Dad’s working from home today. This is both a blessing and a curse. I’m back early from college and I can hear him speaking to customers on the phone. I feel as if I have to keep the noise level to a minimum and am never quite sure when the right time is to interject if I want to speak to him. Yet at the same time, it’s good to have him here, to see him happy and relaxed, almost back to his old self. I knew he’d get there in the end. Losing Mum was always going to be a blip in his life. Theirs wasn’t exactly the happiest of marriages. It was a car crash for many years before she died. I keep quiet about that aspect of my life to my friends. It’s not a good look, slagging off the dead but it’s true. The day before Mum died, Dad gave her an ultimatum – Kennedy or him. Neither of them knew that I was in the house while they were arguing. I had snuck in and was lying on my bed, listening to their raised voices. Mum had said she had broken it off with him but Dad didn’t believe her. That’s where she was going the night she was murdered – to meet Phillip Kennedy. I’m sure of it.

I open my wardrobe and lean inside, pulling out the bag that I keep stashed at the back. Inside is every photo I had of Sophia. I should throw them out. There’s nothing to be gained from keeping them. I peer inside and all those old emotions come rushing back – the fear, the all-consuming dread that something terrible, something final was going to happen to our little family. And in the end, it did.

The bag is filled with shreds of the pictures I tore apart, ripping and screwing them up, gouging at her face until there was nothing left of her. Dad thinks I keep them in here to treasure them and keep them safe. If only he knew. Their wedding photographs are ruined too. He hasn’t asked for them and I haven’t offered. Photos of us as a family on picnics, at the park, visiting the zoo – all in pieces.

Next to this bag is the one where I store the clippings of my hair, the strands I tore at, cut and pulled out when things got to be too much. I lift it out and stare inside, a small pain screeching across my scalp as the memories come blazing back into my mind: the raised voices, the accusations, the screaming matches. They drove me to it, to cause myself some pain in the hope it would detract from the festering wound that was my home life. Nobody noticed my bald patches, the coin-sized areas of shiny scalp. I styled my hair to cover them up, backcombing and fluffing, strategically placing certain strands to cover up my weakness. Mum and Dad were too bogged down in their own issues to notice me anyway. I was on the periphery of their lives, just another person who co-existed in this house with them. I could have done whatever I liked and nobody would have noticed. Which is what I did in the end.

I swallow and place both bags back, stuffing them deep in the darkest corner of the cupboard, out of sight. One day, I’ll dispose of them, but not at the moment. I need them here to remind me of how it used to be, to remind me of how bad it was and how in the end, it all worked out for the best.

It’s exhausting keeping secrets. Every single day is an ordeal. But not for much longer. I have things to look forward to. I’ve got Josh and now Dad has Alice. She’s going to change things around here. I can just feel it, like a welcome tension in my gut, not the throbbing, sickening tautness that has been sitting at the base of my belly for so long, I thought it would never leave me. This is a welcome sensation, something that ignites a spark inside of me. A spark that got extinguished when Mum and Dad’s marriage began to fall apart. It’s beginning to burn bright again and I have Alice to thank for that. I just hope she sticks around and injects some warmth back into our lives. God knows we deserve it. Or at least, Dad does. I’m not sure what I deserve.

22ALICE

He made it so easy for me, it was almost painful. Almost but not completely. Like taking candy from a small child. I slip my hand in my pocket and finger the notes, enjoying the sensation of the smooth, plastic-like texture that is rolled into a thick tight wad, gangster style.

Five hundred pounds and that’s just for starters. I told him that if he tried to sack me, I would produce the receipt and message it to his wife. I will get the remainder of the cash later in the week and then I will hand over his stash. Or so he thinks. A lot can happen in a week. I may just decide to up my demands. It all depends on how he treats me between now and then, how many windows he and his precious wife make me clean, how much laundry they expect me to do.

The sun is warm against my skin as I head towards the school to pick up the children. It almost killed him, letting me collect them but as he said, he is a busy and important man and has too much work on to find the time to collect them himself.

I cross the road and wait alongside the small collection of parents and childminders and nannies, wondering if any of them work in circumstances similar to mine or do they breeze through their day, doing very little to earn their money? Few of them look frazzled or stressed. I’m guessing they all have relatively easy lives, their existences limited to keeping a loose eye on children and putting the odd toy back in its rightful place.

