Chapter 1 #2
Despite Leo being right about this, my body freezes.
I haven’t told Leo I’m worried I’ll never go back to teaching.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I say, pulling him towards me, breathing in his scent to ward off my sense of dread.
Being alone in this sprawling house puts me on edge, but I can’t explain why.
We’re safely tucked away behind a locked gate. What is it I fear?
‘Eleanor and Georgia will love you,’ Leo says.
And with his words, I realise that he wants that to be the case more than I do.
It’s barely 9 a.m. by the time I’ve showered and dressed.
Determined to practise yoga today, to find the missing part of me that must still be there, I’m dressed in leggings and a training top.
My long dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail and my trainers sit by the door, neatly arranged with the other shoes in style order.
I smile. It’s a thing I do to make fun of how fastidious Leo is, as organised and methodical at home as he is at work.
Everything in its place. Before I met Leo, my shoes would have been strewn across the mat.
I grab my keys and shut the door behind me, taking in my surroundings before I head down the drive.
The huge communal lawn sits in the middle of our crescent-shaped road, with three freshly painted white benches evenly spaced around the edges.
Although every house is identical, the gardens and cars parked in front of each one show the different tastes of each occupant.
I go through my list again, reminding myself who lives in each house.
Number one is Patrick and Georgia Murphy, and their twenty-one-year-old son, Declan.
Leo told me he has a twin sister, who’s away travelling and apparently rarely comes home.
Giles Barton owns the second house. The architect behind Silverleaf Heights, he was the first one to move here, and it was his property development company that built these five houses.
His wife died not long ago at only forty-eight, and she was one of Leo’s patients.
There was one more plot left for sale, and Giles was keen for Leo to have it.
And then there is Leo and me; number three, right in the middle of the crescent.
It should make me feel safer to be nestled in between the other houses, but instead it makes me feel claustrophobic, despite the vast space separating each house.
That’s just another inexplicable thing about this place I can’t begin to understand.
On the other side of us is Xander Gould. His wife left him around a year ago, but Leo seems to think he’s dating again.
Eleanor and Rufus McKinney live in the last house, number five, which is where I head now.
If Eleanor has seemed distant, it could be the thought of what happened to me; it’s bound to make some people wonder how to behave.
I can’t judge her so hastily. Once I’m standing on her doorstep, we’ll have the chance to talk properly. I won’t be made to feel invisible.
I press the doorbell, and can’t hear it ring.
No surprise when the walls are so well insulated.
It’s several moments before the door opens and Eleanor stands there, a tall, thin woman with high cheekbones and shoulder-length ash-blonde hair.
I can’t recall how old Leo said she was, but she must be at least late thirties.
Her black tailored jumpsuit and gold belt make her look too dressed up to be spending the day at home, so I’m sure she’ll decline my offer of coffee.
Leo had mentioned she’d recently sold her business and was taking some time out, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t filling her hours.
‘Hello,’ she says, glancing past me to the Murphy house opposite.
‘Hi, I’m Ria. From number three.’ I gesture to my house, as if she isn’t familiar with it.
Of course she is; our house stood empty for a while before we bought it, so I’m sure all the neighbours paid attention to who would be the last to move to Silverleaf.
Standing on Eleanor’s doorstep is making me nervous; I’m not as nonchalant about this encounter as I’d assumed I would be. ‘We haven’t met properly.’
‘Leo’s wife,’ she says, a vague smile on her face as she turns her gaze back to me. She studies me, taking in my yoga clothes, probably making silent assumptions.
‘Yep, that’s me,’ I say. ‘Um, I thought I’d see if you and Georgia wanted to come over for coffee this afternoon. If you don’t have other plans?’
Her eyes widen. ‘Oh. Did you come over just to ask that? Did you know there’s a WhatsApp group? It’s generally how we all communicate. Much easier that way.’
I almost lose my train of thought. ‘I just . . . I wanted some fresh air so thought I’d come and ask in person.’ I’m overexplaining, and it makes me uncomfortable.
Eleanor shrugs then frowns, again glancing past me. ‘I don’t know what Georgia’s doing, but I’ll message her and check.’ She turns back to me, still frowning. ‘It will save you the trouble of knocking on her door. What time were you thinking?’
‘How about two?’
