‘What’s wrong?’ Todd says. ‘What’s happened?’ His voice is so assertive, so irritated. He talks down to her. How had she not noticed?
‘Nothing,’ she says lamely. ‘I just – er … I had a text from you. You sent – your location?’ she lies. She looks beyond him again, to the rest of the house. Clio and Todd’s tanned skin and white smiles look out of place against the walls – bare plaster – and the living-room door: grubby, with a loose handle. Jen frowns.
Todd gets his phone out of his pocket. ‘Nope?’
‘Oh – sorry. I assumed you wanted me to come.’
Todd squints at her, waving his phone. ‘I didn’t. I didn’t send anything. Why didn’t you call?’ As he moves his arm in that way, she is reminded of the precise stabbing motion he made. Forceful, clean, intentional. She shudders.
‘You’re Jen,’ Ezra says. Jen blinks. Recognition: the same way Joseph said her name. Todd must talk about her.
‘That’s right,’ she tells him. ‘Sorry – I won’t make a habit of dropping by …’
Jen is trying to gather as much information as possible before she is imminently expelled by Todd. She casts her gaze about, looking for evidence. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for; she won’t know until she finds it, she guesses.
Ezra is standing with his back against a cupboard.
‘Mum?’ Todd says. He’s smiling, but his eyes communicate an urgent dismissal.
The house doesn’t smell like a home. That’s what it is. No cooking smells, no laundry. Nothing.
‘Sorry – before I go, would you mind if I just used your toilet?’ Jen says. She just wants to get in. To have a look around. To see what secrets the house might hide.
‘Oh God, Mum,’ Todd says, his whole body a teenage eye-roll.
Jen holds her hands up. ‘I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ll be just a second.’ She gives Ezra a wide smile. ‘Where is it?’
‘You’re five minutes from home.’
‘This is middle age, Todd.’
Todd dies on the spot, but Ezra indicates the living-room door wordlessly. Yes. She’s in.
Jen squeezes past Todd and Clio and emerges into a room at the very back of the house, a combined kitchen/lounge. It’s square, with another door off to the right. There are no photographs on the walls. More bare plaster. A large, printed piece of material hangs over the far wall with a sun and moon stitched on to it. She peers behind it, looking for – what? A secret cupboard? – but of course she doesn’t find one.
Jen opens the door to the downstairs toilet and runs the tap, then walks a slow circle around the kitchen. It’s mostly bare. Worn tiles underfoot. Crumbs along the kitchen counters. That musty smell, the smell of old and empty dwellings. No fruit in the fruit bowl. No reminder letters on the fridge. If Ezra does live here, he doesn’t appear to spend much time at home.
A large TV is affixed to the left-hand wall. An Xbox sits underneath that. On top of the console rests an iPhone, lit up and blessedly unlocked. Jen picks it up, scrolling straight to the messages. In there, she finds Todd’s texts to, she assumes, Clio:
Todd: I am attracted to you like covalent bonds, you know?
Clio: You make me LOL. You are a nerdarino.
Todd: I am YOUR nerdarino. Right?
Clio: You are mine xx forever.
Jen stares at them. She scrolls further up, feeling guilty as she does so, but not enough to stop.
Clio: This is your morning update. One coffee consumed, two croissants, a thousand thoughts about you.
Todd: Only a thousand?
Clio: Now one thousand and one.
Todd: I’ve had a thousand croissants and only a few thoughts.
Clio: Sounds perfect tbh.
Todd: Can I say something serious?
Clio: Wait, you weren’t being serious? Have you had TWO thousand croissants?
Todd: I literally would do anything for you. X
Clio: Same. X
Anything. Jen doesn’t like that word. Anything implies all sorts. It implies crimes, it implies murder.
She wants to read further, but she hears footsteps and stops. She replaces the phone on the console. Clio really likes him. Possibly loves him. She sighs and scans the room, but there’s nothing else.
She flushes the toilet, turns the tap off, then leaves.
Jen pulls up Andy Vettese’s details in the car. She needs help. She emails him on a whim, having been sent away by her embarrassed son.
Dear Andy,
You don’t know me, but I’m Rakesh Kapoor’s colleague, and I really would like to speak to you about something I’m experiencing which I believe you have studied. I won’t say any more for fear of sounding unhinged, but do email me back, please …
Best
Jen
‘How was work?’ Kelly says as she walks in through the door. He’s sanding down a bench he’s restoring for them. The sort of solitary activity Kelly enjoys. Jen knows what the finished product will look like – he sprays it sage green in two days’ time.
‘Bad,’ Jen says, semi-honestly. She needs to try to tell him again.
Kelly wanders over and absent-mindedly takes her coat off, the sort of thing she will never get used to, she loves it so much; the simple care and attention he brings to their marriage. He kisses her. He tastes of mint chewing gum. Their hips touch, their legs interlock. It’s seamless. Jen feels her breathing automatically slow. Her husband has always had this effect on her.
‘Your clients are nutcases,’ he deadpans, his mouth still next to hers.
‘I’m worried about Todd,’ she says. Kelly steps back. ‘He’s not himself.’
‘Why?’ The heating clicks on, the boiler firing up with a soft flare.
‘I’m worried he’s in with a bad crowd.’
‘Todd? What bad crowd is that, Warhammer lovers?’
Jen can’t help but laugh at this. She wishes Kelly would show the outside world this side of him.
‘Life’s too long for this worry,’ he adds. It’s a phrase of theirs, spanning back decades. She’s sure he started it, and he’s sure she did.
‘This Clio. I’m not sure about her.’
‘He’s still seeing Clio?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought he said he wasn’t. Anyway, I have something for you,’ he says.
‘Don’t spend your money on me,’ she says softly. Kelly is always paid cash in hand, and frequently buys her gifts with it.
‘I want to,’ he says. ‘It’s a pumpkin,’ he adds.
This distracts Jen entirely. ‘What?’ she says.
‘Yeah – you said you wanted one?’
‘I was going to buy it tomorrow,’ she whispers.
‘Okay? Look – it’s in here.’
Jen peers around him, looking into the kitchen. Sure enough, there it is. But it isn’t the same one. It’s huge and grey. The sight of it chills her skin. What if she changes too much? What if she changes things that don’t relate to the murder? Isn’t that what always happens in the movies? The protagonists change too much; they can’t resist, they get greedy, play the lottery, kill Hitler.
‘I’m supposed to buy the pumpkin.’
‘Hey?’