and they stand in the chilly living room of the house Rupert once shared with Caro. The house that still holds hints of her scent, catching him unawares, as though she is still here, a ghost that roams the rooms. He is hoping that Sadie and Miles will be leaving straight away, but Sadie shrugs off her jacket and heads through to the kitchen, and Miles starts to lay a fire in the hearth.

‘I poured you some more wine.’ Sadie comes back in carrying three glasses and a bottle on a tray, and Rupert thanks her even though he doesn’t want any more wine, the first sip feeling like acid as it burns its way down his throat. ‘You did so well today. Caro would have been proud.’

‘You did bloody well, mate.’ Miles slaps Rupert a little too firmly on the back in his attempts to sound like a regular bloke, instead of a trust-fund-supported, slightly-too-posh corporate lawyer. Which he is. ‘Cigar?’ He offers one out, a fat, juicy Cuban, and Rupert shakes his head. Where he comes from, a cigar is only for celebrations, not an everyday occurrence. ‘Mind if I…?’ Miles nods towards the door, still respecting Caro’s wishes about not smoking in the house, even though she isn’t here anymore.

‘Go ahead.’ Rupert watches him leave and when he turns back Sadie is stood beside him, so close he can feel the warmth of her breath on his face.

‘Rupert. Are you sure you’ll be OK on your own? It’s been a rough day.’ She cocks her head on one side, a sour tang of alcohol like a cloud around her. Her eyes are rimmed with red, her face pale. There is a faint smudge of mascara at the corner of her left eye, but her lipstick looks freshly applied.

‘Of course.’ He’s had a year without Caro beside him already. ‘I’ll be fine. You two should probably go. It’s been a long day, shouldn’t you be getting back to the twins?’ Blanche and Barclay – a fraternal nightmare, and Rupert and Caro’s godchildren. Rupert’s godchildren, now.

‘They’re fine. They’re with the nanny.’ She looks away, running a finger around the rim of her wine glass. ‘Rupert, if you need to talk, you can call me any time, you know that? You’ve shut us out since Caro’s been gone. You can talk to me about her – I won’t fall apart. She was my best friend, part of my life since I was eleven years old. We did everything together. I know what you’re going through. I know how it feels.’ Her words slur slightly, and Rupert realizes she’s a little drunk. She leans towards him, laying a hand on his arm, and he focuses on the gap between her two front teeth, the tiny mole that sits just above her top lip and prepares to push her away. ‘It’s been a rough year for all of us.’

‘I know. Thank you, Sadie. I promise I’ll call you if I need to talk. But you really should go now, it’s getting late.’ He places his hand on her shoulder, just firmly enough to make her start and pull away.

‘At least now we’ve had the memorial service you can start to move on, Rupert.’ Any inhibitions Sadie may have about speaking her mind have disappeared with the alcohol as she looks around the room. ‘It’s time you sorted yourself out. You know, get this place tidied up, start taking care of yourself – it can’t be good for your mental health, living like this. Caro’s gone, Rupert, but you aren’t. You’re still here.’

‘Like I said, it’s getting late. You should go.’ Rupert doesn’t want to talk about it, he never wants to talk about it.

‘Of course.’ She puts her empty glass on the low coffee table, jumping slightly as the front door slams closed and Miles appears, rubbing his hands together against the cold and stinking of cigar smoke, thick and heavy in the air. ‘Miles, we should leave Rupert in peace. It’s been a long day.’ Parroting Rupert’s words back to him as she reaches behind her for her coat, her leopard print scarf, then reaching for Rupert himself, pulling him towards her as she kisses his cheek leaving a dark red stain from her lipstick. And then they go, and he is completely alone.

Any buzz that Rupert might have got from the wine is long gone now, as he shifts in the chair, a chill settling over him despite the warmth blasting from the radiators. He feels clear-headed suddenly as he looks around the kitchen, taking in the dust that thinly coats the kitchen table, the window sill and even parts of the worktop. He let the cleaner go after Caro died. Tea stains litter the floor around the waste bin and Rupert feels a sudden surge of nausea. Sadie is right. This is not who he is. He needs to sort himself out. Caro would be appalled to see the way he’s been living since she’s been gone. He shakes his head at the thought of Caro and reaches for the bottle of whisky on the kitchen counter. He pours a healthy measure and opens up his laptop, tapping his fingers impatiently as he waits for the browser to open. He’s going to do what Sadie said – he’s going to sort himself out and get things back on track. He can’t change what happened, but he can start to move on. She’s right, it’s been long enough.

An hour later, he rereads what he has written and presses the submit button, a fluttering in his stomach making the nausea rise again, as he waits for the confirmation email. It’s done.

Chapter Two

I heave a sigh of relief as I let myself into the flat, dragging Tiny behind me. I dread walking her most of the time, my heart sinking as she dances in circles whenever Mags gets the lead out. Tiny has no idea how to behave in public, having taken to peeing on things she shouldn’t and barking at every single person who crosses our path, but the alternative is to sit in the flat all day while Mags smokes joint after joint, and sometimes I just can’t bear the thought of it; I have to get out, get some fresh air.

The strong smell of weed in the hallway tells me that Mags is awake, and she hasn’t left the flat yet. I unclip Tiny’s leash, wincing as the little dog rushes into the kitchen, barking her high-pitched, ear-splitting yaps.

‘Your dog is a psychopath,’ I say to Mags as I walk into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. I pull out a carton of orange juice, drinking deeply and ignoring my flatmate making a fuss of her socially inept chihuahua.

‘Well, there’s a reason why I ask you to take her for a walk, and it’s not just because you’re not paying me any rent at the moment.’ Mags resumes her position, sitting on the table top, and peers through the smoke curling from the end of her joint to where Tiny has tucked herself into a ball and promptly gone to sleep.

‘I am looking for a job, there just doesn’t seem to be much out there,’ I say quietly, a fizz of irritation burning low in my belly. No ‘thank you’ for taking the dog out, just a dig about my finances. I turn to the sink and start washing the glass out, letting the cold water run over my wrists.

‘Oh, you know I don’t mean it,’ Mags snorts, stubbing her joint out. ‘Take as long as you need, I can make the rent. I know you’ve had a tough time. It was just a joke.’

Secretly, I think that perhaps Mags needs to take a second look at her ‘jokes’ because they’re really not very funny, but I don’t say anything, instead just keep drying my glass until it squeaks under the pressure of my hand.

‘I like having you here, you know that.’ Mags jumps down off the table and pulls me into a musty, patchouli-scented embrace. ‘I don’t mind looking after you.’

‘I don’t need looking after,’ I pull away, resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose. I’ll never get used to the incense that Mags burns day and night. Mags has been kind to me after what happened with Harry, but honestly this was only ever meant to be a temporary thing. I didn’t envisage myself still living here six months on.

‘Well, clearly you do.’ Mags’s voice takes on a snippy tone. ‘Not being funny, Emily, but you didn’t exactly have people beating down the door to take care of you when Harry treated you the way he did. It’s not like you had anywhere else to go, and your mum didn’t really rise to the occasion, did she? Too busy sunning herself.’

I squash down a sigh. It’s not the first time that Mags has thrown back in my face how she was the only one who helped me when I was literally on my knees, and once again, I wish I hadn’t revealed to Mags how I felt about my mum, after two bottles of wine in front of the telly one Friday night. ‘I know, Mags, and I do appreciate it, you know I do.’

And I do appreciate it, I’m not lying. I still remember the fear that gripped me every time the buzzer rang, or the neighbours banged on the wall, when I first arrived – how the blood would speed around my veins, making my breath come short in my throat, believing that Harry had found me. And I remember the way Mags didn’t mind me leaving the chain on twenty-four/seven, even when it meant that she missed her dealer dropping off her gear one Saturday evening. The way Mags would sit with me for hours, watching old movies with one arm looped over my shoulders, so I didn’t have to be alone, even though she probably had a thousand and one better things to be doing. But I don’t want to live like this anymore. I’m ready to get back to the old Emily.

‘Did I get any messages?’ I ask. I handed my CV to a recruitment company in Swindon town centre last week, and they’d said they’d call but they haven’t.

‘Nope.’

‘I might call them. I just think it’s time I got back out there, you know. Properly out there, working, not just taking Tiny out for a walk twice a day. I can’t hibernate in here forever.’ I move towards the clothes airer in the corner of the kitchen, even though there is barely any laundry on it and start to fold the few things that hang there.

‘You don’t have to, Em, you know that.’ Mags follows me, standing close behind me as I fold and smooth the fabric. I can feel her breath on the back of my neck, a grass-scented huff raising the wispy hairs that don’t reach my ponytail. ‘I like you being here, and it honestly doesn’t matter about the rent; you know my dad pays it anyway.’

I realized this not long after I moved into the flat. I had answered Mags’s Gumtree advert, taking the flat without even looking at it in my desperation to get away from Harry before he carried through the threats he hurled at me daily, and when after the third month of living there I had run out of money and couldn’t pay the rent, Mags had waved me away and said not to worry.

‘I think I need to look for a job though.’ I worked in IT before everything went so horribly wrong with Harry, but now I think I’d take any job, just to get back on my feet. ‘I don’t want to sponge off you forever, I have to be able to take care of myself,’ I say again gently, as Mags takes my hand and leads me through to the sitting room. She pulls me down next to her on the grubby couch, an overflowing ashtray on the ring-stained coffee table in front of three dirty mugs – one with a layer of mould sitting on the surface – and once again I have to resist the urge to sigh.

‘Listen. You don’t, Em, not if you don’t want to.’ Mags looks at me earnestly as she puts a fresh joint to her mouth, inhaling sharply as she lights it. ‘We can manage here, just the two of us. I like it being just the two of us.’

‘I do, too, I promise,’ I say, wanting to cross my fingers. ‘You’ve been so brilliant, Mags.’ I slide my phone out of my pocket. ‘Help me look for something suitable? You’ve always got such a good vibe about things; you’ll know if something feels wrong.’

Ego massaged; Mags nods her head slowly. ‘Yeah. You’re right. I got a good vibe about you, didn’t I?’ She nudges me and laughs. ‘And this place. I suppose… if you get a job, then we can maybe do something in here? Decorate, maybe. Get some fancy cushions or something.’

I paste a smile onto my face, but my heart sinks a little. I want to get a job so I can move on – much as I am grateful to Mags (and I am, God only knows what would have happened to me if Mags hadn’t let me move in), this place is stifling, and Mags, although she means well, is more than a little suffocating. ‘So, let’s see…’ I pull up Safari on my phone and type in the name of a local job search site. ‘Bar staff?’

‘Ugh, no,’ Mags shakes her head, ‘coming home stinking of booze every night?’ Despite smoking an immense amount of weed, Mags is completely teetotal. ‘And what about dealing with pissed-up losers every night? You had enough of that with Harry, didn’t you?’

She has a point. I swiftly move on, not wanting Mags to start talking about Harry again. It makes my stomach swoop when I think of him, and not in a good way.

‘What about this one? The money is a bit crap, but you probably get a discount on the clothes.’ Mags points to an advert for a shop assistant in a well-known clothes shop. I read through it, trying not to frown. I like the shop, wear their clothes even, but I’m not sure that that’s the kind of job I want. Plus, it’s right in the centre of Swindon.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, as Mags’s mouth curls at the corners into a tiny smile. ‘It’s right on the High Street… I’d feel a bit safer in an office somewhere, or at least somewhere where there isn’t so much traffic. What if Harry came in? What if he saw me?’ I blink, and Mags grabs my hand, her fingers crushing mine even though there aren’t any tears.

