Page 49 of The Lucky Winners

When I open my eyes again, my head is pounding.

I’m unsure of what has pulled me from sleep.

The room is still and silent, except for the faint rustle of the blackout blinds swaying in the breeze from the open windows.

I reach over, expecting to feel Dev beside me, but my hand hits cool sheets.

‘Dev?’ My voice is a whisper, instantly swallowed by the darkness.

My eyes adjust slowly, and I see my husband standing by the window, just a silhouette against the soft glow from outside. He’s peeking through the side of the blind, body tense and still.

‘Dev, what is it?’

He doesn’t turn immediately, just keeps watching whatever is outside that has caught his attention. ‘There are people at the lake,’ he says slowly. ‘There’s floodlights and everything.’

I’m out of bed before I can think straight.

I rush to the window and pull the blind aside.

My breath catches. Down by the lake, harsh beams of white light cut through the night, illuminating a small group of figures moving along the shore.

Some are hunched, focused on the ground, while others stand back, shadows against the floodlights.

I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, fingers trembling. I snap a picture and pinch in closer, trying to make out the uniforms.

‘Police,’ I whisper. ‘And look! An ambulance has just arrived.’

I take another couple of photos, my heart racing, when suddenly a shrill ring crashes through the house, freezing me in place.

The gate bell.

I jump, and beside me, Dev swears under his breath. The sound echoes in the silence, reverberating through the walls.

‘That’s got to be them. Police at the gate!’

‘It’s three in the morning,’ Dev says, his voice low and sharp.

Sarah’s face jumps into my head. The rain, the arguing …

He pulls on some loose pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt, moving quickly.

I wrap myself in my dressing-gown, the material a useless shield against the unease that’s starting a slow crawl over my clammy skin.

We exchange a glance and I see Dev’s eyes are wide and uncertain. Then we head downstairs together.

The house still feels strange to me. Even though we’ve been here two weeks, I don’t know it well enough yet.

In the dark, the immaculate rooms seem cavernous, the corners of the designer furniture too sharp.

There’s something slightly clinical about the place, no softness or comfort.

We move through the hallway, past the art Dev insisted on hanging, the clean lines.

Cold, hard surfaces everywhere I look. I can hear the low hum of the fridge from the kitchen, the only real sound apart from our breathing.

Dev checks the security camera and presses the button to open the gate.

‘Is it the police?’ I hiss, but he doesn’t reply. I feel his hesitation, as if someone he doesn’t want to face is approaching the house.

He opens the door.

Two women stand there, illuminated by the porch light.

They’re wearing plain clothes, but something about the way they carry themselves – their curious eyes sweeping across the hallway behind us – makes it clear who they are.

One reaches into her jacket, pulls out an ID badge, and flashes it briefly before slipping it away again.

‘We’re sorry to disturb you at this hour.’ Her voice is clipped, businesslike. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Claire Lott, and this is Detective Constable Ruth Parsons. There’s been an incident down at the lake, and we’d like to ask you both a few questions, if that’s all right.’

‘What kind of incident?’ Dev asks, blinking.

Parsons’s gaze shifts from Dev to me and back again. ‘May we come in?’

Dev steps aside without a word, and I move out of the way as they enter. Parsons is tall, her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun, while Lott, a little shorter with a dark blonde bob, watches everything with astute, birdlike eyes.

‘Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?’ I cross my arms in my dressing-gown, pressing the soft fabric of my pyjamas against my skin.

They shake their heads, polite but firm. ‘No. No, thank you.’

We move into the main sitting room, the one Dev insisted we should keep ‘minimalist’.

During the day, its main attraction is the expansive view, but in the early hours it’s all chrome and glass with no warmth or comfort.

I snap on the lamps and the detectives sit down.

The tension in the room is almost palpable, the silence stretching too long.

I break it. ‘What’s happening down there?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘We saw the ambulance. Is someone in trouble in the water?’

Lott and Parsons exchange a glance, and my stomach twists. ‘We need to ask you both some routine questions,’ Parsons says. ‘Can you tell us where you both were last night?’

‘We were here, at home,’ Dev says. ‘We held a small drinks party, just us and four friends.’

I hold my breath. Surely Dev won’t mention that we started off as friends before it self-destructed.

‘What time did the drinks go on until?’

I think about Sarah, rushing out of the house into the rain. Surely nothing happened to her last night. Jack would have told us if –

‘I waved the last people off around nine,’ Dev says, glancing at me for confirmation.

‘Yes, I think it was about that time.’

‘Quite early, then. We’ll need details of everyone who was here.’

Dev nods. ‘My phone’s upstairs, I’ll get it before you go.’

Parsons looks at me. ‘Did everyone leave together, at the end of your party?’

‘Yes.’ I press my fingertips hard into my upper arms. I’m not going to complicate matters by talking about the argument. ‘Whatever’s happened down at the lake, what’s it got to do with last night’s drinks party?’

‘Do you know a young woman named Sarah Fielder?’ Lott’s voice is smooth and not accusing in any way, but the question still hangs in the air, heavy and dreadful.

‘Sarah Fielder?’ I hear myself repeat faintly.

‘Sarah is a friend of ours and she was here last night,’ Dev answers, with a note of confusion. ‘Is she OK?’

Lott’s eyes are like small black holes, boring into me. It’s as if she’s waiting for me to falter. I can’t breathe.

Lott clears her throat. ‘I’m afraid we’ve recovered a body from the lake.’

‘A body?’ Dev’s voice is strained, as if he’s struggling to process the information. ‘Whose … whose is it?’

The room swims before me. A body.

The words hit me like a physical blow. I press my hands into the seat cushion at either side of me to steady myself.

I hear Dev’s sharp intake of breath, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.

My mind races, trying to make sense of it, trying to remember if we’d heard anything earlier, if there were signs, anything unusual.

But no – everything was normal. Until it wasn’t.

‘We’re waiting for final confirmation, but there’s a strong possibility it may be Sarah Fielder’s body that has been recovered.’