‘Tensions between you and your husband pre-date New Year’s Eve, don’t they?’ Leo says.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Yasmin blinks rapidly.
‘You had an argument on Christmas Eve, didn’t you?’
‘How do you—’
‘What was it about?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Oh, I think you do,’ Leo says.
‘Well, I don’t,’ Yasmin says firmly, her composure finally under control. ‘And I don’t see the relevance. Okay, so Rhys and I didn’t have a perfect marriage. Who does? As a matter of fact, I was planning to leave him. But that doesn’t mean I killed him.’
Yasmin’s solicitor interjects. ‘According to your disclosure statement, DC Brady, Mr Lloyd’s watch shows his heart stopped at 11.38 p.m. My client was at the party until after midnight.’
‘She could have slipped out,’ Ffion says. ‘No one would have noticed.’
‘I was singing.’ Yasmin widens her eyes suddenly. ‘In fact, I can prove it!’ She reaches into her pocket, before giving a tsk of frustration. ‘I need my phone – my main one, I mean. I gave it to someone to record me. I was going to put it on my Instagram Stories this morning, only . . .’ She sighs. ‘Well, obviously, I didn’t. But the video of me singing will be on my phone, along with the time it was recorded.’
‘One song isn’t an alibi, Mrs Lloyd,’ Leo says.
‘I did practically all of Wicked – Glinda’s parts, obviously – and most of Mamma Mia. I was asked for several encores – I must have been up there for half an hour.’
‘Was Jonty Charlton watching you?’ Ffion says.
‘I imagine so. The man’s besotted.’ Yasmin gives a sly smile. ‘There’s a limit to how much tantric crap a man can take.’
‘Is he planning to leave his wife?’
‘He would, if I asked him to.’
‘Really?’ Ffion says, with intentional disbelief.
Yasmin looks affronted. ‘Of course he would. Jonty would do anything for me.’
Ffion smiles. ‘Is that right?’
Too late, Yasmin realises her mistake. ‘Not anything, I just mean—’
‘The Charltons have a boat, don’t they?’ Leo says.
‘Yes but—’
‘Jonty’s an experienced sailor. Could easily handle a boat in the dark.’
‘I—’
‘You’re on camera, singing, when your husband died,’ Leo says. ‘But you could easily have poisoned Rhys earlier that day.’
‘This is preposterous!’
‘And in fact, no one remembers seeing Jonty between eleven p.m. and the early hours of New Year’s Day. I doubt he will be on any footage of your little concert. Where was he?’
‘You’ll have to ask him.’
‘That,’ Leo says, ‘is an excellent idea.’
Yasmin breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Does that mean I can go?’
‘You’re under arrest for murder,’ Ffion says. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’
TWENTY-TWO
CHRISTMAS DAY | CLEMMIE
Clemmie Northcote can’t believe this is now her life. It’s nine a.m. on Christmas Day, and instead of staring at the mould in the corner of a kitchen-cum-diner-cum-lounge she is gazing out on a flat, calm lake. Pen y Ddraig mountain is topped with snow, and the forest gleams with frost. Instead of the thud of downstairs’s bass, and the rise and fall of upstairs’s arguments, she hears . . . nothing.
The lodge is warm and cosy, thanks to the log burner she intends to keep going all Christmas. Unlike the other residents of The Shore, who chipped in for a delivery of kiln-dried logs, sized to fit the grate, Clemmie scoured the forest for free wood, which Caleb chopped and stacked on the deck, beneath a tarpaulin about which the Charltons will undoubtedly complain.
In the fridge is an Aldi turkey, with all the trimmings, and Clemmie has splashed out on a bottle of prosecco for her, and four cans of low-alcohol lager for Caleb. She doesn’t want to think about last Christmas, but it is difficult not to make comparisons. With the court case pending, Caleb had gone out on Christmas Eve and not returned until the early hours of the following morning. Clemmie had spent the day on her own, wondering when to put the dinner on. Caleb had emerged from his pit in the evening, his pupils fathomless pools, barely acknowledging the presents Clemmie had saved for months to buy him.
At ten a.m. she decides she can’t wait any more. She pushes open Caleb’s bedroom door, realising, as she does, that her son even smells different here. She sits on the edge of his bed, watching him sleep. Her beautiful boy. How close she came, to losing him.