She laughed and kissed him again. They’d been together for six months when he had booked a surprise trip to Paris on the same weekend that she had two big events going on in two different towns. In his defence, he hadn’t realised that she actually attended the events that she planned. He might tease her about her uber-organised schedule but it made life a lot less stressful if everyone knew where they were supposed to be and what they were supposed to be doing. Simple. No surprises.
Jack picked up his wine glass from the table. ‘It would be nice to be allowed to surprise you sometimes, you know. There might be a whole lot of fun you’re missing out on by wanting to have everything planned out to the nth degree.’
Missing out on what? Poorly organised parties or weekends in a hotel she wouldn’t have chosen? ‘Nope. I am quite happy with the arrangement we have. Don’t you start on me. I’ve had enough from Linda tonight. Next you’ll be suggesting we do have a baby.’
Jack pulled a face. ‘No way. I’m fully with you on that one. That would not be a good surprise.’
Rebecca hadn’t eaten much at dinner. Nerves at making a good impression on Jack’s boss followed by suppressed anger at Linda’s comments had made her throat so tight that she’d resorted to pushing the food around her plate rather than eating it. But now she was hungry. ‘I’m going to get some cheese and crackers. Do you want something?’
‘No, I’m fine with just wine, thanks. But you go ahead.’
Sleek white cabinets, Miele appliances and granite worktops: the kitchen was still new enough that Rebecca got a thrill every time she entered it. Working from home, she had ended up the unofficial project manager for the whole thing, and it had been a major pain for two months because of the extension and the bifold doors and then the fitting of the kitchen itself. When she’d tried to speak to Linda about how stressful the whole thing had been – but how she was so happy with it now – Linda had attempted a clumsy analogy to the pain of childbirth: like a dog with a bone.
There were no crackers in the dry goods cupboard. She called back to the lounge. ‘Jack, have you moved the crackers somewhere else? The water biscuit ones.’
There was silence from the other room. There was no way she would have put them anywhere else, but she checked the cereal cupboard. None there. ‘Jack? Can you hear me? Have you seen the crackers? They were definitely on the online shopping order.’ Still nothing from next door. Not in the tins cupboard. Or the cupboard with the herb and spice jars. Confused, she opened the crockery cupboard to get a tea plate and… there were the crackers. Jack was leaning in the doorway, laughing. She shook her head at him. ‘You sod. Did you hide them in there?’
‘Got to give you a few surprises in your life.’
She pulled the plastic-wrapped crackers out and threw the empty box at him. He ducked behind the door, chuckling to himself.
When she returned to the lounge, Jack was back on the couch. He patted the seat next to him. ‘Have you got any plans for the morning?’
One of the downsides to being an event planner was that those events often happened on a Saturday. ‘Not during the day. I’ve got the Andersons’ dinner tomorrow night, but that should run like clockwork. As long as the PA I’m dealing with doesn’t fret herself into pieces. Are you still out early for golf?’
Jack sipped his wine and nodded. ‘Unfortunately, yes. I would definitely rather be spending Saturday morning in bed with my beautiful wife, but it was their MD’s suggestion and I couldn’t say no. I need to be at the course for 8 a.m. so I’m there to meet everyone as they arrive. Fingers crossed everything goes well and they’ll give us their business by the time we get to the last hole. If so, we’ll take them out to lunch and then Rob and I will need to go back to the office and get the paperwork sorted and sent out. I might not be home until late afternoon.’
It wasn’t often that they got both weekend days together, whether it was her work or Jack’s. ‘That’s fine. If you’re seeing Rob, can you take that last box of his stuff that’s in the spare room?’
Rob was Jack’s junior colleague who’d recently camped out in their spare room for two weeks after his girlfriend had kicked him out for being a philandering idiot. She loved Jack’s caring nature, but his readiness to take in waifs and strays brought a chaos she wasn’t so keen on. His brother had stayed with them for a month last year in between selling one house and buying another and – pleasant as he was – she’d almost moved out to a hotel to get away from his tendency towards forgotten half-empty coffee mugs and haphazard toiletries in the bathroom.
Jack stretched, unbuttoned the top of his shirt then leaned forward and stole a cracker from her plate. ‘Will do. If you’re at a loose end, maybe you could google some restaurants and bars in Bruges. The beer will be amazing. They have hundreds, apparently. And a different kind of glass for each one.’
Rebecca held the plate out of his reach so he couldn’t take another cracker. ‘Sounds great. And, as you say, it’s just us, no kids to organise. We can go where we want, when we want. Footloose and—’
She was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, followed by a knock at the front door.
2
Cara
Come on. Answer the door. The length of time between pulling the bell and waiting for the door to open was agony. It had taken a while to work out where the doorbell was; it was one of those old-fashioned pull contraptions which ring an actual bell. Of course. Jack always did like to show he was better than anyone else.
Should she try again? Maybe they hadn’t heard? They were definitely in because they’d pulled up outside half an hour ago. Half an hour. That’s how long she’d been waiting in the car, trying to pluck up the courage to go in as well as rousing a reluctant Sophie from the back seat, where she’d fallen asleep. On the upside, this late hour might work in her favour.
The last remnants of summer seemed to have disappeared in the last few days, and tonight’s cold October air had blown the last of the sleep from Sophie. Now she jumped from one foot to the other, chattering with the excitement of being allowed up so late. ‘I like the door, Mummy. It’s blue. My favourite colour.’
Cara smiled at the blue bobble hat pulled so far down over Sophie’s ears that she could barely make out her nose between that and the scarf tucked up around her chin. ‘It is nice, isn’t it? Hopefully it will open up soon.’
As if she’d conjured it with her words, the latch on the door clicked and it opened to reveal an attractive woman of around thirty, holding a glass of red wine. Even though her hair was shorter – cut to chin length with a full fringe – Cara recognised her from the picture she’d found on an old friend’s Facebook page: Rebecca. Did she live here too?
‘Hello?’ Rebecca tilted her head, her shiny hair swinging back and forth.
Her vivid blue wrap dress, manicure and expertly discreet make-up made Cara feel shabby and scruffy. It must be nice to have the money to look like that. ‘Hi, I’m looking for Jack Faulkner. Does he live here?’
Rebecca glanced down at Sophie and then back to her. ‘He does. I’m his wife, Rebecca. Is he expecting you?’