Chapter 1
ONE
My eyes snap open and suffocating fear courses through my body. Something is wrong. I feel it before I’m fully aware of my surroundings. Harsh sunlight streams through the gaps in the shutters, and melodious birdsong drifts through the open window. Other than that, everything is quiet.
Leo isn’t next to me. I pull myself up and glance at the Echo Spot on his bedside table; it’s four minutes past six.
My husband rises like clockwork at five thirty, and is showered and dressed in a designer suit and downstairs making coffee by ten to six.
Leo would never risk being late to the hospital.
He gives himself time to prepare for the day before he sees his first patient.
And I know it’s more than just the need to be organised; he cares about his patients and his reputation.
By now I should be accustomed to waking up with this overwhelming sense of dread; it’s happened since we moved to Silverleaf Heights two weeks ago, to this dream home in this exclusive and stunning gated community.
Just five houses. Safe and secure. No one allowed in unless they’re invited.
Leo says we are the lucky ones, yet I’ve never felt so on edge.
I pull on my silk dressing gown; Leo bought it for me on a whim because he knows I like blush pink. The truth is, I feel self-conscious wearing it and I miss my old towelling aqua-green one – this one may caress my skin, but it’s far too expensive and extravagant. It’s just not me.
At the bottom of the stairs, I marvel again at how large this house is – far too big for just two of us.
But I will never say that to Leo. Buying this place in a sleepy village in the Surrey Hills was his dream, and he’s worked hard to make it happen.
I catch only glimpses of what his life as a surgical oncologist is like beyond these walls.
Leo specialises in bone tumours, and there’s a lot of pressure on him.
But he loves working at University College Hospital in Euston, and he relishes the moments of joy when he can deliver the good news to patients that their cancer is in remission, or that their tumour was removed successfully.
But they sit alongside the devastation his words reap when the news isn’t good.
Before I’ve reached the kitchen, the smell of freshly ground coffee awakens my thirst buds, and when I step inside, Leo is sitting at the table, engrossed in something on his laptop.
Probably work emails or research papers; he never stops.
His dark hair falls slightly across his forehead, and he runs his fingers through it absent-mindedly.
‘Morning,’ he says, looking up, his blue eyes so bright for this hour of the morning. ‘Hope I didn’t wake you? I know you didn’t sleep well again last night.’
Every night is the same; I wake up and, unable to lose myself to slumber again, I get up and somehow sit through the empty hours of isolation while everyone else’s bodies recharge and prepare them for the day ahead. I nod and lean down to kiss him. ‘Those pills aren’t helping at all.’
Leo frowns. ‘I was so sure these ones would help.’ He gets up and pours me coffee from the Miele built-in coffee machine. The coffee it makes tastes wonderful, but I almost choked on my drink when Leo pointed out how much it cost. ‘Maybe give it a little longer?’ Leo suggests.
‘Yes, Doctor.’ I smile to show him I’m not mocking him.
Leo laughs. ‘Sorry. You know I find it hard to switch off sometimes.’
‘I know medication can take a while to work,’ I say.
Yet I’ve lost count of how many different pills I’ve tried, none of which have cured my insomnia.
Leo and I have discussed how this could be due to anxiety – that after what happened to me, it’s logical I’d be suffering some form of post-traumatic stress, even though I remember nothing.
Even the time leading up to it has been erased from my memory as if it never happened.
Everything I know about it comes from the mouths of other people.
‘You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,’ Leo always says.
‘You got me through the hardest times in my life.’ He doesn’t believe for a second that I will allow what happened to dictate the rest of my life.
And I swallow his words and let them fuel me.
I’ve always picked myself up, carried on through whatever life throws my way, so I won’t let insomnia get the better of me.
‘But if these pills are making no difference at all, maybe we should try a new prescription,’ Leo suggests, appraising me as if I’m one of his patients.
He really can’t switch off. But any patient of Leo’s is lucky to have him; he has a warm manner, an ability to make people believe he will fix them.
Even when he can’t. ‘Might be worth seeing the GP again.’ Leo hands me my cup and I join him at the table.
‘I think it’s time to try natural remedies,’ I say. Not words a doctor wants to hear.
