Chapter 52 Rosie – Day 11
The grounds of Richard and Evelyn’s property feel never-ending.
Rosie eventually manages to catch up with Theo at the edge of the lake.
She can barely hear the sound of the party from down here.
He’s not moving an inch, staring at the dark water lapping the shingle.
The moon casts him in an ominous shadow.
It’s much more eerie at night compared to when they were sailing in the day.
The yacht was moored on the other side, near those abandoned beach huts.
She remembers seeing the dense woodland from a distance but couldn’t pick out the small, concealed paths that led to the super-rich properties.
‘Are you ok?’ she asks, tentatively placing a hand on his back. His shirt is damp with sweat.
‘Do you think I’m ok? After that?’ He pulls away.
‘This is a huge shock for all of you.’
His puffy eyes glisten with tears. ‘But not for you, apparently,’ he says bitterly.
‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about your mum’s illness. I . . .’ She swallows. She needs to come clean and tell him about all the lies. This is the tip of the iceberg but where is she supposed to start?
She takes a breath but he gets there first. ‘Let’s go for a walk. I need to clear my head.’
He strides ahead without waiting for her answer. What should she do? She doesn’t have time for this.
‘Are you coming?’ He spins, arms outstretched, confused as to why she’s not following him.
She needs to find the Polaroid and tell Fenna about Marianne hiding the evidence in her art book.
But Theo needs her more right now. She jogs to catch up with him.
Their footsteps fall in line with one another as they follow a gravel path that takes them deeper into Richard and Evelyn’s garden.
It winds through the trees, the moonlight fading the further they go.
‘I can’t believe it.’ His voice is low and subdued. ‘After all our summers spent here, this might be her last holiday . . .’
‘You can’t think like that,’ she says, rubbing his arm. This time he doesn’t pull back.
‘When did Mum tell you?’
‘A few days ago. She made me promise not to say anything.’
‘Mum can be persuasive when she wants to be.’ He clears his throat. ‘Sorry for losing my cool, it’s a shock. I thought I’d be able to tell if you were keeping something from me.’ He doesn’t catch how she flinches at that. ‘Come on. I need a drink.’
She expects him to turn the other way, retrace their steps and return to the party, but he heads further into the woodland that skirts the edge of the lake. She can hear the lapping of the water but can’t see it.
‘Where are we going?’ she asks, chewing her lip.
‘I need five minutes alone from everyone.’
It’s too dark to see much further. He pulls out his phone and turns on the torch. It illuminates a narrow path towards a hidden stone-clad cottage. Murky shadows from the tall, spiky bushes loom over them. There is a snap of twigs. A cry from a gull overhead. She presses herself closer to him.
‘Luke and I used to come to Richard and Evelyn’s lake house when we were teenagers. They didn’t care that we smoked weed or drank when Mum told us we couldn’t. I ended up crashing here most nights. If I’m right, it’s also where they still store their best bottles of wine.’
Clearly he is on a mission to get drunk, and she can’t blame him. She wishes it wasn’t tonight. She is so close to uncovering this family’s secrets. But being down here, away from everyone, unable to keep an eye on Marianne, is killing her.
‘Ok, but let’s not be gone too long . . .’ She hopes her tone sounds as neutral as she’s trying to make it.
‘Did you see how many guests they had? No one will even notice we’re missing.’
He lifts up a lumpy rock to reveal a silver key hiding underneath. ‘Aha. Let’s hope it still fits . . .’
He pushes open the front door. A groaning sound from the rusty hinges travels through her. Theo doesn’t seem fazed by the creepy noise. Stuffy, trapped air catches at the back of her throat. Stale. No windows have been open in a while.
He reaches forward into the dark space and flicks a light switch. Nothing happens.
Theo mutters, ‘They must have turned the electricity off.’
‘Let’s head back and get a drink at the party. Your mum will be worried about you, and no doubt she’ll want to speak to you.’
‘What’s the rush? Hang on, I think I remember where the fuse box is.’ He kicks his shoes off and leaves them by the door before stepping inside, using the torch on his phone to guide his way.
Reluctantly, she does the same. She kicks her heels to the side and pulls her phone out the second she is alone.
She turns it back on, expecting to have more worried messages from her mum but there’s no signal.
Theo rummages in the room next door. Before she can tap her torch app, the overhead light pings on and she can see the room more clearly.
It’s bigger than it looks from the outside. She’s standing in an open-plan lounge.
There’s a two-seater tan leather sofa pushed against one wall and a sleek flatscreen television on the other, a nest of walnut brown tables at the side and an Aztec print rug under her bare feet. A compact kitchen sits at the back, separated behind a tall breakfast bar.
‘Has that worked?’ he calls from behind a closed door, off a compact square corridor.
‘Yes.’
‘Great. I’m going to use the bathroom. Try and find where they’ve hidden the wine,’ he shouts.
Cream-coloured expensive pans in different sizes hang from the wall over a fancy oven.
She moves past an enormous coffee machine and sleek silver fridge.
The sooner he has a drink, the sooner they can rejoin the party.
She spins her engagement ring around and around, trying to stay calm.
She understands he’s upset, but she needs to go back to the house and retrace her steps to find the Polaroid. And keep an eye on Marianne.
A toilet flushes.
She spins her ring too much and it pings off. There is the ting of metal as it hits the floor. She swears. Where did it go? She can’t see it anywhere.
‘I found their stash. Any luck on the wine glasses?’ Theo says, plodding into the room, holding a bottle of red wine.
‘Perhaps the signs were there all along. On the yacht Evelyn let slip that Mum mentioned she was writing a memoir. I have no idea who she expects to read it, but I guess you get delusional when you’re dying, and you write everything down in order to start trying to make sense of things? ’
He puts the bottle on the counter and pulls out a corkscrew. He’s too focused on getting himself a drink to notice Rosie frantically checking the kitchen floor.
‘Mmm.’ She casts her eyes to the marble tiles. Where is it?
‘I thought things were finally coming together and now this.’ He struggles to get the cork out, cursing as it fights against him.
‘Can I help? You’re in shock,’ she offers.
Theo shakes his head. His eyes are watery and his cheeks are flushed. ‘I can do it.’
There is a moment of silence. Where has her ring gone?
‘You do want to marry me, don’t you?’ he asks.
Oh God. Her stomach flips. Locating her ring will have to wait. She leans across and takes his clammy hand.
‘Of course. Why are you saying that?’
‘Just checking . . .’ The cork finally comes out with a cheerful pop.
‘I love you, you know. I’m so lucky to have you, especially now.
I can’t bear the thought of losing Mum and losing you, too.
’ His voice cracks. He clears his throat, concentrating on pouring the wine into two crystal glasses. He picks the fullest one to gulp.
Is this a reaction to his mum’s terrible news, or is there something else going on? Why is he talking about losing her? She watches him pour himself more wine; it almost reaches the rim of his glass. His hands tremble.
‘I know you’re in shock but getting wasted isn’t going to help. What about your training? The marathon,’ she says, as gently as she can.
‘There is no marathon.’ He refuses to meet her eye. ‘I lied.’
Her heart thrums. ‘What? But every day you’ve gone out running . . .’
The room is too hot. The dusty, stale air starts to choke her.
He finishes his glass and says nothing.
‘Theo? If you haven’t been training, what have you been doing?’ Her voice wobbles with uncertainty.
She thinks of the pattern of his ‘daily runs’, the scratches on his body. The running route where he went back to look for his lost AirPods. A rush of nausea ripples across her.
He presses the heel of his hands to his tear-stained eyes. ‘You don’t want to know.’