It took a moment for Laura to answer. ‘I haven’t spoken to him in nearly two months.’
Isabella reached across the kitchen table and gave her hand a squeeze, something for which Laura would be forever grateful.
‘My God. A dead puppy. I mean, this girl, is she mad?’
‘Mad . . . clever . . . extremely focused. I don’t know. Probably all three. But she’s got it in for me and I don’t know what to do. I’m scared to go home.’
‘I take it Howard’s not there? Have you told him about all this?’
‘Some of it. It wouldn’t make any difference.’ Laura spoke over her friend’s look of exasperation. ‘Anyway, I don’t want him there.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘Yes. They can’t do anything. The actress doesn’t want any publicity and is denying it. She’s left for a sojourn in Ibiza. And the letter Marianne got that was supposedly written by me . . . well, she still claims it was written by me.’
Isabella’s eyes widened. ‘Cherry forged a letter? What did it say?’
‘Oh, just nasty, venting stuff. The kind of thing someone who’s been cheated on for years might want to say. It made Howard realize that time was a-wasting. He’s decided to seize the moment. He wants a divorce.’
‘The bastard,’ muttered Isabella.
‘And . . . I confronted her.’
‘Who? Cherry? What did she say?’
‘She told me to back off. Or more bad luck would be coming my way.’
‘Jesus! She’s insane. Who does she think she is? She’s just some kid, for Christ’s sake. Same age as ours. My God, if Brigitte ever tried anything like this . . .’
Isabella took a deep breath. Gave Laura a look of condolence, of pity, a look that made her feel quite alone. ‘Oh, Laura . . .’
‘I know,’ she said quickly. ‘I know I did something awful . . .’ She tailed off, wanting to ask Isabella if she’d have done the same but too afraid of the answer. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said helplessly.
‘Can you try to speak to Daniel again?’
‘He won’t. Believe me, I’ve tried. And written. I think she intercepted the letter.’
Isabella’s phone rang on the table. She glanced at the screen. ‘Mother.’
‘You have to go.’
She nodded awkwardly and sent the call to answerphone. ‘I’ll call her back in a minute.’
Laura stood and blew her nose as she took her cup to the sink.
‘Don’t rush.’
‘It’s OK. You need to get on.’
‘We haven’t sorted anything out.’
‘I’ll be OK.’
‘Come to Mother’s?’
Laura gave a small smile. ‘You just want an ally.’
‘You’re right.’ Isabella pulled her into an embrace. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, and you have to promise to call me if anything happens. In fact, I’m going to call you. Every day.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’m sorry we fell out.’
‘We didn’t really,’ said Laura. ‘I’m glad you’re getting out of here, actually.’
Izzy laughed. ‘What, you think that little jumped-up so-and-so is going to go for me?’
‘She might.’ Laura remained sober. ‘She’s capable. She’ll stop at nothing.’
Laura checked the house when she got home, put on every security lock, but she couldn’t help feeling creeped every time she went into the kitchen to fill her glass of wine. The fridge made a loud thur-wup as she opened the door; the wine glass seemed to echo on the granite worktop. She stopped and listened to the empty house: silence. Maybe it would help if she played some music. She turned on the radio, but the classical was melancholic, and all the other music stations jarred on her mood too: they seemed meaninglessly noisy and oblivious to her need to soothe her nerves. So she switched it back off again and now it seemed quieter than ever. God, she wished Isabella was there.
Laura took a deep breath. She had to pull herself together. Cherry was not lying in wait somewhere in the house. Aware that she’d had nothing to eat since breakfast and it was now nearly six, she opened the fridge again and pulled out a tub of tzatziki and a red pepper, which she roughly chopped. She sat at the worktop, eating her rudimentary supper, her mind wandering. What was Cherry going to do next? For she was certain that there would be something else. How far would she go? She ran through her mind all the things she cared about. There was the house, her friends . . . Christ, there was Moses. She jumped up and ran to the bi-fold doors, opening them and calling him urgently, banging his food dish to make him come running, and when he did, she checked him over thoroughly. Only after finding him unharmed did she slump with relief. But she shut the doors after that, much to his disgruntlement. ‘Sorry, Moses, but I need you in tonight. There’s a crazy girl out there wanting to get me. And that means maybe you too.’
She sat back down at the breakfast bar. Couldn’t settle. Then despite knowing he didn’t want to speak to her, she grabbed her phone and called Howard. He didn’t answer. Deflated, she left no message. She went to ring Daniel, but unable to stomach another silent rejection, put down the phone.
Trapped in her house, she stared out of the window at the darkened garden, wondering where Cherry was, what she was thinking, what she was planning.
FORTY-NINE
Wednesday 4 November
A driver blasted his horn as Laura navigated what had to be one of the worst roundabouts in London. She was south of Croydon in Purley, a traffic-choked one-way system of a town, suffocated on one side by this monster roundabout, which was now spitting her out into the entrance road of an extremely large supermarket. She jolted over the speed bumps and headed for the car park, passing megadeals shouting at her from the posters en route: three boxes of doughy pizza with fake smiling Italians for three pounds.