Page 38 of Perfect Wives
Besides, as soon as I pretended not to know Jonny, it felt too late to admit our connection to Nate or anyone else in Magnolia Close. The more time that passed, the more impossible it became to take the lie back.
I was trapped in it. With Nate and everyone else. Something Jonny reminded me of whenever he’d caught me on my own.
So I stayed quiet. I told Beth and Tasha just enough to explain my feelings towards Jonny, but not enough to invite questions I couldn’t answer.
I avoided Jonny as best I could. Bided my time. And now, finally, my secret is safe.
TWENTY
GEORGIE
It’s the clink of a coffee cup in a saucer and Nate clearing his throat that has me blinking away the memory of Jonny and everything that came next – squashing it down, hiding it away like it could show on my face. Because Nate might know Jonny was interested in a married woman, but he doesn’t know that woman was me.
‘Georgie?’ Nate’s prompt causes a squirming in the pit of my stomach. I’m suddenly aware of the silence in the kitchen and the three sets of assessing eyes on me.
‘What was the question?’ I ask.
There’s a pinch to Sató’s brow. ‘I asked if either of you remember anything odd about the night Mr Wilson was killed? A car on the street you didn’t recognise? Even something that seems insignificant could be important.’
I shake my head, force myself not to think about seeing Jonny on my way to set up for the quiz. The silence in the kitchen presses in on us. I feel like the detectives are waiting for me to say more. My fingers twitch against the counter. I fight the instinct to fill the silence with energy and talk and rambling.
It’s the second detective who speaks then, pushing her dark-blonde hair behind her ears. It’s wispy at the top, how mine getsin the rain. If she were anyone else, if we were anywhere else, I’d recommend the serum I use to keep my hair looking sleek. DC McLachlan looks at Nate, and I catch that familiar appraisal all women give him.
‘Nate,’ DC McLachlan starts with a friendly smile, ‘I wanted to check a few details with you. Is that OK? I believe you told PC Henshaw last night that you left with Marc Carter and Alistair Smith at the end of the quiz.’
Nate gives a small nod as he shifts on the stool beside me.
‘Neither of your neighbours mentioned you when giving their version of the evening’s events. And I wondered if you wouldn’t mind confirming what time you left the quiz and who was with you please.’
Nate pulls a face, an exaggerated wince like Oscar when he’s been caught sneaking out of his room after bedtime. ‘I might have left ten minutes before the end. Sorry, I should’ve been honest with the PC. I didn’t think it was important at the time.’ He shoots me an apologetic look I haven’t seen for a long time on my husband’s face. One that’s all for show now, I’m certain. ‘I didn’t want Georgie to know I’d left early. The PTA is important to her, and I didn’t want to let her down, but I was exhausted and had a full day of meetings the next day.’
I keep my expression neutral, playing along. Inside, the worry tightens. He left early, and he lied about it.
Sató scribbles something in her notebook, head still lowered. Then it’s McLachlan’s voice cutting through the silence.
‘OK, Nate. Just so we’re all clear, can you tell us your exact movements between the hours of eightp.m. and elevenp.m. last night?’
‘Sure,’ he says, placing his hands on the counter. The gesture is open and honest, but I’m suddenly not so sure the same can be said for his words. ‘I was at the PTA quiz night until nine. That’s the time it was supposed to end, but the raffle draw wasdragging on. Georgie was the one drawing the raffle, and I knew she wouldn’t notice if I ducked out early.’
I think back to the quiz night. The evening is a blur. I was loud and energetic, buoying everyone along, keeping the night running smoothly. Tasha was managing the kitchen. Making up the cheese boards, bringing out more wine, tidying up. Beth was carrying it back and forth when she wasn’t in the toilet throwing up – the smell of the cheese triggering her morning sickness. Nate’s right. I didn’t notice him slip away.
‘I came straight home,’ Nate continues. ‘So that would’ve been by ten past nine. I paid Rosie – Bill and Jean’s daughter next door at number five – she left and I went to bed.’
‘Yes. I spoke to Rosie,’ Sató says. ‘She confirmed you were home around fifteen to twenty minutes before her parents. She also mentioned that, as she left the house, she heard you talking on the phone. She said it sounded like you were arguing with someone.’
Nate frowns. ‘I don’t think so,’ he replies. Then he snaps his fingers like he’s just remembered. ‘It was probably the TV. I put it on when I got home. It was one of those reality shows Georgie likes. They’re always shouting about something. Oscar must’ve turned the volume up too loud. That’s what she must’ve heard.’
‘I see,’ Sató says.
I sip my coffee, keeping my gaze on a swirl in the marble countertop. My husband is still all charm, and yet woven into his recount of the night Jonny was murdered, there are lies. The thought burrows beneath my skin. Nate doesn’t lie. His entire career is about following the rules and stopping people who break them.
Before either of the detectives can ask another question, Sató’s phone rings. A sharp trilling that makes me jump. I knock my coffee cup in the saucer, and it clatters on the worktop before I can right it.
‘Excuse me,’ Sató says, standing and stepping into the hall to answer.
Barely a moment passes before her head pops back into the room, phone pressed to her ear, and she’s motioning for DC McLachlan to join her. I strain to listen but can’t hear what they’re saying.
I think of those men in white overalls carrying their boxes of evidence out of Jonny’s house, and my stomach churns with that slippery, dark dread. Have they found the photo in Jonny’s house? The copy he said he had.
