‘He’s gone, hasn’t he?’
I nod. ‘He stole fifty thousand pounds from you, and, for some reason, is now taunting you via Facebook. He’ll probably ask for more money when they get close to guessing your identity.’
‘Bastard,’ Tor shouts, then throws her carefully constructed bowl of kiwis across the kitchen.
‘I expect he’s done this to other middle-aged women.’
‘I’m not fucking middle-aged!’ she shouts loudly.
‘Sorry,’ I say.
Tor opens a cupboard door, takes out a bottle of gin and a glass, goes to the freezer to get ice, finds a lime. In her distressed state, Tor makes herself a large and elegant G&T, adds a sprig of fresh mint, then sips.
Chapter64Laboratory
Friday, 17 January
The Laboratory Spa and Health Club by the lake in Alexandra Palace is at the more expensive end of gym membership and is frequented by those seeking to avoid the teenage crowds of Pure Gym, and too many familiar faces in the Muswell Hill Club.
I’ve tried to make sense of what I saw in the supermarket car park. It may be that Stephen gets his kicks out of deceiving me to balance our relationship and heal psychic wounds, but I expect it’s laziness. I bet Stephen orders the groceries online, has them delivered to a friend’s house, and when I think he’s at the supermarket, he spends time watching football.
All in all, I’m impressed that someone would go to such lengths to try to avoid a chore. I do, however, have a question mark about the nature of his friend, the owner of the blue Audi, so suspicions remain, which is why I’ve followed him to his sacred Friday gym session.
I’m in the health club’s car park, having watched Stephen arrive. His phone is with him. After a quick walk around Alexandra Palace, I’m halfway through devising my third plan to rid myself of Hollis, when I see Stephen emerge from the gym, alone. He skips across to his car, looking revitalized and refreshed. Hardlythe depressed, grieving character that I get to spend time with at home, but on the positive note, he’s not lying about the gym.
I wait until he’s left the car park, then press the ignition. I’m about to pull off when I see someone who looks strangely familiar. I can’t quite place her, as her face is half concealed by her hoodie, but it’s her walk that I notice.
As she turns, I recognize her immediately. It’s a face I first saw about a year before I married Stephen. She’s changed her hair and is a little more athletic, but otherwise she’s still pretty in an inoffensive way, still has an upturned nose and too many teeth.
This is Georgette Mallenberg, or Georgie, Stephen’s first fiancée, a woman I’m told he actually loved. The daughter of a baronet. The woman his mother preferred and who I had to remove from his affection in order to free his heart for me. My first love rival.
My hackles are definitely up. I get out of my car, zip up my coat, and walk towards her. I stare at her until she senses something and glances in my direction. She sees my face, and her post-gym expression of physical satisfaction evaporates. She never did like me, but why would she? I befriended her to get to know Stephen (an old ploy) and then poisoned his mind against her by planting evidence that she was cheating on him.
‘Hello, Georgie,’ I say.
‘Lalla?’ she says, looking like a meerkat that’s just spotted a vulture.
She, no doubt, considers me cruel to have broken up their engagement, but a successful marriage requires dedication and determination – little things like love stand in the way of genuine happiness.
‘I didn’t know you were a member of this gym,’ I say. ‘I thought you moved to the Middle East?’
‘I did, but I came back,’ she says, fiddling with her hair and glancing behind her.
‘Still married?’
‘He wasn’t what I thought he was.’
‘They rarely are, Georgie. Where do you live now?’ I say.
‘Not far from here, actually. Highgate. I didn’t know you lived here. Are you and Stephen still together?’
‘Oh gosh, so together,’ I say, and touch her arm. ‘Have you found anyone?’
She nods. ‘I met someone really nice.’
‘So pleased for you. It must be a relief at your age,’ I say.
She glances at me, stung slightly. I find it difficult to know if she still blames me for what happened. She takes out her car keys. An indication that she’d like to draw our conversation to a close.
