Oh God, did I really just think that?

  As I mentally beat myself up for this, I haul sections of the old kitchen countertops into the back of my car ready to dispose of just in time to see Felicity and her two gal pals approaching, out on their morning walk. It’s hard not to notice they’re all wearing Santa hats, and I suddenly feel a little self-conscious about my decoration-free house.

  The three women slow down as they reach me and, as usual, Kendra and Harriet hang right by Felicity’s side as she speaks. “Ruby! How are you?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” I wipe my hands on the back of my jeans and cast my eyes back and forth between the Stepford Trio. “You all look very festive today.”

  “Just spreading a little joy.” Felicity laughs and then her face darkens. “Ruby, is it true what I heard? That you’re dating Justin Thomas?”

  Wow. Word spreads fast around these parts.

  I notice there’s a hungry look on both Kendra and Harriet’s faces, like a couple of piranhas waiting to be fed by the latest piece of gossip on the street. I decide not to feed them today. “I think you must have heard wrong, because he’s just helping me fix up the house. Cameron is friends with his son, Xavier.”

  Felicity delicately places a hand to her chest, seeming relieved. “Oh, good.”

  I don’t know why she’d have an opinion about who I choose to date, but she doesn’t give me a chance to ask before she quickly changes the subject.

  “You know my boys are really going to miss Mory and Cameron over the holidays. Especially Hutch. You know I think there’s a little love story brewing there.” She cups her hand to the side of her mouth as though she’s divulging a secret.

  “Yes, Mory’s very fond of Hutch, too. The robotics sessions with him and Quinten are all she ever talks about. It’s so nice of them to include her,” I say. “And thank you for letting Cameron come over to play with Leo so often.”

  Felicity waves this away. “No need to thank me, we just love having them both at our house. It’s starting to feel like they’re family, we see them so often.”

  This comment, although I’m sure meant warmly, sends an icy dagger through my heart. I’m used to Mory and Cameron preferring their father’s house over mine, but now I have a whole new set of competition closer to home. The simple fact is that my kids seem to want to spend time with anyone, anywhere, rather than be with me in our new place.

  The three women—having successfully spread their joy—carry on down the street and I spend the next hour pulling furniture and toys out of Cameron’s room in order to access the floor. Like the rest of the original wooden floors in this house, they’re in rough shape and will need sanding down and staining. I won’t get all of that done today, but I’m determined to get a start on both the kids’ rooms in the hope I can have them looking great for when they get back. The downside to this is that the upstairs hall is small enough already without more clutter added to it, and now I’m going to have to climb over a bed as well as a mountain of action figures and building sets in order to access the stairs each day until I have the rooms finished. But I know it’ll all be worth it in the end.

  Once I have Cameron’s room completely cleared out every movement I make inside there echoes sadly around the bare walls. I try to pump myself up a little by setting up a portable speaker and putting on an upbeat eighties playlist. I figure everything else in this house is stuck in that decade, why not just go with it?

  As the synth-pop sounds of A-ha’s ‘Take on Me’ start blasting out, I dance around the room with my dustpan and brush sweeping up the random bits of debris I find.

  There are pieces of yellow card that Cameron seems to have cut up into hundreds of tiny squares and left lying around. There’s a withered apple core, which he must have thought was a good idea to fling into a corner rather than bring down to the trash and—most annoyingly—there are various foam stickers stuck to the floor, chunks of which stick stubbornly to the wood when I try to pull them up.

  I’m kneeling down, working on scraping at the remnants of a monster truck sticker, when I rest a hand on the floor beside me and one of the boards creaks as though it’s not properly attached. I stand up and move to the speaker to turn off the music, then walk back over to the same floorboard and rest a foot on it. With the music off, the creaking sound is louder and I’m surprised I haven’t noticed it before until I realize it’s sitting right where Cameron’s bed usually is. I’ll just have to nail it back in.

