Photographs. Right there. Three of them. Clear as day.
She clutches her face, pressing her fingers into her cheeks.
She squints. Rubs her eyes in case she’s imagining it.
‘Oh my God…’
Jo turns round, scans her now-empty kitchen. Gets up. Presses her forehead against the wall, hands splayed on the plaster, then pulls at her hair.
She sits down again. Focuses on the screen.
Blinking hard.
On the mantelpiece, in the photograph of the house-sit living room, Jo clearly sees three pictures of Will. She refreshes the image over and over and over, and each time they are still there.
Will. In someone else’s home.
Four
Three adult bridesmaids, three young bridesmaids – one of whom is very young and won’t stand still for more than fifteen seconds as Jo tries to pin her hem. ‘Hey, sweetie,’ she says, her lips pursed from the pin stuck between them. ‘Hold still a few more minutes, then you can see what I’ve got in the cookie jar over there.’ She takes the pin, sliding it into the hem which she’ll hand-stitch later. She’s not been able to concentrate all day.
The kid swings round, grizzling. ‘Don’t, Charlotte darling,’ her mother says. ‘Let the nice lady sort your dress. You want to be a special girl at Aunty Sarah’s wedding, don’t you?’ The kid grizzles again. Jo ignores the ache in her lower back from stooping to the hem, even though little Charlotte is standing on a platform.
‘Nearly there,’ she says, knowing that at least the ten-year-old twins will stay still as she works. Finally, she stands back, asking the mum to slowly turn her daughter around as she inspects the length. ‘Good, I think that’s it.’ Jo checks the fit of the waist, the give on the shoulders of the pink, puff-sleeved dress. The wedding isn’t for another month yet but a three-year-old can grow a lot in that time.
‘There,’ she says fifteen minutes later after she’s pinned up the twins’ hems. ‘If you all slip out of the gowns now, I’ll have them done by the end of the day. Now we know you’re in silk pumps, there won’t be any more alterations necessary.’ Jo smiles and stands up, watching as the three women and the children retreat into the changing area. ‘Just watch you don’t knock the pins out when you undress,’ she calls out. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
Jo knows their bridal clients like to make a thing out of the fittings – it’s a social event for them as much as anything. ‘You happy?’ she asks Sarah, the bride-to-be as she watches on from the armchair, her fitting already taken care of. Her hands are resting on her burgeoning belly and Jo is happy she’s allowed enough room in her dress for an extra month’s baby growth. She stares at it for a beat too long – long enough for Sarah to look uncomfortable.
‘Very,’ Sarah smiles warmly. ‘I just love what you’ve done with my dress. I was so worried I was going to look like a tent. Or, you know, one of those floaty summer gazebo things. But I don’t. Gary’s going to pass out when he sees me.’
‘Good, that’s good,’ Jo says, filling the kettle in the kitchen area of the bridal room. She and Margot redid the interior themselves a year ago, painting the walls a soft and calming shade of grey with swathes of white brocade and voile at the French doors for privacy, even though they look out over a private courtyard. For summer fittings, they open it up, serve Prosecco if the bride wants.
‘Here, help yourself to cupcakes,’ Jo says, checking the dresses are all hung up and well out of the way. The little girl dives in, her mother rescuing the cake from the grip of her eager fingers, sitting her on her knee and popping pieces into her mouth.
‘Do you have children, Jo?’ Sarah asks, adjusting her stretchy top over her belly.
‘Nooo,’ Jo laughs too loudly, too self-consciously. ‘No, no I don’t,’ she adds. ‘None at all.’ She smiles, checking everyone has a cup of tea. ‘No.’
And then Will is on her mind again – more than on her mind. She swears she sees him standing in the corner, watching her, grinning, arms folded in that way of his with one foot crossed over the other, head tilted.
You shouldn’t be in here, she thinks. There are women changing.
Don’t worry, I waited until everyone was decent, he replies in her head.
‘Decent,’ Jo says wistfully, holding the plate of cakes.
‘Totally,’ Sarah says. ‘Such a nice idea to have afternoon tea as well. It’s so exciting that…’ But Sarah’s voice fades away as Jo stands there, staring at the pale grey wall that just a moment ago was the backdrop to Will.
And then the house-sitting website is on her mind again. It’s barely left her thoughts all day.
When the clients have drained the tea and eaten the cakes, and arrangements have been made for delivery of the dresses, Jo flops down into the armchair, still warm from Sarah and her bump.
‘Hi Lou,’ Jo says a moment later, answering her phone. Her mouth is dry. She can’t explain to Louise, to anyone, what she saw on that website. Doesn’t want to explain it to herself, even.
Will. Photos of him. In someone else’s house.
‘So?’ Louise says. ‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Did you apply for a house-sit? For a holiday? I’m worried about you.’
Jo makes a face. ‘Why are you so keen for me to get away?’
‘Do I even need to answer that, Jo-jo?’
Jo winces a little. Only Will’s ever called her that. But she knows Louise is only trying to make her feel OK, to keep the familiar alive. And she’s right, she does need a holiday. But what she saw has changed everything.
‘There was… there was one property that looked interesting.’
‘Good. Where?’
‘Near the South Coast.’
‘Nice,’ Louise says. ‘Much of a menagerie, or house care only? What made you choose the south?’
‘Cat and dog. And… and…’ She pauses, thinking.
If she and Will hadn’t planned that romantic weekend near Hastings, had she not wanted to somehow feel close to him, imagining what it would have been like for the pair of them if they actually had gone away, then she’d never have thought to search for a house-sit in East Sussex. She can’t fully remember where the idea of Hastings came from, though she thinks Will mentioned a colleague at work recommended it, but she’s not sure if it was at the school or the theatre. Maybe another teacher, she thinks. And then she’d spotted the B & B doing a special deal on the voucher website.
‘I was wondering,’ Louise says. ‘Maybe we could go together. You know, a girls’ break. It would do us both good.’
‘Oh. No,’ Jo says back too quickly. Her heart thumps. She doesn’t even know if she’s going herself yet, hasn’t applied, may not even get accepted. The thought of reaching out to a stranger who has photos of her missing husband on the mantelpiece makes her feel nauseous. Especially as she should really be getting in touch with the police, telling them what she saw. But she can’t. She absolutely can’t. Just in case… And certainly not until she’s found out more for herself.