“Stay for another drink,” I say. “I’ve got something I’d like to ask you.”

“I’m intrigued,” Tamsin laughs. “You normally can’t wait to get rid of me.”

I laugh as if it’s not true, but we both know it is.

I get straight to the point.

“What was Nina like before she became ill? Did she seem happy?”

Tamsin’s expression doesn’t give anything away. “In what way?”

“In any way. Did she ever seem...I don’t know...preoccupied? Upset? I’m talking about a few years ago. Not recently.”

“Nothing jumps out. She was fortunate. Obviously, I’m talking about before...”

“That’s what I thought. It’s just that I’ve got the impression lately that maybe she wasn’t that happy.”

“Does it matter now?”

“Yes and no.”

“Why don’t you talk to Greg?” says Tamsin. “They used to break off from the group from time to time, have private chats.”

“Greg? I never noticed.”

“Back when the group started, they appeared really close friends.”

“They did a photography course together once, he told me.”

“Maybe that was it then,” she says, not sounding particularly interested.

The more I think about it, Greg is quiet and not someone I would’ve thought Nina would be friends with. But then, I don’t know—do I—because, as I’m starting to discover, I didn’t know Nina as well as I had presumed.

“You do know he’s a private investigator?” Tamsin adds.

“Is he? He merely told me he was a keen photographer.”

Tamsin smiles. “Well, yes, he is. But he works part-time in varying other jobs from what I understand. He may even do some work as a security guard from time to time.”

“He does blend in well.”

“Just like you, Marie. Sometimes it’s as if you’ve always been here.”

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” I say.

“Can I be blunt?”

What choice do I have?

“Go on.”

“People are talking. Maybe it’s judgmental, maybe it’s wrong, but it’s hard for people to accept.”

“Accept what?”

I’m getting into uncomfortable territory. I can’t outright deny any longer that there’s anything going on between me and Stuart because soon it will be blatantly obvious.

“You. Here. It’s too soon.”

It flits through my mind that Tamsin may be the nasty card and photo sender. She doesn’t look like one, but then who does? Greg? Sharon? Abigail? Deborah? Camilla? Someone at school? Ben? No, not Ben, he has well and truly moved on.

Tamsin is staring at me, waiting for a response. I refocus.

“When would be a good time? Nina asked me to look out for the children. Stuart is grateful for the help.”

“I’m just telling you how it is. Nina had a lot of friends.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Tamsin. I do appreciate it. I’ll bear everything you’ve said in mind.” I’m dying to ask—is it me they’re judging or both of us? But I don’t want to hear the answer out loud. “Did Nina ever talk to you about...afterward?”

“Afterward?”

She knows what I mean, she’s trying to force me to spell things out.