I see a figure emerging from the waves, surfboard tucked beneath his arm. He waves, and we wave back.
‘Ah. You think I’m that woman,’ I say quietly. ‘I’m not. I’m happy. I’m getting married soon.’ But I’m thinking about that photo, of course, that woman’s face so similar to mine yet bruised and deformed, horrifying.
‘This man, the one who’s been asking questions. I got the same feeling about him. He came into the café but he didn’t seem like he was all there, you know? Of course I’ve told him nothing. But I just wanted to let you know, in case – in case it’s a situation like mine, like an ex, someone you don’t want to find you.’
‘What does he look like?’
Heidi thinks for a moment. ‘Middle-aged but trying not to show it. He looks like he’s had some work done – cosmetic, I mean – he has that tautness, do you know what I mean?’
I tell her yes, I know.
‘His teeth are very white. More work, I think. He’s charming, very pleasant. Slight American accent, but only a trace. Nice car, nice shoes, expensive. Either he’s rich or it’s a mid-life crisis. He smells good too, sort of like clean water.’
‘I thought you only met him a few times?’
‘I did. I’m capable of taking in a lot of information about people very quickly. I’m always on alert, do you see?’
‘Yeah. What did you tell him?’
She laughs drily. ‘Not a thing. He’ll be asking around though, so he probably already has the answers to his questions. So be warned.’
Frankie has drawn level with us both, his feet planted in the sand, wetsuit glistening like sealskin. He wipes wet hair away from his face. ‘What’re you two talking about?’
‘Your missus.’
‘A wonderful woman. Why are you talking about Erica?’
‘Just telling Stella a story.’
‘Ah,’ he says, nodding, and picks up a long branch of seaweed from the sand. ‘Old bones.’
‘Leave them buried, right?’ Heidi replies, head tilted to one side. Her hair blazes crimson.
‘That’s right. Leave them buried.’
I know who Heidi is talking about. Joey Fraser. That prick. I pull out my phone when I get back to the cottage, scroll through the numbers on the call log.
‘Stella.’
‘What’s going on, Joey? You’re lucky I haven’t called the police.’
‘You’re going to need to humour me with specifics.’
‘You’ve been coming to my house, trying to frighten me. Even for you this is low.’
‘Stella, please, calm down. I thought you’d grown out of this.’
‘I know what you’re doing and it’s not funny. I can’t believe you got hold of a videotape – haven’t you heard of computers? Of the Internet?’
‘Stella, I— You should hear yourself, you really should. Take a breath.’
‘You’re haunting me. Leave me alone.’
‘You owe me!’ I have to hold the phone away from my ear. He is so angry his voice distorts. ‘You made my life hell! You made all our lives hell! You deserve to live in fear and panic the rest of your life. Why should you have it easy?’
‘Wh— What?’
‘Oh, come on. Come on, Stella. Don’t play dumb. Your. Mother. Talk about a pushy parent. She hoovered up every good line on that show and had them rewritten just for you. She made sure we all knew we were the supporting cast, the backing dancers. She even had the name of the show changed.’
‘Ha!’ I’m laughing but it’s shrill. It feels like a fist made of ice is sinking into my stomach. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You really don’t remember, huh? The first series of the show was called Two and Six. It was your mother putting pressure on the producers – and we all know how much she liked to do that, right? Getting them to change it, to give you the best lines. Only when putting pressure on them stopped working she started threatening to pull you out altogether. Of course that made them nervous and so they changed the title. Don’t you realise that you were the only one in the whole show to be called by your full name? Katie Marigold. Katie Marigold. Only you and no one else. She used to say you were the heart of the show so often that people started believing it.’
‘You’re making this up.’
‘Look it up if you don’t believe me. You were a monster. If you didn’t get your own way you lashed out, usually at us, the bigger kids. I have a deep, deep scar, sister. Don’t you remember?’
I tell him I don’t but I do, I think. I can remember standing in a caravan and screaming and screaming, my lungs white-hot, burning. Someone had done something to me, something awful. Joey had been there, glaring at me, not helping. Why hadn’t he helped me? I feel furious again.
‘I remember how much you bullied me. The things you used to say. How lonely you made me feel. It’s not my fault I had the biggest part, I—’
‘There you go again! You didn’t have the biggest part, at least not in the beginning. You had the same as everyone else, one or two lines apiece. And the episodes weren’t all about you then either. One of them was about me, can you imagine? Only your mother thought you were Shirley fucking Temple and started causing trouble and before you knew it the whole cast were reduced to bit players.’
‘I was a kid. I was just a kid!’
‘Look at the first two series. The actress who played Bonnie was replaced twice. No one could stand you, so they quit. The original Mikey quit because you scratched him till you drew blood. A year later our mother was replaced, and still no one stopped you. There used to be a joke on set that even the dogs were dying just to get away from you.’
I am shaking. I was in a caravan, screaming. I had the Katie Marigold dress on, and my hands were sticky and I was screaming. Why hadn’t he comforted me? Why hadn’t he got an adult? What had he done?
‘If you come near me, if you come near the house again, I will call the police. I haven’t forgotten what you did.’
‘I’m not here to threaten you, Stella. You’re turning into your mother, do you know that? You’re out of your fucking mind.’
I clench and unclench my fists. I am filled with anger, slippery as a nest of eels. I can’t grasp it. I am not used to this rage. The pills kept it at bay. It’s overpowering, and I realise I am grinding my teeth together so hard that my jaw aches.
Back at the cottage I lift the videotape from the table and stalk over to the tall bookcases in the corner, filled with the curling pages of Jilly Coopers and Jackie Collinses. But there are no more videotapes on the shelves or in the cupboards of the dresser. I turn it over in my hands, wonderingly. You’re sleepwalking again, princess, Marco had said to me, and he’d put that soft grey pill in my mouth and I’d ground it to powder before I’d even swallowed it.
I open the back door and let Blue out into the garden. He immediately sits beneath the shade of the apple tree which grows stubbornly against the bracing wind, heavily knuckled branches already bearing fruit. October already. The clouds are low and grey, rolling in from the sea. As I turn I notice that the woodshed door is ajar. I stop, stand very still. The padlock has been opened. It hangs from the handle, the key still in the lock. Well, there you go then, I think, moving slowly over the damp grass, only you could have done that because only you have the key.