Chapter 12: The Drawer

Margaret read the screen over my shoulder, and I felt her go rigid.

"That isn't his number," she said.

"It's the phone she sends from."

"Then she's been sending as him."

I didn't answer. My thumb was already moving.

The phone had no password. Bryony had never believed anyone would pick it up.

There was one thread at the top of the messages, with my name beside it.

It was long. It went back nearly two years.

Every text in it was from Alistair, and I had read most of them, curled up in bed, holding my phone to my chest.

Dinner's off. Late again. A.

Don't wait up. A.

I'm glad you're happy. Don't make a fuss. A.

I knew them all.

I had thought a husband was writing them, tired, careful, a man who didn't like to say too much.

Under each one was the line I'd never seen: Sent by B.S.

I swallowed.

"Verity," Margaret said.

"Give me a moment."

I closed the thread and tapped the folder beneath it.

It was labelled V - read.

There were fourteen of my messages in it, every one marked read and never passed on.

I am at the clinic and they want to see you, can you come? That was in October.

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