I took a shuddering breath. The idea of going back there made me sick to the core, but I told myself that the man I’d buried had been more of a danger alive than dead. I stared through the window at the moonless sky, comforting myself with the thought that Luke could no longer threaten me. But that was a lie; he was still reaching out from the grave, calling my name. There was no ghost haunting the Strood, just Luke. I had to go back there and deal with the body: only then could we move away and start again. A new home, a promotion for Alex and private schooling for Jamie – it was all we had ever wanted and it was within reach. I just needed to be strong enough to get through this.
I sipped my water, not realising I had bitten my lip until I tasted the warm tang of blood. I remembered the stained shovel, the blood oozing down on to Luke’s shirt collar then into the soil for the insects to feast on. My breath sharpened. I began to think about the meal I had eaten that day and how it was lying in my stomach, working against me. Dark thoughts reached out like tentacles in my mind. I closed my eyes, willing myself to think sensibly. Tomorrow I would go to Colchester, place Jamie into nursery then ask Theresa to cover so I could finish work early and return home. If Alex found out, I’d say I was checking the fencing before the buyers returned. I’d dig up Luke’s remains and dispose of them for good. This time somewhere nobody would ever find them.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EMMA
2017
The balls of my feet ached from standing in my heels. After a busy morning, I was happy to turn the Closed sign on the door for lunch. Not that I was complaining. Being occupied kept my mind off my problems. But I could not exercise avoidance for ever. As soon as Theresa came to cover my afternoon shift, I had to go home.
‘Something wrong with that?’ Josh eyed me from across the circular table as I poked at my salad.
‘It’s a bit limp,’ I said. ‘I should have put it in the fridge.’ Our staffroom was blisteringly warm. It comprised a small table and chairs and a kitchen counter with the usual appliances: microwave, fridge and sink. It smelled like a greenhouse: tropical plants took up most of the room, a joking reminder of Theresa’s disapproval of the high heating bills. But I couldn’t have my brides trying on wedding dresses with goosebumps on their skin.
‘Want some of mine?’ Josh offered, nodding towards his lunch box. ‘Mum made loads.’
‘No, you’re all right. I’m just tired,’ I said, listlessly prodding some beetroot with my fork. ‘I had a really lucid dream last night, and it’s been running around in my head all day.’ This much was true, though I could not tell him the real reason behind my unease.
‘Was it one of those dreams? I had this dream about Tom Hardy the other night . . .’ he said, his blue eyes glinting as he flashed me a cheeky smile.
‘Tom Hardy didn’t feature,’ I replied, wishing I could come clean. The more I came to know Josh the more I liked him, but there was no way I could burden him with the awful truth. I should have been confiding in Theresa, but I couldn’t risk her judgement either.
‘I was in prison,’ I blurted, feeling my muscles tense. ‘I’d done something terrible, but I didn’t know what it was. I woke up crying because Alex wouldn’t visit me.’ I pushed my food away, the thought stealing what little appetite I had.
Josh swallowed the bite of cheese sandwich he had been chewing. ‘That’s a bit heavy. Where did that come from?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, using the lie to facilitate a conversation I was dying to have. If I didn’t speak to someone soon I would explode. ‘It got me thinking. What would you do if you were married to someone and they did something really bad?’ To pose such a question to Josh was not out of the ordinary: we were forever discussing moral dilemmas to pass the time when the shop was slow. My heart beat a little faster as I waited for his response.
‘Ooh, how bad are we going? Bank robbery? Kidnapping?’ He rummaged around his lunch box, plucking out a Mars bar and a bag of crisps.
‘Nobody robs banks any more. Hmm . . .’ My fingers tapped the table as I pretended to come up with the act that had been on my mind all day. ‘Let’s say . . . murder. A one-off. In the heat of the moment.’
‘That’s tricky,’ Josh said, his eyes thoughtful as he soaked up the challenge. ‘I guess I’d stand by them, at least until I knew the truth. If I loved them then I’d like to think I’d stay, because someone I love could never do something like that on purpose.’
‘Top marks,’ I said. ‘Me too.’
‘Is this where you confess to murder?’
A flush rose to my cheeks as he broke the silence with laughter. ‘Can you imagine it?’ Josh said. ‘You can’t even kill a fly. I won’t go calling the police anytime soon. Now that sister of yours . . . she’s one to watch.’ He gave me a wink as Theresa strolled in.
‘What have I done now?’ she said, shrugging off her rain-speckled coat and hanging it on the back of the door.
‘Moral dilemma time. You’ve married the man of your dreams, but on your wedding night he’s confessed to murder,’ Josh said, embellishing my earlier scenario. ‘The cops are coming to lock his sorry backside up. Do you dump him or hang around?’
‘Dump him. Murder is murder.’ Theresa finger-combed her windswept hair, her words delivered without a moment’s hesitation.
‘This is the man of your dreams we’re talking about,’ Josh said.
‘I’d bang him first,’ Theresa laughed, mulling it over. ‘Maybe stretch to a few conjugal visits?’
I forced a laugh, the thought of prison continuing to make the prospect of food unappealing.
‘Aren’t you eating your lunch?’ Theresa said, taking a look at my discarded salad.
‘I had a big breakfast,’ I lied.
‘Really?’ She narrowed her glare, as if she somehow knew better. But then she did. Theresa knew many things about me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LUKE
2002
I smiled at my own ingenuity as I glanced at Emma, who was sitting on her own in her usual seat at the back of the class. Lunchtime detention was an excellent excuse for having her all to myself. Emma, on the other hand, seemed unimpressed at being kept in for failing to complete her homework. It was the first time it had happened, but it was time to progress things between us and I could only do that by getting her alone.
‘Why don’t you sit up front so we can chat?’ I asked, standing from my desk. A recent haircut, a new set of clothes: I had made a special effort with my appearance in order to reel her in. Not that I knew who or what she found attractive; everything about her was closed off, hidden from view.
‘Yes, sir,’ Emma said, picking up the tin box containing her charcoal pencils.
‘Well don’t seem so thrilled about it,’ I smiled, bending down to retrieve a piece of paper that had slipped from her grasp. ‘Anyone would think you were being sent to the gallows.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Emma said dolefully, taking her chair.
I leaned forward, grabbing the seat beside her. ‘What’s wrong? It’s not like you to miss handing in your homework. I thought you enjoyed our classes?’
‘I do,’ she said, earnestly meeting my gaze. ‘It’s just that . . .’ she pursed her lips, seemingly unsure of herself. Her barely brushed hair, her unironed shirt, her appearance gifted me clues.
‘Having a tough time at home?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded, and I smiled inwardly as I detected a slight wobble in her chin. ‘You live on Mersea, don’t you? Is that the east or the west side of the island?’ I asked, hoping the gods would favour me.
‘The east,’ she said glumly. ‘Nothing around but sky and land.’
It was exactly the response I wanted. Had she lived on the west, she could have benefited from the close-knit community that inhabited it. As it was, my little Emma was all on her own. After checking the coast was clear, I briefly rested my hand on her back. ‘You know what they say – a problem shared is a problem halved.’
‘But the homework . . .’ she said, glancing at the half-finished drawing of a drooping sunflower.