Page 18 of Perfect Wives
Beth’s face pales, but she gives a slow nod. ‘Yes. I was going to tell you last night, but then Keira…’ She trails off.
‘That’s wonderful,’ I say, feeling a rush of joy for my friend. Beth is pregnant. After all this time, her dreams have come true.
‘Oops.’ Jonny chuckles. ‘Did I spoil the surprise? So sorry, Beth,’ he says, like he’s anything but.
And then he’s gone, jumping into his ridiculous car and starting the engine with a loud rev. He pulls out, and a second later, his window buzzes down. ‘Looking good today, Georgie. I’ll see you later, yeah?’ He winks.
He gives a sharp beep of his horn before speeding towards the gates. A split second later, Lanie wails, and I scoop her out of the pushchair, rubbing slow circles on her back as she buries her face in my neck. Her little body is hot and unsettled.Please don’t be coming down with something. I make a note to check if we’ve got Calpol.
Georgie claps her hands – one, two, three. The moment with Jonny is over for her. She grins at Beth. ‘I can’t believe you’re pregnant! This is wonderful news!’ She throws her arms around our friend. ‘How far along are you?’
Beth hesitates then lets out a breath. ‘Twelve weeks. The first scan was on Monday. Everything’s fine. After all that IVF, we fell pregnant naturally in the end. I still can’t believe it.’
Jealousy nips at the edges of my joy for my friend. Beth gave up her job as a solicitor when Henry was born. Now he’s at school, she spends her days cooking meals from scratch, making her own clothes, doing as she pleases. What I wouldn’t give!
All she’s wanted since I’ve known her is a sibling for Henry. Completing her family. Everything has finally worked out for her. I push the jealousy away. It isn’t fair to feel this way, like Beth and Georgie’s lives are perfect and mine is not. Beth’s fertility struggles are written in the lines of her face.
I reach out, hugging Beth too, and the tears pricking my eyes now are only happy tears. She deserves this.
Georgie is the first to pull back, looking Beth up and down with a playful smile. ‘No judgement here, but last night, the wine?—’
Beth shakes her head. ‘I wasn’t drinking it. You just didn’t notice my glass was getting fuller.’
‘God.’ Georgie laughs. ‘No wonder I feel awful. Tasha and I must have polished off the best part of two bottles before Keira arrived with the third.’
Beth sighs, and the shine of her joy dulls. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear it from Jonny,’ she says. ‘After everything we’ve been through to get here, I was looking for the perfect time to tell you.’ Her voice wobbles, and she takes a breath. ‘I guess Alistair assumed I’d have told you last night and thought it fine to tell Jonny.’
The smile drops from Beth’s face before she speaks again. ‘The way he said he’ll try and keep his music down and how he was leering at you, Georgie… God, I hate him so much.’
I think of the knowing in his voice when he spoke about Marc. And suddenly there is no space for my joy for Beth and her longed-for second baby. All I feel is razor-sharp hate. The kind that has taken root in my body and won’t ever let go.
PRESENT DAY
TEN
TASHA
INTERVIEW ROOM 2
‘So you killed your neighbour because he objected to your planning permission?’ There is no emotion in Detective Sató’s voice. No disbelief or accusation. It’s just a question, the same way she’s asked every question in the weeks since Jonny’s death – calm and methodical, giving nothing away.
My throat closes – an invisible fist squeezing my airway. The sob comes from nowhere, guttural and shuddering. We swore we wouldn’t talk to the police. Not one word except to give our alibi. And yet here I am. ‘Yes,’ I whisper.
How will this end?
I feel like I’m navigating a cliff edge at night with a blindfold, one wrong step from plummeting. Any step now and hands will reach out and shove me over.
Hot tears streak down my face. My nose runs. The tissue in my hands is soaked through, disintegrating in my damp fingers. I reach for another from the box Sató nudges towards me across the table. The interview room is cold and windowless, lit by a strip light that hums above me like a warning. The walls are painted a shade of pale grey that is somehow both clinical andgrubby. One wall is dominated by a two-way mirror. I try not to think about who is watching. The table is scratched laminate, its edges dented. The chairs hard plastic. I wonder if Georgie’s and Beth’s rooms are nicer.
‘What’s the time please?’ I ask, pretending like it’s not the second time that question has slipped from my lips since Sató took the seat opposite me in the tiny interview room and I stumbled through my confession.
The detective glances at her watch, and it strikes me how composed she is. How self-assured, not a hair out of place. Another woman who has her shit together, as Georgie would say.
Like Georgie and Beth. They trust their judgement, stand by their decisions. They don’t question every thought that races through their mind. They don’t shut themselves in the bathroom, sink to the floor and cry five times a day. I bet they don’t throw themselves at their husbands the moment they step through the door, desperate for a break, terrified they can’t make it through another hour.
‘It’s eleven thirty,’ Sató replies.
Only eleven thirty. Panic claws through me, like a thousand flesh-eating insects crawling over my body. It feels like I’ve been here for hours and hours. Is Lanie awake from her nap now? Is she grumpy, wanting her milk? Are Matilda and Sofia wondering why I’m not with them? Is Matilda crying? The weight squeezing my chest is crushing.
