We walk in silence for a while, just the pad of our footsteps and the whirr and scrape of Leo’s scooter wheels on the pavement, until we reach the cut-through that leads to the lakeside path. It’s usually thronged with parents and kids on their way home from school, but we’re late today so the way is empty.
The lane opens up onto a vast swathe of blue sky and lake – a beautiful vista that still has the power to make me catch my breath despite having lived in Ashridge Falls all my life. The waterfall that gives the town its name is set further up the hillside in Ashridge Forest, but the lake itself is situated on the eastern edge of Ashridge – the posh side of town – with multi-million-pound houses ranged around the shoreline. The lake is so vast, you can’t even see the other side. You could almost imagine you were by the ocean.
Half a mile west of here, the town centre is made up of a couple of main roads with all the shops and eateries a town could ever need. For more serious shopping expeditions, I head into the city, which is an hour out of town, but Ashridge can give any city a run for its money, with several cool boutiques of its own.
A sudden breeze skips across the water, throwing up silver ripples that wink and flash like fish scales. And then a movement catches my eye. ‘Look!’ I point up at the sky above the lake. ‘Rosie, Leo, look over there! Geese!’ They’re honking over the lake, several of them coming into land with inelegant splashes. Usually Rosie would laugh and point at them. Today, she barely even looks up. By contrast, Leo scoots ahead along the path, trying to copy their cries. Normally his antics would make us both giggle, but Rosie is withdrawn and I’m too worried about her to be amused right now.
‘Hey, Rosie Posie, shall we make some cakes when we get home? We need to make some good ones for the regatta on Saturday. I thought we could ice some sailboats onto them.’ I pause to let her reply, but she simply takes a deep breath and lets it out again. ‘Daddy’s racing, so we’ll need to cheer him on. Maybe you and Leo could make him a good-luck card?’
She bites her lip. I want to reach down and scoop her up into my arms for a hug. But she’s never been one for prolonged cuddles and I think the hug would be more for me than for her. This is ridiculous; I’m going to get to the bottom of this.
‘Rosie, was someone mean to you at school today?’
She shrugs. That’s progress – at least she’s responding.
‘Was it someone in your class? Or one of the older children? You know you can tell me. Even if they said you mustn’t tell, you can always tell Mummy and Daddy anything – you know that, don’t you?’ Something else occurs to me. ‘Or was it a teacher? Did a grown-up say something to you? Did they tell you off?’
She shakes her head, and I relax a little.
‘Was it one of the older children?’
She shrugs.
I think we’re getting closer to the truth now. It’s probably just some little bully. I’m determined to find out exactly who said what. And if she’s being picked on, the school damn well better do something about it.
‘Rosie, what did they say?’
Tears begin to stream down her cheeks, and she gives a few noisy gulps. I call ahead to Leo to stay where he is while I crouch down and give my little girl a hug. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. What happened, darling?’ I smooth a few loose curls away from her face and fix her with a gentle gaze.
‘Mummy…’ Her voice wobbles.
‘Yes? What is it? What happened?’
‘Mummy, why did you kill someone?’
For a moment I think I’ve heard incorrectly. ‘Why did I…? What did you say?’
My daughter’s voice steadies. ‘Why did you kill somebody? Were they not very nice? You’re not supposed to hurt people, but you killed him.’ Her eyes meet mine and she seems almost afraid.
‘I… Rosie, who told you that?’
‘A boy at school. And another boy too. They said you killed him. They called you a murdiner.’
‘They said what?!’ I snap.
Rosie flinches at my tone and I’m instantly contrite. ‘Sorry, darling, I’m not cross with you. I’m cross with those silly boys for telling lies.’
‘But they said it was true. They said—’
‘Listen to me, Rosie. Sometimes people make things up. They tell lies. So when they do that, we should ignore them.’
‘But everyone else said it too. They said, “Your mum killed someone so she’s a murdiner and she has to go to prison.” You’re not going to prison, are you, Mummy?’ Her eyes fill with tears again.
‘Hey, hey, it’s okay. No one’s going to prison, and no one’s a murderer. Those boys are just making up silly stories and I’m going to speak to their teacher and tell them to stop talking rubbish, okay?’
Rosie’s lip wobbles, but she nods her head.
‘So can I get a cuddle now?’ I tap her nose with my forefinger, and she smiles shyly before launching herself into my arms so hard we bump heads. We laugh, but I don’t feel as happy as I’m pretending to be. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, my skin feels clammy and my stomach is still fluttering. What the hell were those boys talking about? Why would they have told Rosie those things about me? And where did they hear it from? Bad memories echo through my bones, pulling at my sinews and pulsing along my veins, but I damp them down. This can’t be anything to do with that. Can it?
Two
FIONA
I look up from the conference table at my twenty-two-year-old assistant, hovering in the doorway. ‘Molly, can you bring us a tea and two black coffees, no sugar?’
Molly sighs, nods and walks back into the showroom, her sleek blonde ponytail swinging as she goes. I’m well aware that she’s already becoming disillusioned with the job. I employed her just over two years ago and I’m sure she hoped her role might be a little more creative. I own Salinger’s, an interior design business in the centre of town and, while we’re usually pretty busy, Molly is the one who gets all the mundane tasks. I did warn her at the start that the job wasn’t as glamorous as it might sound, but she had that hopeful glow of optimism back then, which has since worn down to a patchy veneer now verging on rudeness.
I can’t worry about Molly right now. Instead, I try to focus all my attention on my clients, Belinda and Harry Carmichael, a super-rich couple in their early forties that I’ve been working with for several weeks. They’ve just bought the old mill house which sits up near the waterfall. It’s a property with lots of history and plenty of interesting features, so I was excited when they approached me to help them with it. They spend most of their time in the city, but they plan to come up to Ashridge Falls for weekends and holidays once the house is finished.
‘What do you think of these initial ideas?’ I ask, confident that I’ve fulfilled the brief perfectly.
‘Fiona, I really like what you’ve come up with.’ My heart sinks. Belinda is speaking with zero conviction and a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s got one of those ultra-short fringes that reminds me of when my mum used to cut my hair with the nail scissors, and I’d end up in tears. Only Belinda’s hair is like that on purpose. ‘It’s just…’ She drums her acrylic nails on the table top. ‘It’s just that I want more of a wow factor, you know?’