Chapter 19
NINETEEN
GEORGIE
‘Keep going, Georgie,’ I gasp to myself as I push through the final climb, legs burning as I pedal faster, the rhythmic whir of the Peloton beneath me drowning out the sound of my breath coming hard and fast. The spare room is small, but the sage-green palm-print wallpaper gives it a boutique studio vibe – perfect for the reels I post about my fitness motivation.
There’s just enough room for the bike, a yoga mat, a set of hand weights and a head-height phone stand.
And after Nate’s study, it has the best view of Magnolia Close.
I stand as I pedal, forcing my legs to keep pumping as I watch the police forensic team in white plastic overalls move in and out of Jonny’s house.
Every time they walk out with another box – another evidence bag – I feel myself flinch.
What have they found? The question nags and pokes until I close my eyes, scrambling for a mantra to quiet them.
‘You can conquer every obstacle facing you,’ I tell myself before pulling in a deep breath that fills my lungs. ‘You are in control of your thoughts.’
I exhale slowly, my heart pounding in my ears from the intensity of the workout.
Then I open my eyes just in time to see the detective leaving Tasha’s house with a colleague in tow.
I expect them to head straight to the Fletchers at number eleven, knocking on each door one by one, but instead, they set off in a determined stride, heading straight for my front door.
I’m suddenly nervous and not sure why. What did Tasha tell them? I push the question aside. Tasha wouldn’t be so stupid as to mention the night in the pub with Keira. We agreed to say nothing to the police.
‘Last sixty seconds,’ my Peloton tells me, and I sit back in the saddle and dig deep for the final minute.
As the bike shifts into cool-down, there’s movement from the floor above, followed by the thud of feet on stairs.
I climb off the bike and reach the door in time to see Nate jogging down each step, a hand on the front door before the first knock comes. I guess I wasn’t the only one watching.
I don’t follow Nate to the front door but slip into the hall, padding to the kitchen while I catch my breath and compose myself.
The morning sun streaks through the bifold doors, spilling light across the marble worktops. I listen to the click of the front door and Nate’s greeting, followed by the low murmur of voices moving down the hall.
‘Come through,’ Nate says with his usual charm. ‘I was just about to make a coffee. Would either of you like one?’
The detective with the dark hair and boring suit appears in the kitchen. She hesitates, and for a moment, I think she’s admiring the space, but then her gaze fixes on Nate’s coffee machine and a small smile tugs at her lips. ‘That would be great, if you don’t mind.’
Nate flashes a boyish grin as he sets to work. ‘Life’s too short for bad coffee, right?’ he says before gesturing to me as though only just noticing I’m in the kitchen. ‘This is my wife, Georgie.’
‘DS Sara Sató,’ the detective in the suit says before nodding to her colleague. ‘This is DC Amanda McLachlan.’
The second detective has a heart-shaped face and is dressed more like a schoolteacher than a detective.
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, aiming for bright and bubbly, but my welcome is drowned out by the hum of Nate’s coffee machine.
Sató takes her mug from Nate, inhaling the steam appreciatively before drinking slowly. ‘That’s good coffee. Thank you.’
He gestures to the stools at the island, and we settle with the detectives on one side and Nate and me on the other. I rest my hand on the countertop, hoping Nate will get the message and take it. A show of unity. A team. But he doesn’t.
‘Thank you for taking a few minutes out of your day to talk to me,’ Sató begins, reaching into her jacket for her notebook. ‘I’m the SIO – the senior investigating officer – of Jonathan Wilson’s murder.’
Murder. The word clangs in my mind. Last night, the PC on our doorstep called it an investigation.
Today it’s murder, and even though I’m not surprised, the word still sends an inky dread circling through my veins.
It’s so extreme. I wanted Jonny dead. I even talked about it.
But someone went through with it. Who? And how was he murdered?
The questions swim alongside the dread inside me.
I sip my coffee, swallowing past the tightness in my chest. I’ve got this!
‘We’re happy to help in any way we can,’ Nate says, his tone light and friendly. ‘Do you know how he died yet?’ He wants to know what’s going on. I’d say he’s desperate for it, in fact.
Sató lowers her mug, ignoring Nate’s question. ‘We’re currently searching Mr Wilson’s house—’
‘What are you looking for?’ I ask, the words bursting out before I can stop them.
Both detectives look at me. So does Nate. I keep my head high, my eyes level. ‘I mean… isn’t that what you do in these situations?’ I add quickly. ‘Go through the victim’s things for clues? Phones, letters, that sort of thing?’ I’m rambling now.
