‘In that case let me open a bottle of wine. I could do with a drink,’ says Margot, getting up and going over to the wine rack. She picks a Chablis and pours them both a glass. ‘I just wish I knew exactly what happened that morning,’ she says, passing a glass to Jess. ‘If only Heather had an alibi.’
Jess hesitates. ‘I’m not supposed to drink in the week and I’m driving.’
Margot wonders why Jess can’t drink in the week. Has she been forbidden to? Keith used to try to boss her about, telling her what she could and couldn’t do. Is that what’s happening with Jess? She can’t imagine it. It’s obviously a self-imposed rule. ‘Just one won’t hurt,’ she says, and Jess takes it, setting it down next to her bowl.
‘Was it normal for Heather and Adam to argue to such an extent that he’d walk out?’ she asks, surprising Margot.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think so. But they live in the coach house, near the caravan site, so I wouldn’t always know.’
Jess frowns. ‘And you still don’t know what they argued about?’
‘I’ve never asked.’ She probably should, but Adam is so private and she’s worried about upsetting him. He has so much to deal with right now. He must feel guilty about leaving Heather alone like that, especially if she was feeling depressed and suicidal. ‘I don’t want to believe Heather would be capable of such a thing. She’s not trigger happy. She’s not particularly into guns. She’s never been interested in coming clay-pigeon shooting with me. But that neighbour of the Wilsons – he saw her. He sawher leaving the house with a gun. If it wasn’t Heather, how do you explain that?’
Jess pushes her fringe out of her face, her expression troubled.
‘And I know,’ Margot continues, desperate to get it all off her chest, now that someone is here to listen, ‘that Heather shot my husband. And I keep telling myself that it was an accident. But what if it wasn’t?’ It must be the wine talking. She’s drinking it too quickly and it’s going to her head. All her dark fears are spewing out of her mouth and she can’t control them. ‘He wasn’t always a good husband. Or father. He could be cruel.’
Jess raises her eyebrows. ‘Heather never said.’
‘It wasn’t anything abusive. He didn’t hit us. I would have left him if he had. He was ex-army and hard. A bully, I suppose, looking back, although I didn’t think so at the time. He instilled fear in the girls. If they put a foot wrong, he’d scream at them. They were nervous wrecks around him. It’s no wonder Heather shot him by accident – I can just imagine his rage when he found her fiddling with that gun. She would have been nervous and her finger would have slipped.’ She sighs heavily. ‘He wasn’t like that when I first met him, or when the girls were really little. But he changed. I think he suffered from mental-health problems. Depression, maybe PTSD, but twenty years ago we weren’t so aware of these things.’ She doesn’t know why she’s telling Jess all of this.
She’s surprised when Jess reaches across the table and takes her hand. ‘I think you’re amazing.’
Margot’s cheeks flame. ‘Amazing? I’m anything but.’
‘I always thought you were an excellent mum. Andthe way you coped with what happened to Flora. Now this … and I didn’t even know about what you went through with Keith.’
Margot chews her lip. She’s not used to someone being so kind to her and she’s annoyed with herself when tears sting her eyes. ‘Oh, shush,’ she says. ‘There’s nothing I can do but carry on, is there? I need to be there for Heather when she wakes.’
Jess nods and removes her hand.
‘Are you okay here with me on a Friday night? Shouldn’t you be with your fella?’ says Margot.
Jess toys with the stem of her glass. ‘He wants to get married and have kids,’ she blurts out, ‘and I’m not ready. I feel like the worst person ever because I love him. He’s so good, you know. I’m realizing how hard that is to find …’
‘There’s no rush. You’re still young.’
Jess smiles stiffly. ‘Yes.’
Margot studies her. ‘Are you worried about your career?’
Jess shakes her head. ‘No. Not really. To be honest, since I’ve moved away from London I’ve been a bit disenchanted with the whole journalism thing.’
Margot doesn’t understand what drove Jess to become a journalist in the first place, but she doesn’t want to say that. It’s obvious the poor girl is suffering some inner turmoil and she doubts there’s much she can say to help without knowing the facts. She does wonder, though, if it’s to do with Jess’s upbringing. She was practically neglected by Simone, and there was never any sign of the father, but it seemed to be socially acceptable because theFoxes were considered middle class and Simone had a good job as a legal secretary. She wonders now if it would have been different if Jess had been from the only council estate in Tilby. She would probably have been hauled into the care system.
‘DCI Ruthgow turned up yesterday,’ she says, watching Jess carefully. ‘He worked on Flora’s disappearance.’
Jess looks interested. ‘What did he say?’
Margot sighs. ‘I’m worried he thinks Heather had something to do with it.’
She’s relieved to see that Jess looks suitably shocked. ‘With Flora’s disappearance?’
She nods.
‘Bloody hell. Surely not. What does he think Heather’s done? Shot her, too, and then buried the body?’
Margot winces. She would never have believed Heather capable of something like that. But, then again, she’d never have believed Heather could shoot dead two people.
