Chapter 46

I race into the kitchen, leaving Tom glued to the news, and Daisy and Georgia discussing a dance on TikTok that's gone viral. I've got to find out what's happened to my sister. With tremulous hands, I ring Zelda. It goes to voicemail. I press redial again and again and again, then ring her landline. I wait and wait and wait, and then, ‘Heya…'

‘Oh, Zelda, thank God they've let you go.' I give the kitchen door a light kick with my bare foot, drowning out the girls' voices. ‘I've...'

‘Sorry, I'm out. Leave a message.'

Bloody answering machine. Where the hell is she? Still in custody? Surely, they can't detain her without any evidence. I'm about to phone Linda when there's a loud thud on the front door, followed by the shrill of the bell. Acid rams into my stomach. It's the police. They've come to arrest me too.

Opening the door a crack, I peek around it and watch as Tom pads into the hallway. The back of his shirt is sticking out and he shoves it back in as he reaches for the latch. Any moment now, armed police officers will barge into my house and handcuff me. I squeeze my eyes shut to the clunk of the front door being wrenched open.

‘Gregory. Everything okay, mate?' It's Mr Stanhope – not the police. Relief slithers through my veins and I let out a little sigh. We're too loud, of course we are. The poor man can't sleep. I glance at the time on my phone – 01.16. We're lucky he hasn't contacted noise pollution. With my back against the door, I cock my head, lips apart, focusing on the shiny Ninja air-fryer I recently bought online, another of Daisy's recommendations, they're quicker and healthier and, to Tom's delight, cheaper than an electric oven. Their voices are low. Tom must be apologising, telling him that he didn't realise how late it was.

‘It was my duty,' Mr Stanhope says loudly. Duty? He must've rung the council, after all. ‘I couldn't lie to the police.' Police? My eyes widen as a second bout of fear grips my lungs. Dropping my phone onto the kitchen table, I race to the front door.

‘Ah, there she is,' Mr Stanhope says, as if I'm his long, lost cousin. His light brown hair, threaded with white, is neat and side-parted, he's cleanly shaven and wearing a caramel shirt beneath a brown V-neck sweater. Mr Stanhope always dresses smartly, even at home.

‘Mr. Stanhope, I…' He gives me a look, sucking in his cheeks, one hand in his beige slacks. He constantly reprimands me for calling him by his surname, but it's a hard habit to break. ‘Greg, I..' Another look. And then I remember that only his ex-wife, who cheated on him repeatedly during their thirty-year marriage, calls him Greg. ‘Gregory, I'm sorry if we were a bit too loud but we …'

Closing his eyes, Mr Stanhope raises his palm and inclines his head. ‘I'm not here about the noise, Bella. Although, I must say, the television is unacceptably loud.'

‘Yes, of course. I'm sorry,' I mutter. ‘It won't happen again. We were out tonight and Georgia fell asleep with…'

‘He's here about Frank,' Tom interrupts, and my insides turn to mush. I hold onto the doorframe to stop myself from wobbling as laughter filters through from the living room.

‘Oh. I see,' I manage, trying hard to look normal. A siren wails in the distance, travels through the midnight air like an umbilical cord and drills into my stomach. They're coming for me. They've detained Zelda, that's why she's not picking up. I wonder if they've arrested Linda too. Poor Linda. I will give a statement. I will say she had no involvement in this whatsoever. It's a Villin crime. ‘What's happened?' I croak, clearing my throat. ‘Is Frank all right?'

‘I don't think so,' Mr Stanhope says, scratching his nose.

‘What do you mean?' I ask, mouth drying. I throw Tom a look, his face is serious. He knows, Bella. He knows. He knows. He's worked it out. What have I done to my family? Two weeks ago, I was a normal, forty-nine-year-old mother, wife, businesswoman, and now I'm a lying, cheating, criminal.

‘As I explained to Tom just now, he's been missing for several days,' Mr Stanhope says in his nasally, eloquent tone. ‘Didn't show up at work, even though he had clients booked. Serval's manager said it's not like him at all.' They've spoken to Jane. My mouth fills with saliva. I swallow it back. Where is he? Please God don't let him be in the mortuary. ‘And now the police have said…' He weaves his fingers and presses his hands against his chest as if he's delivering a church sermon. ‘I'm sorry to call round so late but I thought you'd want to know the news as soon as.' Sweet Jesus, Frank is the Limes Park victim. Zelda has murdered him. ‘I did try earlier but…' Mr Stanhope pauses, coughs into his hand. ‘There was no one in.' He looks at me in a way that suggests someone was in but they wouldn't answer the door. ‘I heard voices not long ago. I thought it best to deliver the news myself rather than you hear it from someone else.'