A beat of silence stretches between us. My heart hammers. I should have kept my mouth shut, but it’s hardly my strong suit. I’ve always been a talker. But I need to get a hold of myself. If they’d found the photo of me, they would’ve said so by now. This is just routine.
Sató studies me for a second too long before she replies.
‘Mr Wilson appears to have been quite a private man. No social media, no active digital presence. We’re looking through his belongings for contacts – friends, family – anyone who might be able to provide insight into his life and how he died.
It’s one of the reasons I’m keen to talk to his neighbours.
I’m told this is a close-knit community, so I want to talk to anyone who can shed some light on Jonny’s personal life.
‘Have you found his sister?’ Nate asks, and I’m grateful the conversation has moved on from my outburst.
Sató nods before she continues talking. ‘Do you know if Jonny had a girlfriend?’
Nate shakes his head. ‘There was someone he was interested in. He called her fiery, but that’s all I know. I got the impression she might have been married.’
Sató fires off another question, asking Nate when Jonny spoke to him. I barely hear them, my mind snagging on Jonny. I hate that he knew about my past – that wild, up-for-anything time with my boss, Reggie. I hate that he had proof.
I’m not proud of some of the things I did back then.
I made bad decisions in my past and mistakes in my present.
I should’ve just admitted to knowing Jonny the first time I saw him in Magnolia Close.
Instead, I panicked. He connected me to a life Nate had no idea about – could never know about.
Jonny saw it straight away. My face when I welcomed him.
‘Nice to meet you,’ I said, shooting him a pleading look.
He played along at first, but then we had the street party and he followed me inside.
I still remember how he leaned casually against the worktop, arms folded, smile in place, like he’d been inside my house a hundred times before.
‘I’ve just had a very interesting chat with your husband,’ he said. ‘Nate, isn’t it?’
I busied myself with the ice and scrambled for a reply.
‘He just told me how the two of you met,’ Jonny continued.
I gripped the ice bucket tighter, eyes shooting to the doorway, hoping for someone to interrupt. ‘Jonny—’ I started to say, unsure what would come next.
Jonny pushed a hand through his hair, his smile widening. He was so goddamn relaxed, like we were talking kitchen fittings. ‘I’m guessing you haven’t told him we know each other.’
‘No,’ I said quietly, closing the freezer. ‘And I’m not going to.’ I shrugged, pretended it wasn’t anything but ancient history.
He saw straight through the lie, pulling something out of his back pocket. ‘You won’t mind if I show Nate this photo then?’
I stared at the image – the moment frozen in time. A version of me I wanted to forget. One Nate could never know about. Would never forgive.
I opened my mouth, unsure whether to beg or threaten. Both felt impossible.
All the years I’d spent building this life – the bright, beautiful world of matching pyjamas on Christmas morning and laughter and fun and the host of every party.
A vision of perfection for my neighbours and my followers and myself too.
Proof I was someone. And then this man – this smug, swaggering man – stood in my kitchen, holding my past between two fingers like a lit match. He had the power to burn it all down.
He must’ve read it on my face – the horror, the helplessness – because he laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Georgie,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to tell anyone about your past. Or that we knew each other.’
I almost believed him. Almost let myself breathe again. But of course it wasn’t going to be that simple.
‘I’m sure we can think of a way for you to repay me for my silence,’ he added, stepping closer, running a finger down the bare skin of my arm like he owned me. Then he pushed his lips onto mine.
I lurched away, disgusted and upset. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ I spat, my voice too loud in the hush of the hallway.
His laughter had followed me out. ‘By the way,’ he called, ‘you can keep that photo. I’ve got a copy.’
And when I turned, there it was. My past, in plain sight. Taunting me.
It took everything not to scream. I waited until he left, then I destroyed it before anyone could see it.
Maybe I should’ve fought harder that day.
Threatened him. Paid him off. Told Nate first, on my terms. Spun some half-truth before Jonny could twist it into something worse.
But like the detectives sitting at the counter drinking Nate’s fresh ground coffee, Nate never would’ve let it go until he had all the answers. I couldn’t let that happen.
Besides, as soon as I pretended not to know Jonny, it felt too late to admit our connection to Nate or anyone else in Magnolia Close. The more time that passed, the more impossible it became to take the lie back.
I was trapped in it. With Nate and everyone else. Something Jonny reminded me of whenever he’d caught me on my own.
So I stayed quiet. I told Beth and Tasha just enough to explain my feelings towards Jonny, but not enough to invite questions I couldn’t answer.
I avoided Jonny as best I could. Bided my time. And now, finally, my secret is safe.