‘I told you, you don’t have to do this. I can… take care of you,’ Mags looks down at our joined hands, ‘you could be Tiny’s dog walker, I could pay you for that if you wanted.’

I shake my head, gently disentangling my fingers from hers. That would be my worst nightmare – people already cross the road when they see the two of us out walking, thanks to Tiny being an actual maniac. I turn back to my phone, scrolling on, my finger swiping gently at the screen when I see it.

‘Oh. What about this one?’ I turn the screen so Mags can see it. ‘Housekeeper wanted for large property in Somerville. Duties to include general housework, ironing, some garden maintenance, light cooking, plus some additional admin duties. Immediate start and competitive salary. Please send CV to…’ I feel my cheeks warm as a flush spreads across my skin from my neckline. This is just the kind of thing I was thinking of. ‘Mags, look, this could be perfect!’

‘Is it a live-in position?’

‘No, I don’t think so, but don’t you think something like that would be perfect?’ A flicker of excitement lights a spark in me, and I get to my feet, already thinking what I might wear if I get invited for interview. ‘Can I borrow your laptop?’

‘Are you sure you want to apply?’ Mags tucks her dirty bare feet up onto the couch, making no move to go to her room for her computer. ‘I mean… I’m not really feeling the vibe… and Somerville is far.’

‘Well, I am.’ I have to temper my tone as I resist the urge to snap the words at Mags. I’m not sure I buy into all this ‘vibe’ thing that Mags has going on, and now I’m so impatient to get my CV over for the job that I don’t have time to pretend I do. And Somerville isn’t that far. Half an hour maybe, if I jump on the train with my pushbike. ‘Come on, Mags, this is perfect. And it says the money is “competitive”, just think what we could do in here.’ Mags could probably get her dad to pay for redecorating, but I don’t want to remind her of that, not now. ‘We could get one of those massive, squashy sofas, and get rid of this old thing.’ I toe the stuffing that leaks out from the bottom of the couch, like some sort of grim, grey lava.

‘Hmmm.’ Mags gets slowly to her feet, and disappears into her room, emerging five minutes later with the battered Mac.

‘Thank you, you’re amazing.’ I grab the machine, giving Mags a huge smile that makes her cheeks flush pink. ‘Right, here goes.’

‘Are you really sure?’ Mags blurts out, one hand raised as if to take the laptop back from me. ‘I mean, think about it, Em, it’s really just a glorified wife. That’s all this guy wants. You’ll be doing all the cooking and cleaning, with none of the benefits.’

‘I’m pretty sure I’ll be OK without having sex with him,’ I say, raising an eyebrow as I turn away and place the laptop out of reach. ‘And anyway, he might already have a wife, the advert doesn’t say.’

‘I’m just saying, that’s all…’ Mags gestures to the flat around us, to the clutter that sits in piles in the corners, ‘it’s not like housework is your favourite thing to do, let’s be honest. Like I said, you’ll just be a wife – but doing all the shit bits but without getting any of the good stuff. And Somerville is far, you’d spend an hour every day commuting there and back. You’ll be exhausted.’

I open up my Hotmail account, noticing a message from the recruitment company. A quick read tells me they have called and left a message, and they are awaiting my response to a temp job they have. I look over at Mags, who is watching me closely, and there is a stutter in my chest. Maybe she missed their call. I open up a new email and attach my CV, blocking out Mags as I hit send on the email. ‘There, I’ve done it. We’ll just have to wait and see now – if it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.’

It takes me a long while to fall asleep that night, my mind returning over and over to the job advert, as I try to picture the house, whoever placed the advert and what this could mean for me. I think if I get an interview, I’ll print the advert and add it to my scrapbook to document the next stage of my journey. I tuck my hand between the mattress and bed frame, my fingers searching out the comforting feel of the book’s spine, and I imagine myself smoothing the advert into place, before dressing to impress at interview. Smiling, I roll over in an attempt to get comfortable. I can hear Mags’s music through the wall – something slow and turgid that really should help me fall asleep – and I finally doze off around two o’clock in the morning.

I’ve barely begun to dream when something jolts me from sleep, an unknown noise breaking into my conscience. Keeping my eyes closed, I count to ten under my breath before I open them, my heart thudding painfully in my chest as I try to get my bearings and I listen hard to figure out what it is that has woken me. Breathing. That’s what has dragged me from sleep. The sound of another person breathing in my room.

‘Fuck.’ Whispering the word, I push myself up on shaky arms, frantically casting my mind over what is on the bedside table that I could use as a weapon, stifling a shriek as I see the figure standing at the end of my bed, illuminated by the thin shaft of moonlight that streaks through the gap in the curtains. For one moment I think my heart has stopped dead in my chest before the figure takes a step towards me and I realize that it is my flatmate. It’s only Mags.

‘Shit, you scared me. Shhh, Mags, come on, back to bed.’ I push back the duvet cover and gently take Mags by the arm, shivering slightly as the night air meets the sweat on my body. Mags mumbles something, something about not letting go, and I shush her again before guiding her back to her room on legs that feel like jelly, making sure the door is firmly closed when I leave. I pad silently back to bed, taking deep breaths to get my heart rate back to normal. It’s been a while since Mags has sleepwalked, and she’s never actually walked into my room before. I let out a shaky laugh of relief at it being Mags, and not someone more sinister – feeling foolish now I know I’m not under any threat. I won’t miss this part of living with Mags when I leave. If I manage to leave.

The job floats into my mind again as I climb into bed and I hug myself tightly, sending up a prayer to whoever is up there that I get called for an interview. I turn the pillow over to the cool side, Mags’s voice sniping in my ear, ‘you’ll just be a glorified wife’, and as I drop off the edge into sleep, my last thought is that perhaps that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Chapter Three

I try not to gawp as I hop off my pushbike and wheel it up the path to the house, making out as though houses this huge, this imposing, are part of my world. There is a sweeping gravel drive, leading to the front of a huge, double-fronted house, with a double – maybe even triple – garage nestled to the side. I try to keep my eyes on the front door ahead of me, two stone lions flanking the porch, and take a deep breath.

Although the house is imposing, and clearly my potential employer is doing OK for himself, there are tiny signs of neglect. Weeds sprout up in the tubs that house straggly-looking topiary bushes on either side of the windows, there is a recycling box in front of the garage that looks as if it is about to overflow with empty bottles, and the window sills look as though they could do with a scrub. Despite what Mags says, I am actually very house-proud, having been brought up with a mother who couldn’t abide dirt. I’ve just given up in the flat, because Mags doesn’t have the same outlook. I could take a picture, I think, once it’s all clean and tidy. I’ll stick it next to the job advert in my book. I finger the outline of my phone in my pocket, resisting the urge to take a ‘before’ picture.

Smoothing my hair down, I make sure the waistband of my skirt hasn’t twisted round – after what happened with Harry, I lost nearly a stone that I haven’t put back on yet – before taking a deep breath and lifting the brass knocker, letting it fall with a loud bang. There is a long pause, where I think for a moment that perhaps there is no one home; that the guy, Rupert, has forgotten I’m coming, before the door is wrenched open.

‘Yes?’ The man in front of me is tall, over six feet, with floppy dark hair in a style that reminds me of old Hugh Grant movies. Even though it is Saturday morning, he is wearing jeans with a smart shirt, as if he is about to go to work. That is, if he’d actually tucked it in and he had shoes on his feet. My stomach gives a tiny flip.

‘Hi,’ I smile, holding out a hand. ‘I’m Emily Belrose. I’m here for an interview?’

‘Oh. Of course.’ He runs his hand through his hair before standing to one side and ushering me in. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m running a bit behind this morning. You can see why I need a housekeeper.’ His mouth tugs up into a small smile and I let out a laugh.

‘It happens to the best of us.’ I follow him along a light, airy hallway into the kitchen, and have to resist the urge to let my mouth hang open. It is huge. It’s also untidy, with mugs and dishes in the sink, a dying houseplant on top of the fridge and an overflowing bin.

‘Sorry about the mess.’ Rupert looks a bit sheepish, and I smother another smile.

‘Well, isn’t that what I’m here for?’ I discreetly run my eyes over the kitchen, over the thin layer of dust that sits on the counter top, the pile of post that has been shoved to one side.

‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’ Rupert is already rummaging in the cupboard above the kettle for mugs. ‘Milk? Sugar?’ I say yes to both, and wait as he fills the kettle, water splashing over his shirt as he turns the tap on too high.

‘Can I get the milk?’ I ask, as he swipes ineffectually at the damp patches with a tea towel, but when I open the fridge, the shelf is bare. ‘Black is fine,’ I say with a smile, my nerves dissipating as I see that Rupert is possibly just as nervous as I am. ‘Here, shall I finish this off while you get dry?’ I reach for the now boiling kettle as Rupert scrubs at the fabric of his shirt.

‘So, Emily, I suppose I should actually interview you, not just let you make me tea.’ Rupert smiles as I pass him a mug. ‘Why did you apply for this job? You’re not really what I was expecting.’

‘Really?’ I turn to him. ‘What were you expecting?’

‘Well, someone more… Mrs Danvers, I suppose. Or Mrs Doubtfire.’

My heart skips in my chest. Not only is Rupert easy on the eye, but he reads too. I choose to ignore the reference to Mrs Doubtfire. ‘I’m definitely not Mrs Danvers. I suppose I’m just looking for something different. I’ve had a bit of… bad luck, I guess you could say, so I’m trying to turn things around.’ I wrap my cold fingers around the warm mug, staring at the dark tannin patches left on the china by the black tea, buying myself a few seconds. ‘This seemed like the perfect job for me, right now.’

‘You’re certainly making a good impression,’ Rupert says, with a quirk of his eyebrows. ‘Can I show you the rest of the house?’

‘Yes, please.’ I dry my hands and he leads me through double doors from the kitchen towards a large orangery, where sunshine streams in through big windows, onto the stylish Italian-tiled floor. I pause in the doorway. Two huge sofas fill the space, and bi-fold glass doors open out onto what must have been an immaculate garden at some point, although now the lawn needs mowing, and the shrubs are looking a little wild. Despite the cosy, comfortable vibe this space gives off, there is something slightly dead about it – a thin layer of dust sits atop the small glass table next to one of the sofas, and the air is thick and stale, as though the doors haven’t been opened for a long time.

‘Wow. This space is incredible.’ I venture closer to the window to peer out into the garden. What I’d do for a garden this size – you don’t get a lot of outside space with a flat over a takeaway in the centre of Swindon.

‘I, er… I don’t really use this room much,’ Rupert says stiffly, appearing beside me and taking my arm to walk me through the rest of the house. ‘Let me show you upstairs.’

We go upstairs via the living room, another huge space, occupied by a large open fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line one wall, and a piano is strategically placed, giving that whole part of the room a calm, quiet feel, like a library. ‘Do you play?’ I ask Rupert, but he shakes his head.

‘No, not me.’ He doesn’t elaborate and I wonder who does play – his wife, maybe? He hasn’t mentioned anyone else living here yet, and I have to squash down the question on the tip of my tongue. I follow him up to the first floor, where he quickly shows me the bathroom (huge, freestanding claw-footed tub, dusty Jo Malone bottles of bath oil on the window sill), first one small spare room, the master bedroom and en suite and then into another, larger spare room, where his phone starts ringing. Rupert sighs as he glances at the screen.

‘I’m so sorry, I need to take this… Will you excuse me for just a second?’

