Simon is staring out at the garden but not really looking at it. ‘Friendly, yeah. We’ve been here for nearly three years andI’m not sure they’ll ever accept us as locals. It’s like a badge of honour if you’re born and bred here, although they’re nice enough once they get to know you. But … I think people have a hard time accepting others’ good fortune.’
‘With us winning the house, you mean?’
Simon shrugs. ‘People can be vindictive like that.’
Something about the way he says it makes me glance at him, but his face gives nothing away. The tension coils a little tighter between us and I find myself wondering when Dev will be back.
I try for a lighter conversation. ‘Our turn to host you guys next. I’ll speak to Tilda, see when you’re free to come to us for dinner.’
‘Do you ever get the feeling,’ Simon says suddenly, his voice low, ‘that maybe you’re not quite where you’re supposed to be in life? Everything looks OK to other people from the outside, but inside here,’ he taps his chest, ‘it’s all off kilter, somehow.’
I freeze for a second, caught off guard. It’s a very strange thing to say out of the blue, but I know exactly what he means. It’s how I feel being in this amazing place. An absolute dream to everyone else that doesn’t feel quite right to me because of what happened back then. But nobody knows that so I have to keep pretending.
‘I know what you’re getting at,’ I say carefully. ‘I think everyone probably feels like that sometimes.’
‘Yeah,’ Simon murmurs. ‘Maybe. It’s just that occasionally you meet someone and question the choices you’ve made in life.’
For a short while, neither of us speaks but I’m cringing inside. The warm breeze has picked up slightly, sending a whisper through the leaves.
Eventually Simon stands up, setting his empty mug on the table. ‘Right, I’d better make a move. Thanks for the coffee.’
We walk back inside together, but he suddenly hesitates.
‘Merri, would you mind doing me a favour?’ he asks, his voice casual. ‘Could you not mention to Tilda that I called in this morning? I told her I had a few things to do, and she doesn’t really need to know I was here. With Dev being out and all that.’
Uncertainty ripples through my chest. It’s a small request, just a tiny deception that shouldn’t matter, but it feels loaded. Like he’s testing me.
‘Course, no problem.’ Then, even though I know I shouldn’t, I say, ‘Is Tilda the jealous kind, then?’
Simon gives me a wry smile. ‘You have no idea.’
34
Monday
The empty boxes are stacked neatly in the corner, which is more than I can say for my racing mind. My thoughts have reverted to an unspooled mess, circling back to Simon’s unexpected visit.
His parting words ache, like a loose tooth I can’t stop prodding.
‘Why do you think he said that?’ Dev asked, with a frown, when I told him over dinner last night.
‘He basically said Tilda was jealous.’ I shrugged. ‘I didn’t ask for any details.’
Can you not mention to Tilda that I called in?
There are ten words in Simon’s simple request, but it feels far more loaded than that. Not mentioning Simon dropping by to Tilda is an omission that’s dragging me down. I shiver, suddenly feeling cold.
It’s too soon for me to call Tilda a friend, but I’d like to think we’re edging towards something like it. She’s been helpful and kind. I like her funny laugh and I likeher. If there’s jealousy in their relationship, it’s nothing to do with me or my friendship with Tilda. I want to keep liking her. But Simon and his restless eyes, the way his smile comes with an edge – I keep thinking about him, too.
I remember Tilda’s yoga mat, still rolled up and forgotten in the boot of the car since our class at the village hall.Returning it is the perfect excuse to see her and, hopefully, ease the sense of guilt pressing against my ribs.
I didn’t ask Simon to come to the house, but if I’m not careful, Tilda might blame me for it. If I just act normally, maybe this whole thing will go away. I can brush it under the carpet and forget it ever happened.
The sun beats down, too hot, on my skin, as if it’s trying to force warmth into my cold bones. It’s the kind of day that carries a promise of perfection, but the shadows under the trees stretch long fingers across the path as I walk towards Tilda’s house.
The lake glints under the sunlight, its surface fractured into a thousand tiny diamonds. My stomach tightens, a reflex I can’t control. Beneath that glittering veneer, I know the water is deep and dark. The unwelcome memory slides in, offers a flash of limbs and the sound of the water swallowing a scream. I push it down and focus on the crunch of gravel under my feet as I walk.
Dev thinks I’m overreacting about the vandalism to the windows, but there’s something about the entire house that prickles at me. It should feel like a beautiful fortress, but I feel more exposed in it than ever before.
