PROLOGUE
What the hell have I done?
I force down an avalanche of panic and bile as I stare at the body sprawled out on the floor. I will a hand to twitch, the familiar eyes to open, a groan of life to escape from the firmly closed lips. But there is nothing. I’m trembling, my eyes blinking rapidly as the enormity of the situation hits me.
Kneeling, I hold the limp wrist, feeling desperately for a pulse even though I know it’s impossible. No one could survive this.
I scramble to my feet and wipe the back of my hand across my forehead, it feels cold and clammy. Sweat is pouring down my face. My heart is thumping against the walls of my chest as if it will burst out any minute. I want to scream, wail, protest that I didn’t mean this to happen but there is no time, I have to get away. No one will suspect me. No one knows I’m here.
After everything that’s happened they will suspectshedid it.
I hope they blame her. If it wasn’t for her this would never have happened. She drove me to it.
If only I could unwind time, go back to this morning. Stay at home, not answer the phone. Better still, rewind to beforethe wedding. No, long before that, when she came into our lives and wrecked it. But there is nothing I can do.
‘I’m so sorry!’ I whisper, my eyes drawn again to the body. ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen.’
MAY
SATURDAY
1
LIZZIE
‘Nanny looks like a princess,’ Grace exclaims in awe, her blue eyes wide, her hands clasped together as she stares at my mum.
My five-year-old daughter is right. Mum looks beautiful, radiant and so happy.
I just hope that she’s marrying her prince. It’s all happened so fast.Too fast, a little voice whispers in my head.
It’s a warm May day, perfect weather for a wedding. Mum’s dress is silver lace, knee-length, and it has a matching sheer silver voile coat, which she pairs with strappy grey kitten-heeled sandals – it’s exquisite. She’s wearing contacts today instead of her usual rimless glasses, and her white-blonde chin-length bob frames her face. Her simple bouquet of long-stemmed white roses wrapped in a sky-blue ribbon is stunning.
Standing beside her, George, my new stepfather, looks dapper in a light grey suit, pale blue tie and gleaming black shoes. The sun pours in through the top window, glinting on his glasses and forming a halo of light above his bald head. He and Mum turn to gaze at each other with shining eyes, their beaming smiles letting us all know how happy they are, and my doubts float away like leaves on the breeze. Mum wants this. She deserves it.
‘They look good together, don’t they?’ Nick, my husband, whispers, placing his arm on mine.
‘Yes, they do.’ I can hear the quiver in my voice, and Nick’s hand slides down my arm to my hand, squeezing it comfortably. He knows how difficult the past few months have been and how much it means to me to see my mum happy again. I don’t know what I’d do without Nick, he’s been a tower of strength.
I never thought that Mum would marry again. Dad died nine years ago, and Mum has never shown any interest in dating. Then Nick spotted the Agatha Christie Facebook group – Mum is a huge fan of Agatha Christie and has a whole shelf of her books – and encouraged her to join.
It was good to see her have an interest, and she really enjoyed chatting to her online friends. But then she started mentioning George a lot, and their online chats became video calls and then meeting up. I was a bit worried about how quickly Mum’s friendship with George developed into a romance, a few weeks after they first started talking. She said they’d gelled straight away, and she seemed so happy, but I still had my reservations.
When I met George I was relieved to discover that he seemed a genuinely nice guy. He was so different to Dad though. Dad was tall and big built with a mop of ginger hair that I’d inherited, and beard. He was a workaholic, but when he was home he was funny and loving, a presence that filled the room.
George is smaller, slimmer, quietly spoken. He was a rock of support after Mum had the mini stroke. It had been such a worrying time for us all. George proposed as soon as Mum was better, saying it had made him realise how much he loved her, and he moved into Mum’s house to look after her.
And now here they are, getting married, just six months after that first meeting. They were lucky to get a Saturday, as there was a cancellation and they seized it.
Kenny and Sheila, George’s son and sister, walk into the Register Office and wave to us. Kenny is tall like George, with sandy hair, but Sheila is tiny, with a mass of silver curls and pencilled arched eyebrows that make her look permanently surprised. We’ve met them both a couple of times at Mum’s. We haven’t met George’s daughter Alison yet because she lives in Spain, although she’s video-called George and Mum a few times and Mum seems quite taken with her.
It will be strange to have a whole new family, a stepsister and stepbrother. A step aunt too. I’m an only child of only children and always longed for a brother and sister, or an extended family. I’m hoping we will all get on, that Isaac and Grace will have the big loving family I longed for. It has only ever been me, Mum and Dad, so watching George now, putting his arm around my mum and smiling into her eyes, brings a lump to my throat. I miss my dad so much, but Mum deserves this new chance of happiness.
‘Uncle Kenny and Daddy and Isaac are twins,’ Grace observes, pointing to them one by one. Nick and Kenny are wearing the same silver-grey suit with a sky-blue waistcoat like George, as is our seven-year-old son Isaac.
‘That’s because it’s a wedding, silly,’ Isaac retorts.
‘I’m not silly!’ Grace stamps her feet. ‘Mummy and Auntie Sheila and Nanny aren’t twins.’
