‘Is this why you had the locks changed and sent us new keys?’ asked Gina. I nod.
‘What gives you that impression that someone has been in the house?’ asks Heidi stiffly.
‘Sometimes the place smells different – it’s a weird wet-dog smell. Sometimes something has been moved or is missing. My laptop vanished for a day and then reappeared the next. Two mornings in a row I wanted to go for a run but could only find one running shoe in the cupboard. At the end of the day, the second one was back in the cupboard again. Tell me that isn’t weird.’
‘Matthew, would you mind getting me a glass of rosé after all? I think I need it now. And maybe if you could prepare Gina an Aperol, a weak one.’ Matthew nods, happy to accommodate the request. That’s because he doesn’t know Heidi the way I do. I instantly know she’s getting him out of the way. Whatever she wants to say, she doesn’t want to say it in front of my fiancé.
The moment he’s out of earshot, she hiss-whispers, ‘Not much of a mystery. Do you actually need me to articulate it?’
We stare at one another. I knew this would be her first thought. ‘It’s not him. He was in London when the globes were smashed, upstairs when the bolognese was spilt, and with me when the graves were vandalised.’
‘Desecrated,’ she corrects. I squirm. I’ve considered that word too but tried to avoid it. It’s too much. It’s too bleak, cruel and threatening. Heidi, however, seems happy to embrace the darkness.
‘He loves me, Heidi. We’re getting married. Why would he ruin my stuff?’ I ask quietly and firmly.
‘Classic gaslighting,’ she pronounces emphatically. ‘All of these strange and cruel things have happened since you met Matthew. It’s blatantly obvious.’
‘No it isn’t,’ I rebut. ‘It’s only gaslighting if he says it’s not happening. He’s as worried as I am.’
‘OK,’ she concedes. ‘But if it’s not him, then it’s something to do with him.’ Her tone is ominous, dramatic.
‘Here are your drinks, ladies.’ We all nearly jump out of our skin.
‘That was quick,’ comments Heidi.
Matthew has in fact brought a tray with all the bottles and glasses on it. He pours Heidi’s wine and preps Gina’s Aperol. He clearly didn’t want to leave me alone with them; he’s trying so hard to support me. I notice that he hasn’t brought out a glass for me, but I don’t mention it. If I do, he’ll think I’m trying to get rid of him too.
‘Are we talking about the vandalism?’ he asks. His straightforward manner is uplifting.
‘Yes.’
‘Any theories?’
‘Well, the timing would suggest that this aggravation is something to do with you,’ comments Heidi boldly.
‘I agree with you.’ Matthew nods, holding her gaze. I know she won’t blink, so I interrupt.
‘I’ve given it a lot of thought. I wondered if it could be a friend or relative of Becky’s who is unhappy with Matthew moving on. Someone who really doesn’t want us to be together.’
My friends don’t dismiss the theory. I almost wish they would. I want to believe the vandalism is just a matter of bad luck, down to bored, mischievous kids. Not a real threat or worry so much as a nuisance. But how many bored kids are there in the world, and why do they all seem to be getting their kicks from destroying my property? Invading my space.
Gina nods. ‘It’s possible. Matthew, can you think of any likely candidates? Someone sad and mad enough to do this.’
‘No one comes to mind. Most of our friends live in New York. Her family are in South Africa. But I agree someone is trying to cause trouble, put a wedge between us. I just don’t think it’s one of Becky’s friends.’ He is still staring right at Heidi. It’s impossible for any of us to ignore his challenge. I really wish I had a drink right now. Something to help me slip through this awkwardness. I want to keep my gaze trained on the oily plates on the table, but I know I must force myself to look my friends in the eye. Gina first, she’s easier. Her cheeks are pink, but I know immediately that she’s embarrassed, not guilty. Embarrassed for who? Me, or Heidi? She knows what he’s saying. It appears they both do.
‘Are you for real? Are you accusing us of doing these batshitcrazy things?’ Heidi yells. My attention snaps to her.
‘No, no, of course he’s not. We’re not,’ I reassure quickly. And we’re not. Not exactly. When Matthew first mooted the idea that Heidi might be responsible for this hate campaign – that’s how he described it – I laughed. He quickly retracted the thought as preposterous, but since then I’ve racked and racked my brains and I can’t think of anyone else who might have a problem with our relationship. I’m simply not close enough to anyone else for them to care what I do with my life. ‘But you did just accuse Matthew of gaslighting me. That wasn’t very supportive, was it? You’re not his biggest fan,’ I stutter. It’s a hard thing to say. The truth often is.
‘You have known him for about five minutes. You’ve known us all your adult life.’ Heidi’s eyes are so wide I think they are going to pop out of her head on springs, like in a cartoon.
Matthew puts an arm around me. We’re a unit. He says, ‘I think since we’ve met there has been a sense that you feel you’re losing Emma, that I’m taking her away from you, and I just wanted to clear that up. Let you know that there’s room for us all to love her.’
