Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
TASHA
‘No,’ I cry out, my voice barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to force my eyes open.
In a split second, the world sharpens: the blur of the trees flashing past the window, the long stretch of empty lane, the grip of Beth’s knuckles white on the steering wheel…
and the runner. He’s so close now I can see the gleam of sweat on his forehead, the shock widening his eyes, the moment he registers the danger he’s in.
Guilt floods my body, gnarly like the tree roots.
It’s the guilt I carry every day. For my parents and how much more they need from me than I can give.
For the girls, who never get the best of me or enough of me.
For Marc, who despite everything I now know, bears the brunt of my fraying edges.
And for my two best friends, who don’t know the whole truth, who I’m starting to question if I can trust. The burden is already too much. I can’t add the murder of this man.
I can’t do this.
‘Stop.’ My voice is louder this time, high-pitched and jolting – a hammer to glass.
It shatters the tension in the car, and suddenly we’re swerving.
Beth yanks the wheel to one side, slamming her foot on the brake.
The car skids, hitting the gravel edge, veering so close to the trees I think we’re going to hit them, going to die.
Then we stop with a hard jolt. My body is thrown against the seat belt then slammed back as it locks in place.
The engine stalls. The only sound is the roar of blood in my ears and the heaving breaths we’re all taking. Then there’s a shout from outside. I twist round and look through the rear window. The runner is walking towards us, his face a mask of shock and fury.
‘Hey!’ he shouts, hands waving wildly in the air. ‘You almost hit me!’
Beth sits forward, fumbling to restart the engine, her hands shaking. She can’t get the key to turn. The man raps on her window with his knuckles.
‘Sorry,’ she stammers. ‘I lost concentration.’
Her words do nothing to placate him. ‘You almost killed me,’ he says, reaching for the door handle, but it’s locked, thank God. ‘I’m reporting this to the police,’ he shouts. ‘This is dangerous driving.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Beth mouths again as the man unzips a pocket on his jacket and pulls out his phone.
A second later, he’s pointing it at the car – at us – and talking loudly.
‘My name is Paul Shortly. I was running along Fordly Lane at five p.m. when this car almost hit me. The driver was clearly speeding.’ He steps back, recording the licence plate of Beth’s car.
He’s making a video, I realise, just as his words register. It must click in Georgie’s head at the same time because suddenly she’s leaning over Beth and calling to the man.
‘Hey, did you say your name is Paul Shortly?’ Georgie asks. Her voice is inquisitive and casual, but loud enough for him to hear outside the car. And it’s only because I know her as well as I do that I hear the edge to her voice that gives away the panic she’s trying to hide.
The man frowns, thrown by the change of direction. He looks from Beth to Georgie and then glances in the back to me. It’s a fight not to duck down and cover my face. ‘So?’ he replies, stopping his recording.
Beth’s hands are still fumbling with the key, and suddenly the engine starts. The man doesn’t step back.
‘Hang on,’ Georgie says to Beth before raising her voice to be heard. ‘You’re not Richard? You don’t have a daughter called Rowan?’
‘What are you talking about?’ he asks as confusion replaces the set of anger in his face. ‘I don’t have kids. Who are you?’
‘Are you saying you don’t know a woman called Keira?
’ I blurt out, leaning forward in my seat, needing to be sure.
My mind spins, trying to make sense of what he’s saying.
This is the man from the photograph Keira sent us – the right face, the right place, the right time.
But he’s acting like he doesn’t know them.
The man steps back from the window, his frown deepening. ‘What is this? Was that on purpose just now? Jesus.’ He scrubs a hand over his face. ‘I’m reporting this to the police.’
In the next second, Beth has thrown the car into gear and is pulling away, leaving the man standing in the road, still angry, still shocked.
We drive in silence. My heart won’t slow down.
Who did we almost kill? I try to gather myself, to cling on to whatever it is inside me that makes me me. I cast around for my to-do list. I think about tomorrow. The house needs… I really should… The girls will want…
Nothing comes.
How many times have I wished I could turn off my thoughts, step outside myself and have a break? But I never meant like this. I can’t think. Nothing makes sense.
Ten minutes later, we’re parked at the back of an empty retail car park. The engine off. The silence heavy.
Beth shifts in her seat and looks from Georgie to me. Her face is ghostly pale. ‘Was that man even Keira’s ex? He said his name was Paul, not Richard. That was the name of Keira’s ex, right? Richard Philips. And that man – Paul – said he didn’t have children either.’
‘Could he have been a different runner?’ Georgie asks.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘She sent us a photo, remember? It was him.’
There’s a wildness in Georgie’s blue eyes I’ve never seen before. A part of me is reassured that she seems as shaken as I am, but mostly the realisation only adds to the roaring panic inside me. Nothing rattles Georgie.
‘But,’ Georgie says with a frown, ‘if that man wasn’t her ex, who did we almost kill?’
‘You mean, who did I almost kill?’ Beth whispers, her voice hollow.
An icy cold trickles through my blood. I’m shivering, my whole body trembling. ‘But why would Keira lie?’ I ask. ‘Why set us up to kill that man if he’s not her ex?’
‘Maybe she wanted him dead for another reason,’ Georgie says. ‘And used us to do it.’
‘If Jonny wasn’t killed so we’d kill her ex, then why did she kill him?’ I ask. ‘And who else does she want dead?’
‘Yeah. And the other thing I can’t get my head around is where she got the key for Jonny’s place from?’
‘I assume he let her in,’ Beth says. ‘Then she took a key after she’d killed him?’
‘Maybe,’ Georgie says, not sounding convinced. ‘None of this is making sense.’
‘Because she’s crazy,’ I cry.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Georgie says. She sits up a little straighter, and when her eyes meet mine, they are sharp and determined. ‘What matters is what we do now.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘I mean,’ Georgie starts, ‘she probably won’t know we didn’t kill that man until tomorrow, right? We have tonight to act.’
Beth shoots Georgie a look, her expression apprehensive. ‘Act how?’
‘Keira said she hid evidence in Jonny’s house that incriminates us. She took my gloves and your scarf that night in the pub, remember? And I have the key she sent me. So let’s go to Jonny’s house and find the things of ours she’s hidden.’
‘It isn’t just the evidence she has and the police finding out though,’ I say. ‘She threatened to come back to Magnolia Close. We know she’s crazy. She could kill our children.’ Fear is a jagged rock in my throat.
‘But we have to try, don’t we?’ Georgie replies. ‘We have to do something.’
‘The police have already searched Jonny’s house,’ Beth says. ‘If it was obvious, they’d have found it.’
‘Maybe,’ Georgie says. ‘Or maybe they didn’t know it was important, but we will.’
Beth looks at me, and I nod my agreement. The thought of breaking into a dead man’s house is crazy, but it’s better than killing someone.
Beth starts the engine and pulls away, the car feeling like it’s moving at a snail’s crawl after the speed on the country lanes.
My mind darts to Marc. To the secrets he’s been keeping. Jonny knew what he was doing during those three months Marc pretended to go to work. He knew because he was helping him.
If there’s any paperwork in Jonny’s house that links us to the loan he gave Marc or the vineyard he wanted to invest in with him, I need to find it before Beth and Georgie do. Until we’re out of this nightmare with Keira, I can’t risk them turning their backs on me.