“I told him Joshua wanted to meet his dad.”

“Did he meet him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he didn’t want you finding out. He said you were trying to conceive, and it would upset you.”

“He wasn’t wrong. But he could have told me.”

Becky stood up and started pacing the kitchen. She started breathing rapidly and out of nowhere. I instantly recognised the signs; she was a few steps away from a full-blown panic attack.

“I would have never got involved if I knew it was going to end like that. I just needed the money, that’s all. I’m sick of the threats, and the phone calls, and I just want her to leave me alone.”

“Who?”

“Yvonne.”

“What’s Yvonne got to do with this?”

“She’s the one who put me up to it. To get in touch with Harry.”

“She encouraged you to find Joshua’s father?”

“No, you don’t understand. Harry isn’t Joshua’s father.”

“What do you mean, Joshua isn’t Harry’s son?”

“Yvonne paid me to tell him he was.”

“What? Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know. But I was desperate.”

“How did you even meet her?”

“I did meet Harry at university on a night out. She found the photograph of us both and tracked me down on social media.”

The admission gave me an almost instant headache, and I could feel the table creak and crack under the sheer pressure I was putting on it with my hands. My instant impulse was to pick it up and throw it at her, but she looked terrified, dragged into this mess by my spiteful mother-in-law. If Harry had chosen to step off the Brigg, this could have been one of the contributing factors, and I couldn’t take it. Tears started to form in my eyes, not of sadness, but of pure, unadulterated rage that Becky had somehow slinked her way into my family and was poisoning it from within. Becky must have been telling the truth, though. There was no way she would start lying when she was clearly so terrified of me.

Yvonne was as much to blame. She always hated me, but I never thought she would go this far. I never put her down as the scheming type, more the sniping from the gutters type. Becky had been trapped in Yvonne’s web as much as I had, and as furious as I was, she was a victim in this, too.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Becky. Just calm down,” I began softly, “when was the last time you had contact with her?”

“An hour ago.”

“I assume she was warning you I might be coming here?”

“Yes. She offered me more money to keep quiet, but I can’t take the lies anymore.”

“Good. When I’ve gone, you are going to ring her back and tell her you’ve thrown me off the scent. Take the money if you want to.”

“Amelia, I really don’t want to be involved—”

“Well, you are involved,” I reviled, raising my voice, “and if you don’t want the police involved with you, I suggest you do what I say.”

Becky broke down immediately, sobbing into her hands. I did feel a sting of guilt as I walked through the front door, but she knew she was playing with fire when she accepted Yvonne’s assignment. I just needed to be a step ahead of Yvonne; she was clearly gunning for me.

I had to take a leaf out of her book. Smile to her face, but hold a knife to her back.

X

THE MOON

AMELIA

For the first time, probably ever, I was actually excited to go back to Filey. Because I had Yvonne exactly where I wanted her. She was bang to rights. I had evidence that she was manipulating everything from the shadows, and she’d been doing it long before Harry died. I needed to speak to Poppy; she had first-hand experience dealing with Yvonne’s manipulation. I felt like I was finally ahead of the game, and I was making progress. I was still disappointed in Harry for not coming to me himself with the truth, but I understood why he didn’t. I did tend to fly off the handle, sometimes at the slightest thing, and this would have been as good a reason as any. I was disappointed that I clearly wasn’t the kind of wife that her husband could tell absolutely anything to, and I’d always thought Harry was an open book, but that was just what he wanted me to believe. And I did, for the longest time.

I hated how Harry had been tricked by Becky; he died thinking he was concealing a dark secret from me, and my heart broke for him. His mother could have spared him the pain, but she chose not to, just so she could play her little games. I didn’t understand why she would go to such lengths to try and split us up; as far as I was concerned, I hadn’t done anything to her. She made the decision a long time ago that she didn’t like me and viciously held onto that opinion for the rest of our relationship. Part of me was of the opinion that she thought I was some kind of rival. She seemed to always fight for Harry’s attention with me, and from what Harry had said, Yvonne always seemed to prefer him to Poppy. But because Harry was so distant from her, she felt more of a need to seek constant reassurance from him that she wasn’t a terrible mother.

I was torn between driving straight to Yvonne’s house to confront her head-on or getting Poppy on my side before I did. Josephine, Poppy’s wife, never seemed to have any trouble with her mother-in-law. Yvonne just accepted they were in love and left them to it, or so it seemed to me. I frequently racked my brain to try and work out why Yvonne hated me, but I could never understand why. Harry would just laugh whenever I asked him and said it was just what she was like.

Poppy and Josephine lived in a newly built housing estate in the neighbouring town of Gristhorpe. Even though it was only a few minutes away from Filey, I always thought it was just enough space to keep Yvonne from intervening in their lives. Then again, it didn’t stop her from getting involved in my marriage, and we lived three hours away. In the previous few months, I’d felt more of an affinity for Poppy; they were trying to conceive, too, and had gone through all the same process we did. From what Harry had said, they were also struggling with it all and had exhausted their funded IVF attempts. Neither of them had a great job, so they had to save up for months for every attempt. Poppy worked from home, selling jewellery online.

Even before Harry’s death, I envied their life slightly; it just seemed so simple and easy-going. They never seemed to argue or have disagreements. It was not that Harry and I were locking horns with each other every night; they just always seemed so calm and content with their lives. Harry and I always seemed to be striving for something or planning ahead, but they were happy to just casually live in the moment. They didn’t even seem upset about their failed IVF attempts. If I were in their shoes, I would have driven myself insane, and I probably did.

I pulled up to their house, and I could see Poppy diligently crafting in the window. Her face lit up when she saw me, and she waved furiously as I pulled onto the drive. I really liked Poppy, but she was a bit much sometimes. She radiated positivity and mindfulness, which was the complete opposite of how I was feeling. I’d avoided her purposefully since the funeral; I couldn’t stand being around someone with such radiant positivity when I felt like I did. I got out of my car and knocked on the door. Within half a second, it was thrown open, and Poppy was standing there with a beaming smile.

“Amelia! Come in!” she said.

“Thank you. How are you?” I asked, walking through the front door.

“Amazing, thank you. Mum has told me the fantastic news: how far along are you?”

“Only about six weeks, I think.”

“How are you feeling about it all?”

I knew the answer; I just didn’t want to tell her. Mortified was probably the most apt description. If Harry was still here, I would have been ecstatic, but instead, I felt like I was staring down the barrel of a shotgun. I tried not to think about the pregnancy too much. Every time I did, I just felt overwhelming dread. I could barely look after myself, let alone a child. I knew that if I told her all that, it would upset her. So, I decided the easiest thing to do would be to smile, ignore the question entirely, and move the conversation on to why I was there.

“So, I know about Harry’s son,” I announced.

“Oh. Come in and sit down. I’ll put the kettle on,” Poppy said.

As I sat down in the living room; I could hear the kettle whistling in the kitchen. The room was filled with photographs of Poppy and Josephine; in every single one, they had beaming smiles on their faces. You could tell just by glancing at them that they were undeniably happy. In the corner there was a pile of boxes which looked like baby supplies, boxes of wipes and nappies. I didn’t understand how they could remain so positive after suffering as much heartache as we had. I used to turn the TV channel over if there was an advert even vaguely related to babies or pregnancy. Nevertheless, they were content with it, just staring at them in the face. Poppy returned with the tea and sat down on the couch opposite.