  I’m about to go fetch the toolbox Justin gave me when a thought creeps into my mind. And when I reach down to pull at the top of the board, lifting it up, I somehow already know what’s waiting for me underneath. But this time, when I look down and see the photo lying in the dust, right where I’d somehow known it would be, it’s not intrigue that I feel—as I had with the last two—because I can no longer make sense of what it is that I’m finding. It’s starting to feel like these aren’t just little keepsakes that were hidden away all those years ago to surprise the next owners, but some kind of dark pattern that I can’t decode. Because this photo isn’t of Jessie, like the first one I found. Or of Sandra, like the second one I found.

  This one is of another girl, in another dress, smiling brightly up at the camera from the same unknown spot as the last ones, along with the same black writing below.

  And this girl’s name is Erica.

  16

  ERICA

  Erica walks into the movie theatre alone. She collects her ticket alone. She goes up to the concession stand alone and picks up a large popcorn, a large Pepsi and a huge Hershey’s chocolate bar all for herself because she really doesn’t give a damn anymore.

  Maybe Bobby is right. Maybe she has gained some weight recently. Maybe she’ll gain some more, see how he likes that. Maybe if he was a better boyfriend and didn’t stand her up so often or break their plans just to go and hang out with the guys instead, then she might be inclined to watch what she eats a little more to please him. But since he can’t even be bothered to come watch one freaking movie with her, she’s just going to eat the whole lot and forget all about Bobby Granger.

  Erica’s mom once told her that if a man really loves you, he’ll move mountains to be with you. Bobby won’t even move his behind off Eddie’s couch to come meet her two blocks down the street, so that says a whole lot about how he feels about her.

  She’s going to break up with him. She doesn’t need him. She’s said this before, but this time she really means it. She’s done with Bobby for good.

  She takes a sip from her drink as she shuffles along an empty row of seats to the sweet spot right in the middle, then places it in the holder as she settles down into the plush red velvet seat. The lights go down and the trailers begin to play, but rather than pay attention to the new movies coming out, she can’t stop thinking about Bobby.

  This is how it always goes. Erica tells him she’s done, he says ‘fine’ and then after a few days one of them calls the other and they get back together until the cycle inevitably repeats. It’s been nearly a year of this since she first met him, and between that and him always having something to say about how she looks or what she’s wearing or what she eats, she’s just sick of it all. This will be the very last time that Bobby Granger stands her up.

  She’s so lost in her own thoughts that when she sees a guy sitting a few seats across from her in this otherwise empty row, she wonders how she didn’t notice him come in.

  There’s barely anyone else in the theatre, just a group of noisy teenagers who don’t even look old enough for a slasher movie like this and a couple down the front occasionally getting pelted with popcorn by the rowdy teens. If Erica were those two, she would get up and go thump those brats but the couple just seem to be trying to ignore it.

  As the opening credits start, the man on her row moves up into the seat right next to her. “Hi,” he whispers in the darkness. “I think I might have joined the wrong room, is this not the new Schwarzenegger movie?”

  “No. This is screen four, Clover Hill Massacre. The Schwarzenegger movie is playing on screen two.”

  “Dammit. And I’ll bet I’ve already missed the start of that, too.”

  “You’re not missing anything, trust me, I saw it last week and it’s one long cheese fest from start to finish.”

  The screen suddenly lights up brightly, illuminating the man’s face. He’s clean-cut, smoothly shaved and has a strong jaw that offsets his boyish features. He’s drop-dead gorgeous.

  “You know, I hear this movie is pretty good though, if you like slashers,” Erica says. “You may as well stay in here now that it’s already started.”

  He seems torn for a moment before he looks at her and smiles. “Sure. Why not?”

  “I’m Erica, by the way.”

  “Charlie.” He holds out a hand and she shakes it.

  Charlie stays where he is and settles back into the seat as he puts his drink into the cup holder beside him.

