He should’ve done more. He should’ve known her better. He should’ve paid closer attention.

It didn’t help that it was all true. He should have done all those things.

Scott took out his phone, dialling the number.

“You’re ringing her now?” Gary said.

Scott looked at the clock again. “Yeah.”

Minutes were ticking by; he needed hope, if he was going to endure whatever was waiting for him that evening.

19

SCOTT

“Hello?” The woman sounded nervous, as though she wasn’t used to receiving phone calls.

“Hello, am I speaking with Tess Foster?”

“Who is this?”

Gary was staring at him wide-eyed, eager. Despite everything, Scott could tell there was a tiny glimmer of fun in this for his friend. Gary had a nine-to-five and two children. He had a mortgage and two cars on finance and he listened to podcasts on the way to work; he had a regular life, so this must’ve been an interesting break from it, at the very least.

“My name is Scott Smith. This is going to seem a little strange, but I think you may know something about my wife. I think you may have seen her from your old house, the one that overlooked the park. She was with another woman.”

“Ah.”

Gary gave Scott a look, a question in his raised eyebrow. Scott shook his head. Maybe. They were getting there.

“Her name was Natalie–”

“I never knew their names.”

Scott’s heart beat a little faster. “But you saw them?”

“I did more than see them, young man.”

Scott found himself grinning. He was often noticing his smiles lately. They felt unusual. “Who said I was young?”

“Your voice. Go on, guess how old I am. It’s a game I like to play.”

“Twenty-six.”

She laughed, and Scott smiled again. “Not even close. I’ve just turned eighty, in fact.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”

Scott warned himself not to hope too strongly. But there was no denying this was the best person they could’ve found. She was old, possibly lonely, and seemed keen to talk.

“Natalie… She was the one with black hair, straightened if she wore it down, in a ponytail if not. She was tall, and on the thin side.”

“Yes, she sounds familiar.”

“What did you see?” Scott asked. “Did you see them together?”

“Her and her girlfriend, yes, yes I did. But I must say, I’m not in the habit of helping husbands snoop on their wives.”

“She’s dead. And whatever you tell me will be strictly between us.” Scott couldn’t afford to be honest. “How often did you see them?”

“Dead? That’s awful. How, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Suicide. I found her. She mentioned the park in her note, which is why I’m calling.”

“Goodness gracious.” When she paused, Scott imagined her making the sign of the cross. “When did this happen?”

“Almost two years ago.”

“And you’re only just looking into this?”

Scott’s grip tightened on the phone. He didn’t need her to remind him of what an idiot he’d been. Maybe he could forgive himself for the first few months, when it had been an effort to get out of bed, to shower, to brush his teeth: when the grief had swallowed him up. But what about after?