. I can’t believe that six months later I’m still telling this story without knowing what it means.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this on Saturday morning?’ Sam asks.
‘I didn’t think you’d believe me about the woman’s body if I told you everything. If you knew I was obsessed with 11 Bentley Grove already . . .’
‘Were you?’
Is there any point in my denying it? ‘Yes. Totally.’
‘Because Kit had put it in his SatNav as his home address?’
I nod.
‘And you wanted to know why. Did you ask him?’
‘The second he walked through the door. He claimed not to know what I was talking about. He denied it, completely denied it. He said he’d never programmed in any home address – not ours, and not an address in Cambridge that he’d never heard of. We had a huge row – it went on for hours. I didn’t believe him.’
‘That’s understandable,’ says Sam.
‘He’d bought the SatNav new – who else could have programmed in the address apart from him? I said that, and he said, “It’s obvious, isn’t it? You must have done it.’’ I couldn’t believe it. Why would I do something like that? And if I had, why would I accuse him of doing it?’
‘Try to calm down, Connie.’ Sam reaches over, pats my arm. ‘Would you like another drink?’
I’d like another life – any life but this one, anyone’s problems as long as they aren’t mine.
‘Water, please,’ I say, wiping my eyes. ‘Can you ask them to fill it to the top this time?’
He returns a few minutes later with a tall, full glass. I take a gulp that makes my chest ache.
‘Did you suspect Kit had another family in Cambridge?’ Sam asks.
‘That was the first thing that sprang to mind, yes. Bigamy.’ It’s the first time I’ve said the word out loud. Even with Alice, I skirt around it. ‘It sounds melodramatic, but it happens, doesn’t it? Men really do commit bigamy.’
‘They do,’ says Sam. ‘Some women do too, I guess. Did you talk to Kit about your suspicions?’
‘He denied it – flat out denied it, everything. He’s been denying it for six months. I didn’t believe him, and that became another thing to fight about – the inequality. I didn’t trust him as much as he trusted me.’
‘So he believed you when you said you didn’t do it?’
‘He moved on to accusing my family – my mum, Fran, Anton. Reminded me of all the times one or other of them had been round when his SatNav was lying around in the house.’
‘Who are Fran and Anton?’ Sam asks.
‘My sister and her partner.’
‘Was Kit right? Could a member of your family have programmed in the address?’
‘They could have, but they didn’t. I know my family inside out. My dad’s terrified of anything modern and gadgety – he refuses to acknowledge the existence of iPods and E-readers – even DVD players are too much for him. There’s no way he’d go anywhere near a SatNav. Fran and Anton aren’t imaginative enough or devious enough. My mother can be both, but . . . trust me, she wouldn’t have put that address into Kit’s SatNav.’
She’d rather swallow fire. I’ve seen her stiffen and change the subject when anything with a Cambridge connection comes up in conversation: the boat race, Stephen Hawking and his black hole theory. She doesn’t even like me to hear Oxford mentioned, or any university, in case it makes me think of Cambridge. At first I thought she was worried about upsetting me, but then I realised her motivation was more selfish than that: she wants me to forget that Cambridge exists, that Kit and I were ever thinking of moving there. Her greatest fear is that I will one day leave Little Holling.
Mine is that I won’t.
‘Kit programmed in the address,’ I tell Sam. ‘He must have. That’s what I think at the moment, anyway. That’s what I’ve thought a thousand times, and then I accuse him again and he persuades me again that he’s not lying about anything, and he’s so . . . convincing. I want to believe him so much, I end up wondering if maybe I did it, then wiped the memory from my mind. Maybe I did. How do I know? Maybe I programmed 11 Bentley Grove into Kit’s SatNav, and hallucinated a body that wasn’t there. Maybe I’m some kind of deranged lunatic.’ I shrug, embarrassed suddenly by how strange and pathetic my story must sound. ‘This is what my life’s