There is no time to answer before he steps out of the room, pulling the door gently closed behind him. I wait a moment, his voice a low mumble along the corridor, feeling the slight sink of the lush, thick-piled carpet under my feet. There are a couple of prints on the walls, arty-looking pictures that give me the feeling I should probably know who they are by, but I don’t. A heavy French oak wardrobe sits in the corner, a slip of peacock blue fabric peeping out from between a small gap in the doors. I step forward, the rumble of Rupert’s voice in the background, letting my fingers brush over the silky fabric, and before I know what I am doing, the wardrobe door is open, just enough for me to see it is filled with clothes – a woman’s clothes, dresses, jackets, trousers, all hanging neatly on wooden hangers – the expensive ones that I can never afford. Some are covered in plastic, as if just back from the dry cleaners, others – expensive-looking gowns, something sparkly with sequins – hang uncovered, so many of them that the hangers are rammed tightly together. The slip of fabric belongs to the sleeve of a silk jacket in a vibrant blue, and I stroke it gently, the feel of it like cold water under my fingers, wondering who the clothes belong to and more importantly why are they in here, instead of the master bedroom. Before I get a chance to let my imagination run riot, Rupert’s voice gets louder as he approaches the bedroom, saying his goodbyes to whoever was on the other end of the phone. The buzz of curiosity dies away, and I close the wardrobe door, moving to the middle of the room, as if I have done nothing but wait patiently for him to return.

‘Sorry about that.’ He stands by the door, waiting for me to slip past him. ‘I think that’s just about it for the grand tour.’

‘Very impressive,’ I say, before wincing on the inside, hoping I haven’t come across as a bit crass. ‘It’s a lovely house, Rupert. A lovely home.’

A look I can’t quite read crosses his face. ‘Yes, well. You can see that it needs a bit of sprucing up here and there. That’s why I’m on the lookout for a housekeeper. It’s a big house for me to take care of, especially with the hours that I work.’

I take that as an opportunity to learn a bit more about him. ‘What is it that you do?’

‘I’m the Contracts Director for a construction company. It’s quite intense – the hours are long, especially if I have to go out and visit sites, and it’s quite stressful. I’m mostly based at the Swindon office, but I commute into Paddington several times a month. That’s why I need a bit of help here.’

I follow him down the stairs, back into the vast sitting room. ‘Is it…’ I pause for a moment, not wanting to appear rude. ‘Is it just you living here? I mean… will I just be looking after you, or is there anyone else who might need me to do things?’

‘No, er… it’s just me.’ Rupert swallows, and rocks back on his heels a little. ‘I lost my wife just over a year ago.’ The words creak out, as though they are too big for his throat and he gives a tiny cough. ‘Hence the reason why things have gone to pot a bit.’

That explains why there aren’t any perfumes or fancy shampoo in the en suite. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, looking down. I hope I haven’t offended him – the more I’ve seen of this place, the more convinced I am that this could be just what I’m looking for. The perfect escape route from Mags’s weed-ridden flat, and back to standing on my own two feet again.

‘Look, Emily, I’m not going to beat about the bush.’ Rupert’s cheeks colour slightly, and my heart does another little flip. ‘If you want the job, I’d love for you to come and work for me, if the state of the place hasn’t put you off. We can even just do a trial period for a month or so, if that would work better for you?’

‘Oh, no,’ I exclaim, before putting my hand over my mouth, ‘I mean, yes, please. But don’t worry about a trial period… unless you want one, I mean. I’m quite happy to come and work for you.’ I stop talking before I make a complete idiot of myself. ‘Thank you.’

‘Brilliant.’ The stress melts away from Rupert’s face, his shoulders lowering, and I realize that he really was more nervous than me about the whole job interview scenario. ‘When could you start?’

I have to resist the urge to squeal as I hop on my pushbike and ride down the driveway, before turning onto the main road. I got the job! And yes, it does seem a little daunting, putting that huge house back to its rightful state, but I am in no doubt that I can do it. Plus, I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine that fiery spark that shot through my skin when Rupert shook my hand to say goodbye – and I’m ninety-nine per cent sure he felt it too. Now, all I need to do is tell Mags. My raised spirits dampen slightly at the thought of breaking the news to her. I know she’s going to make some snippy comments about being a glorified wife, that the village is too far for me to go there and back every day, and she’ll try to make me feel guilty about leaving her in the flat on her own all day, but we can’t all live off our father’s money. I don’t even know where my dad is, and I doubt my mum does either. I let myself turn back at the end of the road, to glance towards the house, a shiver of excitement running through me. Yes, this is definitely the start of something big.

Chapter Four

Humming under my breath I breathe in the scent of laundry detergent and softener as I fold Rupert’s pyjamas and tuck them carefully under his pillow, pushing away the thought of him lying in bed wearing them, his hair tousled and rumpled from sleep. Not that I’ve seen him like that, of course. Pressing my lips together, I neatly fold his socks into a ball, praising myself for thinking about him wearing the pyjamas, instead of lying in bed not wearing the pyjamas. I feel my cheeks flush and I shake my head, picturing instead the dishes that wait to be stacked in the dishwasher downstairs.

I’ve been working at Fox House (the house not only has a beautiful sweeping drive, but a name too!) for a little over a month and I can’t lie, it’s not just the incredible house that has me skipping into work every day. Rupert is… well, Rupert is just about the perfect man from what I’ve seen of him so far, which to be fair isn’t a huge amount, but enough to make me not mind the commute into work every day. He’s good-looking, that goes without saying, but he’s also a nice guy. He doesn’t leave too much of a mess (no more than a typical guy, and nothing like the scale of untidiness that I saw when I first came), he’s polite (he leaves me notes with lots of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ dotted through them when he wants me to do certain things), and judging by the letters he leaves lying on the kitchen worktop he donates to charity a lot, especially to a children’s charity, which made my heart skip a beat in a good way. The only tiny, little thing that makes me feel a bit awkward is the idea of his wife.

He hasn’t mentioned her again since the day I came for my job interview, and I don’t feel as if I can ask about her. There are no photos of Caro anywhere in the house, something that strikes me as odd. I could understand that perhaps Rupert doesn’t want her photos on display downstairs, that maybe it is too painful, but I thought that he might have one in his bedroom, but there’s nothing. All he keeps on the bedside table is a small lamp, a water glass and a battered copy of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code. On the other side of the bed – Caro’s side – the nightstand is bare, apart from a matching lamp.

Stealthily, even though I know I am the only one in the house, I perch on the side of the bed and give in to the hum of curiosity that buzzes through me when I think about her, taking care not to rumple the pristine white duvet as I slide open the drawer on Caro’s side. It is crammed full of things, and I hold my breath as I dip in and pull out a slim date diary. I gingerly open the cover, flicking through the expensive cream pages but they are all blank. I put it on the bed next to me and turn back to the drawer. Pens, hair clips and the plug from an iPhone charger lie jumbled among tiny perfume sample bottles and I lift one out and raise it to my nose. It smells of nectarines and sunshine and has ‘Jo Malone’ written down the side of the bottle. Pushing it back into the mess of the drawer I see a half-empty packet of contraceptive pills, and something low in my stomach flips, the idea of Rupert and Caro tumbling around together, naked, right here in this bed makes me feel hot and uncomfortable. I stand, fumbling with the handle of the drawer, when a sharp ring pierces the air, making me slam the drawer closed with a bang.

‘Shit,’ I whisper under my breath, raising a trembling hand to my hot cheek. Taking a deep breath, I glance round the room, satisfied that I haven’t left anything out of place. ‘Coming!’ I call, as the shrill doorbell rents the air again, and I hurry down the stairs to the ornate, oak front door.

There is a woman standing on the doorstep, chic and glamorous, and clearly not expecting to see me answer the door.

‘Hi,’ I smile, ‘can I…’

She pushes past me with barely a glance, calling down the hallway towards the kitchen. ‘Rupert? Darling, are you home?’

I wait a moment, letting the fizz of irritation in my veins cool a little before I follow her into the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the Italian tiled floor. ‘He’s not home. Can I help you?’

‘Oh.’ The woman turns to me, and I catch an expression that I can’t read flit across her face. It’s definitely not friendly though. ‘Where is he? It’s Saturday, I thought he’d be home.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not too sure,’ I say, even though Rupert left me a note yesterday, asking me to make sure his rugby kit was clean, as he was planning on playing this morning. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’ I fix a smile on my face.

‘Who are you?’ She flicks her eyes over me in an attempt to look me over without me noticing. I fight the urge to smooth down my blonde hair, to tighten my ponytail and brush the dust from my jeans. Instead I smile at her, showing off my perfect white teeth (they cost my mother’s second husband a fortune), and apologize for not introducing myself.

‘I’m so sorry – how rude of me. I’m Emily.’ I hold out a hand, but she ignores it, instead tapping her chin as if thinking.

‘Emily? Oh, of course.’ She smiles at me now, and I get the feeling I imagine a tiny gazelle feels when a lion is sizing it up, ready to pounce. ‘You must be Rupert’s new cleaner.’

‘Housekeeper,’ I say, keeping my tone neutral, ‘well, Rupert isn’t home, so if you wanted me to pass on a message…’ I trail off, hoping she’ll take the hint.

‘Oh, just tell him that Sadie was here. I’ll catch up with him later, it wasn’t anything important.’ She runs a hand over her already immaculate black bob and tucks her Hermès bag under her arm. Everything about her oozes money – from the tight-fitting designer jeans to the expensive scent that follows her. It reminds me of the nectarine perfume I found in Caro’s drawer. ‘How are you getting on here? Are you enjoying the job?’ Her tone is distinctly warmer now she knows I’m just the housekeeper.

‘Fine, thank you.’

‘Oh, good. Rupert did need someone to take care of him after Caro… died. We were all so worried about him; I’m just so thankful that he took my advice and got you in. He isn’t very good at taking care of himself – he was just devastated after what happened with Caro.’ Sadie throws herself dramatically into a kitchen chair, and I realize that she isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ I ask. ‘Although if you’re planning on waiting, I’m not too sure how long Rupert will be.’

‘Oh, OK. Peppermint,’ she says and I turn to the kettle, mustering up the courage to mention Caro’s name. ‘This place looks marvellous now you’ve given it a once over. Caro was always very house-proud.’

There. She’s dropped Caro’s name twice already in the past two minutes. Surely it won’t look odd now if I ask her about Caro? I’m itching to know about the woman who lived here, and I don’t feel I can ask Rupert.

‘She’s made a lovely home. Caro, I mean,’ I say, placing a steaming mug in front of Sadie.

‘Yes. She had a wonderful eye for interiors, and I always told her she should do something professional with it, but she was more about saving the world than decorating.’ Sadie lets out a little laugh, tinged with pain. ‘Caro was very lucky – she had it all really. Such a waste.’ She looks down at her cup, and I think for a moment she might burst into tears.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss. It must be very hard on all of you.’

‘Yes, it is. Especially Rupert, obviously. They were the perfect couple. I wasn’t at all sure that he’d cope without her, and it was touch and go for a while, but he’s been so brave. I’m not sure he’ll ever move on, though. Caro was the only one for him.’

‘I’m sure.’ I get the feeling that Sadie is warning me off, even though I am just the housekeeper. ‘I should get back to work. I’ll let Rupert know that you stopped by.’

Sadie opens her mouth as if to say something, before thinking better of it and getting to her feet. ‘It was nice to meet you, Emily. I’m sure I’ll see you again.’

