PART ONE
1996
A summer of cornflower skies and bleached stubble fields; of friendship forged amongst wild strawberries and banks of thyme, whispered secrets known only to you, as you sat in the shade of the woods.
It was a summer that seemed brighter, hotter, the weeks somehow stretched endlessly ahead. A summer of giddy heights; of first love, as you pulled apart the delicate pink dog roses that grew on arching stems amongst the hedgerows, one gossamer petal after another until you found what you wanted.
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me.
You glanced towards him, as you fed your obsession; punishing yourself, as you took in his hand holding hers, his eyes unable to look away from her, wanting them for your own, unable to hide what was in your heart.
And as the petals wilted, you tried so hard to hide what was in your eyes: not just the hunger or the jealousy that devoured you, but the bittersweet pain of unrequited love.
Amy
Chapter One
Two weeks before our wedding, after Matt leaves for work, I find a piece of paper in the kitchen. As soon as I start reading, I put it down. When we decided to write our own wedding vows, we agreed that we wouldn’t share them until our wedding day. I imagine him printing them off, wanting to commit them to memory; the piece of paper left out unintentionally. I know I should put it away, out of sight, but unable to resist, I pick it up.
I promise to hold your hand, to steer you through life’s sorrow and darkness, on a path towards justice and hope. I will endeavour to know what’s best for you, to protect you from your past, help you build the future you deserve. Then when I can no longer be with you, a part of me will always be there, watching over you. In the shadows of your heart, on the soft curves of your skin, in the long-forgotten corners of your mind.
Frowning, I read it again. While my own vows overflow with love and romance, this isn’t quite what I was expecting, until I remind myself it’s what Matt’s always done. He looks out for me. After so many years alone, I’m lucky.
But as I drive to Brighton, a feeling of foreboding hangs over me. The days before a weddingshouldbe the happiest of times. In the distance, the shimmering sea looks ice-blue. Then the city comes into view, cast in soft light as the sun rises. It’s a familiar sight, one I love, and yet a shadow follows me while I deliver my herbal remedies to two of my regular clients, before walking through the Lanes back to my car. Lost in my thoughts, at first, I don’t notice the footsteps behind me.
‘Excuse me …’
The voice is unfamiliar. I hesitate, unsure if it’s directed at me, then as the footsteps come closer, I turn around to find myself staring at a stranger.
‘I need to talk to you.’ As the woman speaks, I feel myself freeze. She looks older than her voice sounds, her grey hair wispy, her face strangely unlined. But it’s the colour of her eyes, a transparent ice-blue, that is hypnotic. For a moment, I’m mesmerised, then as a van speeds past, her hand grips my arm, pulling me away from the road. ‘I have to talk to you.’ There’s an unmistakable urgency in her voice. ‘Someone’s watching you. They know where you go, everything you do.’
As she speaks, my blood runs cold. ‘Who are you?’
Without telling me, she goes on. ‘You think you’re meant to be together.’ Each word both softly spoken and crystal clear, her eyes fixed on mine so that I can’t look away. ‘You think he’s the love of your life.’ She pauses for a moment. ‘He isn’t who you think he is.’ Then a strange look crosses her face. ‘You’re in danger.’
For a few moments, it’s as though I’m in a trance. Then I pull my eyes away from hers, confused, then suddenly angry. Matt and I are getting married, every detail of our wedding thoughtfully planned, from the country house venue down tothe smallest flower. We’re happily settled in our house in Steyning, with its chalk grey walls, the floorboards we’ve sanded and waxed, the garden with far-reaching views of the Sussex landscape that lies beyond. No-one, least of all a stranger, is taking that away from me. I notice her hand still clutching at my arm.
‘Let go of me!’ Wrenching it away, I step back and start hurrying towards my car, fighting my irritation, telling myself she’s probably harmless. A harmless, mad old woman.
But she’s spooked me. Hearing footsteps following me, I break into a jog, my feet crunching on fallen leaves, as she seems to read my mind.
‘I’m not mad,’ she calls after me. ‘Watch your back. Don’t trust him …’
Later, I tell the police, that was when it all started. With a sinister warning from a woman I’d never met before; if I had, I’d have remembered her eyes; with the cries of seagulls from the rooftops, the whisper of deception in the salt air. But I didn’t know it began much longer ago, with all that went before. With events that belong in the past. With beginnings that can’t be traced, that are infinite.
*
As I drive home, I’m on edge. It’s mild for November, the stark outline of the trees softened only by the last autumn leaves that have yet to fall. Turning into my lane, I park outside the house, still shaken as I get out, the woman’s words replaying in my head, while I tell myself she knows nothing about me. Or about Matt. Unable to ignore the voice that whispers in my mind:or does she?
In the kitchen, I drop my bag onto the faded sofa. It’s a large room, with pale curtains lining the windows, the floor tiledwith slate. Neutral and uncluttered, the perfect foil for the garden that lies beyond.
Clearing the plates and mugs left from breakfast, I switch on the kettle, before going over to the sliding doors. Opening them, I step outside, drawn as I always am by the movement of the air, the crescendo of birdsong, the onset of winter showing in the paper-thin hydrangea flowers and dried seed heads. Gravel paths wander amongst the herbs and flowers I’ve planted, moss softening the stone wall along one side, a hedge marking the far end. The peacefulness is broken only by the sound of my mobile buzzing. I know instantly from the ringtone that it’s Matt.
‘I’m going to be late, Amy. There’s a client over from the States. David wants me to take him to dinner. I tried to get out of it, but you know what David’s like.’
He sounds distracted, irritated, though later, when the police ask me what he said, in my memory, I remember him as flustered. My heart sinks slightly. There are last-minute wedding details to finalise, but I know Matt wouldn’t be doing this unless he had to.
‘Hey, don’t worry. It’s fine. Really. If you’re not back, I’ll have another look at the seating plan without you. Oh – and your cousin emailed to say that …’