  The movie gets into the real gory stuff right away—exactly the kind of thing Erica loves—with a group of college kids running through an abandoned warehouse, a crazed maniac in a dark mask chasing after them. One of the guys (a tough-looking jock) gets cornered and a knife flashes on screen before a river of blood begins to run.

  Erica laughs without meaning to. She doesn’t know why, but horror flicks always have the opposite effect on her. The characters are always dimwits, the girls are just vapid shells with loser boyfriends who treat them like crap, until the killer cuts him up and we watch as the girl runs around cluelessly in the wrong direction, right smack bang into the killer. This movie is no different than the others she’s seen and she’s loving every second of it.

  “Oh my God.” Charlie puts a hand to his mouth. He looks as though he’s going to get sick.

  “Are you all right?” she asks, worried he’ll barf all over the floor next to her.

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” He tries to take a sip of his drink but it gargles, the cup empty. “Crap.”

  “Here, have some of mine.” She passes her cup to him and he takes a sip, holding on to it like a lifeline.

  “Thanks, I’m just not used to watching these kinds of movies. It’s so graphic.” He grimaces.

  That’s cute. But Erica doesn’t want to make him feel stupid for having a reaction to the sight of fake blood and violence, he’s obviously just a sensitive guy. “You just have to think of it like a comedy.”

  “A comedy? I don’t know. All the stalking and killing kind of freaks me out, if I’m honest, Erica. Sorry to sound like such a wimp,” he says.

  “You don’t sound like a wimp.” She smiles. “I think that’s sweet.”

  He smiles back, still clutching her drink. They return their focus to the movie and watch as a girl runs up a set of stairs screaming as a dark figure approaches slowly from behind.

  “See, it’s funny because she’s basically falling right into the killer’s trap,” she says to Charlie. “She’s doing exactly what he wanted her to do. Now he has her trapped.”

  “Is that right?” he asks.

  “Yep. And she’ll die off screen as we hear her screams ring out from behind a closed door. I know these movies well enough to know what’s coming up,” she explains.

  Sure enough, not one minute later the girl is dead and they see blood trickle out from the room on the screen.

  “See?” Erica says.

  “You’re good,” he says and passes back her drink.

  “Thanks.” She takes a long gulp, her mouth parched from the entire bucket of popcorn she’s finished off.

  As the movie goes on, Erica explains to Charlie—who confesses he’s never really watched the genre before—about the common clichés used in horror movies. He’s impressed by her knowledge on the subject and as they continue on, engrossed in conversation, she finds herself forgetting all about Bobby and his stupid friends.

  This is the kind of guy Erica needs. Charlie is sensitive and interested in what she has to say. Although, for some reason, as she’s explaining about jump-scare killer resurrection scenes she finds it hard to get her words out properly. She guesses this is what happens when she talks uninterrupted for any length of time. She wouldn’t know, given that Bobby always tells her to shut up when she goes on about anything she’s interested in.

  Charlie is leaning close to her now, and she can smell his aftershave. A soft smoky smell, with woody undertones. It’s sexy. Their eyes are no longer on the movie but locked on each other’s and when the final credits begin to play and the lights come up, his hand is resting gently on hers. They get up and walk up the steps of the movie theatre, but it takes a lot of effort for her to stay co-ordinated. It’s like she has to think about every single movement as she goes.

  Charlie seems to notice this as they make their way through the lobby and looks concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “Um… I don’t know. I think so,” she answers, confused by what she’s feeling. “I think I just need to get back to my car.”

  “No problem. I’ll walk with you.” He smiles and his eyes glisten happily.

  As they walk out the main entrance of the movie theatre, her legs become a little numb and she stumbles as she steps out onto the sidewalk. She holds on to Charlie’s arm to catch herself, embarrassed.

  “Sorry, I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel a little dizzy.”

  Charlie puts an arm around her waist and speaks softly into her ear. “That’s okay, Erica. You can just lean on me.”