Relief floods through me as Sadie closes the front door behind her and I am alone again. I head back upstairs, intent on putting away the last of the laundry, but pause outside the spare room. Sadie’s words ring in my ears, ‘they were the perfect couple’, and my heart aches for Rupert. Caro may have been the only one for him, but I wonder if he ever gets lonely. Silently, I push open the door to the spare room, my body gravitating towards the huge wardrobe that houses Caro’s clothes. Her scent wafts out as I open the door, and I suppress a shiver. It feels as though she is in the room with me, a ghost of what was before. I glance down at the row of shoes that sit neatly under the hanging dresses, a mix of Converse trainers – still a brilliant white, unlike the faded grey-white pair of my own that sit at the bottom of the stairs – and flat gladiator sandals that must have been a favourite as the ends bear the faintest imprints of her toes, an oddly intimate glimpse into her life that makes me feel vaguely sad, and finally several pairs of sparkly sandals, with heels so high she must have barely been able to walk in them.

Sinking down onto the plush carpet, I pull out a pair with silver straps and a dragonfly buckle on the side. Hardly daring to breathe I slip my feet into them, the straps pinching as they are ever so slightly too small. I stand, wobbly on the spindly heels, and steady myself as I am assaulted by a flashback – myself, at around ten years old, trying on my mother’s high heels as she prepared to go out for the night with the man who would eventually become my stepfather, and her second husband.

‘Look at me, Mum! I look just like you!’ I wobble towards her, as she slicks red lipstick around her mouth, pouting and smacking her lips together in the mirror.

‘Hey, be careful!’ Finally, my mother turns to look at me as I stagger my way across the threadbare carpet towards her, arms outstretched. ‘Don’t you snap those heels. I want to wear those tonight.’

I slip the shoes off and hand them to my mother, unsure as how to she could possibly manage to spend the whole night upright while wearing them. I blink back tears at her harsh tone, and when she hears me sniffing, she turns to me, her face softening.

‘Silly thing, don’t cry.’ She pulls me towards her, and I snuggle into her shoulder, the silky fabric of her dress cool against my skin. I breathe in her heavy perfume, something thick and cloying but it doesn’t matter, she smells like my mum. ‘I just need to wear those killer heels tonight. John won’t know what’s hit him, and before you know it, we’ll be a proper family.’ She spins around with me in her arms and kisses my face until I shriek and giggle. ‘Honestly, little one,’ she sobers now, sitting me down on the bed as she puts the finishing touches to her make-up, ‘you don’t want to live here forever, do you? If John and I get married we can get out of here, go and live in his big house, all of us together. You want Mummy to be happy, don’t you?’ She shoos me into bed, and then I hear the click of the lock on the front door and the clacking of her heels down the path towards the man she thinks will turn our lives around.

Now, I slide the shoes off and place them back exactly where they were, not wanting Rupert to know that I’ve been in here. My mother did snare John, but that was years ago, and now she’s living in Florida with her fifth or sixth husband – I forget which number she’s on now – but she lives in a huge house and doesn’t have to think about money. Just like Caro. From the little that Sadie said about Caro earlier, she lived a charmed life right from when she was young. I stroke the arm of a fur coat, the pelt thick and glossy. It feels remarkably real – if it’s a fake, then it’s a good one. How would it feel, I wonder, to have all of this? To live the life that Caro lived?

The thunk of a car door closing outside brings me back to myself, and I slam the wardrobe door closed, half of me regretting that I didn’t take the time while I could to quickly try on the silky fur, the seductive feel of it luring me in, even though I am against real fur, while the other half of me feels grubby at the very thought of trying on a dead woman’s clothes. Peering out of the landing window, I see Rupert getting out of his car, his face ruddy and his hair sweaty as he pulls his gym bag from the boot.

‘Hi.’ I stop at the bottom of the stairs, as he bursts through the front door.

‘Oh, sorry. I thought you would have been gone by now.’ His face flushes and my heart skips a beat.

‘I just had a few things to finish off. I’ll get off now, get out of your hair. If you leave that bag by the washing machine, I’ll get it sorted on Monday.’

Rupert pauses for a moment, as if he wants to say something, before he gives me a small smile. ‘Thank you. For today, I mean, not the gym bag. I really appreciate you coming in on a Saturday.’

‘It’s no bother.’ I slide my feet into my trainers. ‘A woman called Sadie came over earlier – she said she’ll catch up with you later.’ I smile, even though the thought of Sadie and her chilly manner is like grit under an eyelid. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’

‘Emily…’ Rupert says, and I wait, my heart thudding hard in my chest. ‘Oh, never mind. Have a good weekend.’

I nod and make my way down the path towards the gate, sure I can feel his eyes on me every step of the way.

Chapter Five

Rupert finds himself sliding out of the office on time a week later, something he hasn’t done for months since Caro died. He tells himself that it’s Friday night, of course he should be leaving on time, that it’s the weekend and no one else is doing any overtime – in fact, Michael – Caro’s father and Rupert’s boss – left at lunchtime, as he often does on a Friday.

An hour later, Rupert drives through the gates of Fox House, and is relieved to see that there are still lights on inside. Emily must still be here, even though she is usually finished by four. Adrenaline fires through his veins and he has to take a deep breath before he gets out of the car. He can’t lie, he is looking forward to seeing her, in a way that he hasn’t looked forward to seeing anyone since Caro died. He takes his time getting out of the car, giving himself time to get his breathing back to normal – it’s ridiculous, the idea that he feels nervous at the thought of seeing his housekeeper. As he puts his key into the lock and twists the door open, his heart stops in his chest. Music. He can hear music, something that hasn’t happened in his house in over a year.

Slowly, he closes the door behind him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Someone is playing the piano. Caro’s piano. The sound of Tchaikovsky’s ‘Swan Lake’ filters out into the hallway and Rupert has to lean against the wall to steady himself. He knows if he looks into the living room, he will see Caro sat on the tiny piano stool, her back straight and her attention fully focused on the keys as she runs her hands over them. Tchaikovsky was always her favourite, and ‘Swan Lake’ was the tune she played whenever she’d had a bad day or felt less than happy. She’d play it right through to the end, as Rupert waited patiently, letting the music run over him like water. When she’d finished, he would go to her and pull her into his arms, trying his hardest to make her feel better, to let her know that whatever she thought, whatever she was feeling, she mattered.

Don’t be ridiculous. Caro is dead.

As the music dies away, Rupert pushes himself away from the wall and forces himself to walk on leaden feet into the sitting room. As he enters, Emily jumps up from the piano stool, a flush turning her cheeks a hot red.

‘Rupert!’ Her eyes are huge in her face, and she covers her mouth with both hands. ‘Oh, Rupert, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting you home yet.’ She turns to the piano and closes the lid, pushing the stool back into place, keeping her back turned to him.

‘I didn’t realize you played the piano,’ Rupert says, not taking his eyes off her.

‘I learned at school. I’ve tried to keep up with it, but I’m very rusty. I don’t have a piano where I live now,’ Emily replies, brushing her hair away from her face and looking anywhere but at him. ‘I couldn’t resist it. I’m sorry, I should go.’

She trails her fingers over the closed lid before she moves past him, and Rupert catches her by the arm. ‘Emily, there’s no need to apologize. It just caught me by surprise, that’s all. Caro used to play, and the piano hasn’t been used since she died. I should have called and told you I would be leaving work on time.’

‘Oh no, you don’t need to do that.’ Emily shakes her head, smiling slightly. ‘I should get going. I’ve left you dinner in the oven.’

Rupert realizes now that he can smell something delicious on the air, and his stomach gives a low growl.

Emily laughs and her whole face lights up. ‘You’re hungry, then? I’ve made a beef bourguignon. There’s a bit too much for one person, but if I leave you a tub, you can just pop the rest in the freezer.’ She is leading him along the hallway towards the kitchen as she speaks, her bare feet silent on the tiled floor. Rupert breathes in the scent of meaty stew, a clean lemony scent beneath it, and feels a pang, as though finding something he didn’t realize he had lost.

‘There’s enough for two?’ he asks.

‘Well, yes.’ Emily pulls the dish out of the oven, and Rupert notices that there is an open bottle of red wine breathing on the kitchen counter. ‘It’s a bit difficult to make a beef bourguignon for one. But like I said, you can just freeze whatever is left over…’

‘Why don’t you stay?’ The words are out before Rupert has even had a chance to think through the consequences. He looks down, worried that Emily might think he’s overstepped the mark.

‘Stay?’

‘Yes. Only if you want to, of course. It would be nice to have some company for a change. It gets pretty lonely eating on my own every night. Oh, unless you’re busy, that is?’

‘No. No, I’m not busy.’ Emily smiles, and Rupert’s stomach does another flip. ‘That would be lovely, if you’re sure?’

‘Of course. Here, let me.’ Rupert takes the hot dish from her and places it on the table, as Emily brings out plates and cutlery. Rupert grabs two wine glasses and the open bottle of red and pours them both a large glass.

‘Cheers.’ He leans forward and chinks his glass against hers. ‘So, Emily Belrose, housekeeper extraordinaire. How about you tell me a little bit about yourself? You’re in my house every day and I feel as though I barely know you.’

‘There isn’t much to tell.’ Emily ladles a spoonful of stew onto his plate. ‘I live in Swindon, not far from the High Street, with my flatmate. Above a kebab shop, believe it or not. It’s not my dream home, but it’ll do until I can find somewhere better.’

‘Oh?’ Rupert’s heart sinks in his chest a little – does she mean flatmate, or boyfriend? He tries not to think that way, but this is the first time he’s had any flicker of interest in anyone else at all since Caro died.

‘Yeah, Mags and I have lived together for about a year now – I had a bad break-up and Mags kind of saved me.’ Emily gives a tiny laugh, but there is a strange expression on her face, half sadness, half fear.

‘I’m sorry.’ Rupert sips from his wine, holding the stem of his glass tightly so he doesn’t lay his hand on hers. ‘It sucks, doesn’t it? I always thought I liked my own company, but now I guess not so much.’

‘It does suck a bit.’ Emily looks down at her plate as she pushes the meat round and round without eating. ‘My break-up is nothing, though, compared to what you must have gone through.’ She looks up at him expectantly, and Rupert clears his throat.

‘It’s been tough, yes. It came as a huge shock when Caro died, that’s for sure.’ He pauses for a moment, unsure whether to say what he really wants to. ‘It was partly a relief too, though.’

Emily says nothing, just tilts her head on one side.

‘Caro was… she was difficult to live with.’ Rupert lays his fork down, his appetite gone. ‘She was bi-polar. I never knew which Caro would be here when I got home. That’s why the piano playing took me by surprise. Caro would always play that song when she was low. I knew if she was playing that, I was in for a bad night with her.’

He is quiet for a moment, as he is assaulted by the memory of Caro crying, her mascara smudged black around her swollen eyes, the slamming of the bathroom door before the lock rammed home and he had no choice but to wait outside, murmuring through the door that he loved her, that if she would just come out… or the times he would come home from work, the house cold and dark as she lay huddled under the duvet, refusing to speak to him.

‘Oh my God, Rupert. I had no idea. I’m so, so sorry.’ Emily lays her hand on his, and squeezes, the warmth of her palm scorching his cold fingers. Rupert looks up to see she has tears in her eyes.

‘It’s not your fault – you couldn’t have known.’ Rupert keeps dead still, not wanting her to take her hand away. It’s been a long time since he’s been touched by anyone other than Sadie or Miles, or his family. ‘When Caro died, I was devastated, I didn’t know how I would go on. But there was the tiniest part of me that felt relief, that there would be no more pain, no more suffering for either of us. Does that make me a terrible person?’

