Page 34

Chapter 33

Lottie

With Queen and Adam Lambert’s live album playing over the kitchen sound system, Lottie leans on the marble countertop and scrolls through the news on her phone, reading article after article about the murder of Hannah Jennings and the suicide of Rob Marwood. There are so many of them. Some are straight facts, some go for the more human-interest story, talking about Hannah’s modelling dreams and showing pictures of her distraught father. Others, particularly the online news outlets, have gone for more investigative pieces, posing questions about whether Rob murdered Hannah and why. Some show graphical timelines of the night Hannah went missing. Others speculate over the guilt or otherwise of her teacher, Duncan Edwards.

Lottie can hardly bear it. It was awful back in 1994 when Hannah disappeared, and now to have it all dragged up again … it’s too much. And Jennie still hasn’t answered her texts. Lottie’s messaged her every day asking if they’ve made any progress on the case, but she hasn’t heard back. It’s not right. Friends help friends, right? Surely they must be getting closer to the truth by now?

A burning smell pulls her from her thoughts.

Dammit.

Hurrying to the grill, she pulls out the slightly smoking flatbreads and switches the extractor fan onto maximum speed. Tipping the least charred flatbreads onto a plate, she carries them and a bowl of chopped salad over to the long oak dining table.

‘Dinner’s ready,’ she calls as she passes the doorway.

Back in the kitchen, Lottie opens the oven and removes the pasta bake. The Le Creuset baking tray is so hot that she can feel it through her White Company oven gloves. Biting her lip, she speeds across to the table and sets the pasta down on the central mat before the heat becomes unbearable.

She hears the thunder of feet on the stairs. Her two blonde-haired, ruddy-cheeked girls appear at speed. Katelyn is already in her favourite Barbie pyjamas. Octavia’s still wearing her dirt-stained jodhpurs and polo shirt from her after-school riding lesson. The pair rush to the table like locusts and immediately grab for the flatbread, jostling over which piece is bigger.

‘Octavia, darling, at least wash your hands first,’ says Lottie as she heads to the doorway again. She raises her voice. ‘Anthony, dinner’s ready.’

Lottie waits by the door, listening for any sign of movement upstairs. Hears nothing.

Oh for God’s sake. It’s like this every day.

Hurrying to the stairs she climbs them to the twist and calls again. ‘It’s dinner, Anthony. Come on, it’s getting cold.’

Moments later she hears the click of her son’s bedroom door opening, and so heads back down to the kitchen. The girls have helped themselves to pasta and are eating as they gabble away to each other. Lottie tries to listen in to the conversation but she’s not exactly sure what they’re talking about; something about a demi-pirouette – so dressage or ballet perhaps?

The sound of the back door opening makes Lottie jump.

‘Hey, kiddos,’ says her husband, Nathan, as he comes in from the integrated garage. He drops his car keys in the walnut bowl on the end of the island and his briefcase on the floor.

Lottie smiles. ‘You’re just in time for dinner.’

‘Great,’ says Nathan, although his tone doesn’t imply he’s pleased about it.

As he walks towards her, Lottie thinks he’s going to give her a hug, or maybe a kiss. Her stomach clenches. It’s been such a long time since he touched her. But instead, he leans across the counter and presses mute on the iPad music app, cutting off the music in the middle of ‘Who Wants To Live Forever’. Nathan sighs. ‘You know I can’t think with that awful row going on.’

‘Dad,’ says Anthony joyfully as he comes into the kitchen.

Nathan grins. ‘Hello, mate.’

‘Can I get a Pepsi MAX?’ Anthony asks, hopeful.

‘No, darling.’ Lottie speaks at the exact moment Nathan agrees. ‘Mineral water only with dinner; you know the rule.’

‘It’s not fair,’ says Anthony, glaring at her. He stomps across to the American-style fridge and presses his glass against the ice-maker, then carries it back to the table and sloshes San Pellegrino over the cubes.

As Nathan and the kids settle down to eat, Lottie goes back to the grill pan to see if she can rescue any of the more burnt flatbreads. One is a complete write-off, but the other is only a little singed. As the kids animatedly tell Nathan about their day, Lottie cuts off the worst of the burnt bits and pops the bread onto a side plate.

She sets the plate down next to the empty spot at the table and looks at Nathan. ‘Do you fancy some wine?’

‘I’m in the middle of a conversation here,’ replies Nathan, wearily, but pushes his glass towards her.

Suppressing a sigh, Lottie carries his glass and her own across to the wine fridge and selects her favourite dry white. She pours them both a generous measure, then returns the bottle to the fridge. Nathan detests wine that’s anything other than perfectly chilled. As she walks back to the table she tunes into the conversation.

‘… And so my trainer says me and Harley can do our first one-day event in the autumn if I keep working hard,’ says Octavia, shovelling more pasta into her mouth. ‘We concentrated on the dressage today – you know it’s my weakest phase – but Piggy said that I’m more of a six now than a five, and Harley’s canter is almost a seven.’

‘Brilliant,’ says Nathan. ‘You’re really putting the work in. I’m proud of you.’

‘Yes, well done, darling. I’m very proud too,’ says Lottie as she sits down.

Anthony rolls his eyes as he scrapes his plate clean. He sets down his fork with a clatter. ‘Can I be excused?’

‘No, it’s family time, you need to wait until we’re all finished,’ says Lottie, helping herself to a small scoop of pasta bake and a larger helping of salad.

‘So unfair,’ says Anthony, grabbing the last flatbread and chewing it moodily.

Nathan finishes his last mouthful of pasta and stands up. He looks at Anthony. ‘You can leave the table now, bud.’

‘Thanks, Dad,’ says Anthony, leaping up from his seat and rushing back upstairs to his Xbox, half-eaten flatbread in hand.

‘But I haven’t finished,’ says Lottie, hating the whine to her voice.

‘I’ve got a Zoom call.’ Nathan barely looks at her as he gets up, leaving his empty plate on the table but taking his wine with him. ‘ Some of us have to work.’

As Nathan retreats to his man cave in the converted attic, Lottie knows she’s unlikely to see him again tonight. They had been in love once – at least she thinks that they had – but the feeling and the memory are long gone. Now she always feels like the least important person in the room.

‘Finished,’ chimes Octavia.

‘Finished,’ parrots Katelyn as she chews her last mouthful.

‘Well done, girls,’ says Lottie, trying to inject her voice with a brightness that she doesn’t feel as the girls run back upstairs to play.

Finishing her wine, Lottie stands up and carries her glass back into the kitchen for a refill. This time she fills it to the brim. Leaning across the counter to the iPad, she unmutes the sound system. Music fills the kitchen as Queen and Adam Lambert sing about how the show must go on .

Lottie takes a big gulp of her wine.

Why is life so bloody hard?

And why does she have this anxiety, this growing sense of dread, that things are only going to get much harder?