Page 10 of Rich Little Liars

It became a pattern. Tuesday afternoons at the café, sometimes longer, sometimes with shopping afterwards or a walk through the lanes that surrounded the town. She was good company – attentive, interested, always ready with a story or a joke. She had this way of listening that made you feel heard, like what you were saying actually mattered. I didn’t tell Daniel about the coffee dates. He’d only worry, only remind me about strangers and boundaries and being smart. But Roxanne didn’t feel like a stranger any more. By the fourth week, she’d started asking more personal questions. About my marriage and whether I was happy. About what I wanted from my future.

‘You seem sad sometimes,’ she said one afternoon, stirring sugar into her coffee. ‘Like there’s something you’re not saying.’

‘I’m fine.’

I wasn’t. But I couldn’t articulate why. The distance with Daniel. The sense that we were going through motions. The nights I lay awake wondering if this was all there was.

‘Marriage is hard,’ I said eventually. ‘That’s all.’

‘Is he good to you? Daniel?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Good.’ She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. Her fingers were warm, her grip surprisingly strong. ‘You deserve someone who’s good to you.’

The words sat strangely. Not quite a compliment, not quite a warning. Just an observation that felt like it had weight behind it.

She turned up at the house a week later. I found her standing at my front door, holding a grocery bag and looking sheepish.

‘I know I should have called first,’ she said. ‘But I was passing, and I picked up some of those cookies you mentioned you liked, and I thought – well. Is this weird? This is weird. I’ll go.’

‘No, don’t. Come in.’

Daniel was upstairs in his study, on a conference call. I led Roxanne to the kitchen, where we drank coffee and ate the cookies she’d brought – the expensive ones from the bakery in town that I’d mentioned once, ages ago. She’d remembered. She admired the house again, asking about the garden, the renovations we’d done, our plans for the spare room.

‘You’ve made it beautiful,’ she said. ‘A proper home.’

There was something wistful in her voice. Something that made me wonder where she was actually staying, whether the ‘friends’ she’d mentioned were real or just another smooth piece of her story.

When Daniel finally came downstairs, Roxanne was still there. I watched his expression shift when he saw her – surprise, then wariness, then cautious hesitance as I made introductions.

‘Roxanne. This is my husband, Daniel. Daniel, Roxanne – the woman I told you about. With the car.’

‘Right.’ He shook her hand, polite but distant. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘You too. Kelly’s told me so much about you.’

A lie.

His gaze flicked to me, questioning. I smiled, trying to convey that everything was fine, normal, not strange at all. But I could feel the tension in the room – Daniel’s unease, Roxanne’s overt friendliness, my own discomfort at having my two worlds collide.

‘I should go,’ Roxanne said after a moment. ‘Let you both get on with your evening.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘No, it’s fine. Thank you for the tea, Kelly.’ She touched my arm, brief and familiar. ‘Same time next week?’

‘Sure.’

Daniel walked her to the door while I stayed in the kitchen, listening to their muffled voices in the hall. When he came back, his expression was unreadable.

‘That’s the woman from the car?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve been seeing her. Regularly.’

‘Just for coffee. She’s nice, Daniel. I needed a friend.’