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Oh? Okay. Like what?’
‘Yoga, for one. I haven’t done any since the accident.
Maybe some of the neighbours might join me.
I could show them if they’ve never done it before.
I need something to do while I’m having a break from teaching.
’ Sometimes, when I’m alone with my thoughts in those cruel, empty hours of night, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to set foot in a classroom again.
I loved the primary school I taught at in Canning Town, but I haven’t been able to face going back.
A temporary blip, Leo assures me. But as skilled as he is, there’s no way he can know that.
He might not see it, but I’m not the person I was before it happened.
Leo smiles. ‘That’s a great idea. You’ll be great. You always are.’
‘Let’s hope so. Maybe I could just run a class in the garden?
It would help me get to know them better, too.
But I’ll start with inviting them for coffee.
I’ve barely spoken to Eleanor at number five.
And Georgia’s said hello a couple of times but never seems to have time to stop and chat.
She’s number one, right?’ It’s taken me weeks to assign names to house numbers, whereas Leo got to grips with it quickly.
I sip my coffee; it’s far too strong so I go to the fridge and pull out the milk.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Leo says. ‘But don’t worry about not knowing people well, yet – we only moved in two weeks ago. It takes time.’
‘You seem to be doing all right,’ I say.
Despite Leo working long hours, he’s somehow found time to bond with our neighbours.
Of course people want to know my husband – he’s a successful surgeon; people who live in places like Silverleaf Heights are desperate to attach themselves to someone like him.
And this is only the beginning of his career – Leo has big plans for his future. Our future, as he always corrects me.
‘That’s because everyone seems to have a medical query,’ he says. ‘But, look, no one blames you for not being that sociable yet.’ Leo walks over to me and gently massages my shoulders. ‘You’re really tense,’ he says. ‘Normally it’s me needing to relax.’
I rest my head against his chest and close my eyes.
‘Speaking of the neighbours – they’ve all been asking about you,’ he continues. ‘Sending their best wishes.’
I wonder if this is true, or whether Leo just wants it to be. I picture Eleanor McKinney when I crossed paths with her yesterday at the gate – she didn’t seem like a woman who wanted to wish me well. In fact, she barely acknowledged me.
Georgia Murphy, though, seems friendly. And if there’s only one neighbour I can bond with, then that’s fine with me.
I’m never going to pretend I want to live here, surrounded by superficial affluence, far removed from the real world.
I feel a twinge of longing for London, for my cosy flat in Canning Town, despite what happened there.
‘I’m sure yoga will help me bond with them,’ I tell Leo, glancing through the bifold doors that span the length of the kitchen wall.
The beautifully manicured grass shimmers in the sunlight, stretching endlessly to the fence separating our garden from the fields beyond.
Every inch of Silverleaf Heights is stunning. Safe. Luxurious. Perfect.
But I know that perfection doesn’t exist. And I try not to think of how isolated Silverleaf feels, surrounded by heath and woodland for acres.
Leo frowns, tilting his head to the side. ‘I know you’re finding it hard being out of London.’ He takes my hand. ‘I am, too. It feels odd to me, even though I still work there. But we’ll be okay here, Ria. I know it. A fresh start.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I’ll be okay. And meditation and mindfulness will work, I know it.’ I flash him a smile and finish the rest of my coffee.
He raises his eyebrows; he’s never been convinced by my insistence that yoga and mindfulness can cure a multitude of ailments. It’s always science first with Leo – and there’s no space for anything else.
‘I will get the better of this insomnia,’ I say, playfully jabbing his arm. ‘Then you’ll owe me.’
‘I don’t mind owing you,’ he says. His smile reaches the sides of his face, as it always does, a genuine gesture of warmth. It’s what made me fall for him five years ago. ‘So what will you do today?’ Leo asks, straightening his tie and pulling his suit jacket from the back of his chair.
‘No time like the present – think I’ll invite Eleanor and Georgia round for that coffee. Might even bake some cookies.’
Leo laughs. ‘I give it a week before you’re itching to get back in the classroom,’ he says, a hint of hope in his tone. ‘You’re not really a homebody, are you? Can’t see you being happy rattling around the house for too long.’