I came home, clear about my future for the first time. I battled my way onto a conversion law course back in Exeter, and though I was similar in age to most of the other students, I felt much older than everyone around me. Julia returned for her second year at university, and though we were based in completely different parts of the city now, we still talked all the time and made the effort to get together as often as we could.
I met Will a couple of months later, through Paul. He and I hadn’t seen much of each other since our uni course ended, but we’d arranged to meet for a pre-Christmas drink that December. Paul had just taken up a junior position at Harbury Media, working for his dad. Naturally enough, several of his colleagues were in the pub too, including Will, who had already been working at Harbury for just over a year.
Will was twenty-four at the time, two and a half years older than me and radiating a smooth, easy confidence. I remember being impressed by his sharp suit and piercing blue eyes as he offered to buy me a drink. I tried to brush him off, but he persisted. He chatted away with the other Harbury staff, but whenever I looked up, he caught my eye. I remember—and it makes me laugh to think of it so many comfortable, married years later—that he seemed dangerous and sexy to me then, oozing charisma, with his hair slicked back and something brooding about his expression.
I said no when he asked me out that first evening. Other men might have slunk off, chastened, but Will just asked me what I was hiding from.
“Nothing,” I said.
He shook his head and told me that he could see the sadness behind my eyes and that he wasn’t going to let my fears put him off. Maybe it was a line, but I was lonely and it felt good to have someone see beyond my brittle social smile for once. I agreed to a date the following weekend, and as we ate seafood and drank white wine, he asked about my family and I slowly, agonizingly, told him about Kara.
I think back, searching my memory for any signs Will already knew my story. He remembered the murder from earlier in the year, but not Kara’s name. He expressed horror and offered sympathy, so that tears pricked at my eyes. I tried to hold them back, but Will took my hand.
“Cry,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve grieved in all the ways yet.”
I knew what he meant. I’d cried with Mum and with Julia and on my own. But even after all these months, I hadn’t spoken of Kara to anyone who didn’t already know what had happened to her. I hadn’t told her story, my story, to a stranger; I hadn’t grieved in that way yet.
“I should have looked after her,” I sobbed. “She was still a child.”
“Hey.” Will squeezed my hand. “It wasn’t your fault.” And then he smiled gently. “So who looks after you?”
I cried some more, then went to the ladies’ where I realized how blotchy-cheeked and red-eyed I looked. My heart gave a weird skip. After all, if this cool, sharp-suited marketing guy was interested in me, despite my tears and messy face, then maybe I had more going for myself than I’d thought.
Back at the table, Will didn’t dwell on Kara’s death. He showed no morbid interest, just concern for me. He told me later he’d started to fall in love with me that night, seeing how much I loved my sister, how much I was capable of bearing and of feeling. And yet, he never—I’m certain of it—defined me by my sister’s death in the way so many of my university friends had.
So, Julia might have saved me by sharing my grief, but Will saved me by seeing past it.
It is entirely impossible that he is my sister’s killer. Or that Julia—who liked and respected him—could have thought so.
I turn and retrace my steps, heading for the café where Damian is waiting. It’s still raining and I am soaked, my jacket clinging to my back and my hair wet around my cheeks. Damian is sitting at a table by the café window, looking out. He stands as I enter, his face wreathed with anxiety.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
He looks at me, expectant. I hesitate for a moment; then I sit down opposite him and tell him everything I found out at Honey Hearts.
Damian listens with shocked eyes. He is clearly as baffled as I am that Will is the man Julia set Shannon to entrap.
“Julia never once mentioned that she thought he was unfaithful to you—quite the opposite. She was always so impressed at the way the two of you made your marriage work after … after that one time.…”
I raise my eyebrows, a blush of defensive humiliation rising in my cheeks. So he does know about the affair. “Julia told you about that?”
Damian nods. He looks embarrassed. “She said it was a long time ago and that Will seemed like a different person afterwards—more grown-up, I think she said.” He pauses. “She liked him as a friend, she said he was a good dad, a good fit for you.”
For some reason, hearing Julia’s opinion of my marriage from someone she clearly trusted calms me like nothing else so far has. I remember that although she was angry with Will over his affair, she never once suggested I leave him. He’s made a mistake and he’s sorry, Liv, she said. He deserves a second chance. We all do. I smile, remembering how she’d paused, her eyes sparkling, before adding: I’d make him pay, though. Some decent diamonds and a holiday to the Caribbean, at the very least.
It’s still raining outside, and the café is dark and depressing. Damian gazes at me, his forehead creased with deep lines.
I sit back and sigh. “So … if Julia didn’t hire Shannon to go after Will because she thought he was unfaithful, then why hire her at all?”
Damian looks away. My heart shrinks. I don’t want to think about what Damian suspects Will might be capable of.
“I need to talk to him,” I say firmly. “Find out if Shannon really did approach him. What she said.”
Damian looks up. “We should try to track down Shannon too, find out what Julia said to her. Were there any contact details on the form you saw?”
“Not for Shannon, not that I noticed.”
“What about the date Julia went to Honey Hearts? Was that on the form?”