‘God, no. Rupert, you must have been a wonderful husband to be able to cope with her mood swings. I had a stepfather who was bi-polar; I understand exactly what you mean.’

‘I miss her dreadfully,’ Rupert says, ‘but I think I’m finally ready to start living again. Sadie told me I needed to move on, get myself sorted out, and if I’m honest, the best thing I could have done was to take you on.’

Emily nods, but slides her hand away. ‘I am very much enjoying working for you, Rupert. If you must know, I feel like working for you has given me a second chance. Now, pass me your plate.’

Rupert hands her his plate, a deflated feeling pushing all the breath out of him. He came on too strong. Emily clearly just looks at him as an employer; she hasn’t been having the same kind of thoughts he has. And why should she? He’s the one who has got used to coming home to a cooked meal, a tidy house, a lemon-fresh scent filling every room after Emily’s hard work. He’s come to enjoy arriving home, knowing that even if Emily has finished for the day there will be a small lamp left on so that he doesn’t come home to a cold, dark house.

He feels like he has to break the awkward silence that fills the room, as Emily stands in front of the sink, running the tap, her face reflected in the glass of the window that looks out into the back garden. ‘Leave those,’ he says, ‘you’re off the clock now. I invited you to stay – the least I can do is wash the dishes.’

Emily laughs, raising her eyes from the bubbly water to the window, when she lets out a gasp, the plate in her hands falling into the sink with a crash. ‘Rupert!’

Rupert crosses the room in two strides, standing close behind Emily, who is looking out into the garden, her face pale. ‘What is it?’

‘There was someone out there, in the garden.’ Her voice wobbles and Rupert wrenches open the back door, the security light pinging on and illuminating the lawn down towards the trees at the bottom fence. The damp February air is chilly as he steps out, causing goosebumps to rise on his forearms through his thin shirt. At least, he tells himself it’s the cold air, not the sinister shadows at the bottom of the garden. He quickly scans the garden, but he can’t see anybody lurking in the bushes. ‘There’s no one out there.’

‘I saw someone,’ Emily says, her arms folded tightly across her body. ‘I’m sure there was someone standing at the bottom of the garden, watching us.’

‘A fox, maybe?’ Rupert says, not taking his eyes off her. Her shoulders shake a little as she tries to stop herself trembling.

‘I don’t think so. It looked like a figure, a person.’

‘It really scared you, didn’t it?’ Rupert steps closer, blocking Emily’s view of the garden.

‘Yes. Sorry. I… I definitely thought I saw something. Someone.’ She swipes at a stray lock of hair with a shaking hand.

‘There’s nothing out there now. I promise. How about I pour us some more wine? If that’s all right with you?’

‘I’d like that. I don’t really feel comfortable riding my bike home just yet.’ Her eyes flick towards the darkened window and Rupert wonders if she’s still imagining someone lurking in the thick, inky shadows. ‘Maybe we could move into the sitting room? No offence, but these kitchen chairs aren’t exactly designed for comfort.’

Rupert laughs, squashing down the memory of the argument he and Caro had had over the chairs – his argument being the exact same as Emily’s, that the chairs were a statement rather than something designed to be sat on in comfort, but it was Caro’s money that was paying for them, so he didn’t really have much of a choice.

Emily scoops up the half-empty wine bottle and their glasses and makes her way towards the sitting room, as Rupert plucks another bottle from the wine rack and follows behind, suddenly nervous. It’s been a long while since he spent any time alone with a woman who wasn’t Caro. He tells himself that it’s just a bottle of wine, and even if it wasn’t, Caro wouldn’t want him to be lonely. He hesitates for a moment, giving Emily the chance to change her mind, but when he steps into the room she is already snuggled into one end of the sofa, and she gives a thin smile as she pats the seat next to her invitingly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘for freaking out a bit in there. I really thought I saw something.’ She looks down at the ruby liquid in her glass, giving it a swirl before she takes a deep breath. ‘I had a really bad relationship last year. It’s left me feeling… jumpy, I guess.’

‘And vulnerable?’ Rupert asks, aware of his hand lying close to her thigh. He knows that raw, flayed feeling only too well. ‘I can relate.’

‘Vulnerable. Jumpy. Unsafe.’ She pauses. ‘Alone.’

Giving in to impulse, Rupert lays his hand gently on her wrist, his fingers wrapping around the delicate bones as he seeks out the pulse that jumps under her skin. Emily looks up at him, and Rupert gives in to impulse again, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. She freezes for a moment, before he feels her mouth soften under his and he can taste wine on her lips and smell the light floral scent that she wears.

‘Oh.’ Emily pulls away and her face is no longer pale. She presses her hand to her mouth and Rupert thinks for a moment that he might have just fucked up monumentally.

‘I’m so sorry, Emily.’ He turns away, scrubbing his hand through his hair. ‘I didn’t mean… I don’t know what came over me.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘I haven’t done anything… I mean, I haven’t even been on a date with anyone since Caro died, let alone kissed anyone. I’m so sorry, I’ve had too much wine. I completely understand if you think this was a huge mistake, and you want to leave. Not that I want you to leave…’ He’s rambling, but he’s quite sure that he doesn’t want her to go yet.

‘Rupert, I said it’s OK.’ Emily puts her hand on his shoulder, turning him to face her. ‘Honestly, I’m not at all offended.’ She gives him a shaky smile, before drinking the last of her wine. She reaches for the new bottle, shifting around so that her thigh lies against his. ‘I think we need more wine, don’t you?’ He smiles at her, waiting as she tops him up and as her fingers linger on his as she passes him the glass, Rupert thanks his lucky stars he left work on time this evening.

Chapter Six

‘Don’t go.’ His voice is quiet, barely a whisper, and I have to strain to hear him. ‘Stay the night.’

I smile in the darkness, before rolling over to face him. In the six weeks since he asked me to stay for dinner, we have spent every evening together, talking, laughing, and having some of the best sex I’ve ever had. But each evening, I slip away, riding my pushbike back to the flat by the light of the streetlamps, sneaking my way in so as not to wake Mags. ‘Really? You want me to stay?’

‘Don’t you want to?’

Rupert’s voice is husky, and he reaches out to lazily roll my nipple between his finger and thumb, a sharp pang of desire slicing through me. I let out a gasp, and nip at his wrist. ‘Of course I want to stay.’ I don’t ever want to leave, if the truth be known. Rupert rolls on top of me, and then for a little while I stop thinking about going home, or staying, or anything else except him.

Later, as he snores softly, his hair ruffled and the sheets tangled around his waist, I doze next to him, my limbs feeling heavy and contentment flooding my veins. Everything is so different with Rupert than it was with Harry. I picture the last time I laid in Harry’s bed, waiting for him to come home. The way his face had twisted with anger and hate as he staggered into the bedroom, the sour, sickening smell of old whisky on his breath as he’d crouched over me, tugging away the duvet and dragging my naked body to the floor. Shaking the image away, I tug the sheets over me and burrow down, the scent of sex and Rupert’s aftershave emanating from the bed.

Finally, I feel as though I have found what I have been looking for my whole life, the elusive thing that my mother assured me was out there as she chased after it herself. I sigh, snuggling against Rupert, when something – a noise outside – jolts me from sleep, my heart racing. For a moment I am confused, thinking I’m at home, and I slide naked from the bed ready to guide Mags back to bed, before I remember where I am. Pausing, I listen hard but all I can hear is the sound of Rupert’s breath. Silently moving to the window, I peer out from between the slats of the blinds. I’m sure I heard something outside, and I remember that I left my bike out there, not bothering to bring it into the hallway as I thought I’d be leaving.

Trying to look down into the front garden, I can see the back wheel of my bike poking out of the porch and I breathe a sigh of relief, ready to head back to the warmth of the bed as I realize how cold my bare feet are. Maybe I imagined it, I think, Harry on my mind making me hear things that aren’t there. As I turn away from the window a movement in the corner of my vision makes me stop, and I turn back, my breath catching in my throat. There is someone there, just as I thought. The figure of a person stands under the dim glow of the streetlamp across the road, a hooded top pulled up over their head, making it difficult to distinguish whether it is a man or a woman. Holding my breath, afraid to make a sound, I watch as they raise their head to the window and I get the unmistakable feeling that they know I am here, that they are watching me.

‘Rupert!’ I hiss his name, turning to the bed, ‘Rupert, wake up!’

Rupert rolls over, mumbling under his breath.

‘Rupert, wake up, please! There’s someone outside, they’re watching the house!’

Remembering the face I saw at the bottom of the garden a few weeks ago, my hands start to shake, and I turn back to the window with my heart in my throat, only to see that the street is empty. There is no one there.

Creeping into the flat, I jump as Tiny rockets out of the kitchen, snarling and yapping. So much for sneaking back home without waking Mags up. I was hoping that it was early enough on a Sunday morning for me to sneak in, grab a quick shower again and creep back out before she got up, but not anymore. Not now Tiny is awake.

Despite a sleepless night, the faceless figure outside the house appearing in my dreams every time I managed to drop off, I feel remarkably chipper. Rupert thinks perhaps I either imagined the person outside – being half asleep and having Harry on my mind – or it was just someone waiting for a lift or something outside the house. Either way, my bike was still there, and even though I am tired, there was something magical about last night, about staying the whole night right through, sleeping in the space in Rupert’s bed that Caro used to occupy. I thought things might be awkward this morning when we woke, but it wasn’t at all. It was like it was meant to be. Only now, I have to face Mags, and any trace of my magical night with Rupert is washed away by her appearance in the doorway to her bedroom.

‘You came home then.’ Her voice is flat, and she looks exhausted, her orange hair stuck up on one side. She’s wearing my T-shirt, the old Happy Mondays one I got from a charity shop, but judging by the look on her face now isn’t the time to mention it.

‘Sorry.’ I pull an apologetic face and wrinkle my nose, while trying to calculate whether I have time to wash my hair before it’s time to meet Rupert back at his house.

‘I bet,’ Mags sniffs. ‘Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you?’

‘Worried? Why would you be worried? I thought you knew where I would be.’ Mags is acting like my mother, not my flatmate, and I feel a flicker of uncertainty as I try and offer up a smile. ‘I didn’t think you’d even notice if I wasn’t home.’

‘Of course, I would notice. You’ve been home after midnight practically every night for the past few weeks – I can’t sleep until I know you’re home. You didn’t even bother to let me know you weren’t coming back, you didn’t respond to any of the text messages I sent you.’

I pull my phone out, to see six missed calls and seventeen text messages, all from Mags. Seventeen. ‘Jesus, Mags. How many texts? My phone died, OK? I gave it a quick blast this morning before I left – in fact, I need to put it on charge now.’ After last night, this is too much. I push past her and head for the sanctuary of my own bedroom.

‘Harry threatened to kill you, Emily! Ever since you’ve lived here you’ve been terrified of him tracking you down – what was I supposed to think? I thought he’d found you, hurt you! You can’t just not reply to my texts and expect me to not be concerned…’ Mags follows, Tiny circling her feet in an attempt to remind her to feed her. ‘Don’t get cross, I was just worried, that’s all. I’ve hardly seen you recently.’

