The Long Weekend by Veronica Henry

have told you. But I only heard this afternoon. And I want you to promise me, absolutely promise me, that you won’t say a word. I’ve got to find my own way to deal with this and I don’t want any of them to know. They’re all that matters to me and I don’t want them to suffer any more than they need to.’
    ‘But they’ll want to know. They’ll want to help. You can’t go through this on your own.’
    Isobel gave her a penetrating look.
    ‘Yes I can. That’s what I’m choosing to do. I’m appealing to you, as someone who loves Nick, and hopefully the rest of us, to be my ally. And sometimes my alibi. I’m going to need you to be both.’
    Claire’s stomach felt as if it was full of oily black diesel. She had no idea how to handle a situation like this. Her life had been so dull, so ordinary: until now she had never experienced drama or crisis. She adored Isobel, almost as much as she adored Nick. She had been so kind to her, so generous, so loving – almost, although she never said anything so corny, treated her like the daughter she had never had. So Claire owed her support.
    ‘Of course. I’ll do whatever you want. And I won’t say a word.’ She hoped she could talk her round eventually. Isobel was obviously still in shock from the news. Given time, she would see that this was not the way to deal with what had happened.
    ‘Thank you.’ Isobel grabbed her hands and squeezed them tight. ‘It’s very important. I’m going to deal with this. This is my problem . . .’
    ‘But surely they’ll know? Surely they’ll notice?’
    Isobel didn’t answer. She looked away.
    ‘They mustn’t know. You must promise.’
    Her tone was flat. And final.
    Claire swallowed.
    ‘Okay. I promise . . .’
    The enormity of what she’d done overwhelmed her. How on earth was she going to keep her word?

Six

    A single tear trickled down Claire’s cheek as she reached this part of her tale. She’d given Angelica a garbled précis of the story, but the memory was almost as painful as the day it had happened. Surely it should have faded, after all this time? She wiped away the tear before any more could come, although she could feel them queuing up. She couldn’t lose it, not in public. Not in front of Angelica, who was looking aghast. And no wonder. She had never shared so much as a moment of weakness with her.
    Until now. Claire, who had carried the burden of what had happened with her for twelve long years, was about to crumble. Guilt, regret, anger, grief – they all threatened to spill out of her.
    ‘It’s okay,’ said Angelica, anxious. ‘It’s okay to be upset.’
    Claire leant back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling.
    ‘I know,’ she said in a tight voice. ‘It’s just . . . I haven’t thought about it for so long. And Nick turning up like that . . .’
    She was interrupted by the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs. Moments later, Luca appeared on the bottom flight, jumping the last three steps and bounding through the reception, as eager and leggy as a wolfhound ready for its morning walk. Luca, who could go from unconscious and supine to upright and alert in seconds, was ready for the day ahead.
    He stood before them, smiling broadly. He was in a long-sleeved T-shirt and cargo pants, his mop of dark hair still wet from the shower. ‘Hey, girls. What’s going on?’ he asked, bemused, raking one hand through his damp curls and tucking his T-shirt in with the other. Angelica gulped at the sight of his flat brown stomach.
    ‘Nothing,’ lied Claire. Not very well.
    ‘You don’t usually sit around quaffing Oyster Bay.’
    ‘I’m sorry. It’s my fault.’ Angelica decided that Claire was rubbish at dissembling and was going to give herself away. ‘Claire was just giving me some advice.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Nothing major. Just a row with my stepdad. Same old, same old.’ Angelica knew that the first rule of lying was not to give too much detail.
    Luca turned to Claire, his lack