But he was adamant that we should continue with the ceremony. ‘I don’t want to wait a moment longer than I have to for you to be my wife. And Alison herself insists that we go ahead without her, if she’s late.’
I really wanted Alison to be part of the wedding. I’ve spoken to her a few times when she video-called George from Spain and we got on so well. Our small family wedding wouldn’t havebeen the same without her, so I was delighted when she rushed through the doors just in time.
‘She cut it a bit short, didn’t she?’ George says. ‘That’s Alison all over, she’s such a jetsetter. She might be living in Spain now, but she’s worked and lived in several countries.’
I’m looking forward to getting to know Alison more, and Kenny. I envy George for having two children. If only Arthur and I could have provided a sibling for Lizzie, I’m sure she wouldn’t have been such an anxious child. George’s family seem so close and are very friendly. I marvel again at how lucky I am. It’s just been me and Lizzie ever since Arthur died, and we’ve had some tough years. I was really pleased when Lizzie married Nick, I couldn’t have chosen a better husband for her if I’d picked him myself, and I was so glad that Lizzie had the emotional support she needed. It had started to become quite a strain on me. The constant need to reassure her and allay her fears can be draining.
When Lizzie moved out it took me some time to get used to living alone though and I spent most of my evenings reading or watching crime and mystery dramas. Lizzie, Nick and the children often popped in but once they had gone home again the house seemed so big and quiet. Sally at work tried to persuade me to sign up to a dating app, but I didn’t want to meet up with a stranger. Then Nick saw the Agatha Christie Facebook group and suggested I join. That’s where I met George.
We both commented on various posts then he inboxed me to continue a discussion we’d been having aboutThe Mousetrap, and we discovered to our amazement that we only lived a twenty-minute drive from each other. Soon we were messaging each other regularly, sharing bits about our day, talking about a film we’d seen, a book we’d read. I felt like I already knew him when he invited me to go to a local production ofMurder on the Orient Express. It wasn’t like meeting a stranger at all. Andeven though it’s only been a few months since we first started chatting, I feel like we’ve known each other forever.
‘Hey, you’re miles away!’ George wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer, kissing me on the cheek. ‘No regrets, I hope?’
I lean into him. ‘Of course not!’ I gaze up at him, teasing. ‘What about you?’
‘Me? I’m the luckiest man alive. I can’t believe I’ve had a second chance of happiness at my age. I bless every day that you came into my life.’ He kisses me tenderly on the forehead.
‘Me too,’ I say softly. I miss Arthur still, but you can’t live life in the past, and I know he would be pleased that I’ve found love again.
Kenny and Sheila join us. ‘It was such a delightful ceremony, and you look beautiful, Judith,’ Sheila tells me.
‘So do you. And thank you for helping with the flowers.’ I kiss her on the cheek. George told me that Sheila has been a tower of strength to him over the years, and he’s worried that she might feel a bit pushed out, so we’ve tried to involve her in the wedding as much as possible.
‘I’m so pleased to see my dad happy.’ Kenny envelops me in a big hug. ‘You two make a fantastic couple.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. George’s family have been so welcoming. I’m looking forward to us all having get-togethers, maybe celebrating birthdays and Christmas together. One big happy family.
‘I think Lizzie’s a bit overcome with the emotion of it all though,’ Kenny says.
I follow his gaze and see that Lizzie is clutching the back of the chair as if she’s about to collapse, her wide eyes staring out of a paper-white face, her whole body trembling.
I instinctively go to rush over, but then Alison reaches out to support her. As I watch them a thread of unease slithers through me.
3
LIZZIE
Immediately I’m thrust back to that dreadful day, the one that I can never forget, and the intense feelings of fear and guilt are suffocating me. I swallow, my chest tightening, my head spinning as I try to regain control of my mind. I can’t have a panic attack here. Not at my mum’s wedding.
My head is light, as if everything is happening around me, my ears are buzzing and I’m scared my legs won’t support me. I take a deep breath and reach for the chair behind me, the chair that a few minutes ago Sheila had sat on to watch Mum and George get married.
Focus, Lizzie, ground yourself.I desperately try to remember the 3-3-3 method my therapist taught me. Three things I can see. I focus on my trembling hands gripping into the chair, my nails painted sky blue to go with my dress, my shoes…
‘Are you all right, Lizzie? You look terribly pale.’ Alison sounds concerned, puzzled. She takes my arm. ‘Is it the heat? It is rather hot in here but I’m used to it, living in Spain. Why don’t you sit down for a minute.’
She holds my arm firmly, and I sink into the chair. I can’t look at her, can’t speak. I’m blindsided at this turn of events. I never thought that I would see her again and now she’s mystepsister. I’ve been plunged into a nightmare and I don’t know how to deal with it.
I never knew Ally’s surname. I never met her father, and her brother had been so young that I didn’t recognise Kenny, how could I?
It’s been twenty-five years since that terrible day, but I’d know Ally anywhere. Her hair was long and a golden brown back then, scooped up in a ponytail, but I remember those blue eyes, one darker than the other, and the tiny brown mole on her right cheek just under her eye. There can’t be two people with the same eyes and mole, the same name, the same age. It’s got to be her.
Has she recognised me? My heart thuds so hard in my chest that I fear it might burst through my ribcage and explode.
‘Lizzie.’ She bends down to talk to me. ‘Are you okay?’
I bite my lip and force myself to meet her concerned gaze, waiting with sick dread for the recognition in her eyes. Recognition that will turn to horror and rage when she realises who I am, what I did. My hands are sweating, my pulse racing, and I’m bracing myself for her cry of outrage. But all I see in her eyes is concern.
I draw on an inner strength, dredge down through the anxiety consuming me and reach for a thread of common sense. Even if Alison recognises me all she will remember is a seven-year-old girl she met on a school trip, I remind myself.
