But I can’t shake the feeling that something about Iris’s reaction to the news is a bit off. I thought she’d be grief-stricken. Or not grief-stricken, exactly, but definitely more upset. Instead, she hasn’t shed a single tear since she arrived home and is now giggling in front of the TV. I suppose people react in different ways to shocking news like this.
It’s no good. I have to double-check. ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘I need the loo.’
Ash and the kids are all glued to the TV and no one pays me any attention as I slip out of the living room into the kitchen. Olly’s legs are crossed on the coffee table, barring my way, but he doesn’t move as I clamber over them except to lean round me as I block the television screen from his view for a few seconds.
I open the drawer where the knife is kept – the one I wanted to use the other day to chop the onions. I start to take out the utensils one by one – garlic press, bottle opener, nut cracker …
And there it is. It must have been here all along. Somehow, I knew it would be. I’m not sure what possessed me. I make my way back to the living room and take my place on the sofa again, sandwiched between Margo and Iris. But try as I might, I can’t get back into the film. I can’t relax, even though the knife is in the drawer, where it should be, where it has always been. I heave a sigh, but my relief is tinged with unease.
Because if I doubted my daughter, even for a split second, how can I expect anyone else to believe she’s innocent?
Chapter 6
Iris
THEN
After Josh came back from Greece, he made it up to her. He went running with her and went on and on about her technique, cadence and core exercises. He mansplained everything, but she didn’t care. She followed his advice and he cheered her on at cross-country trials like she was competing in the Olympics or something. She smashed her best times. He showered her with attention and praise. He made her believe in herself, truly believe in herself. She was literally buzzing with all the attention he lavished on her. It was like he could see her.Reallysee her. And her potential.
‘Dream big, babe,’ he said – he liked to call her ‘babe’ or ‘bae’ – Before Anyone Else. ‘You’re the strongest and smartest person I know. You can do anything you set your mind to.’
He moulded her into a shinier version of herself. And not just in cross-country. Josh, who described himself as a maths geek, wasn’t that clued in about art, literature or classical music – the things that made Iris tick. But he made an effort, read up on stuff that interested her. And little by little, he charmed – or maybe pushed – his way into every aspect of Iris’s life. School, home, her head. He gave her pep talks before tests and compliments on her paintings and sketches, even her violin playing, although Josh himself wasn’t at all musical. She flourished under the spotlight he projected just on her.
Despite their different interests, Josh was always going on about how similar they were. He’d say stuff like how Iris often said aloud what he was thinking; that she watched the same Netflix shows and films as he did; that she listened to his favourite bands too; that they both loved Thai food; that he had the same dream as her of one day backpacking around South America. So many coincidences. It sometimes made Iris feel like he was aping her. But, Josh? He said it just went to show they were made for each other. Iris was his soul mate.
Joshlovedto talk in superlatives. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him and this was the happiest he’d ever been in his life. He told her he loved her. It seemed soon, too soon, but he repeated it so often –loadsof times every single day – that she eventually said it back to him. It would have been super awkward if she hadn’t. It was weird, though, because it was partly because he loved her so much that she was so attracted to him. No one had ever loved her that much. It was seriously intoxicating. But even back then, there were times when Iris thought it might be better if he loved her a bit less. She’d asked him if they could slow down when he came back from his holiday, but everything was speeding up. It was all moving too fast again, like they had to make up for lost time. She felt dizzy.
Another month or so passed. Afterwards, Iris would look back on it as their honeymoon period. It was intense, but fun, on the whole. Then came their first big row. Iris didn’t really do social media that much. Well, it depends what you call a lot. Before, she probably spent, like, twenty minutes a day, half an hour max, a bit more at weekends – far less than her friends. Her screen time was higher than that, obviously – she often did her homework on her laptop and watched series on it, too. But she wasn’t really into Snap and Insta. Once she was going out with Josh, they were texting so much during the day and sending voice messages to each other or FaceTiming in the evenings. So, her screen time deffo went up as a result, but, honestly, she hardly bothered with social media at all anymore. Every time she picked up her phone, Josh had left a message for her. It was sweet, but also a bit over the top.
But one day she posted this pic to Instagram of her with Olly. Biggest mistake ever. Their dad had taken the photo as they were playing badminton in the garden at his house one Saturday at the beginning of the Easter holidays. But then one of her classmates – a guy she didn’t even know that well except for working with him on some English Lit assignment – liked the post and commented. Something totally harmless. She couldn’t even remember what it was. Josh had a complete meltdown. He wanted her to delete the comment and block the classmate. When she refused, he went into full-on sulk mode for days. She texted him, telling him he had no need to be jealous and he could trust her. She could see from his read receipts that he’d seen her messages, but he completely ignored them. After a fortnight of his constant emails, texts and voice messages, his silence was ear-piercing.
