Prologue
He’s always known that he loves her too much. Nobody else has ever compared to her. They haven’t even come close. If there are such things as soul-mates, then she is his. The way he feels about her is both a blessing and a curse. He’s sometimes wondered if this need for her, thisobsession, is all to do with growing up without a mother, without any kind of strong female role model. But no, his feelings for her go way beyond that. It’s primal, almost spiritual. When they first laid eyes on each other there was this spark, this mutual recognition that they’d finally found their person, their kindred spirit, and a sense of calm had washed over him because he was no longer alone in the world. He’d finally met someone who would understand him completely. All of him, even the bad bits.Especiallythe bad bits.
But lately another emotion has begun to creep in. Something unwanted, insidious, playing over and over in his mind until it’s impossible to ignore.
Fear.
He’s realized he’s scared of the power she has over him.
And of what she can make him do.
Part One
1
LENA
July 2024 Bristol
The new neighbours are in their front garden. I stay in my car a little longer just to observe them, the aircon blowing in my face. They moved in just a few days ago so I haven’t met them properly yet, but I’ve heard on the grapevine (well, Phyllis at number fifty-two) that they are a ‘retired, well-to-do couple in their late sixties’.
Their front door is open, allowing me a tantalizing view of the newly refurbished hallway and the huge chandelier that catches the late-afternoon sunlight. Our houses are set on a pretty Victorian terrace on a tree-lined street in the Redland area of Bristol, although theirs is at the end of the row and is larger, with a loft conversion and modern glass extension at the back. It once belonged to Joan but when she went into a nursing home her daughter sold it to a developer, who renovated it to a high specification and must have sold it on to this couple. Ours feels like the less attractive smaller sibling. The runt of the litter.
For the last ten days the weather has been getting progressively hotter and every move I make causes sweat to break out in places I never knew you could sweat. Yet the neighbours look cool and fresh: she is slim in a pale-yellow linen sundress that contrasts with her dark auburn hair and he is in chino shorts and a linen shirt, not a drop of perspiration in sight. He’s tall and handsome in that old-Hollywood matinee-idol way, his white hair slicked back from his perma-tanned face that screams of hours spent on golf-courses and beaches in the Caribbean. Parked outside their house, just behind my car, is a classic blue Jaguar that my teenage son, Rufus, is already coveting.
The woman notices me and smiles warmly. I wave, embarrassed to be caught gawping but this could be a great opportunity to introduce myself. I step out of the car, my dress already sticking to the backs of my thighs, and go to the boot to retrieve two paper bags of groceries for my movie night with Rufus. Every Thursday we do the same and I cherish it more than ever, especially as next year he’ll be leaving for university. Our house, which had once felt so poky and overcrowded, will seem as empty as a beach out of season.
I close the boot with my elbow, and as I turn towards their house ready to welcome them to the neighbourhood, I’m startled to see the woman just inches away from me, a bright smile on her face.
‘Hi. I’m Marielle Morgan. We’ve just moved in next door.’ She holds out a hand but laughs when she realizes both of mine are taken up with shopping bags and drops it down by her side.
‘So lovely to meet you. I’m Lena,’ I say, sounding higher-pitched and more excitable than I was aiming for. I’ve never been very good at giving the impression of aloof or cool. I immediately warm to Marielle. She has beautiful greeny-grey eyes, symmetrical crow’s feet that fan towards her temples, high cheekbones and a honeyed voice, like Joanna Lumley’s.
‘Henry!’ she calls to her husband. ‘Come and meet Lena!’
The bags are heavy but I adjust them in my arms as her husband joins us. He seems more reserved than Marielle and softly spoken, but he has a calm self-assurance. He says hello, then stands silently by his wife.
‘Do you have any children?’ she asks. ‘I’ve seen a teenage boy coming and going.’
‘Yes. Rufus. He’s seventeen. He’ll be off to uni next year.’ I grimace and Marielle nods knowingly.
‘It’s so hard when they fly the nest. Is it just the two of you?’ I think of my husband, Charlie, who moved out late last year and say yes. She must notice the tension in my face, as she moves swiftly on. ‘It seems like a lovely neighbourhood. We’re new to the area and wanted to be close to family. We’ve recently become grandparents.’ She flushes with pride as she says it.
‘Oh, wow, congratulations. That’s lovely.’ I feel a small tug of envy. I love babies. I’d wanted a house full of children but sadly it wasn’t to be, which makes Rufus extra special and why I’ve always been a little overprotective of him.
She beams and Henry gives a half-smile tinged with embarrassment, then glances at his feet. He looks a taduncomfortable and I’m reminded of my dad. He always hated small-talk too.
‘You must come over for a drink one evening,’ continues Marielle. ‘Rufus too.’
‘Thank you, we’d love to.’
‘Great. Well, we’ll let you get on.’ She turns to Henry and they are about to go back into their front garden when one of my bags decides to split open and my shopping spills on to the pavement. I stare down at it in dismay.
‘Oh dear,’ says Marielle, as I thrust my leg out to prevent a bottle of Coke from rolling into the road. ‘Hold on, I’ll go and fetch another bag.’ She dashes into her house, leaving Henry and me alone, my shopping strewn on the pavement. I’m mortified by all the junk food.
‘Here, let me help,’ Henry says, picking up a box of Jaffa Cakes and a packet of custard creams and handing them to me.
‘It’s a Thursday-night treat,’ I say, flustered. I set the other bag on the pavement. ‘For me and Rufus. Thereisfruit in this bag.’
