She rummages through her desk for her birthday cards. She usually keeps them for a year, longer if they’re from the children or Elliot. She vaguely remembers shoving them into one of the drawers. She pulls them all out and frantically empties them onto the floor, not caring about the mess. And then she finds them, the smaller cards inside the largest. Her hands are trembling as she finds Ottilie’s. It has a flamingo on the front in a top hat and dancing shoes, and inside, the most beautiful cursive writing. She fishes the letter out of her pocket and places it next to the card. The writing is very similar. Could Ottilie really have written the note? Could she be behind this – this campaign of terror? Could she have killed Louise? But why? Her head pounds. Why would Ottilie do this to her?
Ottilie is always telling her how lucky she is to be married to Elliot, and how envious she is of her children and her career. You’ve achieved so much, and I’ve achieved nothing. I can’t even keep a relationship longer than five minutes. Could this all be down to pure old-fashioned jealousy? But she refuses to believe that. Ottilie is amazing. Everyone thinks so. She has no reason to be jealous. And Ottilie isn’t vindictive, or nasty. She’s not a killer.
She’s interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Wilfie bursting into the room. ‘Daddy said dinner’s ready,’ he pants, and disappears.
She takes Ottilie’s birthday card and the note and slides them into the pocket of her skirt. She needs to ask her about it.
Elliot’s dishing up when she gets down to the kitchen. He looks up when she walks in but the smile freezes on his face when he notices her expression. ‘Are you okay?’
She tries to look cheerful for the sake of the kids. ‘Sure. Just been a busy day.’
‘You saw Ottilie for lunch, didn’t you? It was all okay?’
Emilia pulls out a chair and sits down. She’d hardly eaten anything with Ottilie and she doesn’t feel hungry now. She’d give anything for her old appetite back. ‘Yes, it was fine.’
‘Only fine,’ he teases. He sits down and piles spinach onto his plate. ‘Come on, kids, eat up.’ He turns to her. ‘It’s great that you’re having some time off before your copyedits are back.’
She’s thankful for that as she can’t focus on anything right now.
She pushes her chicken casserole around her plate while Wilfie chats about school. Jasmine is also quiet, and every now and again Emilia senses that her daughter is throwing her questioning glances. She tries to pull herself together. Jasmine in particular is so sensitive to a strained atmosphere and must be feeling scared and uncertain because of all this. She concentrates on smiling even though her muscles ache, nodding in encouragement every time one of her children – her precious, precious children – speaks. And all she can think about is that Ottilie was here when Elliot was away. She was here, in the house, with them. She could have been the one to mess up their Alexa. The music started playing while she was staying over. ‘Psycho Killer’。 An apt song given all that’s happened. The only calm amid the storm of her emotions is the note sent with the concert tickets where it sounded like whoever wrote it wanted Jake to look after Nancy and Jasmine. Which means that if Ottilie is behind it all she doesn’t want to hurt them, thank God. It’s Emilia she’s targeting. And poor Louise, who managed to find out something but was killed before she could tell Emilia what it was. Had Ottilie somehow known what Louise had found out? But, as far as she was aware, Louise and Ottilie had never even met. And did she set up Kristin knowing that Emilia already hated her and would gladly point the finger at her former friend? But when? It makes no sense … yet the writing …
‘Em?’ Elliot’s voice brings her back to the present. ‘Are you okay? You seem in another world and you’ve hardly touched your food.’
She comes to, noticing that Jasmine and Wilfie have left the table and are curled up on the sofa watching TV, their plates emptied and stacked neatly in the dishwasher. Elliot’s got them well trained. He’s looking at her with concern. His plate is also empty. ‘Don’t you like it?’ He reaches for her hand, then lowers his voice so the kids can’t hear. ‘I’m worried about you, Em. I’m worried this is all getting on top of you.’
‘I found one of my friends dead. Of course it’s getting on top of me.’
He squeezes her hand in sympathy and a shadow passes over his face. ‘I can’t even imagine what that must have been like. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this is happening to you at all. You don’t deserve it.’ His voice catches and she looks up at him in surprise.
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘I just want to protect you. All of you. And it makes me feel so inadequate that I can’t stop this.’
She brings his hand up to her mouth and kisses it. ‘I wouldn’t be able to get through all this without you, El.’
His warm brown eyes shine. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
They sit like that for a while, holding hands, and then he laughs. ‘You’re not going to eat that, are you?’
‘I’m sorry. I’ve just got too much on my mind.’
‘As long as you don’t lose too much weight.’ He takes her plate as well as his to the island and starts scraping her leftovers into the bin, his chin set and his expression unreadable.
She comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed against his back. ‘I wish all this would go away,’ she whispers, the warmth of him making her feel grounded, more in control. She can’t tell him about Ottilie. Not yet. Not until she’s spoken to her.
He puts the plates down and turns to her, hugging her to him so that her face is against his chest. ‘I think now Louise has been murdered the police will be taking it more seriously. It will all be over soon.’ He pulls away so that he can look into her eyes. ‘I almost forgot, but just after you left to get the kids that policewoman came by again. Whatsherface? Older. Silver hair. Could be a ringer for your fictional DI Moody. I was on a call so couldn’t answer the door, but she came up on the Ringcam app.’
‘DI Janine Murray. So she’s still hanging around.’
‘What do you mean? Why wouldn’t she be?’
She pulls away and switches the kettle on. ‘Oh, it’s just that she’s not from the local force. She’s from Devon and Cornwall Police, remember? I’m sure I told you. I thought she was going back after speaking to me on Saturday, that’s all.’
He looks uneasy. ‘I don’t think you mentioned where she was from. Why do you think she wants to speak to you again?’
‘Maybe she’s found something out.’
‘About this serial killer, do you think? I wonder why a serial killer would murder Louise in Kingston when he targets women in the Plymouth area.’ His expression is one of suspicion. ‘And you’re sure you knew nothing about it?’
She hesitates. Should she just tell him? She can’t keep it from him for ever.
He’s staring at her, waiting. She has to tell him something. She looks up at him, deliberating, dreading the disappointment she knows she’ll see in his face when she confesses. But what choice does she have? She bites her lip.