The Woman Who Lied(57)
‘I know you would. But we have to trust the police.’
‘Like they were a great help before.’
‘It’s different now, though. It’s not just harassment any more. It’s murder.’
He releases her and they stand in silence, watching the kettle boil. Once it’s clicked off Elliot makes tea for them both. ‘So, how did you come up with the story? You said that detective who came over … whatshername …’
‘Janine Murray.’
‘Yes, her. She said it’s similar to a real-life case?’
Emilia takes her mug and goes to stand at the doors, looking onto the garden. The rain is coming down so fast it splashes upwards, and puddles are already forming on the sandstone tiles. ‘I honestly didn’t know that when I started writing it,’ she says truthfully. But she feels sick when she remembers the rest. ‘It’s just a coincidence.’
He wraps his fingers around his mug. ‘So you’d never heard of the case?’
‘No!’ At least she’s not lying about that. She turns to him. ‘Had you?’
‘Of course not. But, then, if the details were kept out of the press …’
She hesitates. She needs to tell him. It’s been eating her up for days, ever since the visit from DI Murray. Actually, it’s been eating her up since long before that. But he wouldn’t take too kindly to finding out she’d lied to him. He’s always been so honest with her, warts and all. His previous girlfriend had cheated on him, which had devastated him. And, with her experience of a cheating ex, it had been refreshing that Elliot wanted everything out in the open.
But how could she tell him this? He admires her, and she loves the way he looks at her. She knows he puts her on a bit of a pedestal and she wants to be the person she sees reflected back at her through his eyes.
He’s staring at her expectantly, as if reading her mind, waiting for her to confess all. But she doesn’t. Instead she turns away from him and goes to the sink, pouring the rest of her tea down the drain. She needs to get away from him so that he can’t see the guilt on her face.
‘I’d better be off. I’m popping into High Street Ken today to see Ottilie. I’ll be back to pick the kids up. I don’t want Jasmine catching the bus home, okay?’ She can see his reflection in the mirror above the table. His mouth is clamped in a thin disapproving line, his eyes hard. He knows her too well. He knows she’s keeping something from him. She hurries out of the room before he can reply and before she admits everything: the truth about her book, about Daisy and Ash, and the whole sorry mess.
39
Despite hating the tube, she decides it’s the quickest and safest way to get to High Street Kensington. If she’s being followed, if she’s next on the killer’s list, she’ll surround herself with people, with witnesses, and there are plenty of those on the Underground. She’ll make sure never to be anywhere alone until the police have caught whoever is behind this. Saying that, the streets are quiet as she makes her way down the hill, probably because of the rain, and more than once she has the unsettling, prickly feeling at the back of her neck that someone is behind her. She has her personal alarm in the pocket of her raincoat ready to use if anyone so much as looks at her. She thinks again of the man Louise was certain was following them that night. Who was he? And did he kill Louise? Had it definitely been a man? It could have been Kristin: she’s tall. But a killer? And what about someone at her publisher’s? Not Hannah: she trusts her completely. But someone else there who might have read it. Or a friend or colleague who might have come across it. Someone on the periphery of her life?
The tube is crowded and smells of musty air and fumes. Despite her bravado she feels nervous every time someone gets too close behind her, and when she’s on the escalator, she makes sure to hold on to the handrail tightly. It would take only one push – Stop it, she tells herself sternly. She can’t think like that. Even so, she’s relieved when she’s out of the station and onto the street. She pulls up the hood of her raincoat to hide herself.
Ottilie is standing outside their favourite café with her back to her when Emilia arrives. Her long blonde hair is in a high ponytail and she’s wearing a waterproof in a leopard-print pattern. Her phone is clamped to one ear and she holds a see-through umbrella over her head – it looks like it belongs to a child. Emilia can hear her conversation as she approaches. ‘No, Trev. I won’t. I’ve said I won’t, haven’t I? … It’s fine. She’ll …’ She spins around when she hears Emilia behind her, her face breaking into a grin. ‘Yep, Mils is here now, so I’ll … Yes. Laters.’ She ends the call and pulls Emilia into her arms. The spokes of the umbrella tangle in Emilia’s hair. ‘Oh, Mils, I’m so sorry about your friend. Gosh, you’ve been through the wringer, haven’t you?’
‘Was that Trevor?’ she asks, as she pulls away, detaching herself from the brolly.
Ottilie looks at the phone in her hand and frowns as though she’s shocked to see it. ‘What?’
‘Was that Elliot’s dad?’
‘Oh, yes, yes, it was.’
‘Since when do you have phone conversations with Elliot’s dad?’ Emilia laughs to hide her shock. She pulls back her hood and holds open the door to the café, waiting while Ottilie shakes out her umbrella.