‘Oh, by the way, Helen, I’ve made this for tonight,’ she said, pulling out a casserole dish and lifting the lid. ‘It’s just vegetables and lentils. And some potatoes . . .’
Kate stopped.
She stared at the dark brown glutinous sludge of the stew. It was an inch or two shallower in the dish than she’d left it this morning.
‘Jack, did you eat some of this?’ Kate asked, turning around alarmed. He shook his head.
Kate’s eyes flew to the kitchen window locks and the back door. All intact. She then spun round to check the window at the side return – and came face to face with Helen, who had come up behind her.
Watching her.
Helen gave Kate a smile and took the casserole gently from her, replacing it in the fridge.
‘Now, don’t worry about us, Kate. We stopped at Marks on the way over. I got some salmon and new potatoes, and a bit of salad.’
Kate noted the salmon sitting in her fridge on the shelf above the casserole and felt the waves of Helen’s firm resolve radiate towards her. ‘Oh. But I made it for tonight. Really. There’s plenty for the three of you. I’m just confused at how so much of it has disappeared. It’s as if . . .’
‘Oh, it’ll have just sunk down in the dish when it was cooling,’ Helen interrupted, shooting a reassuring smile at Jack. ‘No, Kate. You keep it for tomorrow.’
Kate peered into the fridge. Was Helen right? She lifted the lid again to check if she could see a faint line of dried casserole that would prove its original height.
There was nothing there.
‘Absolutely,’ Richard boomed. ‘Take the weight off.’
Richard and Helen together. Two against one, as always.
‘OK,’ she heard herself say lamely. She replaced the lid and shut the fridge. They could eat their bloody salmon. Jack didn’t even like it. He only ate it to be polite.
‘Now, you’re probably starving, darling, aren’t you?’ Helen said to Jack, taking Kate’s apron off a hook and putting it on. There was a fragment of tinned tomato on it left over from making the stew this morning. It was about to press against Helen’s white summer cardigan.
Kate went to speak, and then didn’t.
‘OK, then . . .’ She hesitated. ‘By the way . . .’
They both glanced up.
Jack looked down at the table.
‘I’ve . . . have you been up . . .?’ She pointed at the ceiling.
They shook their heads.
‘No, dear,’ Helen replied. ‘Why?’
Jack kept his eyes on the table, slowly finishing his muffin.
‘Well, I haven’t got time to explain, but anyway, don’t worry about it. It’s just . . .’
They waited, expectantly. Jack’s jaws stopped moving.
‘I needed to do it. And it’s done now. So – see you later.’
And with that, she marched out of the door of her house – her house – cross that she had to explain at all.
CHAPTER TWO
It was a warm May evening and Oxford was bathed in a pale lemon tint. Kate pushed her bike across Donnington Bridge, then freewheeled down the steep path on the other side to cycle along the river.
It was busy. She set off, cycling around a woman with two big wet dogs, and a student on a bike who had clearly not learned to drive yet and wasn’t sticking to the left side. Kate pumped her legs hard, averting her eyes from the water on her right, trying to clear her mind of what she was about to do. She pushed against the resistance of each pedal stroke, changing gear when the journey along the flat path became too easy, until she could hear her own breath whistling gently on the summer breeze.
A swarm settled around her head like tiny flies.
One out of five. About 20 per cent, she thought, trying to ignore it.
She hit a steady pace around Christchurch Meadow. The grand old college looked especially beautiful tonight across the river, its stone facade soft and pretty in the low light. The grass in front of it glowed that rich, saturated Oxford green that suggested high teas and country estates. It was scattered with groups of the cheery, hard-working students who imbued the air in Oxford with their optimism and best efforts, who sprinkled its streets and parks and alleyways with goodwill, like bubbles of sweetness in a fizzy drink. Who made Oxford feel safe.
No, on nights like these, she hardly missed London at all.
After Folly Bridge Kate cleared the crowds and stepped up her speed again. She sailed past