Heidi jumps to her feet. Her thigh bangs into the table and upsets a wine glass. Gina starts mopping up the spillage, but I don’t think a couple of napkins can absorb the mess that’s pooling between us.
‘I’m just saying I have always rather got the feeling that you don’t like me.’ I feel so awful for him in that moment. I think of the effort he’s gone to today. He has been shopping and prepping for two days, he’s bought three tubs of ice cream to cover each of the girls’ favourite flavours. He’s trying so hard.
‘We don’t know you,’ corrects Gina carefully, her voice soft.
I feel a sense of dread creep through my body. I keep my eyes on Heidi. I’m trying to read her. It’s ridiculous to suspect her of doing these terrible things. She loves me. But that’s the point. She loves me and she doesn’t like him, not at all. She doesn’t trust him and she doesn’t want the balance of our intimate friendship altered in any way. Love makes people do extreme things. Silly, illogical things. Also, I know that Heidi’s mantra in life is ‘Sometimes the end justifies the means.’ She first said it to me when she set off a fire alarm at uni, to cut short a tedious lecture because we wanted to make our train as we were going to a music gig. More recently, she reported the headmaster of her kids’ school to the governors for having an affair with his PA. She said he was morally unfit to speak at school assemblies. I don’t know if that really was her objection, but I do know that he hadn’t accommodated Fifi’s GCSE choices and she’d had to take French instead of Spanish. Heidi was delighted when he was asked to resign. There have been dozens of other occasions when she’s muttered this mantra.
I am aware that Leon and Mick and the girls have emerged from the pool. I’m not sure if it was because they were hungry or if our shouting drew them out. Fifi and the men look concerned. They stand dripping, their faces wary. It’s time for me to show Matthew my loyalty, support and trust. He is my fiancé. It’s even more painful saying this in front of an audience, but I must.
‘It appears to be someone who knows my movements and it’s most likely to be someone who has a key.’ Then I drop a bomb on our long friendship. ‘You two are the only people with keys to my new lock.’
Heidi’s eyes flash with fury. She marches through the garden and into the kitchen. Everyone follows her. Her bag is lying on the breakfast bar, where she habitually dumps it whenever she visits. She reaches for it and scrabbles about until she retrieves her key ring. It’s a Tiffany screwball key ring that I bought her for her last birthday. She efficiently identifies my shiny new key on the bunch of seven or eight and then removes it. She slams it down. ‘And now it’s just Gina. Girls, get your clothes, we’re going.’
She doesn’t even allow them time to get dressed; she bundles them into the car in their wet costumes. Leon is stunned but does as she directs. As their car pulls away, I hear her bark instructions. ‘Sit on your towels.’ I feel saddened by the thought of their journey in wet clothes.
Gina looks like she is in physical pain. Torn as though she’s being split in two. Mick ushers Lottie into the wet room and emerges a minute or two later. Lottie is at least in her clothes, although her hair is dripping. After a beat, Gina says, ‘I’m going to go after her. I’ll call you tonight, OK?’ I nod and try not to think that Gina has chosen Heidi. I know she’s just trying to help make peace. She puts her hands on my shoulders. ‘Just don’t do anything rash, OK. Take a breath.’ I nod. ‘We’ll sort this,’ she assures me.
I turn away from her and bury my face in Matthew’s chest. He rubs my back. ‘It’s OK, we’ll be OK,’ he murmurs.
22
We marry within forty-eight hours of arriving in the Maldives. The ceremony takes place on the beach at ten in the morning, before it gets too hot. The morning sun spreads across the sand, making it look like buttercream on a birthday cake; the ocean is disconcertingly blue. Sunlight dances on the water’s surface; I find it hard to look at the sparkles and flashes popping like fireworks. The scene is idyllic. If I was the sort to run a personal social media account to showcase my perfect life, I know I’d be able to post the most stunning little tiles to make our friends sigh with longing and envy. As I think this, the horrible words ‘What friends?’ flip into my mind. I push them away. That is not a helpful thought on this day of all days. Anyway, I only have a work account on Instagram, which is run by the marketing team, so I won’t be posting anything. I am excited at the thought of our wedding photos, mounted in silver frames, dotted around the house. I’m already looking forward to looking back on this day.
I wear a white crocheted kaftan that I bought in a hurry at Heathrow, and an orchid in my hair. Matthew wears shorts and leaves his linen shirt open. He’s accessorised with a panama hat and looks unfairly cool. The photographer and hotel staff are our witnesses. After the ceremony, we eat freshly caught lobster under a silk canopy; we drink piña coladas and laugh about how we both think the naff nature of the cocktail and its sweetness is made all the more delicious because we are suiting ourselves and no one else. It feels like we are floating in a bubble. A private, delicate, iridescent bubble.