Page 38 of I Would Die for You

“There’s no one on this island who knows more about the sealcolony than Nicole,” says Brad, looking at me proudly. I glow in his pride for a split second, before remembering it’s gravely misplaced.

“It’s not about the seals,” says Zoe.

“Oh?” says Brad, looking perplexed.

This is it. The weight of what she knows bears down on me, making it difficult to breathe.

After all the years I’ve had to tell Brad the truth,mytruth, someone else has got there first. Ifhisconfession wasn’t about to put a dagger through our marriage, this will surely be the death knell. My hand shakes as I struggle to hold on to my beer bottle, my clammy fingers feeling it slip.

“It’s about the rise and fall of the biggest band of the eighties.”

“Oh…” says Brad, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You don’t look old enough to remember it.”

Zoe offers a wry smile. “I wasn’t there myself, but I’ve always been interested in eighties culture, and this story has truly earned its place in folklore.”

“So, who were they?” he asks, his interest piqued, or maybe he’s just relieved that he can hold off what he was about to say to me for a couple more minutes.

“A band called Secret Oktober,” she says, making me flinch, even though I knew it was coming.

“Oh yeah, I remember them,” says Brad, as if it’s of little consequence to him. It isn’t.Yet.

“They would’ve gone on to become the biggest band in the world,” Zoe goes on, even though every part of me is willing her not to.

Brad throws me a look, knowing that we’re on uncharted territory. But, as if sensing that it might not be a comfortable place for me to be, he swallows the question he looked set to ask. For a moment, I’m relieved, but his reticence only opens the floodgates for Zoe to continue.

“If it hadn’t all ended in such tragic circumstances, of course…”

“He was murdered, wasn’t he?” asks Brad.

“Well, technically it was manslaughter,” says Zoe matter-of-factly.

I can feel Brad’s eyes on me, burning like lasers into my skin. “So, what’s any of that got to do withyou?” he says, his curiosity getting the better of him.

It’s as if the whole bar has been put on pause and a single spotlight has picked me out, blinding me with its beam, as it waits for an answer I’m not prepared to give. My mouth dries up as I look at Zoe, imploring her not to light the fuse of the bomb she’s about to detonate.

“Well, your wife was a suspect,” she says.

18

LONDON, 1986

“Nicole! Phone!” calls out Cassie, stirring her from a Sunday-morning slumber.

Nicole throws the duvet over her head, desperate to take advantage of the only lie-in she gets all week, but now that she’s awake she can hear her dad’s nine-bit drill as he embarks on what is no doubt another DIY job invented in his quest to keep busy.

Since Cassie took it upon herself to stay out until one in the morning after the concert, Nicole has all but moved back home in an effort to keep the peace. But her dad has spent the week incandescent with rage and Cassie has been confined to the house, sullenly shrugging off any of Nicole’s attempts to reach out to her.

“Phone!” yells Cassie again, throwing open Nicole’s door.

“Tell them I’ll call them back,” groans Nicole.

“Tell him yourself,” says Cassie, turning away and leaving the door ajar.

“For fuck’s sake,” mutters Nicole under her breath as she reluctantly slides her feet into her fluffy slippers and descends the stairs, avoiding the pink flowers on the patterned carpet as she always does—a twenty-year habit that she’d hoped to have grown out of by now.

“Hello?” she says groggily, not knowing anyone who might call her here on a Sunday morning, least of all a boy.

“Hey, is that Nicole Alderton?” comes a voice, far too loudly for this time in the morning. She goes to put the receiver down, not needing her senses to be assaulted by a cold caller, but stops in her tracks once her brain has had a second to catch up.

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