“I don’t have a computer.”

“I can send it to your phone.”

“Oh, I don’t want to mess around with that nonsense.”

“I can come to you with photos.”

“To my house?” Her voice trembled. “I don’t think that would be very appropriate. How did you get this number? I never asked, did I? Did I ask?”

Scott swallowed. “Yeah, you did. And I told you I’d gotten it from the estate agent.”

“Oh.”

She sounded so horribly confused. Scott thought of his grandfather, who’d suffered with dementia at the end; he felt like dirt. “Maybe I could visit you one day. We could have tea. I’ll even bring some biscuits.”

“No– I don’t think– No, no thank you. Goodbye.”

She hung up.

“So, what did she say?” Gary asked.

Scott told him everything. “I think I scared her when I said I was going to visit her. But I need to know. Maybe she’ll recognise a photo of Natalie, of Casey… if the other woman is Casey. I’ll just need to figure out a time to go.”

“I could go,” Gary said.

Scott shrugged. “It might come to that. But I’d like to, if I can get a chance. I want to see for myself if she recognises either of them. Can you imagine Natalie flying off the handle like that?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

Not at an innocent old lady.

Scott’s phone buzzed. He grabbed it, read the text.

I need another 5k, darling. There’s a dress on sale and I MUST have it xxxxx

“I take it that’s not good?”

Scott laughed darkly. He was down to fifty-one thousand. She was bleeding his inheritance away on fancy ballgowns she was never going to wear, TVs she rarely watched, exercise equipment she hadn’t even unpacked yet. She rarely looked at the things she’d bought when they arrived, only at Scott, as if savouring every little moment.

“At least we made some progress.” Scott navigated to his banking app, arranging the payment. “Maybe this will all be over soon.”

Gary stared down into the dregs of his pint, then looked up at Scott, his expression grim. “Yeah, maybe.”

20

CASEY

Casey took a sip of wine and tucked her legs up beneath herself, browsing the websites on her phone. She had fifteen tabs open: make-up and clothes and holidays and vintage cheese knives and bespoke saunas, delivery included…

With a simple tap of her finger, poof, more of Scottie’s money disappeared. She was a little surprised he hadn’t refused to transfer the funds yet, but she’d underestimated how narcissistic he was.

His image was all that mattered. The teacher who did his best by his students; the mostly kind man who sometimes made mistakes, like marrying a woman too soon after his wife’s death. The naïve boyish bloke who, nonetheless, had good intentions in his heart.

But that was a lie. Scott’s heart was broken and corrupted. I want to tell you a story about a handsome king and his princess, and a love the world could never understand…