I pause in pulling my T-shirt over my head. I’ve been so used to being on my own, looking after myself since Mum did a runner with her latest husband, that it didn’t occur to me that Mags would be concerned. And she does have a point – I have hardly seen her lately, but that’s only because I’ve been trying to avoid a lecture. Immediately I feel like a bitch. ‘I’m sorry, Mags, I didn’t think. I’m fine. I promise. I’m actually really happy.’ I sit on the bed in my underwear as Mags leans against the doorframe, a frown on her face.

‘So, you are seeing this Rupert then?’

‘It looks like it.’ I can’t stop the huge grin that spreads across my face. ‘He’s amazing, Mags, honestly, he’s kind, he’s funny… he treats me like I’m special, you know?’

‘I’m sure Harry did in the beginning too.’ Mags’s tone is sour.

‘What? What’s that supposed to mean?’ I tug the hair bobble from my ponytail and throw it onto the bedside table.

‘Nothing. Just… you’re rushing into things a bit, aren’t you? This was supposed to be a job, you said. A chance to “get yourself back on your feet”.’ She makes quote marks in the air with her fingers. ‘What if it all goes wrong? You’ll be back to square one.’

‘I thought you’d be pleased by that,’ I snap, grabbing my towel and heading for the door, before Mags steps in front of it.

‘Don’t be like that, Em!’ Her tone changes, and I am surprised to see tears in her eyes. ‘After everything that happened with Harry, I’m just concerned for you, that’s all. I wouldn’t be a very good friend, would I, if I didn’t worry when you didn’t come home?’

Not wanting an argument, I sigh, conscious that I am supposed to be meeting Rupert in just over an hour, when he says he’s going to introduce me to his brother. My stomach gives a flip at the idea of being introduced to the most important people in his life. ‘No, OK, I do understand that. I’ll call in future, if that will stop you worrying. And I am sorry – you know I’m not used to having people worry about me.’

‘It’s OK. Maybe we can do something together today?’ She taps her chin, thinking. ‘We could go to Coate Water, go for a walk round the lake?’

‘No, Mags, I’m sorry.’

‘No, you’re right. It’s still a little bit chilly out there, even if the sun is out. What about shopping? We could go to that vintage place you like on the High Street.’

‘I can’t, Mags,’ I feel a twinge of guilt, ‘I’m meeting Rupert. I only came home to get showered and changed. Let’s do something in the week – I’ll take you out for dinner after work.’ And if I’m honest, if I wasn’t meeting Rupert, I still don’t think I’d want to spend the day with her. Much as I do appreciate what Mags has done for me, I can’t get used to having someone fuss over me the way she does, and twice since I started working for Rupert I’ve woken up to find her at the foot of my bed, having sleepwalked there, her shadow making my heart stop in my chest every time.

‘Fine. I’ve been waiting to go to that new vegan place.’ She injects a breezy note into her voice that doesn’t match the expression on her face, before it passes and she smiles, letting me past to the bathroom. ‘I’ve got things to do today anyway. People to meet. Old friends.’

‘Right.’ I manage a smile, and close the bathroom door, locking it behind me before sinking onto the toilet and scrubbing my hands over my face. Hopefully the promise of dinner will keep Mags happy – I don’t want to upset her; after all, I still have to live with her.

Chapter Seven

‘Are you sure I look OK?’ I pull down the sun visor and peer into the tiny mirror for the fifth time since we left Rupert’s house half an hour previously. I push my tongue over my teeth to remove any rogue lipstick marks before flipping the visor back up and running my hands over my dress, easing away any creases.

‘Beautiful. As always. Come on, we’re late as it is. Plus, we’re sitting in their driveway, so that looks weird.’ Rupert opens his car door and I think that maybe I detect a hint of irritation in his voice, or maybe it’s just nerves. Rupert is about to introduce me to his family and friends for the first time, after all. I met his brother, Will, a couple of weeks ago, but I’ve yet to meet the rest of them, although Rupert assures me they know all about me. When he comes round to my side and opens my door – ever the gentleman – there is a smile on his face and I think maybe I imagined it.

‘Ready?’ Rupert holds his hand out and I take it, easing myself gracefully out of the car. I straighten my shoulders and mentally gird my loins, ignoring the flutter of nerves that bounce around in my stomach. Today is A Big Deal. It’s Sadie and Miles’s annual Easter party – and thanks to Easter coming late, the weather means a garden party, which means I am about to be introduced to every important person in Rupert’s life in one go.

‘Finally, I thought you were never going to make it.’ Sadie appears in the front doorway, looking as though she’s about to step onto the catwalk in a clinging, green silk dress, just as glamorous as I remember her. I try not to feel underdressed in my white linen shift dress, resisting the urge to smooth out the creases again. ‘Rupert, darling, it’s so good to see you. It’s been absolutely ages.’ She kisses his cheek warmly and then turns her attention to me. ‘Emily. How nice of Rupert to bring you along.’ There is a hint of coolness in her tone, that I am sure only I can hear. ‘Come through, both of you. Everyone is already here.’

Sadie turns and walks down the long, light, narrow hallway, not waiting to see if Rupert and I are following. Rupert obviously knows the way and leads me through a spacious kitchen and then out through bi-fold doors into an impressive landscaped garden, like nothing I have ever seen before – it makes Rupert’s garden look tiny.

‘Rupert! And this must be Emily! How lovely to meet you. I’m Miles, Sadie’s better half.’ The portly man with the rosy cheeks standing in front of us as we step onto the patio is more welcoming than Sadie, and I feel my shoulders drop down from somewhere around my chin. As I listen with one ear to Rupert and Miles’s conversation, I let my gaze roam across the grounds, taking in the structured landscaped borders, the small orchard of apple trees that cluster at one side of the expansive garden, and if I crane my neck discreetly I’m pretty sure I can see the glint of water, a swimming pool, tucked away behind the pagoda. It’s a far cry from John’s three-bedroom detached house in Surrey. Even further from the tiny council flat Mum and I lived in before that.

‘Emily?’ Sadie appears beside me, a flute of sparkling wine in her hand. ‘Would you like a drink? I brought you a glass of champagne.’

Of course, I think, of course it is champagne. I am beginning to realize that Sadie and Miles – and to some extent, Rupert – occupy another level of income entirely from anything I have ever been used to.

‘Come and meet everyone – those two will be chatting for ages.’ Sadie gestures to where Rupert stands with Miles, both of them laughing. She picks her way delicately across the lawn in her heels, and I follow, thankful that I wore wedges.

‘Amanda, this is Emily, Rupert’s…’ there is a pause, ‘girlfriend. Emily, this is Amanda. She’s married to Will, Rupert’s brother.’ Amanda is beautiful, that’s the only word I can think of to describe her. Slanting green eyes, flawless dark skin and hair carefully styled into a huge afro, with a figure to die for.

‘Nice to meet you. Sorry I couldn’t make it when Rupert introduced you to Will.’ Amanda holds one hand out and I shake it limply, taking a sip of champagne to hide my awkwardness. ‘So, you’re the one who’s brought Rupert back out of his shell. We all thought he’d be in mourning forever.’

‘Oh, um… thank you?’ I flounder for a moment, not sure how to respond. I wasn’t expecting anyone to reference what happened to Caro quite so quickly. ‘I’m glad he’s, errr… back out of his shell.’

‘He looks… much better. Although I’ll be honest, when I met you at the house, I wasn’t expecting Rupert to end up bringing you here as his… girlfriend,’ Sadie gives a brisk smile, ‘but then our Rupert has always been full of surprises.’

I blink, taken aback by her comment, and before I can muster up a response she’s talking again.

‘Emily, tell us a bit about yourself. Rupert has barely told us anything, he’s been hiding you away from everyone.’

‘There’s not much to tell really.’ I find my eyes are drawn back to Rupert every other minute, desire tugging at the pit of my stomach every time I see him. He seems to be having a good time, surrounded by Miles and Will and an older gentleman who looks so much like Sadie he can only be her father. ‘I applied for the job Rupert posted, and we just hit it off, I suppose. I feel incredibly lucky to have found him.’

‘Lucky indeed. Although I’m sure Rupert must be feeling the same,’ Amanda says. ‘Have you been married before? Children? Sorry.’ She glances towards Sadie, who raises an eyebrow. ‘Rupert is like a brother to me… I could say I’m just protecting him, but the truth is I am unbelievably nosy. Feel free to tell me to mind my own business.’

Glad that Amanda is trying to engage me in conversation, I smile gratefully at her, as Sadie says nothing, sipping at her wine. ‘Never been married, and definitely no children.’ Before I can ask Amanda to reciprocate, Sadie pipes up.

‘So, Rupert has told you all about Caro, has he? What happened to her?’

‘Sadie!’ Amanda widens her eyes.

‘What?’ Sadie’s voice has a defensive tone to it, and my skin prickles uncomfortably. What can Rupert and Miles possibly be talking about for so long? ‘I just wondered if Rupert had told her everything. It’s only fair that Emily knows the situation.’

‘Yes.’ Giving up hope that Rupert will rescue me anytime soon, I shift on my feet slightly, my wedges feeling like they might start sinking into the damp grass below. I’m half wishing the ground would just swallow me up and get me out of here. ‘He told me she died. We spoke about it when I went for the job interview.’ I want them to know that Rupert hasn’t hidden anything from me.

‘Poor Caro. So beautiful, and so young. I still miss her so much.’ Amanda lets her eyes fill with tears and I stare down into my rapidly emptying glass, not knowing where to look.

‘Amanda, go and splash some water on your face, you don’t want Rupert to know you’ve been upset. Emily, let me get you another drink, and I’ll introduce you to some of the others.’

Sadie leads me towards another group of people, making introductions, names spilling from her lips as I try frantically to remember who is who, and what their relationship is to Rupert, fighting back a wave of anxiety at being thrown in at the deep end. As I half listen to someone – I think it is a friend of Miles’s father – talk about rising share prices for some company or another, I find myself wondering about how Caro felt when she was first introduced into this circle of friends. I doubt that Caro would have felt overwhelmed, the way I do. Feeling eyes on me, I look up to see Rupert watching me, as Miles continues to talk at him. He smiles and drops me a slow wink that shoots a lightning bolt straight to my groin. I look away, a smirk playing on my lips as I try to focus on what the man next to me is saying.

‘Sorry, say that again?’ Sadie still hasn’t returned with my drink and I twirl the empty glass in my hand.

‘I was just saying, it’s nice to see Rupert out again. We haven’t seen much of him, not since the night of his party.’

‘His party?’ I am still distracted, my eyes sliding back to where Rupert stands now with his back to me, his shoulder muscles outlined through his shirt.

‘Yes, the party he and Caro held that night.’

I open my mouth, about to ask what he means about ‘that night’ but before I can say anything, a tipsy Amanda stumbles over her own feet slightly as she approaches us. ‘There you are! Oops… I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’ Her eyes go to my empty glass. ‘Oh, Caro, you’re empty. Let’s go and top you up.’

There is a deathly silence as Sadie, who has finally returned with a fresh champagne bottle, and I realize Amanda’s Freudian slip before she does.

‘I’m just going to pop inside and use the bathroom.’ I walk away quickly, trying to quell the sick feeling that settles in my stomach. Maybe she didn’t really mean to say it – she has been knocking the champagne back pretty quickly, and the canapes Sadie has provided don’t really fill you up – but that doesn’t stop me feeling off kilter. Neither does the fleeting hint of a smile that I thought I saw cross Amanda’s lips before she spoke.