  17

  RUBY

  Justin arrives at seven on the dot, bottle of wine in one hand, a laser-level wrapped in a red bow in the other.

  I take both from him when he holds them out. “You know, you can’t always bring me something every time you come over. Soon I’ll have more tools than a hardware store. But thank you.”

  “Don’t ever let it be said that I don’t know the way to a woman’s heart,” he says, walking through to my kitchen as though he owns the place.

  This is the first time Justin has come over without his son in tow. Having left Xavier with a sitter for the evening, Justin seems to have a different air about him now that he’s not on daddy duty. It could easily be mistaken for arrogance, but the impression I get is that Justin is a guy who doesn’t have the time or patience for ambiguity. If he wants something, he’ll tell you. He has the confidence of ten men, and I’m surprised by my attraction to this particular quality.

  I follow him into the kitchen to find him rummaging in the drawers. “What are you looking for?”

  “Corkscrew,” he says.

  “In here.” I budge him over with my hip and pull a drawer open.

  He pulls it out and I take two glasses down from the shelf while he opens up the wine.

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” he says, passing me a full to the brim glass. “First thing we’ve gotta do is disconnect the old sink and remove it.” He points to the old, corroded fixture. “I can handle that part. Your job is clearing out the cabinet below. Make sure there’s enough space to fit in the new one.”

  I take a large gulp of wine and salute him, before kneeling down to clear out the cabinet, removing pots and pans and setting them aside.

  I’ve never been on a date like this, so casual and productive, and I’ve got to say, it’s a lot more relaxing than any dinner at a fancy restaurant. For one thing, I’m wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and Justin is even more causal in work combats and a hooded sweatshirt.

  As we work alongside each other, I have a flashback to my earlier conversation with Felicity. And when Justin heaves the old sink out, and I’ve got space cleared for the new one, I take my chance to broach the subject with him as we take a break.

  “Something strange happened today,” I say, sitting at the table.

  “Oh?” Justin joins me, wiping his hands on a cloth as he sits.

  “Felicity Parker asked me if you and I were seeing each other… romantically.”

  Justin’s lip twitches up into a smile. “That is strange. Because I was going to ask you the exact same thing.”

  I laugh. “That wasn’t the strange part. You see, I told her that we’re just friends. She and her friends are busybodies and I didn’t want to fuel that gossip train.”

  “Oh. I can’t say I’m not disappointed.” Justin lowers his head.

  “Well, that’s just the thing,” I say. “Felicity wasn’t. She kind of seemed relieved when I told her that you and I weren’t an item.”

  “Huh,” he says, apparently unsurprised.

  “And strangely enough, I had another neighbor—Bernice Fisher from next door—warn me off of you, too. Why do you think that is?”

  Justin’s face darkens. “Well, I think I can take a wild guess.”

  I tip my head, confused.

  Justin doesn’t say anything for a few moments and I’m beginning to worry when he finally looks up at me. “There was a rumor, after my wife Elle passed, that I killed her.”

  My mouth drops open, but no words come to me.

  “Yeah. Crazy, right?” Justin says. “They all thought it was impossible that such a beautiful woman, with a nice house, a loyal husband and a brand-new baby could ever take her own life.”

  I place my wine glass down and put my head in my hands. “I’m so sorry, Justin. I didn’t know. When you said your wife had passed, I’d assumed she was sick.”

  “She was sick,” he says gravely. “She had postpartum depression. She was battling the hardest thing she’d gone through in her life and I was the only one who could see it. To everyone else she was Elle Thomas, the proud new mother who always wore a smile as she showed off her baby boy.”

  I’ve never seen Justin’s mood resemble anything close to serious before and I feel awful for bringing this up. I can’t believe anyone could think that he would hurt his own wife. I’ve only known him for a short time, but he’s been so selfless and giving and he’s obviously a wonderful father to Xavier.