There is tug on my arm and turn to see a woman in her thirties staring at me, a quizzical expression on her face. ‘Sorry, I’m sure I know you from somewhere.’ She smiles and I feel her intense gaze as she scrutinises me, assessing me closely, her eyes roving over my features, setting them to memory.

‘No, sorry,’ I say quickly, turning away. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Did you used to go to St Peter’s School?’

I shake my head. The name means nothing to me. A pulse of annoyance and fear beats in my neck. ‘Nope, sorry.’

She lets out a disgruntled squeak and continues observing me. As much as I try to remain cool and calm, my face heats up under her analytical gaze. I want her to go away, to leave me in peace. I visualise myself pushing her backwards, hearing the bash of her skull as it meets the pavement.

‘I work in York Crown Court as an usher. Maybe I’ve seen you there?’

My fingers are trembling ever so slightly as I run them through my hair. I lower my hand and stare at my ragged nails then shake my head once more and push my glasses up my nose. ‘No, definitely not. I’ve never ever been in the place. Sorry again.’

She shrugs and at last, turns away defeated. But not quite. ‘Sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name.’

‘Alice,’ I reply, my smile saccharine sweet, my voice soft and cloying. ‘Alice Godwin.’

This seems to appease her, her eyes no longer narrowed with curiosity. No more attempting to probe into my innermost thoughts. She shrugs and moves away from me, mingling back into the waiting bodies. I continue to watch her. She glances my way and catches my eye, a sharp, unforgiving look that tells me she knows I’m lying, before she disappears altogether and gets swallowed up by the mass of parents and carers.

A crowd of youngsters spill out of the gates in a noisy throng. I spot Fionn as he rushes towards me, then Yasmin as she saunters up behind him, her head down before she looks my way and flashes me what appears to be a genuine smile. It’s fear and an attempt to be cordial after our encounter this morning, I do realise that, but it’s better than her usual surly manner and superior attitude. Those traits piss me off and I had just about had enough of them.

We walk back, Fionn chatting about the football match and his art lesson, and Yasmin making small talk about her love of tennis and how Miss Jackson is the best teacher ever. She seems enraptured by her. I visualise Miss Jackson with her fresh complexion and effervescent manner and wish her dead. I don’t even know her but hearing her name spoken over and over in such a gushing manner sickens me. All of these people with easy lives, no troubles, no worries, just a flowing, carefree existence, they infuriate me more than I can ever say.

Fionn runs ahead, leaving me and Yasmin on our own. I wonder what she thinks of me – whether she hates me with a passion, whether fear of my capabilities will force her to respect me. I don’t particularly care either way. Yasmin is a spoilt, sulky child and I am her nanny. That is as far as our relationship goes. She doesn’t have to like me, nor me her. I wash her clothes, clean her room, escort her to and from school. I am her servant, paid to be at her beck and call. My jaw aches as I clench my teeth together, a tic taking hold under my eye.

Before we get to the house, I stop and grab her wrist, gripping it tightly as I hiss in her ear. ‘Don’t forget our little promise now, will you? I know your every move, madam, so let’s make sure you say nothing to anybody, okay?’ She nods furiously, tears glistening, her skin bloated and blotchy. ‘Good. Now stop crying and grow the fuck up.’

She is good, I’ll give her that. Practically a professional. By the time we reach the house, her mood has changed dramatically. She enters the hallway a bubbly, young girl, full of laughter and excitement at being home.

They head to their rooms and I slip off into the kitchen thinking about the woman at the school gates and her recognition of me. Every time I glance in a mirror, I see a different person to the woman I was a year ago. Different hair, glasses, weight loss. I have a completely different look. I am no longer me. Unless she has an uncanny knack of remembering every single person she comes into contact with, it is impossible for her to have placed me as that distraught woman who sat in court that day, hearing the grisly details of her husband’s sordid little secrets. I have altered so much, there are days when I barely recognise myself. That woman outside the school gates is no more than a gutter gossip, one of the nosy rabble of carers who stand there every day, looking for somebody to shoot down with their vicious tongues and wicked minds.

‘You can take yourself off home now, Alice.’ Jack is standing over me as I lean down in the cupboard to retrieve two tumblers which I fill with milk and place on the kitchen table for Fionn and Yasmin.