“I don’t think so.” I’m less sure about this. The truth is that I hadn’t looked for a date. “There wasn’t much time and—”
“It’s fine. We know it must have been before she met Shannon in person at Aces High—it doesn’t particularly matter when it was.” Damian thinks for a second. “Wait a minute, didn’t you say they take someone with them to meetings? A friend, as backup?”
I shake my head. “That’s when the agent goes to meet the guy. There are basically five steps: One, the client goes to Honey Hearts and sets up the whole thing. Two, the client is assigned an agent and they meet—that was Julia meeting Shannon two days before she died. Three, the agent seeks out the guy, and then possibly four, they set up and go on a ‘date’ together. Five, the agent reports back to the client—that was the meeting in Aces High that I went to, the one I saw coming up in Julia’s diary.”
“So we don’t know if this girl, Shannon, ever did go to entrap your husband.”
“She must have. Why else would she have turned up for that second meeting? She was there to report back to Julia.” My breath catches in my throat as I realize the implications of this. Shannon Walker must have approached Will. What did she say? How did Will respond?
“We don’t know any of this for sure,” Damian says. “Just as we’ve got no idea how to find Shannon.”
I sigh. “All the more reason why I have to talk to Will.”
“That’s not going to be easy,” Damian mutters.
He’s right. For the first time since I saw Shannon at Aces High, I regret how much I’ve kept from Will. If I’d told him I was going to Honey Hearts in the first place, then this latest development might not come as such a shock. As it is …
Damian and I say good-bye, promising to speak again tomorrow, when I’ve had a chance to talk to Will. I go home in a daze realizing only after I’ve left that I have completely forgotten, again, to ask Damian why he has no online presence. I’m distracted for the rest of the aft
ernoon, barely listening to Zack’s eager chatter about his football game at break time. I feel guilty I’m so preoccupied—and only too aware of how quickly this time when Zack wants to tell me all about his day will pass.
As if to prove the point, when Hannah arrives home an hour later, she stomps straight to her room without even saying hello. I follow her up the stairs, trying to hold my temper in check. I peer around the door, smiling, to ask how she is, but Hannah explodes before I can get the words out.
“What do you want? Why are you always following me everywhere?”
“I’m not.” I grip the doorframe, trying hard not to lose it. “I just wanted—”
“I will tidy up on the weekend!” she yells. “God, Mum, school is so stressy, and now you’re being really mean.”
“For goodness’ sake, Hannah. I was just going to ask if you want a drink or a snack,” I snap.
“Well, I don’t.”
“There’s no need to be so rude.”
“You’re the one being rude. You’re the one in my room. I don’t want you in here.”
“You know what, Hannah? I don’t want to be here either.” I march back downstairs and sit at the kitchen table, my head in my hands, shaking with rage and hurt.
A single tear trickles down my cheek. I wipe it away. Will’s right, I am taking Hannah’s acting out too personally, but it’s hard to have lost my little girl as well as my best friend. If Julia were here, she would cheer me up with a smart, pithy observation and that dirty laugh of hers. The fact that she isn’t here and will never be here again makes everything ten times worse.
Zack wanders in and, sensing my sadness, offers me comfort the only way he knows how, burying his head in my stomach and wrapping his arms tightly around my hips. I let him play Angry Birds while I make tea. Hannah slouches in fifteen minutes after I call her, then has the nerve to complain that her shepherd’s pie is cold. Both children light up when Will arrives home, earlier than usual, at six thirty. He hugs Zack, pecks at Hannah’s forehead, then plants a kiss on my lips.
“You’re in a good mood.” I try to smile at him, but all I can see is his name on the Honey Hearts form.
“The Henri account settled down at last,” he says with a grin.
“That took a long time,” I say, trying to work out how on earth to begin the conversation I need to have.
Will sighs. “I know. Bloody ages.” He pauses, and when he speaks again I can hear the pride in his voice. “The client said some nice things about me, actually. And Leo thanked me in front of the whole team, whatever that’s worth.” He laughs, but I know how much Leo’s praise means to him.
“Well done.” I reach up and kiss him on the cheek. Zack is already tugging at his arm, wanting to show him his Angry Birds score. Will and I can talk later, after the kids are in bed. I murmur something about sorting out dinner for the two of us, then give him a hug, breathing in the familiar scent of his suit jacket: wool and aftershave and a lingering aroma of office.
See? I tell myself. No strange-smelling soap. Everything’s going to be fine.
It turns into a good evening—at least the early part of it is. As usual, Hannah’s mood lightens dramatically around her father, while Will seems particularly relaxed tonight. It just goes to show how important his mood is to the overall atmosphere in the house. Those nights where he gets in grumpy and tired lay a pall over everything.
My chance to talk comes after Hannah disappears up to her room at nine o’clock. Will has spent most of his time since dinner trying to match Zack’s Angry Birds score on his phone, while intermittently reading a report on his laptop and sipping at a whiskey.
As I join him in the living room, he puts both gadgets down with a sigh. “Can you imagine how humiliating it is being beaten at something by your seven-year-old son?”
I laugh, then close the door gently. “Can I talk to you?”
