Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Sophie got on the Hastings train at London Bridge station, the fifth carriage, as agreed, and there was Rey, waving his arms at her.
‘Cooee, darling,’ he called out. ‘Over here. You can sit facing, I’ll be back to the engine. I’ll only be a little bit sick.’
She slid into the seat opposite as Rey took two pre-mixed cans of pina colada out of his bag and put them down in front of her, followed by two packets of crisps. He tore one open and stuffed a few into his mouth.
‘It’s nine forty-five on a Wednesday morning,’ said Sophie, as he popped the tag on one of the cans and took an enthusiastic swig, ‘and you’re drinking tinned cocktails and inhaling crisps. No wonder you’re going to be sick.’
‘We’re going to the seaside. We’ve got to get in the mood, girl.’
He opened the other can and pushed it across the table towards her. Sophie took a tentative sip and tried not to grimace. It was so sweet. She’d just pretend to drink it, he’d never know.
‘Cheers!’ she said, taking a fake gulp.
‘Up yours. Here’s to a day out, a new life and a fabulous new house.’ He turned and rootled around in the Goyard tote bag on the seat next to him and slapped an interiors magazine on the table. ‘There are some nice ideas in here,’ he said, his mouth full of crisps. ‘It’s a kitchen special.’
Rey was mad about interiors. To look at him, with his rainbow-coloured scarf and the high-crowned apple green Vivienne Westwood hat he’d taken off and put on the table, you’d think he was a fashion stylist or creative of some kind. He was actually a fully qualified accountant who made a very good living flipping property, never going a single penny over budget on the remodelling.
He flicked through the pages of the magazine until he found what he was looking for, then turned it to show Sophie, pointing to a double-page spread of a kitchen.
‘Look at this one. No handles, cork floors... Forget those Pinterest boards I sent you, I’m getting a whole new vision for your kitchen.’
‘Rey,’ said Sophie, reaching out and putting her hand over his, squeezing it lightly. ‘I don’t know if I’m going to move into that house now. I might just put it straight back on the market and find something else. That’s why I’m going today, to have another look and decide.’
He took a long pull on his pina colada. Sophie could almost see the words Money? Problems with probate? Tricky will? No will? tracking across his forehead, like a Reuters screen.
‘It’s not because I can’t afford it,’ she said and paused to take a breath. Then she took a big pull on the can of sugary cocktail. It was foul, but she needed it. She opened the bag of crisps Rey had put in front of her and put a few in her mouth to take the taste away. ‘It’s a lovely house, Rey, but I don’t think I could bear to live in it, because I chose it with Matt and I would be constantly reminded that he wasn’t there...’ She paused. Because I would be permanently angry . Red-mist furious .
Was now the time to tell him everything about Matt’s betrayal? How he’d told her he wasn’t moving to Hastings with her the day after they’d exchanged contracts on the sale of their family home and the purchase of the Hastings one, so she would have to move, whether she wanted to or not. Surely, if there was anyone she could share the hideous truth with, it was Rey?
But, no, she couldn’t, because once she’d told one person, the toxic genie would be out of the bottle.
That was something Matt used to say: ‘If you want to keep a secret, don’t tell anybody.’ And, as it turned out, he’d known a lot more about keeping secrets than she’d realised.
Rey said nothing, just carried on eating his crisps.
‘I think it would just make me too sad,’ Sophie said, slipping back into the lie. ‘Living in the house we’d chosen together for the exciting new stage of life we were going to share there.’ She took another sip of the hideous drink to stop herself laying it on any thicker. She’d gone a bit flowery there. ‘Before he got flattened,’ she added.
She tilted the drink can again and was surprised to find she was draining it. She did wonder how she could talk about Matt’s death in such a brutal way, but somehow a crude cartoon version of it was easier to sit with than a sensitive pencil sketch.
She tipped the can right up to see if there was a drop left, glad of the buzz of the cheap cocktail. It was so exhausting, keeping up the front of being the grieving widow. Sometimes she longed to let the wronged wife out.
‘So if you decide not to move into that house,’ said Rey, ‘are you going to look for another one in Hastings? I just need to know whether to keep my professional property sonar on or not.’
‘I’m going to have a look, see what else is there. Our house in London is sold, there’s no going back on that, so I have to find somewhere else to live. There could be something amazing down there.’
‘Well, let’s go through these house mags then. To get in the mood.’