I stand opposite him, refusing to break eye contact. ‘Are you sure? I don’t mind staying and looking after the children until Elizabeth comes back home.’ My hands are on my hips, my legs slightly apart. I’m enjoying this. I can see that he is both nervous and furious, a tension of opposites swirling about in his mind – the way his jaw twitches, his terse expression, his clenched fists – they all show me how conflicted he is about this situation. He wants me out of the way. I wouldn’t be surprised if he offered me more holiday time with full pay. The less he sees of me, the better. But that’s not going to happen. I want to get under his skin, to needle him and have him watching his back, constantly looking over his shoulder, fearful that I’m about to spill out his secrets to his darling wife. I have the power to rupture his world, to bring it all crashing down around him. For all of his influence and his ostentatiousness, Jack Downey is no more than a gaudy little man who is driven by his greed and let down by his many vices. He will do exactly as I want until such time as I tire of my little game and then I will be out of here, and once I am gone, I will not give this place or this family another thought.

‘Of course. You get yourself away. We can manage here.’ His last sentence is laced with menace.

He wants me to know that he will only tolerate this situation for a certain amount of time. I’m fine with that. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll wish he’d never met me.

‘Right, well, I’ll just get the children a snack and⁠—’

He snatches the tumblers out of my hands. Our fingertips meet, our eyes locking together. There’s a darkness there that tells me everything I need to know about what Jack Downey thinks of me.

‘As I said,’ he hisses, barely able to conceal his contempt for me, ‘we can manage here just fine. Please leave.’

I step closer to him, lean in and place my lips against his ear. ‘Don’t worry, I’m leaving. But tomorrow, I’ll be back. And then I’ll be here the day after that and the day after that, ad nauseum. Don’t forget our deal.’ I am so close I could kiss his cheek and run my lips over his neck, my mouth brushing against the designer stubble on his chin.

‘See you tomorrow, Jack.’ I am sorely tempted to give him a wink but think better of it. Men like Jack Downey will only take so much before their egos get in the way and they do things they later regret. Besides, I need the rest of my money.

Instead, I drape my jacket over my shoulders, pick up my bag and head out of the door, closing it behind me with a soft click.

23PETER

‘I can pick you up from your place if you like?’ He is leaning back in his chair, his desk littered with notes and bits of paper. He really needs to tidy it but as a tiresome, mundane job, it always seems to slip down to the bottom of his to-do list. Alice fills his mind these days: the scent of her hair, the twinkling in her eyes as she smiles at him. The softness of her naked skin. It’s all he can think about, stirring up his blood, desire running through him like flickering flames, setting every nerve ending on fire until he feels as if he is about to combust.

‘No, honestly it’s fine. I don’t mind getting a taxi. I’ll meet you there, shall we say at 8 p.m.?’ Her voice has a calming effect on him, like warm oil being gently massaged into his skin.

‘8 p.m. sounds perfect. Are you sure you don’t want picking up?’

‘Absolutely certain. You get ready at your leisure and I’ll see you at eight o’clock.’

He puts down his phone and barely has time to ruminate over how amazing it is that he and Alice have clicked together in such a short space of time before his emails start pouring in and his mobile rings, pushing all thoughts of his new relationship to the back of his mind.

The rest of the afternoon is spent reassuring customers that their machine parts are on delivery and that they have no reason to worry about the whole factory line grinding to a halt as he can promise faithfully that their actuator will arrive promptly next morning and yes, he will deliver it himself if need be.

Lauren is standing behind him as he turns around, her slim frame filling the doorway. ‘Just wondering what you fancy eating tonight?’

‘Ah,’ he replies meekly, remembering that he hasn’t told Lauren about his plans for tonight. ‘Sorry, I should have said something. I’m meeting Alice tonight. We’re eating in town. Really sorry. Completely slipped my mind to let you know.’ He stares at his inbox, which piling higher by the minute, and sighs ruefully.

‘Don’t be sorry!’ Her face lights up at the mention of Alice’s name. ‘I’m so glad you’re seeing her again. Anyway, it means there’s more food for me if you’re not here to scoff it all.’

She walks into the room and places her arms around his shoulders, hugging him close to her. It’s been a long time since they have done something like, this – joked, chatted about inconsequential things and laughed together. It’s getting easier for them both. He can just feel it. They have Alice to thank for that. She has eased the burden of worry and sorrow that they had been carrying around, made their days that little bit brighter.

He shuts his eyes briefly, aware that he is trying to hold himself back with Alice, not come across as too eager or pushy when he’s in her presence but it’s so damn difficult. His heart is racing ahead of his logic, blotting out all rational thinking. Sometimes, love doesn’t need rationalising. It is what it is and that’s all he needs to know.

‘I won’t be late back. Got an early start in the morning.’