I step into the cool kitchen, relieved to be out of the unseasonably warm sunshine, and make my way into the hallway, looking behind me as I step off the tiled floor onto carpet, entering the living area. The room is immaculate, with no sign that two boisterous twins live here. Rupert told me about his godchildren, and I realize that I haven’t seen any sign of the children for the entire afternoon. I can only assume that Sadie has a nanny, that they are tucked away out of sight, another reminder that this is a whole different world to the one I inhabit. I wonder for a moment if that’s how it would have been, had Rupert and Caro had children together, before allowing myself to imagine for the briefest of seconds how it would be if Rupert and I had children together.

Casting my eyes around the room, I notice that a lot of the furniture in here is remarkably similar to the stuff Rupert has in his own living room, and I wonder whether Caro had extended her influence to Sadie’s house, or whether Sadie gave direction to Rupert after Caro died – or maybe they just had similar taste. Years of being best friends might do that to you, I suppose. I wouldn’t know, having not had a best friend since primary school. It’s things like these that I don’t feel ready to ask Rupert yet. There is a piano at the end of the room, and as I approach it, I see that the top is littered with framed photographs, most of them depicting Caro in some form or another. Caro holding a baby – presumably one of the twins – as Rupert stands to one side looking a little awkward, Caro and Rupert on their wedding day, Sadie and Miles either side of them, all four of them grinning madly at the camera. Sadie and Caro on a beach in bikinis, definitely a few years ago, I think slightly bitchily, their arms slung around one another’s shoulders. Sadie and Rupert grinning into the camera, faces smashed together, a party hat at a rakish angle on Rupert’s head. I fight down the envy that rises in me, at years of memories on display.

‘Em? I wondered where you’d got to – I thought you might have headed for the hills.’ Rupert appears in the doorway, looking a little rumpled and tipsy.

‘Don’t be daft.’ I cross the room in three steps, pushing myself into his arms and lifting my face. He kisses me, his tongue sliding into my mouth and I groan slightly against his lips. He pushes against me, his thumb flicking over my nipple through the thin fabric of my dress.

‘Follow me,’ he says, pulling me into the hallway and into the downstairs cloakroom, which is at least as big as mine and Mags’s bathroom at home.

‘Rupert,’ I whisper, feigning shock, ‘we can’t! Not here.’

‘We can.’ He turns me away from him, unzipping my dress as I lean against the square ceramic sink. He kisses my neck, his hands running over my breasts, before I hear a zip drop and I gasp as he enters me from behind, watching our reflections in the mirror above the sink the whole time.

After, as I pull my dress back on, conscious of my flushed cheeks and wayward curls, Rupert zips me back up, kissing the back of my neck tenderly, before wrapping his arms around my waist.

‘Has everyone been OK with you? I’m sorry I abandoned you; it’s been a while since I saw everyone.’

I turn to face him. ‘Everyone has been absolutely lovely. I’ve been made to feel very welcome.’ I can’t quite meet his eyes as I say it, but I’m not going to tell him that his sister-in-law called me by his dead wife’s name. ‘I just came in to use the bathroom.’ We both suppress a giggle, leaning against each other, our breath coming in tiny gasps as we try to keep quiet.

‘Meet me outside in five minutes.’ Rupert kisses me again, more deeply this time. ‘Make sure you grab some more champagne on the way out too.’ He winks.

I take my time to freshen up in the bathroom, fixing my hair and pouting into the mirror as I slick on some more lipstick. The wine has gone to my head a little, and I run my wrists under the cold tap to cool down. As I approach the kitchen to refill my glass, I see Amanda and Sadie at the counter, heads together, oblivious to my presence.

‘What do you think of her, honestly?’ Amanda is saying. It looks as though they are both cutting fruit for Pimms. I hold my breath, waiting to hear Sadie’s response.

‘She seems all right, I suppose. Not really the type I thought Rupert would settle for.’ Sadie pauses for a moment. ‘He seems happy, though.’

‘You don’t think she’s just after his money? She’s a lot younger than him and she hasn’t exactly got a career, has she?’

‘Well, neither have I, if you’re really honest.’ Both women snort with laughter, as if the idea of Sadie working for a living is a huge joke, which I suppose it is really, with that kind of money behind her. Despite the sharp sting of hurt, I wait for a moment, curling myself around the doorframe so that if either woman turns they won’t see me, unsure of whether to announce my presence or wait and see what else they say. My mother always said an eavesdropper never hears good of themselves, but part of me wants to hear what they’ll say next.

‘No, I don’t think she is after his money,’ Sadie says eventually, ‘she does kind of light up when she talks about him and it’s pretty hard to fake that.’

‘But don’t you think…’ Amanda breaks off, laying the knife she’s using back down on the counter gently. ‘Don’t you think she’s the absolute spitting image of Caro?’

As I rush along the hallway, Amanda’s words echoing in my ears, I almost collide with Miles.

‘Oops. Steady on, old girl.’ He reaches out to stop me from tripping, snagging my empty wine flute as he does so. ‘This needs topping up, doesn’t it? Rupert is waiting for you, out by the pagoda. Hurry along and I’ll bring this out.’ He carries on towards the kitchen without giving me a chance to respond.

As I cross the lawn to the pagoda, I see Rupert standing waiting, his own glass of champagne in one hand, the other shoved into his pocket. I resist the urge to rush to him, to beg him to take me home, instead stepping lightly across the grass keeping a smile fixed on my face. Will stands next to him, and there seems to be a small cluster of people around them. Slowing my pace, I frown in confusion at Rupert as I approach him, but he just beams back at me, pulling me into his side as I reach him.

‘Have you had too much to drink?’ I force out a laugh, as he kisses me in front of everyone. Rupert doesn’t give in to public displays of affection very often from what I know of him, and I shrug off a sense of awkwardness as I feel the eyes of all Rupert’s friends on us.

‘Absolutely not,’ he says, before pulling away. I watch as he digs in his pocket, and then in front of all the partygoers, all of his family and friends – all of them strangers to me – Rupert goes down on one knee.

‘Emily…’ A gasp ripples through the small crowd, and I find I have pressed my hands to my hot cheeks, my breath sticking in my throat, as my heart rate takes on the speed of a galloping horse. ‘Emily Belrose… I know this has been a bit of a whirlwind, and we’ve both been a little swept off our feet, but, Emily… will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

For a moment the word sticks in my throat, and I can’t help it, tears spill over my cheeks, before Rupert nudges me, announcing into the shocked silence that I have to say it out loud.

‘Yes, yes I will,’ I say, and he slides the ring onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit.

Chapter Eight

Rupert was drunk on something last night, and he’s not one hundred per cent convinced that it was just champagne. He hadn’t mentioned his plans to propose to Emily to anyone, not even Will, just in case things didn’t pan out – in fact, he wasn’t even a hundred per cent sure himself that he was going to do it – but once he’d seen Emily with his friends, the way she’d smiled and chatted, even though he knew that she probably felt a little overwhelmed, he knew the timing was right. She fits, the way he used to fit with Caro before. He fights to keep the smile from his lips now as he glances across the pillows in Miles and Sadie’s spare room, to where Emily still slumbers on. Once she had said yes, the party had really started, and he’d had far too much to drink to be able to drive them both home. He stretches, thinking about the previous evening.

On one knee in front of the pagoda, Rupert looks up as Emily says yes, letting him slide the ring onto her finger before she smashes her mouth against his and after a pause that is heavy with its silence, Miles starts to clap and the others join in. Miles comes over to them both, leading Sadie by the hand, and kisses Emily on the cheek before pumping Rupert’s hand in a brisk handshake.

‘Congratulations,’ Sadie says with a tight smile.

‘Mate, this is brilliant – sudden, but still brilliant. You kept it very quiet – worried she might say no, eh?’ Miles nudges Rupert with a wink, his cheeks florid and ruddy with booze. Rupert hates it when Miles gets like this.

‘Well, more a case of wanting to do it at the right time – without any of you lot giving the game away.’ Rupert forces a laugh, relieved when Will approaches, Amanda not far behind him.

‘Congratulations, bro. And err… welcome to the family, I suppose, Emily.’ Rupert watches his brother kiss Emily awkwardly on the cheek, Emily – his fiancée, it feels strange to say that after Caro – flushing pink with what Rupert hopes is joy. ‘Bit of a shock but we’re pleased for you, aren’t we, Amanda?’ Will lowers his voice, and steers Rupert slightly to one side as Sadie and Amanda coo over the engagement ring. ‘Wow, Rupert, this is a bit unexpected. I can’t believe you never mentioned anything – I mean, we only knew you were dating someone a couple of months ago. Don’t get me wrong, if you’re happy then I’m over the moon for you. It’s great that you’re moving on after what happened to Caro, and Emily seems like a nice girl, but it’s just a bit of a… shock.’

‘She is great.’ Rupert lets his gaze wander back to Emily, her hand outstretched to show off her ring. ‘She’s exactly what I was looking for; I just didn’t know that until I found her.’

Will looks at him for a moment without speaking, before he draws in a breath. ‘I am pleased for you, Rupert, honestly… but it’s a bit sudden, isn’t it? You’re definitely sure you want to do this?’

Rupert resists the urge to snap at Will to make his mind up – either he wants Rupert to move on or he doesn’t. Instead he says, ‘Look, Will, I love – loved – Caro, but I’ve been on my own for over a year. I’ll always miss her, but I don’t want to be on my own anymore. I’m lonely.’ Rupert swallows hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat.

‘Oh God, mate, I get it, I do,’ Will says, ‘but you know you don’t have to marry her. You can just be together; you don’t need to rush into anything.’

Rupert feels a wave of anger, as his fists clench by his sides. Of course, Will doesn’t get it. How could he understand how Rupert felt after Caro died? How could any of them? ‘If it feels right, then why wouldn’t I ask Em to marry me? I did what you all wanted – I did what Sadie told me to do. She said I should move on, get myself sorted, and I have. Emily is perfect, and I know I’m doing the right thing. Don’t put a downer on it.’

‘I’m not, really I’m not,’ Will says quickly, before he pulls Rupert in for another man hug. ‘Sorry, Rupe, I didn’t mean to upset you. If you’re happy then I’m happy too. For both of you.’

Once the ring has been admired and congratulations have been showered over Rupert and Emily, Sadie reveals that she has booked a band for the evening. Fairy lights that have been strung across the garden are lit, and Rupert sees that a marquee has been set up at the end of the garden. Despite the chill that settles now that the sun has gone down, everyone is happy to spend the night dancing in the marquee, and Sadie makes sure that the champagne carries on flowing. For a moment Rupert wonders if Sadie had an idea about what he was planning, before Sadie announces that she also has news – Miles has been promoted, and she makes a point of saying that this is the real reason why she has arranged the party, even though this is the first Rupert has heard about it.

Finally, at around two o’clock in the morning, the band retires, and Rupert realizes he is ready for bed too. He turns to Emily, who has matched him dance for dance tonight, dancing with not only him, but Will, Miles and a few of Miles’s colleagues as well. She looks flushed and rosy-cheeked, a grin plastered across her face as she tries to get her breath back.

‘Hey,’ Rupert stops her in her tracks as she passes, ‘ready to go up?’

‘Absolutely,’ she smiles up at him, ‘ready when you are. Oh, Sadie—’

Sadie has appeared beside them, a glass of what looks like water in her hand. Rupert remembers that Sadie is always the sensible one, the first to start combatting her hangover before she’s even gone to bed.

‘Are you sure it’s OK for us to stay? We can always get an Uber home.’ Emily looks down quickly as she says the words, and Rupert realizes that when she says ‘home’, she means his house.