His behaviour reminded her of when he’d gone on holiday and hadn’t answered her messages. He’d claimed then that it was due to a misunderstanding. This time it felt deliberate. Hurtful. He was ghosting her. In the end, she was so pissed off she wrote a message calling him babyish and telling him to grow the fuck up.
When he finally got in touch, the evening before they went back to school, he told her his aunt had died unexpectedly, it had been utter chaos at home and he hadn’t had the time or headspace to find the words to reconcile with her. He referred to the incident as a ‘petty argument’, which, she supposed, it was. She felt bad – she’d insulted him after all – and she was the one to apologize first. She vowed to herself to stay off social media from then on. That would avoid any further drama.
Josh never actually said sorry. Not in so many words. He just said he loved her so much it was only natural he should feel jealous. He was totally overwhelmed by his feelings for her; he’d never felt anything like this before. It was only much later that Iris realized ‘sorry’ didn’t seem to be a word in Josh’s active vocabulary. Instead, he’d say things like, ‘My bad’ or ‘Mea culpa.’ Once he even went so far as a ‘I’m sorryifI upset you.’ But even though he never really apologized, he always made it up to her. He always made things better. For a while. Until the next time.
Iris wasn’t entirely sure when the next time was. Was it the time they argued because he sent her forty-three text messages one day – he actually counted them – and she only wrote back to twelve of them? He sulked for a few days before the texting started up again. From then on, she tried to reply immediately to every one of his messages, but she noticed thathesometimes seemed to keep her dangling, waiting for an answer, although he promised it wasn’t on purpose. Or was it the time they’d rowed after that awful family meal at Josh’s place? Yvonne, Josh’s mum, had asked him to take his younger brothers to football practice, but Josh forgot. He blamed it on Iris. She can’t even remember now how he made it out to be her fault. Iris actually felt like she had to apologize to Yvonne! Then Josh seemed to get a kick out of putting Iris down and correcting everything she said for the rest of the dinner. He made her feel like a complete idiot in front of his family. The row started in the car when he took her home afterwards. She started it. She was so mad at him. He drove way too fast around the bends and scared the shit out of her. Then he ghosted her for at least three days.
So that was the blueprint for their relationship. It was an on-again / off-again one. All or nothing. Iris spent a lot of the time they were together thinking she should get out of it for good, and all of the time they were apart pining for him like she was missing a piece of herself. Deep down, she could see she’d become completely dependent on him. But she continued to go round and round, up and down, like she was stuck on a rollercoaster ride and couldn’t get off. She loved him. And the good times were sooooo good, they more than made up for the bad times. Highs and lows. Was this how drug addicts felt? You know it’s bad for you, but you keep coming back for more because every now and then it makes you feel really, really good.
Chapter 7
Carla
NOW
Crooked Oak Cottage. No wonky trees in the garden, as you might expect if you’re not from around here. It’s named after the river, although Crooked Oak River does indeed take its name from a gnarled tree that has been leaning precariously for centuries. Ash and I did up this place when we moved back to North Devon from London. We were going back to our roots, but it was meant to be a new start. It was supposed to be a good move, in more ways than one. But we must have been mad taking on a major DIY project at a time when our marriage was shaky and our kids were so young. Things capsized fairly quickly between us. Final nail in the coffin and all that. We put Crooked Oak Cottage on the market, but to say it wasn’t quite finished would be a massive understatement. It was barely inhabitable and completely unsellable. So, Ash left; the kids and I stayed. Ash and I got divorced, stopped arguing and, after a while, I continued renovating the cottage. Even though he no longer lived in it, Ash often gave me a hand. As well as fixing up the house, we were fixing our relationship, laying the foundations for a solid friendship.
Crooked Oak Cottage is my haven. I love being at home; I love working from home; I’m a homebody. I used to have a hectic job in London, working as a commissioning editor for one of the big five publishers. I had a long commute, worked long hours. I was a workaholic and I was good at my job, but I found it increasingly difficult to juggle my career with motherhood.
I’m still an editor, but I work freelance. I make a decent living. Although I miss my colleagues, I’ve never regretted moving away from London; I’ve never looked back. But today I feel lonely. Threatened. As if my world is slowly but irreversibly falling apart. I can’t wait for Daniel to come home.
I decide to make headway on the edit I’ve been assigned. I’ve worked with this author before and I usually love her work. But the words make no sense to me and I can’t get into it. The manuscript might as well have been written in Chinese. Or the font switched to Wingdings. After a while, I give up and make myself a bite to eat – a cheese and ham toastie with coleslaw, which I take through to the living room to eat in front of the lunchtime news.
Bloody Joshua. He’s the main story on the regional news. I should have known. My fork, loaded with slaw, stops halfway to my mouth and I lower it to my plate, my appetite washed away, leaving nausea in its wake.
It’s only a short news bulletin. They don’t seem to know much. Either that or they’re not revealing anything at this stage. Even so, I lean forwards on the sofa and hang on to the newscaster’s every word.
