Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
GEORGIE
By Friday, Jonny’s murder is all anyone can talk about.
The Magnolia Close WhatsApp group is humming with tension and accusations.
The gossip from the school gates isn’t much better.
I thought being at work today would offer a distraction, but with Jonny’s murder still the top story on the local radio’s hourly news bulletin, it feels like there’s no escape.
Especially with the police statement released this afternoon suggesting they’re pursuing strong leads.
What does that mean? Every time I try to think about who did this, it’s like a vice squeezing my chest. A murder in our community…
Now all I want is to collect Oscar and go home. Shut ourselves away for the weekend.
My eyes land on the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes – 2.57 p.m. My daily mantra circles my thoughts, and for once it feels taunting instead of reassuring.
I have all the time I need.
Three more minutes. That’s all. I try to focus on the computer screen and the new property listing I was supposed to finish an hour ago that’s barely started. I manage a line of words before my gaze is back on the clock.
2.58 p.m.
Benton’s Estate Agent’s is a small, dark-green shopfront on a smaller stretch of the high street, away from the main strip of restaurants and chain shops.
Family-owned and with a reputation for finding buyers and selling fast, it’s always busy.
I usually love my three afternoons a week.
It’s mostly admin and house listings, helping walk-ins, but sometimes I show the homes too.
The pay is terrible, but Tim Benton is kind, and the other staff are fun.
I pride myself on knowing exactly what a person is looking for the moment they step through the door.
Sometimes I think I know it better than they do.
A forever home. A renovation project. People think houses are about status and comfort, but they’re about so much more.
Our homes are part of our identity. They mean so much to us.
Like Magnolia Close. At least, it used to feel that way before Jonny’s murder three days ago and the discovery of the secret camera.
It isn’t just the WhatsApp group that feels toxic now.
In just a few short days, Magnolia Close no longer feels like the inviting haven it once was.
I’ve seen my neighbours hurrying in and out of their homes, no longer stopping to say hello and chat about the weather and plans for the weekend.
Packages left on doorsteps instead of being taken in by one of us.
Not even Andrea gave me a wave from her window earlier when I left for work, and it was me who helped her from the bathroom floor last year after she slipped getting out of the shower and twisted her ankle.
The police presence has become suffocating. Their unmarked cars come and go at all hours, headlights flicking across bedroom windows at night.
3 p.m.
‘Thank you,’ I say to the universe as I shut down my computer. I grab my bag and call a hurried goodbye.
Outside, the cool October air makes me wish I’d replaced the gloves I lost that night in the pub.
I walk fast, taking the road that borders the park, barely registering the crunch of leaves beneath my boots.
The sky is grey, but it’s not wet, and I know Oscar will jump at my feet and beg for a trip to the park.
It’s what we usually do on Fridays, always followed by a playdate at mine with Henry and the girls.
Bags, coats and shoes piled high in my hall.
The house filled with noise and laughter.
Maybe I should suggest it. Do something that feels normal. But I know we’ll all want to talk about Jonny’s death and Keira’s appearance this week and that strange comment. The way she smiled when she said it.
There’s still a dread in me I can’t shake when I think about Keira.
The hum of something not right. We’ve all tried to keep our distance in the playground, but she’s hard to avoid.
Hard to miss with her red lips and charcoaled eyes that seem to flash trouble.
She doesn’t belong here. Not in our quiet little world of PTA meetings and park trips and coffee mornings.
I think she knows it too. I think she likes it.
Maybe Oscar will be happy to snuggle together and watch a film this afternoon. We could make a den of blankets and pillows on the floor.
One of my heels has rubbed into a blister in my new boots as I round the corner and the school gates come into view.
The playground beyond is already filled with parents standing in clusters.
I see one mum looking up, catching my eye before nudging her friend.
A second later, the whole group is staring.
A flush rises on my neck. I shake it off, but the sensation clings like static.
‘It’s not Magnolia Close anymore. It’s Murder Close,’ I heard one of the dads say at the drop-off this morning. A loud man with a large belly and sweat stains under his arms.
My stomach knots every time I think about the murder.
The thought that it could be one of us in Magnolia Close.
These people I’ve lived with for years. People I trust. They are more than neighbours.
