Page 96 of The Lucky Winners

‘People whisper about it. At least I’m asking you straight.’

I folded my arms. ‘Yeah. He’s my boyfriend. Why?’

She inclined her head, sizing me up. ‘He used to be my sister’s boyfriend.’

I opened my mouth to tell her I didn’t believe her, but before I could, she leaned in, her breath warm against my cheek. ‘Then he took a fancy to me, too.’

A cold wave of shock washed over me. ‘You’re lying.’

Her eyes darkened. ‘AmI?’

‘You’re making it up,’ I said, but even I could hear the doubt in my voice.

Becky shrugged. ‘You can believe what you want for all I care. That’s what he counts on.’ She studied her nails. ‘He waited till my sister turned nineteen – that’s his limit, see.Doesn’t like his girls any older than that. Then he ditched her and came for me.’

My skin crawled. Beth’s innocent face flashed in front of my eyes. The way David said he wanted to look out for both of us.

Becky was lying. Shehadto be.

I turned on my heel and strode away, my heart hammering.

‘If you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask him?’ she called after me. ‘See if he tells you the truth!’

My stomach dipped. ‘When was that? He’s only just come home from uni.’

Becky laughed, sharp and bitter and loud enough that a few passing students glanced our way.

‘Uni?’ she echoed, mocking. ‘Is that what he told you?’

‘Yes, he’s been away and only just come back home.’

Becky trained a laser-sharp stare on me. ‘He’s been in prison, you silly cow. For groomingme. When I was fifteen.’

63

Merri

I clamber out of the cab in a daze at Lakeview House.

I glance around before stepping out, my pulse quickening at the sight of the place in darkness.No Dev.And yet the car is on the drive. My chest tightens as I snap on the hall lights, close the door behind me and lock it, twisting the key twice. The sound of the lock clicking into place feels safe, but not safe enough.

Thoughts tear through my head, too fast to track. Am I too late and has Tilda already said something to Dev … or stirred up suspicion with the police? She’s been a bit odd lately, watching me too closely, asking questions about my marriage that feel like traps.

And then there’s the man – the one I saw by the lake with the binoculars. I know I saw him. What if he’s not just watching? What if he means me harm? It feels like all of this is closing in at once.

The shadows from my foster days are catching up, maybe are almost upon me. Has it been him all along? If he’s out there – if he knows where I am – he won’t wait for ever. The clock is ticking.

But the biggest question is: where is my husband? Where is my Dev?

I turn on the lamps as I pass through the hallway, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me. My reflection catchesin the mirror near the stairs, pale and wide-eyed. I barely recognize myself.

I call Dev and get his voicemail again. The robotic voice grates in my ear. I hang up and try again. Nothing.

‘Dev, where are you? I need you here,’ I whisper, setting the phone down. My mouth is dry, so I pour myself a glass of water, but it doesn’t do anything to soothe my taut neck and shoulders.

I pace around the kitchen. Another call to Dev rings out, and I leave a message, though I know it’s pointless. ‘Dev, please call me. It’s important. I need to talk to you – just call me, OK?’

The moment I set the phone down, the silence closes in, thick and oppressive. I press my palms against the counter, trying to steady my breathing. I can’t let panic take over. Not now. But the thought keeps circling back: what if he hears it all from someone else? The police know some of it and they’re circling closer.