hasn’t worked out that way. I actually find you quite objectionable.’
She scowls back at me. If she could speak, she’d deliver quite a mouthful, I think. I cross the room to the window and draw the curtains across, blocking out the winter sun. ‘Right, I say, enough chat. Time for your nap.’
It takes nearly an hour to get her off to sleep, by which time my edges are frayed and I could kill a cigarette. I toy with the idea of leaving her in her cot and driving to the petrol station to buy a packet, then decide it’s too much effort.
Instead, I lie down on the spare bed next to the cot and close my eyes. The darkness cocoons me, and fresh thoughts of Amber and George rumble through my consciousness. I imagine George sitting in a cell in some remand prison, waiting nervously to know his fate. Murder or attempted murder? What an idiot. Typical of him, though, to make some macho gesture.
We were briefly introduced at that university reunion, but I was aware that he hadn’t registered me – he was too busy swanking around, flirting with all the other women. I was pretty confident that if he saw me again in another setting, he would behave as if we’d never met. And I was right. I knew he was a personal trainer, and a quick internet search located him at a gym in Waltham Green – part of an exclusive national chain. The subscription was way beyond my budget, instantly dashing my plans. But I signed up to their mailing list and after a couple of months received an email announcing an open day with free taster sessions, a meet-and-greet with the staff, complimentary healthy snacks and home-made smoothies. Perfect, I thought.
I treated myself to some sexy new kit and turned up on the day, panting with eagerness. George was running a spinning session, so I made sure I got a bike in the front row and spent the twenty minutes fluttering my eyelashes in his direction as sweat poured down my cleavage. He clocked me immediately and rewarded me with a few winks of encouragement. After it was over, I made a point of going up to him and asking some inane questions. ‘You were so inspirational,’ I said. He gave me his card, saying that if I decided to join and wanted a personal trainer, to get in touch.
I didn’t join, but I got in touch anyway. We met in a bar near the gym one evening after his shift ended. It was obvious from the get-go that, if I was up for sex, he’d happily oblige. I asked him if he was married or had a girlfriend, and he told me was single. He said he had no desire to settle down yet and enjoyed casual, fun relationships with no strings attached.
‘I’m exactly the same,’ I lied. We got quite drunk together, and when the bar closed, he tried to come home with me. I made an excuse, saying I had a friend staying over and it would cramp our style. Funnily enough, he didn’t invite me back to his fictional bachelor pad and we ended the evening with a gropy snog.
I never intended to sleep with him, as gorgeous as he was. I just wanted ammunition against Amber. I was already in a relationship – it wasn’t the smoothest of rides, but I was determined to stay on the horse. We were living together, talking vaguely about marriage, and even more vaguely about the possibility of having children one day in the future.
Children. Ah yes, that explosive word …
A noise drags me back to the present. I open my eyes and wrench myself free from the memory. It’s the front door. Again. Somebody ringing the bell this time.
I swing my feet over the side of the bed and stand up. Pushing my feet into my mules, I march out of the room and into the hallway, swearing under my breath. What’s the excuse going to be this time? Am I interested in joining the WI? Would I like a jar of home-made jam? With an irritable sigh, I open the door.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Day Nine without Mabel
Amber twists her fingers in her lap, as DI Benedict makes notes. They are at the police station, in the family room, seated around a low coffee table. The detective asks his questions calmly and methodically, but she can sense the frantic atmosphere in the rest of the