She stares at me as if she’s about to refuse, but then nods. ‘Okay.’ She gestures towards my house. ‘Will Leo be there?’
‘No, he’s at work.’
Eleanor nods again. ‘Well, I’d better go. I need to make some calls.’ She smiles and closes the door before I have a chance to say goodbye.
By ten past two, there’s still no sign of Eleanor or Georgia.
I’ve changed into a sleeveless knee-length summer dress, but now regret my decision, wondering if I’m giving the impression of trying too hard.
Checking my phone and finding no messages, I give up waiting by the window and head to the kitchen.
The smell of baking reminds me the chocolate-chip cookies were ready to come out of the oven minutes ago.
I curse out loud and rush to rescue them.
Pulling out the baking tray, I stare at the charred, misshapen biscuits, wondering if I can do anything to make them look more appealing.
Deciding I don’t care how they look as long as they’re edible, I bite into one.
Rather than being soft, it’s crispy, but it still tastes good.
The doorbell rings, making me jump. I smooth down my dress and check myself in the hallway mirror.
It’s not fixed to the wall, but leans against it, patiently waiting for one of us to sort it out.
Staring at my reflection still catches me off guard, even though my bruises have faded now, the scarring only visible if someone is aware of it. On the outside, no one would know.
I pull open the door, surprised to see only Georgia standing there, holding up a bottle of wine.
‘Hi,’ she says, smiling as she hands it to me. ‘Eleanor said you’d invited us over. Super kind. I’ve been meaning to pop over and . . . you know, life just gets in the way of everything, doesn’t it?’ She looks past me. ‘Um, Leo not home?’
‘No. He’s working. He tells me you’ve met?’
Georgia steps inside. ‘Oh, yes, he came and introduced himself to all of us. Before you moved in. Sorry, Eleanor couldn’t come after all.
She’s got caught up in something. Hope it’s okay if it’s just me?
I’d love to come in and see what you’ve done with the place.
I know these houses are identical outside and in the layout, but people make them their own in such different ways.
’ Georgia gestures to the bottle she’s just given me.
‘It’s early, but no harm having a cheeky one, is there? ’
I close the door, marvelling at her ability to not pause for breath, and take in her appearance. She’s dressed in jeans and a smart light blue blouse with large buttons down the front, her red hair hanging in loose waves around her shoulders. Hazarding a guess, I’d say she’s a similar age to me.
‘We haven’t actually done much yet,’ I say, gesturing around. ‘I’ve barely had a chance to unpack. Not that I have much. We lived in a two-bed flat before moving here.’
Georgia follows me to the kitchen, her eyes widening. ‘A two-bed flat? You’ve done really well to get this place, then. These houses were highly sought after when they came up for sale. I don’t think they were even advertised with estate agents.’
‘Really? I didn’t know that – Leo knew the property developer and we bought directly from him.’
‘Ah, yes. Giles Barton.’ Georgia smiles.
‘Handsome guy, but don’t tell Patrick I said that.
Not that he’d have anything to worry about – Giles is in his fifties.
Not that age matters, but . . . anyway, he’s a decent man.
’ Her words flood from her mouth and I wonder if she’s rambling because she’s nervous.
While Georgia settles on a bar stool at the island, I search the cupboards for the corkscrew, wondering how I can politely decline her wine.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I say. ‘I have nothing to open this with. We definitely have a corkscrew, I just don’t know where it is.
And I’ve unpacked all the kitchen things. ’
‘Not to worry,’ Georgia says. ‘It’s probably too early for wine anyway, and I promised I’d drop my car to Declan so he can use it after uni. Best I stick to coffee. I’m not a good driver when I’ve had even a sip.’
I put the wine bottle in front of her. ‘Thanks for bringing this, though.’
She slides it towards me. ‘Oh, please. Keep it for you and Leo. Think of it as a housewarming gift.’
While I make the drinks, Georgia tells me how she can’t get used to the coffee machine. ‘And I’ve been living here nearly two years. It’s just so . . . faffy!’
I laugh. ‘I know what you mean. Makes nice coffee, though, even if I have to add a litre of milk to it.’
When the the drinks are ready, I join her at the kitchen island, offering her the tray of cookies.
‘These smell delicious,’ she says, picking one up and biting into it, a shower of crumbs falling to the table.
‘Just ignore how they look – I didn’t have much time and they’re a bit overdone.’