‘And I don’t like him. Did you hear how he said, “Let’s not discuss this on the doorstep”, whenhewas the one who started doing that, not us? And what about “What time is it? Ah, yes, it’s noon, so you can come in” – he virtually accused us of arriving rudely early, when it was easily five past twelve by the time we rang the bell. And he must have known that. If we’d been two minutes early, would he have made us wait outside? That was how it sounded.’
‘Beth, shut up. I mean it. He’s going to walk back in any second now.’
‘So? I’m not scared of him. Or fooled by him. Everything he’s said and done so far is an attempt to manipulate us and make us feel small.’
‘Shh. Keep your voice down.’
‘Why? Remember how huge his house is, like he just told us? He’s probably in another wing, miles away, and wouldn’t hear me if I screamed the place down.’
Dom’s face is flushed. ‘I can’t be bothered to think of a way to put this tactfully, so I’m just going to say it. You’re sounding madder by the minute. Manipulateus? Come on! The guy’s understandably pissed off because he’s having to waste his day proving to you that his wife is in fact his wife and not a woman who used to live here and who’s currently in Florida. If he’s falling a bit short of warm and friendly, that’s why.’
‘Really? If you think that, then you can’t possibly understand …’
‘What?’ Dom asks in a whisper. ‘What don’t I understand?’
‘You keep saying you agree that everything that’s happened is bizarre, but if you really thought that, you’d know that Kevin and Jeanette Cater have to be involved in it, whatever it is. She was wearing thesame clothes.’
The door opens. Kevin Cater walks in, followed by the woman I first met yesterday in the car park in Huntingdon. She’s wearing a knee-length black pleated skirt with a red and black leopard-print top and black slip-on pumps.
She’s taller than Flora, who’s the same height as me. The black trousers she had on yesterday were probably much too short for her legs, but the black boots hid the problem. Convenient for her.
Pleasantries are exchanged by everyone apart from me. The woman offers us drinks; Dom and I both say no. He adds a ‘Thank you’. As I listen to the small talk they’re all using to ward off the moment when things might turn awkward, I wonder if Dom has noticed that the Kevin who has returned to the room is considerably friendlier than the one who left it a few minutes ago.
It’s all a show.
‘So, Beth,’ says the woman eventually. Is she Jeanette? Didn’t Marilyn Oxley tell me that Jeanette Cater had wavy hair, like Flora? This woman’s hair is ruler-straight. I wish I could remember exactly what Marilyn said. Not that it matters. Hair can be artificially straightened. ‘We should talk about what happened yesterday. I … perhaps I did not react to you in the best way. I am afraid I was very shocked to find you in my car.’
I swallow the urge to tell her it’s not her car, it’s Flora’s. Instead, I say, ‘I understand. May I ask you a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘Where were you on Saturday morning, and where was your car?’
‘I went out, with the children, early, to do some shopping. We arrived back at about nine thirty, I think, or just after.’
Her getting the time right means nothing. Marilyn Oxley could have told her what time I returned to Wyddial Lane, or Flora, if she saw me there. I don’t think she did, but I can’t absolutely rule it out.
‘In the silver Range Rover?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
‘Where’s your accent from?’
‘Beth!’ Dom barks at me.
‘It’s okay,’ Jeanette says. ‘The Ukraine. I was born there and grew up there.’
‘With a name like Jeanette?’
‘Actually, that is what I named myself when I moved to England.’ She smiles at Dominic. ‘My real name is a full-of-mouth for an English person to say, so …’ She shrugs.
‘I’m so sorry about the interrogation,’ Dom gushes, determined to ingratiate himself. ‘I’m assuming you know the, er, situation?’
‘Kevin told me what happened, yes.’ To me, she says, ‘You were here on Saturday and you saw me with my children. You mistook me for your friend.’
‘That’s right,’ says Dom. Kevin Cater nods.
I say nothing, determined not to agree with her version of what happened.
