I feel sick, the roast lamb dinner from earlier sitting heavy in my stomach. Why has Naomi texted Rav a message like that – what could be so important that she needs to speak to him so urgently? And why wouldn’t she tell me what was so important? I know we talked mostly about what Miranda had said about the house, but wouldn’t she have mentioned to me if she was worried about something, or had something urgent on her mind? A thought settles in my mind, pressing down as sure as a hand on my shoulder. Maybe it’s something she doesn’t want me to know about. Maybe it’s something that neither of them wants me to know about. Rav lied to me about the house, by hiding the fact that he knew the history behind it. Lying by omission is still lying, isn’t it? I remember the faint scent of alcohol on his breath after work, the floral scent that I thought might be incense, but now that I think about it could have been Naomi’s perfume, the one I bought for her birthday last year because it reminded me of the violets she loves. Have they met without me, behind my back? And if so, why? If he lied to me about the house, what else is he lying to me about?

Chapter Eleven