He started opening them at pages already marked with sticky notes and Sophie pretended to be taking an interest, but it felt like a massive effort. She already had a kitchen she loved, which she was being forced to move out of. The thought of designing a new one had zero appeal and brought up all the same old questions about the house sale. Had the whole moving to Hastings project – Matt’s idea – just been an elaborate plan to get her to sell the family home and leave London so he could fund his new life with Gillette? She’d never know.
Rey seemed to pick up on her lack of enthusiasm. ‘That’s enough of that for now,’ he said, closing the magazines. He put his hand in his bag and plonked two more cans on the table. ‘Mojitos. They have healing powers.’
Sophie couldn’t help smiling as she reached for one. She snapped it open and took a big gulp. Revolting. She took another. ‘Have you got any more crisps?’
Rey smiled and reached into his bag again, pulling out two packets of Hula Hoops. ‘I always have these with me,’ he said. ‘In case I’m ever starving.’
‘Unlikely,’ said Sophie and they burst out laughing. Rey’s love of food was one of the many things that had bound them together as friends.
They munched and sipped and looked out of the window at the countryside, which was getting lovely now.
‘Tell me something, Soph,’ said Rey. ‘I’m sorry to bring up Matt’s funeral, but that woman you asked me to eject from the wake, what was the story there? You promised you’d tell me.’
Sophie was glad she had her head back, taking a long draw on the mojito, so he couldn’t see the expression of horror that must have jumped onto her face. She swallowed and attempted to gather herself.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That...’
‘Yes,’ said Rey, looking at her steadily. A bit too steadily.
‘She had a thing about Matt,’ said Sophie quickly. ‘Like a groupie-type situation. A bit of a stalker.’
‘How did you work out it was her?’
Sophie’s brain raced. ‘Because she didn’t seem to know anyone at the funeral or the wake. And Matt had told me about her, including the name.’
The best cover-ups were always closest to the truth.
‘Okay,’ said Rey. ‘That makes sense then.’
‘What does?’ said Sophie, alarmed.
‘She was actually very decent about leaving, but she did say something that was a bit weird. I had decided not to mention it, because you’ve got enough on, but now you’ve told me she was an actual stalker, perhaps you should know.’
Sophie felt sick. She was stuffing Hula Hoops in like an automaton. ‘Tell me,’ she said, crumbs flying out of her mouth.
‘Juliet said she hadn’t meant to cause any trouble by coming to the funeral, but she had hoped to get a chance to talk to you—’
Sophie snorted with derision.
‘She said she wanted to tell you,’ he continued, ‘that it wasn’t what it seemed. That’s it, she said, “It’s not what it seems”, and then she left. She did seem genuinely distressed.’
‘Oh, poor her.’
‘So you haven’t heard anything else from her?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I think she’s crawled back under her rock. Found someone else to glom onto.’ She raised her can to him and took a sip, glancing out of the window, giving herself a moment to take in what Rey had just told her. It’s not what it seems . What wasn’t? What did that mean? Was it her imagination that Matt had said he was leaving her for someone called Juliet, which happened to be the name of this mystery woman at the funeral?
‘Are you okay?’ asked Rey.
‘I’m fine. It’s just remembering that day brings it all back, you know?’
He reached over, squeezing her hand. ‘So let’s not talk about any of that anymore, let’s enjoy our day by the seaside and waste some estate agents’ time and then eat chips.’
‘Works for me,’ said Sophie.
Down on the coast, it was a surprisingly sunny day for early February and, well rugged-up against the cold, Sophie was glad to be outside, walking uphill from the sea front.
She and Rey strolled in silence, arm in arm, and Sophie wondered if it was residual grumpiness from the cocktails on the train that had made every house and flat they’d looked at that morning seem so wrong, but she didn’t think that was it. Some of them she didn’t even remember booking appointments for. The estate agents must have thrown extras in.
‘Well, I couldn’t live in any of those,’ she said. ‘So do you agree I should just abandon the Hastings move idea? Buy another house in London? Stay where I know everything and where my friends are. You, the people I work with, Beau...’
‘And where would that house be? Next to the house you’ve just sold? And where would you put your test kitchen, since you’ve given notice on the fabulous studio you’ve rented for twenty years?’
Sophie slumped at the thought. Losing that space was one of the things that really bugged her.
‘And,’ he continued, putting a hand on her arm and closing his eyes, ‘stop and smell the air here. It feels like silk on my ravaged London lungs. Like Veuve Clicquot after drain water.’
Sophie did as he said, closing her eyes and taking a long, slow breath. He was right. She opened her eyes again and looked back over her shoulder at the sea, wintery sunshine sparkling on the waves. ‘It’s the third sunniest town in the UK too,’ she said.
