“To talk to, nothing more. She was lovely, though. So sweet. She came around once with a stray kitten she’d found and we got to chatting.”
“When was this?”
Maggie makes a face. “Just a few weeks before she…you know.”
Maggie Evans…I remember now: She was quoted in the local paper after Emma died, saying how much the neighbors hated One Folgate Street.
“I felt so sorry for her,” Maggie’s saying. “She mentioned she was off because of cancer treatment. When they found her, I wondered if that was something to do with it—if the chemotherapy hadn’t worked and perhaps she’d taken her own life. Obviously she told me in confidence, but I felt I had a duty to mention it to the police. But then they said there’d been a full postmortem and she didn’t have cancer. I remember thinking, how awful to have beaten such a terrible illness and still die like that.”
“Yes,” I say, but I’m thinking, Cancer? I’m fairly sure it must be yet another lie, but why?
“Mind you,” she adds, “I told her to keep that kitten well hidden from the landlord. Anyone who can build a house like that…” She tries to leave the words hanging but anything more than a few moments’ silence is beyond her, and pretty soon she’s back on her favorite topic: One Folgate Street. Despite what she says, she clearly relishes living next to a building of such notoriety. “Well, must get on,” she says at last. “Got to get the kids’ teas.”
I wonder how I’m going to cope with that side of being a mum, putting my own life on hold to make kids’ teas and gossip with neighbors. There are worse things, I suppose.
I look down at the drawing in my hand. Another reference from art history days springs into my head. Janus, the two-headed god. God of Deception.
Is the second image even me? Or is it—I suddenly think—Emma Matthews? And if so, why was Edward so angry with her?
I wait until Maggie’s gone and then, discreetly, fish down through the layers of the recycling until I find the Post-its again. They’re all stuck together now, a mille-feuille of bright green and red and yellow sheets. I take them back into the house. I’m not done with them after all.
THEN: EMMA
I put off going in to work for as long as I can. But by Friday I know I need to get it over with. I leave Slob some cat food and a tray of litter and go.
At the office, I feel eyes following me as I make my way to my desk. The only person who speaks to me is Brian.
Oh, Emma, he goes, feeling better? That’s good. You can join us for the monthly catch-up at ten.
From his manner I gather no one’s told him, but the women are another matter. No one meets my gaze. Heads lower toward computer screens whenever I look around.
Then I see Amanda striding toward me. Quickly I get up and head for the loos. I know there’s going to be a confrontation but it’s better we do it somewhere private than out here with everyone gawking. I just make it—the door hasn’t even shut behind me before she’s banged it open so hard it bounces off the little rubber stopper.
What the f*ck? she shouts.
Amanda, I go, wait.
Don’t f*cking give me that, she yells. Don’t tell me you’re sorry or any of that bullshit. You were my friend and you screwed my husband. You even kept a video of you giving him a blowjob on your phone. And now you have the f*cking nerve to make a complaint about him. You evil, lying bitch.
She’s waving her hands in my face and for a moment I think she’s going to hit me.
And Simon, she continues. You lied to him, you lied to me, you lied to the police— I didn’t lie about Saul, I say.
Oh, I know he’s no angel but when women like you throw yourselves at him— It was Saul who raped me, I say.
That stops her. What? she goes.
This is going to sound really weird, I say urgently. But I promise you this time it’s the truth. And I know I’m partly to blame. Saul got me drunk, so drunk I could hardly stand. I shouldn’t have let him do that—I knew why he was doing it but I didn’t realize how far he was going to take it. I think he may even have spiked my drink. Then he said he’d walk me to my room. Next thing I knew he was forcing himself on me. I tried to say no but he wouldn’t listen— She stares at me. You’re lying, she says.
I’m not. I have told lies, I admit that. But I swear I’m not lying about this.
He wouldn’t do that, she says. He’s been unfaithful but there’s no way he’s a rapist.
But she doesn’t sound quite so certain anymore.
He didn’t even seem to think it was rape, I say. Afterward, he kept telling me how great it had been. And I was so confused, I wondered if I was somehow remembering it all wrong. But then he sent me the video. I hadn’t even realized he was recording it—that’s how out of it I was. He said how much he’d been enjoying watching it back. It was like a reminder that he could tell Simon anytime he liked. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked.
Why didn’t you tell anyone? she says suspiciously.
Who could I tell? You seemed so happy then, I didn’t want to be the one to break up your marriage. And you know how Simon’s in awe of Saul. I wasn’t sure he’d believe me, let alone whether he’d be able to handle knowing his best friend had done that to me.