They are friends. Can one of us really have killed Jonny?
Could someone have hated him more than I did?
Had more reason to kill him than I did? I search for any hint of who could have done this, but there’s nothing beyond my own hate and how I was too much of a coward to do anything about it.
‘This too shall pass,’ I whisper quietly to myself.
The mums are no longer looking my way as I reach the gates.
I’m being paranoid. It’s the police discovery of the hidden camera yesterday.
The announcement of strong leads. The growing sense that Sató thinks it’s one of us.
It’s making me paranoid. Like I’ve done something wrong.
It hasn’t helped that I feel Nate watching me more carefully at home since the detectives’ visit.
He thinks I was acting strangely. I think he was lying about the TV being on loud.
We haven’t talked about it since, but every time I turn around, I find him lingering in the doorway, studying me.
I reach the school gates and pause, forcing the thoughts away with a breath.
The second I step inside the playground, my gaze snags on a familiar figure.
Sharp black bob. Bright-red lips. I watch her head tilt back.
That familiar laugh I remember from the pub.
Another step and fear clutches at my heart as I see who she’s talking to. Nate.
He’s standing close to her, smiling. Relaxed. His lips are quirked up, that smile he saves for the other mums that’s just a little flirty, giving them his ‘look what a great dad I am’ routine that isn’t a lie but isn’t quite the truth either.
Oscar adores Nate. And he is a great dad.
When he wants to be. When he decides to shine a spotlight on our son and dazzle him with attention.
But sometimes it feels like neither of us exist in Nate’s orbit.
In those times, I double down on being the best mum I can be, keeping Oscar’s attention on me like it’s a magic trick – a sleight of hand to make sure he doesn’t notice what’s missing.
What are they talking about?
Any second now, they’ll turn and see me.
I have seconds to paste a friendly smile on my face and act like this woman doesn’t know we planned to murder a man who is now dead.
Something I don’t want Nate to find out.
Nate knows Jonny wasn’t my favourite person, but he doesn’t know why I hated him.
If he discovers I went so far as to wish him dead, he’ll want to know why.
I won’t let that happen.
My pulse kicks up again, and without a second glance, I spin on my heels and stride away so fast, I scuff one of my new boots on the pavement.
A minute later, I’m at the top of the road leading to Magnolia Close, firing a message to Nate to tell him I’ve been held up and I’ll meet him and Oscar at home.
I can’t paste on that smile. I can’t pretend everything is fine.
My hands are shaking as I tap my key fob and slip through the gates, breathing a sigh of relief to see no sign of Sató’s car this afternoon.
And still, there’s something different about the circle of homes today.
Like I’ve stepped into a warped reality where the world looks the same but everything in it is different.
As soon as I’m in my house, I bolt up the two flights of stairs. There are only two rooms on the top floor. Nate’s study and a small bathroom with a white suite with small sand-toned tiles I chose to feel like a spa. Not that anyone but Nate uses it. The top floor has always been his domain.
Both doors are closed.
It was announced on the local news headlines today that the police believe Jonny was killed by someone he knew. Considering how much time they’re spending in the close, it’s clear Sató believes it was one of us.
Nate said he left the quiz early. He said it was only ten minutes before the end, but he could be lying about that too. And then there’s the camera. Someone spying on us all.
I reach for the handle of Nate’s study. It moves, but the door doesn’t open. I try again, but it’s the same. What the hell? It’s been a while since I came up here, but I’m certain there was never a lock on his door. When did he have it installed? And why?
There’s a loud crash downstairs – the front door slamming open – and then Oscar’s familiar voice: ‘I’m hungry!’
Panic jerks through me. I race down the stairs and dive into our bedroom, flipping the laundry basket lid and grabbing a towel as if that had been my destination all along.
But I needn’t have worried. Nate’s scrolling through his phone, a frown pinching his brow as he passes me on the stairs, muttering something about a meeting before disappearing.
I listen and yes, there’s the click of a lock being turned.
The door opens. Closes. Another click as the lock is turned again – this time from the inside.
I throw myself into spending time with Oscar, but I can’t stop thinking about the door and what Nate could be hiding in that room. I can’t escape the growing feeling that beneath the sheen of our perfect marriage is something not just crumbling, but dark and rotten.