Matt had done comprehensive research into many such metrics, possibly because he really was planning to move there – or maybe as part of an elaborate smokescreen.
‘What’s not to love about that?’ said Rey. ‘And I honestly think it would be great for you to have a new adventure in a new town. I know you have all your pals in London, but everything there is so tied up with Matt. It will all be fresh here – a new life you will create for yourself, on your own terms, no memories to trip you up.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said, remembering her first visit to Liberty’s after Matt had died. It had never occurred to her that it would be upsetting to go there – their favourite shop – without him, but it had hit her like a face-on collision. She’d run back out onto the street, sobbing.
As they came up the rise of West Hill Road, St Leonards, Sophie could spot the house ahead of them by the colour of the front door. Baby lilac. She remembered it because Matt had vowed to be waiting with a pot of black gloss paint for the moment the sale was completed. He had hated pastel colours with a vengeance. One of his many little quirks.
The estate agent was waiting outside for them and Sophie felt strangely nervous as he opened the door.
‘No harm in having another look,’ she said to Rey, mostly to reassure herself.
She stood in the large hall and looked round, taking it all in again – the generous proportions, doors opening off into rooms she knew were equally spacious. She waited for a tidal wave of devastating Matt associations to hit her, but it didn’t come. But then, when she thought about it, she’d only viewed this house with him once. The other times, when they’d been deciding whether they were going to make an offer on it, she’d come down without him, first with Rey and then with Beau. Matt had never had time for another visit.
A whole scenario of how he would have used those days in London with her safely out of the way in Hastings flashed across her mind, in technicolour.
Grieving widow , she reminded herself. Gridow .
‘Oh, I forgot about all this amazing space,’ Rey was saying. ‘You could have the biggest Christmas tree. Come on, let’s look at the kitchen. Now I’m here again, I’m thinking natural textures set against cooler tones...’
He headed on through that door, but Sophie turned left into the room that was officially the dining room, which she had planned to use a studio. It had a second door at the far end that lead directly into the kitchen and two large windows with lots of northern light. Looking at it again, she could clearly picture a raised podium in the middle with a plate of food on it, a camera angled down on a tripod, ready to shoot, and open shelves on all the walls to house her props within easy reach.
Before she even stepped through the far door into the kitchen, where Rey had his tape measure out, Sophie knew she was going to move in.
‘Cork floors,’ Rey was saying. ‘Like I said, for your poor old-lady-standing-up-cooking feet and OSB board for the cupboards. It will glow.’
‘Pink,’ she said, firmly. ‘I’m going to have a pink kitchen. Pastel pink.’
The colour Matt most detested.
Rey’s eyebrows were nearly reaching his hairline as Sophie turned to the estate agent.
‘Thanks for letting me see the house again,’ she said. ‘I’ve been having buyer wobbles, but seeing it again, I’m ready to complete as quickly as possible.’
‘Great,’ he said. ‘I’ll ring the office and find out where things are up to with the vendor’s solicitors.’
‘Yay,’ said Rey, shaking his arms over his head in triumph. ‘I’m so happy. I didn’t want to bully you, but I did think you were totally insane to think of letting this house go. The sea views alone.’
‘Let’s go and look at them,’ said Sophie.
They went round the whole house, Sophie’s excitement increasing with every room.
‘So which bedroom are you going to have?’ she asked Rey as they walked back down the stairs.
‘Oh, I won’t need a room here. I will come and see you, don’t worry, I just have other plans for where I’m going to stay.’
Sophie stared at him. She couldn’t imagine what he meant. Did he know other people in Hastings? One of the whole points of buying such a big place was to have room for friends – and he was her best friend.
He started laughing. ‘Remember that beautiful flat on the seafront we saw this morning? The one you didn’t know we were going to see? I bought it.’
‘I did wonder why I was looking at a two-bedder with no garden.’
‘I spotted it on Rightmove and slipped it into our plans. And I did the deal while you were in the loo at the café, because I wanted to surprise you. I’ve wanted a place out of town for a while – and I’ll be just down the cliff from you.’
Sophie flung her arms around him. ‘This is the best news. I won’t be all alone here.’
‘You certainly won’t.’
‘And we’ll get so fit going up and down that steep path between our places,’ said Sophie, feeling almost light-hearted.
‘Perhaps we should get a funicular railway installed. Like the two in the Old Town, going up the cliff from my street to yours.’
‘Or a very long rope ladder.’
‘We can abseil down—’
‘Or, if you’ve been mixing the cocktails,’ said Sophie, ‘possibly actually fly.’