Epilogue
BETH
The soft whir of my sewing machine fills the house, rhythmic and steady.
It’s the only sound, apart from the quiet tap of my foot on the pedal.
I’m making a new bed set for Henry, cut from fabric printed with astronauts kicking footballs in space.
I smile as I work, imagining his face when he sees it.
He’ll cherish it, like he does everything I make for him.
The window is open. A warm breeze drifts in, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the hum of lawnmowers from the neighbours’ gardens.
It’s the kind of spring day made for parks and ice cream, the kind of blue sky and sunshine that makes it easy to believe nothing bad ever happened on Magnolia Close.
I glance at the clock. Nearly noon. Alistair will be home soon with Henry – and our baby girl, tucked in the pushchair, blinking up at the world, ready for her next feed.
Just the thought of her makes my breasts ache.
It’s only the second time I’ve been apart from her, but Alistair insisted I take a morning for myself.
We named her Alanna. It means ‘precious child’.
After everything it took to have her – the years of trying and failing, the heartbreak and emptiness – it was the only name that made sense.
She is perfect. Red hair, bright, curious eyes that study me when she feeds.
Everyone says she looks just like Alistair.
I smile when they say it and always agree. Sometimes, I almost believe it too.
He’ll see the truth one day, the voice inside whispers.
No, he won’t.
There have been so many times when my heart has raced and I’ve barely breathed as I feared the truth would come out. Whenever we met with the midwives, I feared they’d mention my due date and Alistair would put it together. But he never did. It’s the benefit of having a forgetful, trusting husband.
It’s amazing, really, the lies we choose to believe. Like Jonny that day in London. I chose not to see the trouble I was bringing on myself.
‘Let me help,’ he said, after buying me a gin and tonic and listening to me cry over how the fertility clinic and my plan for a sperm donor was too expensive.
I lifted my head in surprise; blinked back my tears. ‘You’d lend me the money for a sperm donor?’ I asked.
He smiled a flirtatious grin. ‘I want to help you get pregnant, yes. But why waste money on a stranger’s sperm? Why not use someone you know?’
I laughed at first. I thought he was joking.
‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘Use me. I’m tall, successful, smart—’
‘Cocky and obnoxious,’ I cut in, and it was his turn to laugh.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. ‘Free and available. We can try as many times as you need, and it will cost you nothing.’
‘Why would you do that?’ I asked, taking another long gulp of my drink. I told myself I would never do that. Not with Jonny. Not to Alistair. A sperm donor was one thing, but an affair was a whole other kind of betrayal.
‘Because you’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘Why wouldn’t I want to sleep with you?’
I said no at first. I wouldn’t do that to Alistair.
But then I went home, empty and broken, and I started to see that Jonny’s proposal was the only way Alistair and I would ever get the perfect family we deserved.
And even though I could barely look at myself in the mirror, I told myself I was doing it because I loved my husband and would do anything to give him the second child he wanted as much as I did.
And so for three days every month, when I was ovulating, Jonny and I slept together.
It wasn’t unpleasant. Jonny was passionate and exploring, different from Alistair’s slow tenderness.
But I refused to enjoy it. I told myself it was a means to an end.
And when that second pink line appeared on the pregnancy test three months later, I ended the affair.
I got what I wanted.
But Jonny wanted more.
A noise outside pulls me back. I glance out the window and see a removal van pulling into number twelve. A new family, finally filling the last empty house on Magnolia Close.
Tasha, Marc and the girls left first. Going before their house had even sold. Georgie and Nate went next. Nate moved to a high-rise apartment in London, and Georgie and Oscar to a little house near Dove Street.
We still see each other at school pick-ups.
Georgie tried to stay in contact after she moved out of Magnolia Close.
I gave her excuse after excuse, and eventually, she got the message.
I let the friendship slip away. It was better that way.
But she seems happy. She finally got her wish to go viral and become the influencer she dreamed of being.
Not as someone who has it all but through posts about the stark honesty of life as a single mum on a budget.
Relatable and passionate. A different version of the Georgie I knew, but then she never really knew me either.
Jonny’s house sold next. A nice family moved in next door – a couple who run a florist. Their children are older – a boy and a girl around ten and twelve. They always say hi to Henry and throw his football back for him when it goes over the fence.
