Page 29 of Rich Little Liars

‘How do you feel?’ he asks.

‘Better. A bit.’

‘Good. Stay there. I’m going to make you some tea.’

He disappears into the kitchen and I hear the kettle, the clink of mugs. Normal domestic sounds that make this feel almost ordinary. Like we’re just two people spending an evening together, not a disaster being temporarily managed.

When he returns with the tea, he stands rather than sits. ‘I need to find something,’ he says. ‘Do you have any honey? I think tea with honey might be better for you right now.’

‘Kitchen drawer. The one beside the fridge.’

He vanishes and I hear him in the kitchen, opening drawers. The soft sound of wood sliding on runners. A pause.

Then: ‘Kelly?’

Something in his voice makes my stomach drop. That tone people use when they’ve found something they weren’t supposed to see.

‘What is it?’ I call back, already knowing. Already feeling the dread spreading cold through my veins.

He appears in the doorway holding a piece of paper. White. Familiar.

The first note.

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID

I must have shoved it in that drawer ages ago and forgotten to move it. Or maybe I didn’t forget – maybe I hid it there deliberately and my paranoid, exhausted brain simply lost track of all the places I’ve been stashing evidence of my unravelling.

‘Is this the note you were talking about?’ Richard asks quietly.

My mind races, trying to find a plausible explanation – the right lie that will defuse this situation before it explodes. At the same time, I’m grateful this is all he found. Just imagine if he’d stumbled upon the other one and my wedding ring.

‘That’s the one.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘These words suggest otherwise.’

‘I know, and that’s the problem. I haven’t done anything. It’s basically a sick prank.’

‘A prank?’ He looks at the note again, then at me. ‘Kelly, this isn’t funny. This is harassment.’

‘I know. I mean – it’s not funny. But it’s not serious either. Just some stupid thing.’ The words tumble out too fast, tripping over each other. ‘Probably kids. You know what teenagers are like. They think they’re being edgy.’

‘Kids?’ His scepticism is obvious. ‘What kids would even know you well enough to⁠—’

‘I don’t know. Caroline’s grandchildren visit sometimes. Maybe they heard gossip about the new widow and thought it would be clever to—’ I stop, hearing how desperate I sound. How implausible.

Richard sits beside me again, still holding the note. His expression has shifted into something I can’t quite read. Concern mixed with confusion and something else. Suspicion? No. Not quite that. More like dawning realisation that what he’s dealing with is bigger than he thought.

‘Has anything else happened?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Has anyone followed you or tried to hurt you?’

‘No, not at all.’