Guilt: The Sunday Times best selling psychological thriller that you need to read in 2018

‘What would you like to know about Harrison Goddard?’ I ask.

‘Who to avoid. Who to network with.’

‘I work in Tax; you’re going to be in Acquisitions. Our departments only overlap sometimes.’

‘Pity.’

He moves closer to me and takes a gulp of his whisky. A greedy gulp. More like a slug. He pats my knee. ‘Come on. You must have dirt on someone?’

I bristle. ‘Dirt? Is that what this is about?’

‘Yes please.’

‘Well, I’m afraid I haven’t got any. And even if I had, do you think I’d spill the beans to someone who hasn’t even joined the firm yet?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You don’t know me very well then.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Miranda, you’re so defensive. I’m only being friendly, trying to get to know you better.’

I smile at him and raise my shoulders. ‘So, dirt, or friendship?’

‘Both.’ He pauses. His eyes are trying to play with mine. ‘Or perhaps you could just tell me how come you’re an accountant, and Zara’s an artist?’

‘I’m interested in numbers; she’s interested in photography. What’s odd about that?’

‘Twins usually like the same things.’ He puts his hand on my arm. ‘Don’t you find?’

I remove his hand. ‘Not necessarily.’

His eyes darken. ‘You’re in denial.’

‘What am I in denial about?’ I snap.

‘I don’t know yet. I’d like to find out. You’re a very pretty girl, Miranda. You and your sister cut quite a swathe. But which one of you is the more passionate?’ There is a pause. ‘You are the first-born twin. Tell me, is it you, do you think?’

I put my cup of tea on the glass table in front of me and stand up. ‘I don’t want to get involved in a conversation like this.’

‘What do you want to get involved in?’

‘Nothing.’

A Machiavellian grin. ‘Adventurous, aren’t you?’

How has Zara managed to find this man? I suppose good character judgement was never her strong point. So many boyfriends. Never the right one. I’ve never met the right one either, but I’ve not tried so many in the process. At least the men I have had relationships with have been reliable. And polite.

I leave without saying goodbye. He doesn’t try to stop me. He doesn’t come after me.

Out through the icing-sugar hallway. Out onto a street, once architecturally pretty, now invaded by multi-coloured recycle bins. Pushing my way through light drizzle. Was he hitting on me? Or just being friendly? Like most women, I have a special gift that helps me to look after myself. A gift that deciphers friendly. I’ll be careful with this man from now on.

Back at the flat, Zara, I find you rummaging through your portfolio.

‘How’d you get on?’ you ask, face lighting up as soon as you see me. Golden-brown eyes toasty and warm. ‘His house is nice, isn’t it?’ You pause. ‘Although his parents drive him mad apparently.’

‘I’m going to send him a brochure about the firm,’ I say as pleasantly as possible.

‘I’m just finishing something off for college then I’m off to see him later.’

‘And are you eating with him or with me?’ I ask.

‘What’s on offer?’

‘Superfood salad. There’s enough for you if you want.’

You wrinkle your nose. ‘No thanks.’

The way you disparage my cooking annoys me. But tonight I do not want to eat with you anyway. I want to be alone. I am not in the mood for small talk. I don’t want to let slip my concern that your boyfriend was flirting with me. I leave you sorting out your portfolio, help myself to a portion of superfood, and retire to my bedroom for some peace.

7 (#ulink_776cb337-0cfd-5f63-bacb-7083d33d5f8b)

Sebastian (#ulink_776cb337-0cfd-5f63-bacb-7083d33d5f8b)

Jude, do you remember the time we went walking in the Brecon Beacons, after we’d finished our A levels? Three days walking and camping in the Welsh mountains; not seeing another soul. No shops. No music. Sharp morning light on purple heather. Watching the sun melt across the horizon at the end of the day, leaving us cloaked in the intimate privacy of darkness. Dark, eerie peace.

Do you remember the night we camped at Pen-y-Fan? Singeing fingers and faces as we hugged the campfire, circled by its light. That night, that moment, the world stopped moving around us. Jude and Sebastian. Nothing and no one else. A complete life. A complete universe.

I feel like that when I hold my body against Zara’s. Just for a moment, the whole world stops.

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Miranda (#ulink_4e088ba5-085d-5175-a630-9053e38b3751)

Sebastian started at Harrison Goddard this morning, already there when I arrived, sitting at the opposite corner to me in our open-plan office. At eleven o’clock I watched him weaving between workstations on the way to the coffee machine. His suit tightly cut. Italian. His shirt made of silk. Highly polished, pointy shoes.

He looked up when I was staring across at him and winked. I didn’t wink back. I just lowered my head and carried on reading the balance sheet I was checking. Later on in the day he came up behind my desk and put his hands on my shoulders. People don’t usually touch me at work. I jumped a mile. I turned around and he was standing looking down at me, brandishing his smile.

‘Oh it’s you,’ I said. ‘Hi.’

He laughed. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you, just thought I ought to make contact.’

He smelt of sandalwood and cigarettes.

‘Welcome to Harrison Goddard,’ I said, trying to sound as if I meant it.

‘Thank you,’ he replied, pushing his eyes into mine. ‘Do you have time for a coffee?’

‘No thanks, I’m trying to get on.’