Dan and Ryan sold next. It’s sad they couldn’t heal the rift. And even though Marc and Tasha were the first to leave Magnolia Close, their sale has only just gone through. The final new family are joining our community. At last, it feels like a fresh start for all of us.
Downstairs, the front door bangs open. I hear Henry and Alistair calling up, followed by Alanna’s hungry wail.
‘Mummy! Quick! Alanna needs your milk!’ Henry shouts.
‘Coming!’ I call back, already smiling.
I head downstairs. Henry stands proudly by the sofa, taller now, his neat red hair and freckles glowing in the sunlight. He sets a glass of water on the coffee table like Alistair has told him to do any time I’m breastfeeding, before he kneels beside his train set.
Alistair lifts Alanna from her pushchair and hands her to me. She nuzzles into my chest, latching on with a small tug. I breathe in the sweet, milky scent of her, feeling a contentment I always believed I would find.
Alistair drops a kiss on my head. ‘I said hello to the new family at number twelve,’ he says. ‘They’ve got a baby too.’
‘Oh really?’ I glance towards the window, feeling hopeful.
He smiles. ‘I invited them for coffee tomorrow morning.’
‘Perfect,’ I reply. And it is. I can already tell we’ll be good friends.
Magnolia Close isn’t just a street. It’s a community. We look out for each other. We stick together.
I can’t see number twelve too well from here – not like Georgie’s old view of the entire close – but that’s fine. A few more months, a little more healing and I’ll set up a new camera. Discreetly of course. Somewhere hidden.
It isn’t about spying. It’s about caring. Protecting what we have.
The first camera wasn’t about prying either. It was about Jonny. I needed to make sure no one was around to see me slipping between our houses, letting myself into his house with our key those times I was sleeping with him.
Everything would’ve worked out if Jonny hadn’t changed his mind about our plan.
‘You know,’ he said, a few weeks after I ended our affair, ‘I think I’ve changed my mind. When else am I going to get a chance to be a dad? Alistair is a sap. He’ll forgive you. You can still have your happy family, Beth, but I want to be part of this baby’s life.’
I knew he didn’t really mean it. It was just another game to him. He didn’t care about being a father. All he cared about was being in our lives forever. I suspected it was always his plan. This way he could constantly mess with us. Lord my betrayal over Alistair.
‘Either you tell Alistair or I will,’ he said the day I met Georgie and Tasha in the pub for the PTA meeting. The day I realised I would need a new plan to protect my perfect family.
Maybe Jonny was right about Alistair forgiving me. But it would’ve destroyed the sweet, honest trust we share. It would’ve hurt my husband and my family too deeply. And I didn’t do all this for anything less than perfect.
There was only one solution – Jonny had to go.
When Keira joked about killing him that night, something clicked into place. I saw my opportunity. I bent forward, pretending to laugh as I tapped my phone to record. If I was clever, if I played it just right, I could build an alibi, kill Jonny and protect my future.
So on the night of the quiz, while the others thought I was battling morning sickness, I set my phone to play a recording I’d made of me in the bathroom retching, and I slipped out.
I’d already laced the biscuits I’d made with the sleeping pills I’d stolen from Tasha’s bag at the pub.
I’d given them to Jonny as a peace offering just before I left for the school to help set up for the quiz, promising him I’d tell Alistair that weekend.
One of the things I learned about Jonny in my time in his bed was what a sweet tooth he has, always wanting chocolate or treats.
I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist my biscuits.
I was right. By the time I arrived and let myself in with the spare key, he was unconscious in bed.
The killing was… mechanical. Stab wounds, like Georgie said. Smearing blood on a yellow top I’d bought to look like Tasha’s. Then suffocation like I described. Enough to muddy the method, enough to echo what we’d talked about.
Even then, I’d hoped I wouldn’t need any of the evidence I collected.
I’d hoped Jonny’s death would be considered an unsolved murder.
But DS Sató wasn’t the bumbling detective I’d expected.
She was diligent and determined. The news broke that she was close to an arrest. The police knew it was someone close to him.
And even though I didn’t think it was me she suspected, the panic set in. I had to take control.