‘Yes, of course,' Tom says, face grave. ‘Thank you, Gregory.'

My eyes fill and I blink, inhale congested phlegm that is building up behind my nose. ‘Gosh,' I manage. Tom fishes a tissue out of his pocket and hands it to me. ‘How dreadful.' I blow my nose, then look at Mr Stanhope carefully as he and Tom discuss police procedures. Neither of them sounding very convincing.

Oh, Zelda, what've we done? We've behaved abominably. Callously. What if it was the drugs that made Frank lash out? We might've saved his life if we'd called for an ambulance. We're monsters. I can just hear the judge's sentencing now. Bella Harris, you assisted in the demise of Frank Hardy in a cruel and ruthless act. I sentence you to… Tom touches my arm, breaking me out of my reverie, asks if I'm okay.

‘Yes, I'm fine, love. Just a bit shocked, to be honest.' I force a smile, folding my arms. In my peripheral, I see Mr Stanhope scrutinizing me with his small, round, grey eyes. I don't think he's ever really liked me. He looks up to Tom because he's a professional, but I get the feeling he thinks I bring down the tone of the neighbourhood, with my north London accent and working-class background.

‘So, um…did they say why they wanted to speak to you in particular, Gregory?'

Mr Stanhope's expression hardens. I've offended him. He regards himself as a pillar of the community. The unofficial neighbourhood watch.

‘What my wife means, Gregory, is why disturb our neighbours before speaking to us first. It is, after all, a family matter. Frank is Bella's sister's boyfriend.'

‘Oh, no, they didn't call on me. They were just leaving your house, Bella, and I happened to be taking the bins out.' Yeah, right, at gone nine? Snooping more like. Malc and Suzy, from next door but one, had a pest control van parked outside their house last month. Mr Stanhope was out there like a shot, disposing a carton of milk in the recycle bin.

‘I asked one of the officers if everything was okay,' he goes on. ‘If I could help at all, explained how I knew the family well.' The urge to slam the door in Stanhope's face, run to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet bowl grips me hard. ‘They didn't tell me much, mind. I don't suppose they would disclose confidential information. But did ask if I'd seen your sister, knew of her whereabouts.' My legs are starting to shake. I'm not sure how long I can keep up this calm pretence. ‘DC Pernice said whatever information I could provide would be most appreciated and off the record.' Corrupt police – why am I not surprised? ‘I told them I know where Zel…'

‘Right, I see,' I interrupt. I want him to leave now. Mr Stanhope barely knows Zelda. I think he's seen her a handful of times, exchanged nods, said hello, nothing more. Zelda isn't one for chitchat. ‘Well, anyway…' My phone rings in the distance. I left it on the kitchen table. ‘I'm sorry, Gregory. I've got to get that.'

I go to walk away when he says, ‘I had to tell them about the altercation you had with Frank Hardy, Bella.' His words drive into the back of my head like darts. My phone continues to ring. ‘It was on the eighth of March. I made a note of it in my diary, just in case.' I stand stock-still, face burning. Just in case of fucking what? I turn on my heel, wanting to drain every ounce of blood in my body for burning my face, for making me look guilty. ‘What do you mean?' I look at Tom. He says nothing, lips a thin, dry line, creases on his face somehow deeper.

‘I was saying to Tom, before you appeared.' Mr Stanhope pinches the bridge of his nose, then throws a hand out. ‘I saw Mr Hardy here, Friday before last. The two of you were having words outside,' he clarifies, and everything dims, like the lights in a theatre. ‘It seemed quite heated.' Shut up, shut up, shut up. ‘And, if I'm honest, aggressive.' I'm glad I managed to tell Tom about Frank turning up, but I don't want Stanhope to think we were fighting because the police might see that as a motive. I want Stanhope to retract his story, tell the police he got it wrong. ‘I'm sorry, Bella, but I had to tell them. I'm duty bound.'

I swallow what feels like a beach pebble in my throat. ‘Gregory, that wasn't….' I look at Tom for support but his eyes have hardened. ‘We weren't.'

‘Wait, what exactly are you suggesting, Greg?' Tom thrusts his chest out and lunges forward, and Mr Stanhope backtracks, clearly intimidated by Tom. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as they blast into a heated argument about witnesses and facts and the reliability of what you actually saw and what happened. Their voices drill into my ears, louder and louder and louder. I want them to stop. Please make them stop. I clamp my hands over my ears and then out of nowhere I blurt, ‘Shut up. A man has been killed.'

And then there's silence. They swivel their heads round and look at me, frozen. And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is the beginning of the end. It has finally hit the fan.