‘Why are you here, Holly? You should be on your way to the hospital.’ There was a tension in his lips, as if he was trying not to let them move. But there were still occasional twitches.
‘I called in sick. The morning sickness is so bad. I hardly slept last night.’
‘My poor Holly. I had to come back because I forgot my phone. I’ll still make it – my talk isn’t until late this afternoon.’ He smiled slowly. ‘So we’re both here when we should be somewhere else.’
One of my hands rose to his caress his head, which was damp. ‘Is it raining?’
‘No.’
My heart was still beating fast, but he was sweating. I was struck by how controlled he kept everything in the house, as if in contrast to a body he couldn’t perfectly regulate, though he mostly managed to. ‘Are you angry at me?’ I asked.
‘Why would I be?’ He pulled me into his arms.
‘For looking in your suitcases.’ My forehead was against his chest. He smelled soapy and clean and woody and lovely, when the smell of everything else for the past two months had made me want to be sick.
‘Were you telling me the truth about what you’re doing, Holly?’
I pulled away and looked up at him. He was studying me so intently. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, if you wanted to see my history, as you say, you could have asked. So I can’t help but wonder if you were dragging out those suitcases so you could pack them and run away.’
‘No. Of course not.’ I was shaking my head at the irony of my telling the truth but not being believed. ‘How could you think that?’
‘It’s happened before.’ I could feel him playing with my hair again. ‘Dead fly.’
I shuddered. ‘Have you got it?’
‘Yes.’ He walked quickly to the front door to flick it away, then applied more gel to his fingers. ‘This is your house too. You can go anywhere you wish. Touch anything you find. Open whatever cupboard or drawer you want. I’d never stop you.’
‘Really?’
He took a step away, still with a hand on each of my upper arms, as if needing to evaluate me from different vantage points to make his assessment. ‘Really. I have no secrets from you.’ He leaned over to lift something from the floor. The tax attorney’s card, which I must have dropped when Zac walked in. ‘So you found my good friend Al.’
I cleared my throat, feeling caught out again. ‘Yes. Who is he?’
‘American. We were at UCL together – he read international law. Obsessed with tax but an interesting, funny guy. As smart as they come.’ He glanced towards the beautiful suitcase. ‘Was Al’s card in that?’
‘Yes. Did you give the card to Jane?’
‘Could have been Al – he visited us in London once, several years ago. Might have been me – hard to remember. Anything else you want to know before I leave?’
‘Was the suitcase Jane’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘A gift from you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why do you still have it?’
‘I didn’t know I did. She didn’t leave anything behind when she went. Was her suitcase inside one of mine?’
I nodded, then confirmed it with a quiet, ‘That one,’ as I pointed to his medium-sized suitcase.
‘She must have stored it there, so it was a kind of stowaway when I moved here from London – I didn’t know she’d done that. Would you like it?’
‘Wouldn’t that be weird?’
‘Why would it be? It should be used.’
‘Why does the tag say “Jacinda Molinero”? Molinero’s Miller. Right?’
‘It was my nickname for her. Did you look up the Spanish on your phone?’
I nodded. I’d never told him about my ability to speak Spanish, probably because I never wanted him to know about my failed aspiration to be a spy, and my language skills were bound up with that.
‘Jane loved Spanish.’ He looked so fond, even proud, as he talked about her. ‘She seemed to be able to learn any language she wanted, as soon as she stepped into a new country. It’s a rare gift, but some people have it. She loved to travel.’ He had never spoken about her before. So normally. Using her name.
Maxine could fuck off. He wasn’t behaving like a man with anything to hide. Tears were running down my cheeks.
‘What is it? Holly? – You cry so easily these days.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t deserve you.’
‘Yes you do.’
‘I don’t. You should be with someone who’s accomplished – some clever doctor or barrister.’
‘They’re boring. And that would be predictable.’
‘A supermodel.’
This made him laugh. ‘Even more boring. And I’m already with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are to me.’
I pulled him closer, trying to shut out Maxine’s voice, which whispered out of my own bones that if I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen it was only because I bore a likeness to Jane. He looked so pleased when I moved my hands down his back, when I kissed him, when I whispered that I wanted him so much and I couldn’t wait until he returned.
‘But will you always feel that way?’ He moved a hand up my thigh, under my dress, beneath my underwear. ‘Are you sure you’ll never change your mind?’
‘Yes.’ I was unfastening his belt. ‘I’m sure.’
Two years and four months later
Bath, Tuesday, 2 April 2019
At first, I try not to look at the woman who has drawn so many police officers and forensic scientists to this house. I try to look at everything but her. I focus on the room.
The carpet is pale beige. It is clean and soft and probably the last thing she walked on. There is little in the way of furniture. A small pine wardrobe, a television screen attached to the wall, and a four-poster bed of shiny fake wood. The white sheets are so tangled I cannot help but imagine the aftermath of recent sex. It makes me
