Later, when everyone had finished the walk, Kate asked Tom if they could have a quick chat. He wasn’t keen but she managed to talk him into leaving the group. She told him how scared she felt, how vulnerable, how she thought she might die. It was a huge exaggeration but she wanted some sympathy, for her husband to look at her with warmth and love, not anger and dread. But, Tom being Tom, he couldn’t even manage that. Instead, he stared at her with his dead eyes and said, ‘It was your choice to do it.’

She slapped him then, only her palm didn’t connect with his cheek. He gripped her wrist and held it tightly.

‘You don’t get to hit me again.’

Then he walked away, leaving her standing there, shaking with rage.

She can’t keep doing this. She can’t keep playing this fucking game where Tom strains at the leash and she yanks it back in. Why is he so blind to everything she’s done for him? All the sacrifices she’s made? There’s no point discussing the Caroline situation with him because he simply doesn’t care.

She stops stalking back and forth and sits back down at her dressing table. She wiggles the mouse to wake her laptop up and, for what feels like the hundredth time, enters Caroline’s full name into Google. There has to be something grubby she can use against her. If she can track down friends or ex-boyfriends with grudges against her then maybe—

She stops typing and listens. Beyond the closed bedroom door she can hear someone calling her name.

‘Kate!’ Phoenix pounds at the door. ‘Kate, come quickly. There’s a fire!’

Chapter 40

Now

FRAN

Fran stands very still as Kate opens her bedroom door. She’s obscured from view but she’s breathing so rapidly she feels sure Kate must be able to hear her.

‘What is it?’ Kate barks at Phoenix, standing on the other side of the threshold.

He begins to explain but is cut off by the wail of the fire alarm.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Kate shouts and she’s off, speeding down the corridor with Phoenix hurrying behind her and her bedroom door wide open.

Fran grabs it before it can close and slides into the room, closing the door behind her. There’s a laptop on the dressing table, its screen dimming. Fran launches herself at it and jabs at a key.

Please don’t have locked, please don’t have locked.