Page 81 of Perfect Wives
What happens now?
I close my eyes. Try to picture the vineyard Marc has bought – wide open skies, rows of vines catching the sun, the promise of space and calm and fresh air. All those times I closed my eyes, wishing I was someone else – it wasn’t just open space and rolling hills; it was his vineyard I pictured. I just couldn’t see it beneath the weight of everything I was carrying. I can’t be here! My parents need me. My girls need me.
I press my palms into my knees and try to breathe. The air smells faintly of bleach and something metallic. Like blood. The thought curdles in my stomach. Was I so wrapped up in keeping our secret from Georgie and Beth that I missed something? So scared of my precious girls feeling that burn of rejection, of being pushed out of the friendship group and the Magnolia Close community like Lily?—
I sit up. Jolted. Alert. My mind suddenly clear. Lily was ostracised by everyone in Magnolia Close. First the duck spring rolls, then Georgie’s missing ornament. We convinced ourselves – thinking as one – all turning on her and Kevin. We were so sure she’d stolen Georgie’s gold heart. So righteous. Last week, I half wondered if someone set her up – someone angry at them for leaving. Like the owners of our house before us.
And now it’s me being set up. Not as a social outcast but as a murderer. Someone has set me up to take the fall for Jonny’s murder. It’s so extreme, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. And yet it would mean someone knew what Marc was planning. The only person he told in Magnolia Close was Jonny. Could he have told someone in the close? Or did the person with the secret camera pick up a conversation between them?
My heart thuds against my ribs. Cold sweeps through me. All this time, we’ve been speculating about what that camera caughtthe night of Jonny’s murder. But what if the person with the camera is responsible for more than just spying?
Yes, I left the PTA quiz that night. I was meant to be helping in the kitchen, but the noise, the heat, the crowd – it was too much. My head was pounding, and all I could think about was Jonny. I hated him. But I needed him too. I needed him to call his friend at the planning office and remove his objection. That’s why I left the quiz. That’s why I went to his house. Georgie was playing quiz master, and I could hear Beth in the toilet throwing up. So I went. I ran. I knocked on his door. I heard movement from inside, but he didn’t answer. I knocked again. Louder. Firmer. But he still didn’t answer. All I’d wanted was to talk to him. To beg him to help us. I shiver, realizing the movement I heard in Jonny’s house must have been the real murderer.
A dog walker saw me that night. I no longer have an alibi.
My head spins.
What else do the police have on me? A motive. Opportunity. My dad’s missing sleeping pills. The phone used to send those messages in my bag. A bloody top that looks exactly like mine. I saw it in Beth and Georgie’s eyes. They think I’m guilty. Sató too. I don’t know how to make it right.
Yes, I hated Jonny. Yes, I wanted him dead. Yes, I went to his house that night.
But I didn’t kill him.
I didn’t do it.
SIX MONTHS LATER
EPILOGUE
BETH
The soft whir of my sewing machine fills the house, rhythmic and steady. It’s the only sound, apart from the quiet tap of my foot on the pedal. I’m making a new bed set for Henry, cut from fabric printed with astronauts kicking footballs in space. I smile as I work, imagining his face when he sees it. He’ll cherish it, like he does everything I make for him.
The window is open. A warm breeze drifts in, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the hum of lawnmowers from the neighbours’ gardens. It’s the kind of spring day made for parks and ice cream, the kind of blue sky and sunshine that makes it easy to believe nothing bad ever happened on Magnolia Close.
I glance at the clock. Nearly noon. Alistair will be home soon with Henry – and our baby girl, tucked in the pushchair, blinking up at the world, ready for her next feed. Just the thought of her makes my breasts ache. It’s only the second time I’ve been apart from her, but Alistair insisted I take a morning for myself.
We named her Alanna. It means ‘precious child’. After everything it took to have her – the years of trying and failing, the heartbreak and emptiness – it was the only name that made sense. She is perfect. Red hair, bright, curious eyes that study mewhen she feeds. Everyone says she looks just like Alistair. I smile when they say it and always agree. Sometimes, I almost believe it too.
He’ll see the truth one day, the voice inside whispers.
No, he won’t.
There have been so many times when my heart has raced and I’ve barely breathed as I feared the truth would come out. Whenever we met with the midwives, I feared they’d mention my due date and Alistair would put it together. But he never did. It’s the benefit of having a forgetful, trusting husband.
It’s amazing, really, the lies we choose to believe. Like Jonny that day in London. I chose not to see the trouble I was bringing on myself.
‘Let me help,’ he said, after buying me a gin and tonic and listening to me cry over how the fertility clinic and my plan for a sperm donor was too expensive.
I lifted my head in surprise; blinked back my tears. ‘You’d lend me the money for a sperm donor?’ I asked.
He smiled a flirtatious grin. ‘I want to help you get pregnant, yes. But why waste money on a stranger’s sperm? Why not use someone you know?’
I laughed at first. I thought he was joking.
‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘Use me. I’m tall, successful, smart?—’
‘Cocky and obnoxious,’ I cut in, and it was his turn to laugh.
