The Woman Who Lied(45)

‘Absolutely.’ She couldn’t wait to spend more time with Ash. They had so much in common: music, films, art. Daisy was her happiest when it was just the two of them.

‘My parents are going to love you, Daise.’

‘I think my dad will love you too. Hopefully next time you can stay with me and meet him.’

Ash had pulled her closer then, a leather-clad arm slung around her shoulders. ‘I’d love that.’

The sound of a car pulling up outside made Ash go to the window that looked out over the car park. ‘Shit! They’re early! Do you want to meet them now? I know you’ll see them when you come to stay but –’

‘Of course,’ she said, getting up from where they’d been lounging on one of the beaten-up sofas.

She grabbed her coat, and Ash’s large holdall, and headed outside to where a middle-aged man and a younger woman were getting out of a gorgeous old Jaguar, like the type Inspector Morse drove.

The woman was pretty and blonde, with high cheekbones and eyes that sparkled. She looked a lot younger than Ash’s dad, who was fair, broad-shouldered and ruddy-cheeked, as if he enjoyed being outside, preferably with a large Labrador and a hunting rifle. They smiled at her too, introducing themselves as Donald and Stef, shaking her hand and exclaiming how they’d heard all about her from Ash. And all the while a thud of recognition reverberated through her. Where had she seen this man before?

They were still talking and proclaiming and gesturing as Donald lugged Ash’s bag into the boot and Stef stood by the passenger door. It was cold, and Stef had a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck almost up to her nose.

‘Well, lovely to meet you, Daisy,’ said Stef, warmly. She must have been really young when she’d had Ash. ‘Looking forward to you coming to stay.’

‘Yes,’ said Donald, with a wide grin, pumping her hand up and down. ‘Hope you have a lovely Christmas.’

And all the while, an air of surrealism surrounded her as she tried to grasp the memories that were disappearing, like a puff of smoke in fresh air.

Ash gave her a brief, almost nonchalant, hug and climbed into the back seat.

And as Daisy watched Donald walk to the driver’s side, with a slight left-handed lilt, she was hit with such a vivid memory that she felt dazed.

A double crown, a wide neck like a ham. Tall. Fair.

The back of his head was so familiar, she suddenly knew exactly where she’d seen him before.

Her mother’s secret boyfriend.

And her killer.





30





The yellow-haired troll doll. The one that had hung ominously from her tree. The one she’d taken down and thrown away. How has it ended up in Kristin’s kitchen? Emilia can’t tear her eyes away from it. Panic renders her motionless until she hears Kristin’s feet on the stairs. Then she gets up from her chair, a surge of nervous energy pulsing through her.

Kristin walks into the kitchen with a triumphant expression. ‘I’ve found it. It was bundled up under her bed. I’m afraid it needs washing.’ She hands the drawstring bag to Emilia. Her smile slips. ‘Are you okay? You’ve gone really pale.’

Emilia takes the bag. ‘I, um, I’ve been having a hard time lately. Has Jonas told you what’s been going on?’

Unease passes across Kristin’s features. ‘He has. I’m sorry you’re going through all this. It sounds frightening.’

‘Have you read my new book yet?’

‘I finished it a while ago. I really enjoyed it.’ She folds her arms across her chest.

Emilia indicates the troll doll squashed against the side of the plastic box. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘That doll thing? I dunno. So much junk ends up in that box. It must have been from when Jas was younger.’

Emilia narrows her eyes at Kristin. ‘That one – or one just like it – was found hanging from the tree in my front garden last month.’

Kristin’s body stiffens. ‘And you think I put it there?’

‘I don’t know what to think.’

Kristin takes a step back. ‘You obviously think I’m capable. It’s written all over your face.’ When Emilia doesn’t speak, Kristin lets out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. ‘Oh, I see. I stole your husband so therefore I have no morals and am capable of anything. Is that it? I’m capable of putting my stepdaughter – who I love, by the way – in danger. I’m capable of stalking and obsessing about you. Is that what you want to hear? Because I’m sorry, Emilia, but I don’t care that much about you to go to so much trouble to frighten you.’

Pent-up anger and resentment rises within Emilia. She slings the PE kit over her shoulder. ‘If you care so little about me, as you say, then why call Ottilie up to question her about me? Why bother Louise at my launch when you’d never even met her before? She told me you were asking about me and Jonas. Do you really think I’m shagging him behind your back? Behind Elliot’s?’

Kristin’s critical gaze trails over Emilia’s body, taking in the jersey dress that shows off her lumps and bumps. ‘No, I don’t think you’re having an affair with my husband.’

Emilia knows she needs to leave before she says something she regrets. She stalks out of the kitchen and into the hallway. She can sense Kristin behind her.