Rosemary would be arriving soon and he welcomed the return of the butterflies to his stomach, something he hadn’t felt in months. And the anticipation of coming face to face with her was making him a little light-headed. He fought back the urge to break into laughter.
Charlie took another sip from his glass of cola, partly to lubricate his dry throat and partly for something to do with his fidgeting fingers. He caught his reflection in a mirrored wall tile. He was smartly dressed, but not too smart: he hadn’t wanted to appear as if he’d made too much effort when it was precisely what he had done. It was hard to get the balance right when you’re about to meet the woman who’ll change your life for ever.
He tried to imagine how it might feel the moment they saw one another, and whether they’d feel a rush of euphoria simultaneously or apart. Would it hit him immediately, orwould it take a few hours? It was different for every couple, he’d heard. Charlie hoped he’d feel it straight away; he’d waited long enough.
He checked the flight times on the mobile phone he shouldn’t possess; Rosemary’s plane should have landed an hour ago at Alan Turing International Airport. Then he checked the app he’d used to book her a robo-taxi to the pub and saw that it was on its way. She should be arriving within the next few minutes. As Charlie drained his glass, the sound of a bell pinging came from every phone and laptop in the room. His was a burner with no traceable number so it couldn’t receive news alerts. He wondered what had happened.
He raised his hand to catch the waitress’s attention and order another drink. But she was hunched over her phone and engrossed in a conversation with a waiter. Suddenly he felt their attention move towards him at exactly the same time, their faces wearing identical expressions – suspicion. They moved towards the barman who mirrored the same response. Something felt very, very wrong.
Chapter 76
FLICK, BIRMINGHAM
The journey to the launch of Elijah’s exhibition had been a quiet one for Flick. In the rear of the helicopter, Elijah had spent much of it discussing the night ahead with his agent Jenna or wearing a virtual-reality headset to ‘walk’ around the gallery and communicate to the curator and art technicians which works needed moving last minute and to where.
Flick spoke very little for the hour-long flight, staring from the window at the decline of green spaces below and the encroachment of concrete jungles.
Elijah’s hand pressed softly upon hers. ‘I think I owe you an apology,’ he began.
‘For what?’
‘For being a useless boyfriend, especially as you’ve been poorly. I’ve just got to get through tonight, then everything will return to normal. Thank you for your patience; I can’t wait to see what you think.’
He leaned towards her, cupped her chin and kissed her. Flick couldn’t deny she would miss his touch. But having discovered how he had profited from Christopher’s murders with his anonymous artwork, she could no longer trust him. And to leave him meant leaving Aldeburgh. She had considered departing yesterday with the aid of survivalequipment left hidden around the town. But she was in no danger so it made more sense to remain where she was, then hitch a helicopter ride to the country’s third-biggest city the next day. It was so central she could travel just about anywhere from there.
Later, as the car that picked them up from the heliport pulled up outside the city centre’s Mary Russell Gallery, Flick was feeling uneasy about the night to come. She was the last to exit the vehicle as a photographer approached. ‘You go,’ she told Elijah, shying away from the lens. ‘I’ll follow you inside in a few minutes.’
Elijah’s smile wilted. ‘I was hoping you might change your mind and walk in with me. Can’t you make an exception to your “no pictures” rule?’
‘I’ll be in soon enough.’
He nodded and kissed her forehead. Then Flick waited until Elijah was inside before she made her way up the concrete steps and flashed the doorman her invitation. Once inside the packed room, the scale of Elijah’s work took her breath away. Against a backdrop of double-aspect white walls and ceiling-mounted access lights, his portraits had a much greater impact than they had hanging from the walls of Aldeburgh’s more compact gallery. Some of his work she recognised from there or from his home studio while others were unfamiliar.
An unexpected pride at his achievement simmered within her. And when she saw the completed marble head she had helped him to carve, she recognised her own eyes amongst its facial components. She couldn’t be sure if it was the emotional impact of his work or the pregnancy hormones that was causing her eyes to brim.
She dabbed at them with a napkin taken from a waiter’s tray as a hush fell over the gallery. Guests were ushered into the main exhibition hall, where to a round of applause, Jenna introduced Elijah and handed him a microphone. A closed curtain covered something behind them. Flick easedfurther and further back into the shadows as guests began recording him on mobile phones and smart glasses.
Elijah cleared his throat. ‘The people closest to me will know that I prefer to let my work do the talking, so I’ll keep this brief.’ He scanned the audience as if searching for Flick. ‘What you are about to see is the culmination of much hard work and the assistance of many, many people. But first and foremost, I’d like to thank a certain someone – she knows who she is – for inspiring my first journey into art and multi-media. She has put up with my long absences without complaint, my secrecy over this project and despite her dislike of city life, she’s here tonight to witness something inspired by her. This body of work is dedicated to you.’
Before she had time to react, Elijah moved to one side and the curtain fell, revealing a metre-tall, three-dimensional holographic image of a person. Flick held her hands to her mouth when she recognised that she was looking at herself.
Quickly, the moving graphic grew in height and at the same time, another version of herself appeared behind it. And soon after, a third. By now, the first Flick was at least two metres tall and began walking through the audience to rapturous applause as the second followed it. Meanwhile, yet more Flicks generated behind them.
‘What have you done?’ she gasped aloud.
From her position at the rear, Flick was the last person each figure walked through before one by one, they vanished into the wall and then regenerated elsewhere in the room. Horrified, she moved to one side as the procession manoeuvred in different directions throughout but it was impossible to avoid herself. It was a completely immersive experience for guests as they reached out to try and touch ‘her’ or burst her like a bubble. They took video footage, photographs and selfies.
It was beyond Flick’s worst nightmare; her anonymity was in tatters. Her stare met Elijah’s as he approached her, grinning proudly, expecting her approval in return.
‘Make them stop!’ she yelled above the rumble of the crowd.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘All these versions of me, stop them now!’
‘But they’re the climax of my show,’ he protested.
‘You had no right to involve me without my say-so! I’m begging you, Elijah, stop them right now!’
