Roxi opened the door and peered outside to find the street empty. She closed it behind her, wiping the knocker with her sleeve, then with her head down, she made her way back to her car and climbed inside before setting it to autonomous mode and programming it to drive itself towards a gym that had recently offered her free membership. She would spend the morning there, just in case an alibi was ever required. The burner phone absorbing her data revealed she had a little over a minute left before she would need to hang up and it reverted to her phone. It would be enough to get her far enough away from Cooper’s village.
Finally, Roxi went into the settings of the laptop, which was still turned on, and a similar model to one she once owned. She changed the settings so that the security protocol no longer requested Cooper’s thumbprint and disabled the wifi.
Then she located one of the many files with her husband Owen’s name attached to it, and pressed play.
58
Corrine
The interior of Old Northampton’s Family Court buildingwas unnervingly silent.
Earlier, Corrine had inputted her name and case number into the automated usher system. Now she was sitting in a corridor waiting for her phone to buzz and inform her she was being called before the magistrates ruling on her case. Mitchell and his lawyer, however, had yet to make an appearance. It unnerved her.
‘Where is he?’ Corrine asked her lawyer, who was sitting next to her.
‘He is most likely playing mind games,’ she replied. ‘It happens frequently in cases like this. Don’t let him get to you.’
Corrine didn’t want him to, but it was easier said than done. She tried to pass the time people-watching and trying to decide on sight alone who’d be leaving the court in tears and who would be celebrating. She crossed her fingers and hoped to be one of the jubilant ones.
But once again, her conscience pricked. Claiming a divorce on the grounds of domestic abuse felt as immoral as crying rape. Yet she was persevering with it. And on hearing of his threats to pull their children’s university funding, her eldest daughter Freya had even offered to lie before the magistrates on her mother’s behalf and back up her claims. Corrine had declined. Her hacker friend had, however, found a way when it came to paying for Spencer and Nora’s university fees. They had backdated her children’s student loan applications to a date before she had filed for divorce. Nora and Spencer would now receive married parents’ discounts for the duration of their studies despite their parents’ impending split. Likewise, the interest on Freya’s loan for her final year of studies was also discounted. But there was still a chance they might not require the loans if Mitchell’s claim their finances were tied up in investments proved bogus. She would learn the answer today.
A message on Corrine’s phone warned her they were to appear in court next. She had already messaged her children to see if they had seen or heard from their father but they could only confirm his car wasn’t parked in the garage.
‘What if he doesn’t turn up?’ she asked her solicitor.
‘Unless he is ill or has a very good reason, the court will take his absence into account when making its ruling and I imagine it’ll be in your favour,’ she replied.
Corrine quietly hoped Mitchell would remain AWOL so that she wouldn’t need to lie on oath. She didn’t want to feel her soon-to-be ex-husband’s narrow eyes boring deep holes into her as she presented her fabricated evidence. But his non-attendance still did not sit easy with her. Mitchell was a man who acted purposefully. He did everything for a reason.
Moments later, the doors to the lift opened and Mitchell appeared. Corrine wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. He was dressed more smartly than in recent memory, discarding his usual casual attire in favour of a crisp white shirt and a tailored, dark-navy suit that she didn’t recognize.
‘You’re cutting it fine,’ Corrine said. ‘And where’s your solicitor? We’re in next.’
‘He’s not coming,’ Mitchell replied. ‘I’m only here out of courtesy as I have plans this afternoon.’
‘Plans?’
‘Plans,’ he repeated, raising his voice as if speaking to someone with impaired hearing. ‘You must know what a plan looks like because you seem to make a lot of them. You’re rarely at home these days, are you?’
He gave her a knowing wink as if to tell her he was aware of her Freedom for All activities. Corrine’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. No, he couldn’t know. She had been too careful. She reassembled her face.
‘You were told the hearing would take at least three hours,’ she continued. ‘You can’t just walk out halfway through because you’re playing virtual golf.’
‘I can if I’m not contesting your bogus claims.’
Corrine looked to her lawyer and then to Mitchell again. ‘You’re not?’
‘No.’
‘When did you decide this?’
‘Life is too short, Corrine. Sometimes you need to take a step back and stop fighting battles that aren’t worth your effort. Today is one of those days. You don’t love me and I don’t love you. So let’s go our separate ways. And if the only way you believe you can do that is to conjure up lies about me, then be my guest.’
‘This isn’t you, Mitchell. What are you up to?’
‘It’s a new day and a new me. As we speak, my lawyer is filing a no contest plea, which means you will be divorced by . . .’ He looked at his watch, ‘Approximately two p.m. Let me know how it goes.’
‘Where will you be?’
