Just as I resolve to break the news to my children, chaos erupts in the kitchen. Cheddar, our golden retriever puppy, who was asleep in his basket, wakes up, gets overexcited when he sees Olly and Iris, and pees on the floor. Olly goes to load his dirty dishes into the dishwasher instead of leaving them on the table for once, but he drops his bowl, smashing it to pieces and splattering milk everywhere. Margo, my eleven-year-old stepdaughter, who ate breakfast long before the others, materializes in the doorway, on the verge of tears, ostensibly because she can’t find her pencil case, but more likely because she’s stressed about her first day in senior school. And my mobile blares out with an incoming call – no doubt from Daniel, my partner and Margo’s dad. He has a demanding job – as a management consultant – and usually I’m supportive of his career, but I curse him under my breath for being away on business, on today of all days. And for calling at a bad time.
The bus stop is within walking distance, but by the time I’ve finished troubleshooting and clearing up the mess, we’re running late. I bundle all three kids into the car and drive them to the school itself. We arrive seconds before the bell goes.
I need peace and quiet to work – I’m a fiction editor – but when I get home, it’s dissonantly calm. I’ve been looking forward to the kids going back to school so that I can knuckle down and read the novel on which I’ve agreed to provide feedback for a structural edit. I haven’t even started reading the book yet, but I can’t wait to lose myself in the author’s imaginary world and shut out reality. I’m supposed to email my report to the publisher who has outsourced the work to me in a few days’ time. It’s going to be tight. I usually work well under pressure and in the mornings. I make myself another coffee, then head for my study, Cheddar following me from room to room like a shadow.
But two hours later, I’m forced to admit defeat. I’ve read only the first three chapters. The caffeine has worked – my mind is racing – but I can’t concentrate on the manuscript. My thoughts keep wandering to the body in the woods. Does this have anything to do with what happened to Iris? I decide to go for a walk and get some fresh air, clear my head that way, much to Cheddar’s delight.
I walk briskly across the fields behind our cottage in the light breeze and timid sunshine. The view across Exmoor, which always takes my breath away, fails to act as a buffer for my thoughts, and my vivid imagination runs amok. I picture a wooded area, by a stream, swarming with uniformed officers and other professionals, and a blue forensic tent, perilously perched on an escarpment. I’m tempted to go home, put the dog in the car and drive the short distance to Buryknoll Wood. We could resume our walk there. But the woods are vast and even if I did locate the body, it would look suspicious if I suddenly showed up. Besides, the chances of me finding out any more information about the dead man, including his identity, are slim to non-existent. I expect the police have closed off all access to the woods anyway.
After a light lunch, I manage to read through five or six chapters of the book I’m supposed to be editing. It takes me far longer than usual because I have to reread paragraphs or even whole pages as I’m struggling to take anything in. Reluctantly, I call it a day. I can’t afford to take a day off, not if I’m going to meet the deadline, but I can’t do justice to this novel unless I give it my full attention.
I get the dinner ready before the kids come home. That way, I can help Margo if she’s got any homework, and ask Iris and Olly all about their first day back. I’m not much of a cook – Daniel usually makes the meals – but I have a few tried and tested menus I can handle without messing up. I stream some opera music through the Bluetooth speaker from my phone – Maria Callas performing Beethoven’sFidelio. Olly and Iris hate opera, so I can’t listen to it when they’re home. I turn it up loud, hoping it will drown out my thoughts. Then I get out everything I need to make a shepherd’s pie. That will do nicely for Olly, Iris and me. There’s some leftover veggie lasagne for Margo, who stopped eating meat a few months ago to help save the planet. As a result, we all eat less meat and more fruit and veg, which has to be a good thing.
I rummage around in the drawer where we keep some of the utensils, but I can’t find the knife I use to chop up the onions. We don’t put the sharp knives in the dishwasher in case they rust – one of Daniel’s many house rules – but I look in the dishwasher anyway. We sometimes bend or break the rules when he’s away. I check the other drawers and pots on the worktop in case it has been put away in the wrong place. In the end, I take out a different knife – it’s bigger and sharper. It slips as I cut into the onion and slices into my middle finger. It stings, and the pain, more than the music, is a welcome distraction.
When Iris and Margo burst noisily through the front door late that afternoon, I finally manage to consign the dead man to a corner of my mind, although he lies in wait there, threatening to leap up and ambush me at any moment.
*
It’s nearly 10 p.m. when my mobile goes. The kids are all upstairs – I checked in on them a few minutes ago. Margo’s asleep; Olly and Iris are in Olly’s room, watching a Netflix series on Olly’s laptop. My heartbeat quickens when I see the caller ID. This can’t be good. Not at this hour. I swipe to take the call.
‘Carla? Hi. I’ve got some news, but you have to swear not to tell anyone. I could get Ian into trouble.’
‘I can’t promise that, Jo. Not if it concerns my daughter.’ Jo knows as well as I do that the second this call ends, I’ll ring Ash.
‘Then at least—’
‘I’ll be as discreet as possible.’
‘OK. And you didn’t hear this from me. Two things. Firstly, the man in the woods. He hasn’t been formally identified yet, but—’
‘It’s him.’
‘Yes.’
‘And the second thing?’
She hesitates and I know it before she tells me. I take a deep breath and I hear her do the same. ‘Carla, they’re treating his death as suspicious,’ Jo says.
‘What does that mean?’
Jo spells it out. ‘It means it looks like he was murdered.’
‘I got that,’ I mutter.
What I really meant was: what does that mean for us? For my family?
Chapter 2
Iris
THEN
The first time Joshua asked her out, she said no. Then he asked her again. And again. The third time he asked, she gave in.
‘Third time lucky,’ he said, a boyish, triumphant grin on his face.
She often wishes she could go back to that day and just stick with her original ‘no’. Then none of what came afterwards would have happened.
