‘Let’s go inside,’ he said, pushing her front door open and leading her to the sofa.
Erin curled up on the sofa, hugging herself, while Chris went straight over to the kettle.
‘Did you know I found her?’ said Erin quietly after Chris had returned and sat down opposite her.
Chris shook his head and handed her a cup of coffee. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
She wanted to trust Chris. Had to trust him. She was too scared, lonely and anxious to carry the burden alone. Chris moved across to the sofa and she swung her legs around, tucking her feet under him.
‘I’m scared the police are going to think I did it,’ she whispered.
‘Don’t be daft. Just because you found the body, it doesn’t mean the police will be suspicious,’ he said, his voice upbeat and reassuring.
Erin looked at him, hesitating. ‘If I tell you something, do you promise you’re not going to think I killed her?’
‘Of course not,’ he said evenly, his curiosity prickling.
‘I had a fight with Karin in Como,’ she said, and began to tell Chris the story Jilly had told her days earlier and Karin’s response when she had confronted her. As she did so, she began to see just how bad, just how guilty she looked, and she became scared.
‘Chris, if the police find out about our families, I’m screwed, aren’t I?’ she said, a feeling
of dread growing in her stomach. ‘If they find out that my dad committed suicide because Karin’s father ruined his business – well, it doesn’t look good does it? It could look like a motive for murder, look as if I want revenge.’
Chris remained silent and Erin felt a chill. ‘I didn’t do it,’ she whispered.
‘I know that,’ said Chris, moving closer and stroking her hair. He looked awkward and then stopped. She surprised herself by wishing he would do it again.
‘But you’re right, it doesn’t look good. If you’re interviewed again you should tell the police what you’ve just told me. Better you tell them than they find out on their own.’
‘Well, let’s hope they find who did it quickly. Do you have any friends at the newspaper who might know if they have any suspects?’
‘I could give my mate Mark on the crime desk a ring. He’s bound to be involved in the story.’
Erin felt a glimmer of hope. ‘Oh can you do it? Please?’
Chris nodded and reached for the phone.
65
If Summer Sinclair had watched the six o’clock news she would have seen that Karin Cavendish’s death was the dominant story. Instead she had run a hot bubble bath and switched off her mobile, lowering herself into the hot water, oblivious to everything happening outside her bathroom door. In fact, at that moment, oblivion seemed like a desirable option to Summer; a little voice in her head kept telling her to slip under the suds and not resurface. But, as she lay there letting the water cool around her body, she forced herself to consider her situation in a more optimistic light. There has to be an upside to all this, she thought, popping bubbles between her fingertips. It was such early days with her pregnancy she could possibly still take the role in Krakatoa. More importantly, the situation concerning Adam could be a lot worse. Although he seemed to be in a state of denial about Summer’s pregnancy, Adam had not mentioned the dreaded word ‘abortion’ – there was a little sparkle of hope there at least. A baby meant that Summer would always have him in her life, even if eventually their child became just a reminder of their time together. And there was still the chance that, as Summer’s pregnancy progressed, Adam might have a change of heart and want to raise their child together. It was a slim hope, but a hope nevertheless.
She felt a sudden surge of anger that James Bailey, her father, had been denied that opportunity. While Summer wanted to get some distance between herself and Molly after their latest row, she was desperate to find out more about James – who he was, where he lived. The funny thing was that, throughout all those years that Summer had believed Jeff Bryant was her natural father, she had never had any real desire to meet him; stubbornly rejecting him for turning his back on Molly and herself. But James Bailey had had no idea that Summer even existed. He’d been duped, and they both deserved the chance to get to know one another. If he wanted to, of course. If he was even still alive.
She climbed out of the bath feeling more positive but slightly headachy, which she put down to the humidity in the bathroom. An hour later, however, the dull thud in her head had spread down her body, with sharp cramps in her stomach. She rubbed her palm lightly against her tummy, hoping that it would pass, but as the minutes ticked by and the pains began to get more frequent, she began to become frightened. Any pregnant woman in her first trimester was always haunted by the idea of miscarriage, and Summer was no exception. Heart in her throat, she crawled into bed and curled tight in the fetal position, finally managing to drift into a light sleep. But when she woke, just as the light was creeping through her curtains, she was sweating and nauseous and, with a rising sense of panic, she realized the pains had become stronger. She staggered to the kitchen to make herself breakfast, but she couldn’t face it; besides, the cramps were coming every few minutes now. Adam had insisted she see a top Harley Street obstetrician and an appointment had been pencilled in for the following Monday, but Summer knew it wouldn’t wait that long. She looked upwards. Despite the row, she needed Molly’s help now more than ever. She climbed the stairs, her head swirling, and knocked on the door. Her heart sank as she realized there was no one home. The ache was really gaining pace now, like a boulder that was beginning to roll down a steep slope, picking up dust and sharp shards of rock as it went. There was also a nagging sensation around her shoulder, as if she had pulled a muscle. She knew her local GP often saw patients without an appointment if they turned up at the surgery, so Summer pulled on some jogging bottoms and a sweater to leave the house. She had only just set foot on the pavement when a pain seared through her abdomen, so sharp and severe it was as if she was being sawn in two. She wondered if she could make it back into the flat, but her legs felt too weak. She clutched onto the front garden wall and vomited onto the pavement. She tried to breathe but could feel no oxygen reaching her lungs; her head was so dizzy it was as if a ball bearing was whirling maniacally around her brain. The pain was almost unbearable now and her sight was blurring, until the houses and trees on the street were just a series of muted colours and shapes in front of her eyes. She tried to reach for her mobile phone but all strength had abandoned her body. The last thing she felt was a soft thud against the side of her head.
‘Can you tell us what happened?’ asked a soft female voice as Summer opened her eyes a fraction. She was disorientated and frightened, but she could tell she was in an ambulance. Two paramedics were staring at her, one male, one female, their faces fixed in concerned expressions. The sounds around her were distant and distorted, as if she was listening to them through water.
‘A neighbour found you on the street but couldn’t really tell us anything. Are you suffering from any known condition?’ asked the female paramedic as the siren screamed in the background. A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I’m pregnant,’ whispered Summer as she began to lose consciousness once more. ‘I’m pregnant.’
Summer opened her eyes, squinting in the bright fluorescent light. She could see the dirty, peeling paint of a ceiling and faces staring down at her, at least five or six. Doctors in white coats, and nurses.
‘Where am I? What’s happening?’ she croaked.
A female doctor spoke. ‘I’m Doctor Shaw, Summer. Your pregnancy is ectopic, which means that the fetus is growing outside of your womb.’
‘My baby. Is it okay?’ whispered Summer.
‘Your Fallopian tube has ruptured. You’ve had morphine to ease the pain, but we’re going to have to take you into surgery immediately.’