AUGUST 2004
THE VERDICT WAS A LITTLE DELAYED, WHICH REALLY played havoc with Nadine’s plans for public drama and recentering all this back where the attention truly belonged: on the two of them. Nadine Heywood and Harper Moore. The rivalry with a body count.
It had already begun, of course. If the reception to the documentary was anything to go by, they were all anyone could talk about.
The rivalry not what anyone ever thought it was.
Harper, so clearly innocent if even Nadine could see it.
Nadine, just as attention-seeking as ever to snatch focus even now, even with stakes as big as these.
Harper was a veritable saint, and Nadine a sad and bitter shadow lurking in her periphery.
That was fine with her. Besides—that was all about to shift again. If nothing else, Nadine could spin her reputation on a dime.
But none of this was enough for her. She needed the closing scene, the curtain call, the final bow.
She needed the verdict.
And she needed Harper free, in her arms and by her side for whatever the headlines threw at them next.
She glanced down at her phone and all those automated alerts she’d set up. Her phone chirped, lighting up with a text.
Harper Moore Cleared of All Charges
Ah, there it was. Her phone pinged more and more. She may have been overzealous in those alerts. But she only needed one thing, as all actresses did: a cue.
She pressed her foot on the accelerate. The car shuddered.
Fuck, manual. She managed the clutch, put the car in gear, and drove forward.
Harper was making her way through the crowd of reporters as Nadine pulled up.
Oh, of course. She was wearing a low-rise black leather miniskirt and a loosely buttoned shirt, like some sort of parody of formality.
As ever, she knew her moment. Knew her shot.
And now she was letting the cameras reach her every angle.
This was a woman worthy of obsession.
“This has been an unimaginable ordeal,” she heard Harper say.
“But part of me is relieved to have had my day in court. I hope now we can all leave this behind us, and I can have the time and space to grieve my husband. But more than any of that, this only marks the start of our fight for justice. As this verdict proves, the police just wanted a simple narrative and one that allowed them to ignore the confusing mass of evidence before them—but the fact is someone killed my husband. Someone buried his bones in a shallow grave, hurt him, hid him. And I’m not going to rest until we discover the truth.
From now on, everything I do, every step I take—is in his memory and for him. Thank you.”
She looked up and gave a slight wave.
The press turned, just as Nadine propped her arms on the low window of the convertible. She slid her sunglasses down her nose.
“Need a ride?”
Harper strutted as the cameras flashed around them then hopped into the passenger seat, pausing only to beam down the lenses one, final time.
Nadine put her foot down as the reporters shouted their questions after them, some of the press racing for motorbikes to try to catch them, but Nadine losing them, for now, just as quickly.
“Ruchi’s messaged me,” Harper said, punching the buttons of her scarlet phone. “She says: ‘Tell Nadine whatever she’s planning on doing, not to.’”
“Oops, send her my apologies.”
Harper sighed. “You need to give that woman a raise.”
“She earns more than I do, and she’s worth every cent.”
Harper leaned back in the chair to put both of their phones in the glove box.
“So, what now?” she asked. “Where do we go from here? Iconic entrance, my love, but they’re going to have some questions about whatever this is.”
“Maybe we answer them. We could try giving them the truth—isn’t that what you just promised them?”
Harper laughed. “I don’t think that’s good for anyone.”
“Not the whole truth, obviously,” Nadine said, pulling onto a quieter road.
She was taking Harper up to York. She was going to show her the moors.
The village that made her, before Harper carved out the rest. “We’ve been enemies.
We’ve been friends. Maybe it’s time we went public with that third thing. ”
Harper rested her hand on top of Nadine’s. The air sliced cold over the windscreen, the sun pale against a darkening sky. But the road before them was clear. And they had such a way to go.
“Well, now that would be a story.”