Will swings his legs off the sofa and sits up, an expression of concern on his face. “Sure, what’s up?”
I take the chair opposite him and lean forward. My heart beats fast as I launch in, explaining that Damian and I decided to try to trace Shannon Walker.
“You didn’t tell me that,” Will says, his eyes darkening.
“I knew you’d think it was me being obsessive or whatever, but seriously, Will, there’s something really suspicious going on.” I carry on, the words tumbling out of me as I explain that Damian and I tracked Shannon down to Honey Hearts, then going on to confess that I visited the place this morning.
“You did what?”
“I sneaked a look at Julia’s file,” I explain.
“I can’t believe you’d do that.”
“Well, I did. And I found something out. Julia hired Shannon Walker—that was the connection between them.”
“Come on, Liv.” Will shakes his head. “That doesn’t sound like Julia. Not her style.”
“I know.” I gulp. “That’s the thing … I don’t think she was testing her own boyfriend. Damian, Dirty Blond. He said he didn’t recognize Shannon and … anyway, it wasn’t his name in her file.”
Will frowns. I watch him intently. There’s no guilt, no acknowledgment of what I’m saying … of where I’m going. I can’t believe he knows.
“So … what are you telling me, Liv. I don’t understand?”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t understand either, but I have to ask you about it. You see, the man Julia put on her form she wanted to entrap—was you.”
Will stares at me blankly. “Me?”
I nod.
“You think Julia suspected me of being unfaithful?” His eyes bore into me. “What … with you? With her?” He pauses, his expression hard and cold. “Well?”
I squirm in my seat. “She might have thought something like that, I guess, but no I don’t seriously—”
“Oh, good,” he snaps, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just so long as you trust me.”
I hesitate. “Please don’t be angry, Will. It’s not my fault your name was in that file.”
“Fuck off, Livy.”
I gasp. Will hardly ever swears—and certainly not at me. He looks up. His fists are clenched, the vein in his neck throbbing.
“So what do you expect me to say?” he asks.
“This … Shannon.” I shiver, he looks so angry. “She was blond and blue-eyed. Pretty. Mid-twenties, I’d say.”
Will raises his eyebrows. “Are you asking if she came onto me? Is that it? You think I slept with some tramp from some sleazy agency?”
“No.” Tears spring to my eyes at the fury in his voice. “No, of course I don’t think you slept with her. I’m just trying to work out what Julia was doing. I think it might be connected to her trying to find out about Kara’s killer. There are just a lot of things that don’t add up. Julia’s mother is convinced one of Julia’s rings is missing. In fact, she thinks I took it. And then there’s the fact that though the police searched Julia’s apartment and her computer, they didn’t find any of her files about Kara. I think Shannon knows something.”
Will spreads his arms wide in a gesture of disbelief. “You only have this Damian’s word that there were any files. Jesus.” Will’s voice rises. “And it’s outrageous to suggest I slept with—”
“I’m not accusing you of sleeping with her,” I insist. “I’m not even suggesting that you reacted in any particular way. I’m just trying to make sense of why Julia hired her. Surely you can understand why I have to ask?”
Will stands and paces over to the TV. His fists are still clenched. He turns and fixes me with a furious glare. “I have absolutely no idea why Julia put my name on her form, but what really makes me mad is you jumping to conclusions about what it means. Maybe it was a joke. Maybe it wasn’t Julia. Maybe it was some other guy called Will Jackson. Don’t you see? If you go looking for problems, you find them.”
“But—”
“How can you even consider I might have been with anyone else? God, haven’t the past six years s
ince … haven’t they meant anything?”
“I’m not saying that.” My voice cracks. “I just—”
“Well, the answer is I haven’t seen this Shannon girl, or anyone else.” He pauses. “And as for this nonsense about Kara. It’s getting ridiculous. Whatever you say, you are obsessed with this idea Julia was murdered. Meanwhile, you’re living the rest of your life without noticing what’s going on around you.”
“Not noticing what?”
“Well, quite apart from the effect on Hannah, there’s us. We haven’t had sex in weeks. Not since before Julia died.”
My mouth gapes. Will’s right, though it hadn’t occurred to me. I don’t know what to say to him. My mind flashes back to the first time we made love properly. Not the first attempt. That was a disaster, thanks to me being so self-conscious and unwilling to lose control that I stopped him halfway through and ran away. No, I’m thinking of the following evening, when Will, to my astonishment, pursued me home even more determinedly than he had the night before and spent hours talking me into bed, then touching me until, for the first time in my life, I let go for long enough to have an orgasm.
“I … I…,” I stammer. Sex is so little a part of my thinking these days, even before Julia’s death, it is slightly shocking to realize that I can’t actually remember the last time Will and I made love—or the last time it crossed my mind that I might like to. I want to talk to him about this, but as I struggle to find the words, Will makes a dismissive gesture with his hand.
“Forget it,” he says.
I stare at him. This is what we always do: circle a problem with hints and snipes, but never tackle it head-on. I open my mouth again, about to insist we should talk about what he’s said, but before I can speak, Will is off again.