Sorry sweetheart, but Rowan wouldn’t stop crying, wouldn’t take a bottle, nothing. I’ve gone for a drive to see if that helps. Might stop in at my sister’s. See you in a bit.
‘That’s OK, surely?’
The panicked expression is leaving Rachel’s face. ‘I suppose. I guess he didn’t know how long I’d be. He hates the sound of babies crying.’
‘Why don’t you call him?’ Lucy says, but Rachel is already holding her phone to her ear.
‘No reply. He might be driving,’ she says.
Anna looks again at the padlocked door, questions running around her mind. Before she can ask about it, Rachel directs them back downstairs and into the kitchen, where she gestures at them to sit, puts the kettle on.
‘I’m calling his sister,’ she says, leaving the room again.
Anna looks around the room, all its charm faded now. ‘I should go,’ Anna says. ‘I’m just in the way.’
‘Please stay,’ Lucy says. Her jaw is set. ‘I don’t want to be on my own with them.’
‘But—’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ Lucy says.
‘What do you mean?’
Lucy shifts around, pushing her hands up the opposite sleeves, holding her arms on the table. ‘Edgar told me to trust him. But then he lied to the police. We saw Victor in Cambridge yesterday. Why isn’t Edgar telling them about that?’
She looks terrified. Anna stretches out a hand to her and Lucy takes it.
‘You should tell Rachel.’
‘I don’t want to make things worse,’ Lucy says.
‘I think they’re about as fucked up as they can be, right now,’ Anna says. ‘Hard to see how it could get any worse.’
47
They sit in the kitchen for a while. Lucy makes tea for them both, unnerved to be carrying out such a mundane task in Edgar’s kitchen. There was a time when it would have been her dream to be so close to him. Now it feels like a nightmare.
After they’ve finished the drinks, Lucy washes up the mugs, along with a couple of dirty glasses that were by the sink. She’s exhausted, but she doesn’t want to stay still, either.Trust me, Edgar had said. On what basis, though? He’s a liar and a cheat, she knows that for certain. What else might he be hiding? Her eyes catch on the highchair on the other side of the table, some colourful plastic bowls sitting on its tray. It looks wholesome, innocent – shame claws at her craw.
Nothing left to clean, she sits back down. As she does so, there’s a shout. Rachel.
‘Come up here,’ she says, her voice carrying down faintly from the top of the house.
The women shoot to their feet and run up the stairs to find the padlocked door opened, revealing a ladder up to the loft. They climb up to find Rachel.
‘What the fuck?’ The exclamation comes out before Lucy can stop it, but the other two ignore her. They’re transfixed by what’s in front of them.
Screens. At least six of them, rigged up to the wall in front of a desk, on which a big computer sits. There’s more computer equipment on the floor, big white boxes, wired to the screens. They’re all dark, and one of them is cracked, as if someone has thrown something at it very hard. The computer screen is lit up, open to emails. Despite the evening chill, this space is overheated, warmth pumped out from all the computers. It’s stuffy, a plastic smell in the air. Lucy’s already starting to overheat, sweat prickling on her neck. She pulls at her T-shirt to loosen its hold.
‘I never come up here,’ Rachel says. ‘It’s Edgar’s place, when he needs to concentrate. He doesn’t like anyone else even tidying it. But given everything that’s happened, I thought I should check . . . Look at these emails.’
Lucy and Anna stand at the computer and start to read. It’s an email chain between Victor and Edgar, the first email sent earlier in the year.
Victor to Edgar:Gabriela’s parents understood what this might mean as soon as they found it in that box of her belongings. They’re kicking themselves for not looking at it all sooner, but it was too upsetting. They don’t even speak English, but they know from just the sight of it what it means. So there’s no excuse for you. Youknowwhat this means. You owe me an explanation. And you’ve got to accept that there was more to Marie’s motivation. She was stalking Gabriela. You as well. It’s clear as could be. Look at it, practically burned into the writing. She didn’t just lose control the night of the killing – she’d wanted Gabriela dead for months. She’d been watching you, waiting for the moment to strike. If you won’t tell the parole board about it, then I will.
Edgar to Victor:I owe you nothing. There’s nothing to be gained from that. It won’t bring Gabriela back.
Victor to Edgar:At the very least, it would mean Marie wouldn’t be entitled to an early release. Some justice is better than none.
