31.

Lydia

Lydia is pretending to pack, but really she is going through Joe’s things, a task she has never once undertaken in their entire relationship. But he is keeping something from her. She isn’t an idiot, so here she is, with his iPad, the quiet of the villa beyond.

She has all of his dirty clothes here too. She starts her search methodically. First, the clothes. She pauses, his shorts in her hands. If she looks, she can never go back. If she finds something.

What is she looking for? She knows Joe. She knows him. He wouldn’t – what? Cheat on her? Here in Verona? The thought is ridiculous. She puts down the shorts.

But then she remembers his facial expression. And – worse – Cathy’s. They looked guilty. All of them did. Maybe it’s something financial. Gambling. IVAs. Business debts. Personal guarantees given. Lydia can’t help her mind spiralling.

There’s nothing in the shorts. A voided prescription with the dose scribbled out. A used tissue. Three euros and an Italian car-parking ticket.

She goes to the iPad next. It doesn’t have a passcode. She goes through his emails, social media, search history. All present, and nothing sinister. He has googled recent veterinary cases, things to do in Verona, and – she will forgive him this one, if this is all it is – ‘Megan Fox hot’. Her heartrate is slowing down the less she finds. Maybe it’s nothing. Old traumas resurfacing, a gut feeling that is still misguided. Maybe her Joe is good, the man who looked at an error message on a recent pregnancy test and said, ‘Yep, you’re a nutcase.’ Maybe he is still hers.

She navigates to his WhatsApp next. He has the app on his iPad. There’s the family group. She was added to it only last year, after she asked. Joe had downplayed it – It’s boring, honestly, full of photos of Paul and vet questions – but, last year, just before Christmas, when they did a secret Santa, Lydia had finally been added. She’d felt a thrill at it, at the proximity to a proper family, with all its complexities and simplicities. Frannie had wanted a higher budget – ‘What can you even get for twenty quid?’ she’d said, and Joe had said, ‘A better vets’ receptionist?’ Lydia had enjoyed reading it, the barbs and the easy banter of a functional family.

She looks at the rest of his texts. Banter with two friends. Professional communications with Evan. She lets her shoulders sag.

But … something is niggling at her. She pauses, wondering what it is, before she realizes. Look for what’s missing, as well as what’s there, one of the lawyers at work once told her when she helped him with a disclosure bundle. What’s missing?

His sisters. He hasn’t texted either of them for – according to his phone – three days. But … he texted Frannie. The morning after she had Paul. Didn’t he?

That can’t be true. She stares at the threads of text messages and WhatsApps, neither name present. She goes into the deleted files of both. Nothing.