‘Of course, Rupert and Caro always stay when we have a party,’ Sadie says, a boozy red flush creeping up her neck as she carries on regardless. ‘It’s no problem for the two of you to stay. There’s plenty of room. Mi casa es tu casa.’

Rupert is mortified as Sadie gives a shrill laugh and knocks back the contents of her glass. Maybe it isn’t water after all. Emily says nothing, and Rupert admires her restraint.

‘Thanks, Sadie,’ Rupert finally manages to get the words out, breaking the cloud of tension, ‘I think we’ll just go up.’ He grasps Emily’s hand firmly in his and they make a quick escape, managing to get upstairs without bumping into anyone else. Rupert closes the door to the spare bedroom quietly, and turns to Emily, who is very quietly reaching behind her neck to unzip her dress.

‘Are you OK?’ he asks, as she fumbles with the zip. ‘Here, let me.’

Emily’s arms fall to her sides. ‘It’s all right, Rupert. It’s not the first time this evening someone has referred to me as “Caro”. It’ll take people some time to get used to me, I suppose.’

Rupert turns Emily to face him, lifting her chin with one finger so he can look directly into her deep blue eyes. Eyes that remind him of Caro’s. He blinks away the vision of Caro’s face that swims briefly in front of his eyes, and kisses Emily. Her face is set, but he feels her mouth soften under his as he gently slides the shoulders of her dress off, letting it fall to the expensively carpeted floor. He breathes in her scent, floral and by now familiar, and rests his chin on the top of her head.

‘They don’t mean anything by it, you know. It’s just a slip of the tongue. Like you say, it’ll just take time for them to get used to saying “Emily”. Caro and I were together for a long time.’ Emily stiffens slightly in his arms, and he strokes her back, until he feels her start to relax.

‘Of course, I do understand,’ she says eventually, the words so quiet she is almost speaking under her breath. ‘It was just a shock to hear her name in place of mine. But you’re absolutely right, time is all we need. And we have plenty of that. I’m not going anywhere.’ She looks up at him now, her blue eyes serious. ‘I mean it, Rupert. I said yes. It’s not to be taken lightly. I’ve made a commitment to you. After Harry… well, you know it took me a long time to get over happened with him.’ Emily has told Rupert some parts about her relationship with Harry, how it scarred her.

‘And I couldn’t be happier that you said yes.’ Rupert means it too; he really does feel like he has been given a fresh start. He kisses her again and reaches round to unclip her bra as she sighs and leans into him, letting his fingers wander over her skin.

‘Wait.’ Emily freezes, her hand against his now bare chest. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘Didn’t hear anything.’ Rupert reaches for her again, nuzzling into her neck. Now that the champagne has worn off, he doesn’t want to waste another minute of the evening.

‘Listen.’ Emily pulls away and goes to the door, pressing her ear against it. ‘There’s someone outside, Rupert.’

‘Em… don’t be silly, come here. It’s probably just Miles or Sadie going to bed. Or one of the others. They’ve got more than one spare room, you know.’ He tries to keep the testiness from his voice, but honestly, he just wants to get into bed. And not to sleep. He walks up behind her, turning her to face him. Emily relaxes back into his arms and he starts to edge her towards the bed, planting tiny kisses all over her face, her neck, his hands running over her body.

‘Wait.’ She freezes again, pushing him away from her, and he groans in frustration. ‘Listen. Can you hear it?’

Rupert strains his ears, and thinks maybe, maybe, he hears the tiniest of knocking sounds. ‘It’s nothing, Em. Come on, you’re just feeling jumpy because you thought you saw someone outside the house the other night. There was nothing then, and there’s nothing now.’

As soon as the words leave his lips there is a sharp bang, as if someone has slapped their hand against the bedroom door, and Emily lets out a little shriek, her hands flying to her mouth.

‘Please, Rupert, will you just go and look?’ Emily turns to him, her face pleading. ‘That was definitely someone outside our bedroom door. I feel weird enough staying here tonight; I’ll never sleep if I think someone is spying on us.’ Caro’s name hangs unspoken in the air between them.

Rupert sighs, although his heart is racing. ‘OK. If it’ll make you feel better. It’s probably just someone staggering to their room – you saw how drunk everyone was. I won’t be a minute.’ Emily gives him a roguish grin, and he pulls his shirt back on and heads downstairs.

I wait for fifteen minutes or so, the sheets artfully arranged around my naked body so that my shoulders and chest are bare. I fidget, running my fingers through my hair, giving it that sexy, tousled look that Rupert loves and glance impatiently at the bedside clock. How long does it take to check if there’s anyone outside? The champagne is wearing off now, leaving me with the thick thud of a headache beginning at my temples, and I am starting to get cold, goosebumps rising on my arms as I wait for Rupert. I wait another five minutes before I tug the sheets away and pull on Rupert’s discarded sweater and slip my knickers back on. Rupert will surely be on his way back and I’ll bump into him on the landing, and then we’ll slide back into the warmth of the bed. Grinning to myself at the thought, I let myself admire my ring one more time before I open the door and peep out. Part of me is still jumpy, and I half expect a face to loom out of the darkness… but there’s nothing. Not even any sign of Rupert.

Maybe he’s gone to get some water? My temples throb in sympathy and I decide that I’ll go down and get some anyway. Rupert can’t have gone far. I creep silently down the stairs, not wanting to wake anyone, a reassuring yellow glow of light spilling from the entrance to the kitchen. As I get to the bottom stair, I pause, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing at first. I was right, Rupert did go to the kitchen, but he’s not alone. Sadie sits on the high bar stool in front of him, her head resting against his chest, as his arms go around her shoulders and she clasps him about the waist. Rupert is murmuring something, and she raises her head to look at him, pulling away.

I watch, hardly daring to breathe, my ears straining to pick up what they might be saying but I can’t hear anything, just the low mumble of their voices. Rupert takes her hands in his now, holding them tightly as she says something and he nods, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. It feels intimate, private, and I turn and quietly hurry back up the stairs to the safety of the bedroom, sliding back into bed and tugging the sheets up around my neck. A few minutes later, I hear the door open, and Rupert’s light breaths as he gets into bed beside me. I can feel him leaning over me, so I regulate my breathing as if I have fallen deeply asleep and he pauses for a second, before dropping a light kiss on my hair and rolling over. I lay there, my mind replaying the two of them together, until fingers of light filter through the blinds and finally, I fall asleep.

Emily stirs, and Rupert smiles as he watches her go from dozy to full wakefulness, slowly, like she’s making the most of the morning sunlight that slants across the room.

‘Morning, sleepyhead.’ Rupert has been awake for what feels like hours, waiting for Emily to wake up.

‘Ouch.’ She struggles into a sitting position, one hand clutching her head. ‘Champagne head. Sorry for falling asleep on you last night.’

Rupert laughs and kisses her, not wanting to talk about it. He had been a little relieved when he got back to the room and Emily had been fast asleep in bed – his brief conversation with Sadie had left him feeling unsettled. But a good night’s sleep and waking up to Emily’s smile has just made him even more convinced he’s doing the right thing. Emily is definitely the one.

‘Coffee?’ Emily says, as she wriggles away from him and pushes back the covers. Her face is pale, and Rupert thinks she looks tired. ‘And I should probably text Mags and apologize for not letting her know I wouldn’t be home last night. She’ll be annoyed with me again, I expect.’ She swings her legs out of bed and rummages amongst the pile of clothes left on the bedroom floor. ‘Have you seen my phone? I thought… no, it’s not here.’ Emily frowns, her crumpled dress in one hand.

‘Maybe you left it downstairs?’ Rupert gets out of bed, pulling on his jeans and yesterday’s shirt. ‘I’ll come down with you.’

They head downstairs, Emily making it clear she feels out of place dressed in last night’s clothes. The others are already in the kitchen when they make their appearance, Sadie and Amanda knocking up pancakes while Miles and Will sit at the kitchen island, not helping.

‘Morning, you two lovebirds,’ Sadie says, a smile on her face. ‘Pancakes? Coffee?’

‘Lovely, thank you.’ Emily slides onto a stool as Rupert helps himself to two cups of coffee, pushing one in front of his fiancée. Emily wraps her fingers around the cup and takes a sip, before grimacing and adding sugar.

‘Emily, do you want to borrow something to wear?’ Amanda says, looking her up and down. ‘I keep a few bits here for nights like last night – I think we’re about the same size? Caro used to borrow my stuff all the time.’

Rupert feels his stomach flip at the use of Caro’s name, watching Emily for signs that she is upset, although it’s a little unreasonable for her to expect his friends to never mention Caro by name ever again, but Emily nods and smiles, jumping down off the stool and following Amanda to the second spare room. Rupert feels himself relax a little, taking a sip of coffee.

‘Hangover?’ Will asks, a huge stack of pancakes in front of him. ‘I feel as rough as a badger’s arse.’

‘I’m not too bad,’ Rupert says, reaching over and pinching a piece of pancake doused in syrup.

‘It’ll be young Emily, keeping you up all night, getting the booze out of your system,’ Miles scoffs, and Rupert avoids Sadie’s eye as his neck prickles uncomfortably. ‘What are your plans for today?’

‘I should imagine you’ll be visiting Emily’s parents, won’t you?’ Sadie asks, wiping her hands on the apron she wears before whipping it over her head and smoothing her short bob back into place. ‘She’ll want to break the news to them, won’t she? And of course, you’ll want to let your parents know.’

Rupert says nothing for a moment. ‘I think we’ll just take the day to keep it to ourselves, for now. Get used to the idea, you know?’ He doesn’t want to admit to Sadie that he hasn’t met Emily’s parents yet – that she barely talks about them, if he’s honest. ‘Has anyone seen Emily’s phone, by the way? She couldn’t find it in the bedroom this morning.’

‘Here. Is this it?’ Sadie hands him an iPhone, and when he presses the side button his own face appears on the lock screen, smashed against Emily’s in a selfie they took on a day trip to Stonehenge a couple of weeks after they started dating.

‘Thanks.’ Emily reaches over his shoulder and takes it, kissing his cheek and making him jump. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Amanda lent me a dress.’ Rupert turns and she gives a little twirl. ‘I’ll launder it and give it back,’ she says to Amanda, who flaps a hand in her direction. ‘I better just call Mags and let her know I’m still alive.’ She flits out of the room, leaving Rupert to his breakfast.

Later, Emily is quiet on the drive home, and Rupert wonders if she still feels a bit rough, or whether she might be regretting saying yes.

‘Are you OK?’ He takes one hand off the steering wheel to rub her knee, as she gazes silently out of the window.

‘Did you see anyone last night after I asked you to check if someone was outside our room?’ she asks.

‘No,’ he says, ‘there wasn’t anyone outside, and no one on the stairs either. I’m sorry, I should have told you that first thing this morning.’

‘You didn’t see anyone at all?’

‘No. I just told you that. Emily, is there a problem?’ Rupert feels a little irritated. If there is something wrong he’d rather Emily just came out with it, not beat around the bush. Caro used to do the same thing and it drove him mad. The traffic slows and crawls to a stop, typical M25 gridlock, even on a Sunday morning.

‘Not even Sadie?’ Emily’s mouth is turned down and she fiddles with the phone in her hands.

‘Sadie?’

‘Yes, Sadie.’ Emily turns to look at him, her eyes searching his face and Rupert feels a flicker of alarm, even though he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong. ‘She was our host after all; it stands to reason that she might still be up after we’d all gone to bed.’

‘Nope.’ He lies smoothly, edging the car forward as the traffic starts to move. ‘I didn’t see anyone at all. I told you there was no one there.’

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