She doesn’t reply, but that’s all right. I’ve planted the seed, and now I can only hope that it blossoms into something productive. I need some good news. It’s my turn to be in the limelight now.
I’m not so proud I can’t admit when I’ve made a mistake, and I’m beginning to wonder—particularly after the last two weeks—if my strategy with Jackhasbeen a mistake. If turning myself into his wife has perhaps unlocked something in him that he would rather keep buried. It wouldn’t be my first mistake. The last time I slipped up, the consequences were fatal. Following Freddie into that alleyway, the argument.
It will be impossible for Jack and me to move forward unless I have all the facts. Unless I understand the reasons behind his ever-changing moods. The Jack I’m living with is so different from the man I fell in love with that, sometimes, I wonder if they’re the same person at all.
Forty-three
It’s not hardto find Serena’s number. It’s in my call list, and she was tenacious about trying to get in touch before she ambushed me on the street. All I have to do is scroll back a few weeks to find it. I’m conscious, as I tap the message out, that I’m going to have to do a significant amount of groveling. I allowed the mask to slip too much during our last encounter. I’ll have to find a way of spinning it to work in my favor.
The one thing I cling to is Serena’s obvious revulsion toward Jack. If she dislikes him that much, I’m hopeful she won’t think twice about spilling his secrets.
Now I just need to find a way to draw her in.
Hi Serena, it’s Iris. We met the other day on the street. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but there are some things I want to discuss with you. Could you give me a ring at some point? Or come over? It’s just…I’mfinding things with Jack quite tricky at the moment. Thanks, I x
There is a long, long wait until three dots start bouncing at the bottom of the screen. They stop, start again, stop. And then the message comes through. Short, to the point. Not at all warranting the length of time she took to tap it out.
I’ll be there in 10.
This doesn’t give me much time to prepare. I can’t come across as I did the other day. Clearly, Serena still harbors complex emotions around Alice’s death, and that tends to come from a place of love. I would know. It seems, with her, I’ll have to align myself with Alice again.
She turns up bang on time. She looks more collected this time—the smear of red lipstick less angry—though her mouth is still set into a hard line. I meet her at the door with a flurry of gratitude, a slightly nervous smile pinned to my face.
“Thank yousomuch for coming,” I say as I usher her into the house. Before I close the door, I check both ways up and down the street. Just in case Jack is lurking somewhere. When I turn round, I see Serena has clocked the action. Her face is softer, a small crease between her brows. I take her through to the kitchen.
Serena knows her way around this house. I have to stop myself from bristling as—in the kitchen—she takes over, flicking on the kettle, taking two mugs from the cupboard. I take a few deep breaths and seat myself at the breakfast bar as she fusses around.
“It’s really kind of you to come,” I say as she pours the water into the mugs.
She turns, gives me a long, searching look. “I nearly didn’t.”
A straight talker. That bodes well.
“Well, I’m grateful you did. I didn’t have anyone else to turn to and things have been so…odd recently.”
She doesn’t respond—doesn’t ask how, or why—just gives a small, jerky nod as though this confirms some internal suspicion of hers.
When she sets the tea down in front of me, she takes a moment to arrange herself on the chair, then fixes me with a piercing look. I hunch my shoulders—a far cry from the woman she met on the street the other day.
Just as I intended, this seems to thaw her slightly. She releases a long sigh. “I’m not entirely surprised you called. Martha mentioned things have become quite bad.”
I send a silent prayer of thanks to Martha as I give a tiny nod.
“Did you tell him we ran into each other the other day?” she asks.
“Yes. He told me you were his ex.”
She looks first surprised, then sickened. “What? Even for him, that’s quite low. I’m not into men, but if I were, I still wouldn’t go near him even if we were the last two people on Earth.”
This is good. Shehateshim, and that is exactly what I was counting on. People are far more likely to reveal secrets about those they dislike. Just look at what I told Dad about Marcie.
“I’m sorry for the way I acted. When we bumped into each other. I was way out of line. He’d been feeding me all these lies. I thought you were…bad news. I see now that I was wrong, but it still doesn’t excuse the things I said.”
She nods again—the same jerky movement. “I could see you were well wrapped up in him. He’s good at doing that to people.” She gives a mirthless laugh, then breaks off as she eyes me. “I still can’t believe he’s dressing you up in her clothes. I knew he was psychotic, butfuck.”
I need to feed into her revulsion, befriend her. Suggest we have a common goal. “I hate it. He lays them out every morning. Gets so, so angry if I say I don’t want to wear them.”
Another firm jerk of her head that suggests she has been expecting this, too.
