‘The vultures?’
Margot nods, not looking at me.
‘Yep. Thank God. I don’t know what you said to make them bugger off. Maybe they’ve gone home for their tea.’
‘Jessica got rid of them for us.’
Adam turns to me, expression quizzical. ‘And how did you manage that?’
I push down my unease. ‘I’m a journalist too,’ I say, in a voice that belies my apprehension.
‘Of course you fucking are!’ he says quietly, menacingly, into his mug.
‘Adam,’ Margot warns, ‘little ears.’ She covers Ethan’swith her hands to make her point. I can’t believe Heather has chosen to spend her life with this bullish man. She’d had a huge crush on River Phoenix when we were teenagers: she’d imagined him to be sensitive and artistic. The fact he died young only romanticized him in her eyes. Adam couldn’t be more different.
His eyes flash at Margot. ‘Why have you let her in, Marg, when she’s one of them?’
‘I’m not here to do any harm,’ I insist. ‘Heather was my friend.’
He glares at me. ‘You lot never print the truth. You twist everything and you’ll twist this.’ He turns back to Margot. ‘Don’t trust her. You can’t trust any of them.’
‘Listen,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady and firm. ‘If you don’t tell your side of the story then someonesomewherewill print what they want. They’ll dig and they’ll find stuff. They always do. But if you talk to me …’ I ignore the grunts ‘…ifyou talk to me then it will be your side of the story. I’ll print exactly what you want me to print. An exclusive.’
He laughs cruelly. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you listening to this, Marg? Don’t tell me you’re taken in by her.’
‘I won’t print anything about Heather or the family without you reading it first,’ I promise, desperate to say,to doanything to make him trust me, even though it goes against my normal practice.
‘You don’t understand,’ he says carefully. ‘I don’t wantanythingin the papers about us. Full stop.’
I slap my hand against the wooden surface of the table. ‘Andyoudon’t understand. Itwillget in the paperswhether you want it to or not. For crying out loud, it’s alreadyinthem!’
We stare at each other. My heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest. He breaks eye contact first, slumping back in his chair. Margot assesses us silently, rocking Ethan backwards and forwards in her arms. I wonder what she’s thinking. But I’ve already noticed a thaw in her since I sent the rest of the reporters packing.
Adam places his head in his hands and groans. ‘I just can’t believe we’re in this situation,’ he says, his deep voice muffled between his fingers.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say gently, relieved that he’s calmer. ‘I haven’t seen Heather for years, but this seems unbelievable to me. Completely out of character. Have you …’ I dart a look at Margot ‘… have you wondered if there could be some mistake? Was it definitely Heather who did this?’
Margot’s face hardens again. ‘That’s what the police believe. There were eye witnesses … and they’re more or less sure that her own gunshot wound was self-inflicted.’
‘More or less sure?’ I ask. ‘Is there any doubt?’
Adam interrupts. ‘There is no doubt,’ he snaps. Why do I get the impression he’s hiding something?
Ethan starts to whimper, fidgeting and trying to get down from Margot’s lap. Adam stands up. ‘He needs to go to bed,’ he says, taking him from Margot. ‘But we can carry on this conversation later, Marg. Alone.’ He shoots me a look before turning back to Margot. ‘Don’t make any decisions yet.’
He stalks off, Ethan in his arms, without saying goodbye to me, the back door banging behind him.
The sky has darkened and Margot glances anxiouslyout the window. ‘I’d better get the horses in. It looks like it’s going to be another bad night.’ Then she sighs heavily. ‘I’m sorry about Adam. Underneath all that … brusqueness, he’s a nice guy. He’s a good husband and father.’
I’m not sure I believe that. He seems threatening and aggressive to me but I don’t say so. Instead I try to look understanding. ‘It’s a stressful time for you all.’
To my horror, Margot’s face crumples and she pulls out a tissue from the sleeve of her jumper. ‘I can’t lose Heather as well,’ she says, tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘I don’t know how I’d bear it.’
‘Oh, Margot.’ I get up and, without even thinking about it, I put my arms around her. She still smells exactly as she used to all those years ago. Yardley perfume mixed with saddle leather. I breathe her in, remembering a time when I was still only twelve and on my first sleepover with Heather. I’d woken up, sweating and agitated, after a dream about my dad. I’d been upset, the divorce still too fresh, and I missed Dad, who had disappeared back to his job on the oil rigs, never bothering to keep in touch. Margot must have heard my crying because she’d come into the bedroom wearing a purple dressing-gown and she’d hugged me, my face nuzzled against the soft velour. I’d felt safe in her warm arms and reassured. I’d instantly calmed down and fallen back to sleep. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say to her now, the irony not lost on me that I’m the one comforting her. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
As I drive along Tilby’s high street a deep sadness descends upon me. The pavements are sleek with rain but I canalmost see Heather and Flora hunched together, laughing. Once on our walk home – when I was finally allowed into their inner sanctum – we could hardly put one foot in front of the other as we doubled up with laughter after a car drove past, dousing us with rainwater so that our skirts were drenched. I remember running through the fields to their house, the mud splashing up our legs and over our white socks, then drying off with old towels in our favourite barn – the one where Heather was found at death’s door.
I should be feeling ecstatic. I have no doubt that Adam and Margot will agree to talk to me now, which could be a turning point for my career, and Ted will be overjoyed – but I can’t stop thinking about them, most of all Margot. Seeing her again, meeting Adam and little Ethan has stirred everything up. As a teenager I was more than a little obsessed with the family. I never got to meet Heather’s dad as he’d died a few years previously, before they moved to Tilby, but her uncle – Margot’s younger brother, Leo – was always there. A handsome, jovial guy with the same thick, dark hair as Margot used to have and twinkly green eyes.
