Page 58 of Perfect Wives
I want to ask where Marc has been going if not to work. And what Tasha is going to do. I can’t imagine Alistair ever lying to me like that. We tell each other everything – every mundane detail of our days, every small worry, every little thing Henry does to make us laugh. We’ve built our relationship on quiet honesty. On solid dependability. If something was wrong, he’d tell me. That’s the kind of marriage we have.
If we can just get through this – past Jonny’s murder and these messages that keep coming and the police investigation – then I’ll live with the guilt if it means we can have the life we’ve dreamed of. The life we deserve.
‘We can’t turn on each other,’ Georgie says, dragging my thoughts back to the room. ‘I could’ve killed Jonny while you two were clearing up. I took the empty bottles to the recycling bins, remember? Can either of you say for sure how long I was? But this wasn’t us. It was Keira. Whatever happens, we have to stick together. Together we are stronger.’
One of Georgie’s mantras isn’t going to save you from this.
But Georgie is right. Turning on each other now won’t help anything.
‘We need to get rid of this stuff?’ I say, staring again at the top on my rug. ‘If the police knock on my door right now, it’s over. They can never see this evidence.’
‘We can’t, Beth,’ Georgie cuts in. ‘Keira’s message said we have to keep it. She has more evidence, remember? We didn’t play her game on Monday when she told us to kill her ex and look where it’s got us? She’s escalated everything. We have to hide this stuff and play along for now or who knows what she’ll do next.’
‘I can’t keep that in my house,’ Tasha whispers, pointing a shaking finger at her top.
‘We have to,’ I reply, feeling sick again. ‘Georgie is right.’
Georgie nods. ‘And we have to find a way out of this. The time to do nothing is gone. And no talking to DS Sató,’ she adds.
Tasha bites her lip but nods. ‘I want to go to the police, but I’m scared they’ll hear the recording Keira has and see all this evidence, and they’ll think it was me.’
‘But your DNA won’t be on that top, will it?’ Georgie says. ‘They might not?—’
‘They will,’ Tasha cries. ‘They’re my dad’s sleeping pills, right? And I had the biggest motive for wanting him dead. You both didn’t like him, but I’m the only one who had something to gain from his death because we can get the extension now. DS Sató already suspects me.’
A tense silence winds itself like a noose around us. ‘We have two choices,’ Georgie says eventually. ‘We either go to the police and tell them everything, or we kill Keira’s ex and hope that’s the end of it.’
Tasha’s next inhale is sharp.
‘We’re not murderers, Georgie,’ is all I can say. ‘We can’t?—’
The ping of another message cuts me off.
Georgie snatches at her phone and gasps. ‘It’s Keira,’ she hisses. ‘She says:“Either drive to the country lanes by Fordly Woods tomorrow at fivep.m. and kill my ex, or I’ll come back to Magnolia Close again. How safe do you think your precious families are? I’ve shown you I’m capable of murder, and I won’t stop until I’ve got what I want. Ignore me. Go to the police, and I will destroy what you love most in the world.”
Another ping. Then another and another.
A sob catches in Georgie’s throat as she turns the screen to show us. The photo stops my heart. It’s the children. Henry and Oscar and Matilda and Sofia. They’re standing together in their school uniforms. Not at school, not on the road, but here – inside the gates of Magnolia Close.
‘Oh God.’ Tasha’s hands fly to her mouth. ‘That was taken just now.’
‘How do you—’ I start to ask.
‘Matilda’s lunch box. It’s new. I got it for her yesterday. This photo was taken less than an hour ago.’
‘Inside the close,’ I add, swallowing a fear that feels like it will never ease.
Georgie swipes the screen of her phone. ‘There’s another photo,’ she says.
I lean forward and stare at the image of a man. Mid-forties. Running kit. Short hair, grey at the temples. The kind of ordinary man you’d never look at twice in the street.
It’s followed by another message. Tasha and I both reach for our phones to read.
He’ll be running along Fordly Lane at 5.05p.m. tomorrow. Hit him with your car and make sure he’s dead!
I’ve barely had time to finish reading when the messages are deleted.
Tasha and Georgie look up from their phones. Tears are streaming down Tasha’s face. ‘She’s going…she says she’ll hurt our children?—’
