She holds up the phone, and I feel a prickle of anticipation skitter down my spine. My gaze locks on to the screen, and for a moment I can’t do anything but stare, not understanding.
The image in front of me shows Paige, glassy-eyed and grinning at the camera, clearly the worse for wear. But that’s not what sends ice flooding through my veins. It’s the figure standing just behind her –Pamela.
She’d half turned, been caught mid-movement as if she’d just looked up sharply. The camera has caught her expression as a jagged mess of annoyance and surprise, mouth slightly open, eyes wide and flashing. My mind struggles to catch up, the shock ricocheting through me like a bullet.
That face – so stark and unguarded – looks nothing like the careful, composed woman I’ve known. It’s raw and angry in a way that makes my chest tighten, and I realize I’m holding my breath.
‘Oh, my God,’ I whisper. A horrible realization unravels in my gut, spreading through me like poison. I can’t tear my eyes away from that look – a snapshot caught just as the mask is slipping. A snapshot that’s just enough to reveal the truth beneath it.
Paige looks at me, confusion crossing her face. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
I tear my gaze from the screen, my pulse banging in my ears, the shock sinking its claws deeper into my mind with every second that passes. This doesn’t make sense.
‘Send me that picture,’ I manage to say, trying to keep the wobble from my voice.
She frowns, but thumbs through her phone. I grip the edge of the table to ground myself, my thoughts spinning wildly.
Because it’s not just the look on her face that’s throwing me – it’s the face itself. I know that face. I’ve seen it before – smiling at me across the table, offering me a cup of coffee on a drizzly morning, leaning in close to confide secrets about her marriage.
This woman’s name is not Pamela.
It’sTilda.
My knees feel weak, and I lower myself into a chair, my hands gripping the table as if it’s the only solid thing left. My brain fumbles to make sense of it but, no matter how I twist it around, the truth of some kind of betrayal is right there on Paige’s phone, staring me in the face.
‘Merri?’ Paige’s voice is sharp with concern. ‘What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.’
I turn to her, feeling as if the ground has just been ripped out from under me. ‘The woman in the photo, she’s my new neighbour in Windermere. Her name is Tilda.’
Paige’s eyes widen, confusion giving way to shock. ‘What? No … She’s definitely called Pamela. I’ve met her loads of times. She introduced herself as Pamela and she lives in Mansfield.’
My throat feels tight, and I struggle to draw a breath. ‘She lied, Paige. She’s been lying this whole time. She’s not who she says she is.’
So many questions claw at my mind, each more terrifying than the last. Why would Tilda use a fake name? Why would she pretend to be someone else entirely? And what reason would she have for befriendingmybest friend?
I feel a cold dread seep into my bones. If Tilda’s been lying about this, then nothing else about her can be trusted.
I reach for my phone. I need to warn Dev.
56
Dev
Dev sets off at an easy pace down the gravelled path leading away from Lakeview House. It’s late morning and the sun casts the vast countryside around him in hues of bright gold and copper. Merri has rushed off to Nottingham, worried about Paige for some unfathomable reason she didn’t properly explain to him. But he’s quite relishing some time to himself, and he doesn’t care if he never sets foot in Nottingham again.
Moving to the Lake District has taught Dev to appreciate his surroundings. He didn’t see many wild flowers dotting the edges of the path back in Nottingham on the housing estate where they lived, but he’d certainly notice anything beautiful and natural in the middle of concrete suburbia now. The natural beauty this morning only emphasizes the sadness of Sarah’s death.
Jack passes him in his battered Land Rover. Dev raises his hand for him to stop, but Jack hunches over his steering wheel, red-rimmed eyes focused straight ahead as the old vehicle rumbles past. How he must feel this morning, God only knows. Dev had tried ringing and texting his friend first thing and had even called in at Mower World, in case Jack had gone there to escape. Unsurprisingly the place had been shut up.
Dev knows Jack must blame him and Merri. For setting them up, as he’d called it, and for Merri making things worse by going after Sarah when she left the house. But they aren’tto blame for Sarah’s death. Now Dev wants to support Jack the best he can and avoid a breakdown in communication.
The sun on the back of his neck feels at odds with the stone-cold weight he currently carries in his chest. He pauses briefly at the crest of the hill, looking down towards Tilda’s stylish barn nestled among the trees.
She’d texted him about an hour ago, saying she needed to see him urgently and could he come alone. Her message had seemed a bit frantic and to the point. It had to be today. It had to beright now.
He reaches into his pocket for his phone and curses. Now he remembers placing it on the kitchen counter while he put on his trainers. He’d tried calling and texting Merri before he left to tell her about Tilda’s message, but she’s not answering.
It probably wasn’t the best idea for her to go on a mysterious wild goose chase back to Nottingham the day they’d found out about poor Sarah’s demise. If the detectives decide they have more questions to be answered – which is likely, as they were the last people to see Sarah alive – Dev will have to explain where she is. Sometimes he feels Paige has some kind of hold on his wife, the stuff Merri does for her.
