Chapter 37

‘I think I'll have the calamari to start.' Tom muses, eyes on the menu.

We're at The Stage, our local gastro pub, having a date night. It's just had a refurb and the great reviews have been pouring in. Georgia is having dinner with Tilly and her family at Lemonia in Primrose Hill. And Daisy is eating out with a friend who's visiting from Dublin. They've been out shopping all day. I gave her the day off. A thank you for holding the fort for me while I've been convalescing after my fall and that email I received from KillingSteve1984 four days ago. After I recovered from an asthma attack, Linda and Zelda insisted it was spam, or a random troll, but I wasn't convinced. It was signed F. Surely, that's too much of a coincidence. In the end, I agreed to take a few days off to get over the trauma of recent events.

‘Samantha said the sea bass is exceptional, so I'll follow with that.' Samantha is Tom's sixty-year-old foodie colleague. Everything she recommends is usually delicious. ‘What about you, sweetheart?'

‘Um… I'm not too sure,' I murmur, scratching my wrist. ‘Something light. I had a big lunch.' I had an apple, and that was a struggle.

‘This is the selection for the offer.' Reaching over, he points at the Early Bird card attached to the menu. ‘We could share a starter and dessert if you're not that hungry?' This is something we often do. ‘Look.' He points. ‘They've got salmon en-croute. You like that.' I don't think I could stomach anything with pastry. I was thinking of having something like a seafood or goat's cheese salad.

‘Sharing sounds like a great idea.'I stare at the menu, the words a blur. I can't concentrate. I wish I'd kept myself busy with work now. The time off has only intensified my anxiety. Is it possible for us to just carry on as normal? Baking cakes, selling houses, having date nights, after what we've done?

Frank's bleeding body on the lawn flares in my mind and I suddenly feel hot. ‘Gosh, it's boiling in here.' I shrug off my black cardigan and chuck it over my handbag on the seat next to me, then pinch the collar of my dress and give it a few tugs, letting in some air.

‘I'm actually fine,' Tom says. Jutting his bottom lip out, he runs a finger along the wine list as I try to convince myself that KillingSteve1984 isn't Frank. He is alive and well, wants nothing more to do with the Villin sisters, hence his silence. I stare at the Early Bird menu and read nothing.

‘You're going to gnaw that thumb off.'

‘What?'

Tom gestures at my mouth, and it's only then that I realise I've bitten my nail down to the skin. ‘Look, is everything okay? You've been quiet all evening. Fidgety.' I look up at my husband. He looks tired. His skin is dry and he has purply bags beneath his eyes. ‘Because if you're still not feeling a hundred-per-cent.' Pausing, he sighs. ‘Listen, maybe this wasn't such a good idea.'

‘I'm fine,' I say hastily, frowning at the menu and pretending to read it. ‘A night out is just what I needed. It's a great idea. Thank you.'

Tom smiles at me, eyes creasing at the sides. ‘Only if you're sure.'

‘Absolutely.' My eyes flick over the menu, words swimming in my vision. ‘I'll have the same dish as you, I think.'

I look up at an unsmiling waiter, who's just arrived at our table, pen hovering over notepad. ‘Are you ready to order, guys?' he says, throwing a glance at the entrance as it swings open.

The evening flies by and the conversation flows. We talk about Daisy and how brilliant she's been, especially with Georgia. Then we swiftly move on to our heavy workload, agree that life is short, we've got to slow down, spend more time together. But when Tom quizzes me about Frank and Zelda, my heart freezes. I tell him, hastily, that they've decided to call it a day, and he nods, says he wasn't right for her and then he says something odd. ‘I hope the bastard rots in hell.' I shoot a glance at him as he smiles up at a waitress, who is clearing our table. ‘Can we please have a doggy-bag for this,' he asks, pointing at my barely touched plate.

‘Bit harsh,' I hear myself say, as the waitress disappears into the depths of the pub, long braids snaking down her elegant back. If I didn't know him better I'd think Tom might have something to do with Frank's disappearance. I imagine Tom waking up in the middle of the night and reading the note I left him – Gone to Zelda's. They've had a fight. Won't be long – furiouslythrowing on his clothes, grabbing his car keys, turning into Zelda's road right on cue as Frank stumbles onto the street. Frank hailing him down, bleeding, asking for help – clambering into his car, complaining how we left him for dead, relaying what happened at the gym, saying I was gagging for it – Tom's hands tightening around the steering wheel, like they sometimes do when we're having a full-blown row, calling him a liar before hitting the brakes and tossing him out onto the pavement, leaving him to bleed to death.

‘I mean, he was so bloody full of himself, wasn't he?' Tom clarifies, snapping me out of my terrifying reverie. Wasn't he? Past tense.

‘I imagine he still is.' I laugh lightly into my glass so that he can't see the alarm on my face. ‘But yes, he was,' I take another sip. ‘Is,' I say, tongue slightly slurred. I've had enough. It's time to go home before I say something I shouldn't.

‘Man's a complete knob. Good riddance to bad rubbish. I just hope he doesn't manage to get back into Zelda's good books. She did seem besotted with him.' I take another sip of wine, hating myself for thinking my husband was capable of such a despicable act. ‘Zelda will meet someone else,' Tom affirms, and I'm sure I see a glint of darkness in his eyes.