‘Perhaps I’m just the most eligible prospect because they know you won’t fuck me,’ I say, a tad tense perhaps. The group standing at the bus stop turn and stare. I smile and nod.
‘They asked if I ever thought about having you followed.’
‘I’d be flattered if you were that concerned about me,’ I say.
‘They also asked if I’ve ever paid anyone in Bitcoin.’
‘Bitcoin?’ I say. Why would they ask about Bitcoin? Do they know about the money from Zac? Were they watching mybank accounts? I feel a flash of self-recrimination for treating the police so lightly. They might look stupid but perhaps it’s an act.
‘Ah! I know what it is,’ I say, realizing what DS Birch is getting at. ‘They think you paid Jason Mercer to follow me, because you thought I was having an affair.’
‘It’s all a bit weird, isn’t it?’ says Stephen. ‘Anyway, they need to catch this guy. He sounds like a horrible bloke. Oh, and I told them about the...’
‘Hold on, can’t hear you,’ I shout, then dart into a charity shop and close the door.
‘What was that?’ I ask.
‘I told them about the anonymous letter. The one saying you’re not who you say you are.’
‘Listen to me, you idiot,’ I say firmly. Then I have to say sorry quickly to the nice old lady at the till who looks a little shocked.
‘Calm down,’ he tells me. This does not calm me down. ‘I thought it might be from this Jason Mercer. They want to see it.’
‘If you give them that letter, Stephen, I’ll...’ I seethe into my phone, then stop. I feel a wave of dizziness and put my hand on the counter. A smiling reindeer stares up at me from the woman’s sweater.
What will I do to stop my husband giving them the letter? Withdraw my affection? Stop sexual favours? Stop sharing my thoughts? In the middle of Crisis, I realize I’ve lost any hold I had on my husband. I’m his childminder, diary-manager, social secretary and cook – all replaceable services.
‘Are you all right?’ Stephen asks.
‘Yes,’ I say, quietly, but I’m not. If I don’t have a heart, why does it feel as if something is breaking?
Chapter51FOG
Saturday, 21 December
Back at Hollis’s dingy flat in Hackney, we sit on either side of his kitchen table. He suggests a meal out or, worse, a visit to the pub. I don’t feel like it after more weak coffee and another revisionist history lesson about myself.
‘Tell me about your kids,’ he says. ‘You always said you couldn’t have kids because you were scared you wouldn’t feel anything for them.’
‘We’ve grown attached,’ I say. ‘But it doesn’t come easy, it just takes time, and routine.’
‘Come on, you must dote on them?’
‘I like their company and they need me. I like their independence. I like Nelly’s rebelliousness. She’s like I was at her age – a mystery to herself. I want to get her out of her current school. It’s already labelled her as a misfit, and she’s doing all you can do once you’re labelled – you lean in.’
‘What about your Nathan?’
‘Nathan’s funny. He’s as loving as a puppy. When he wants a hug, he takes my arms and wraps them around him and tells me to squeeze. When I let him go, he looks at me and says, ‘“That’s good for a beginner.”’
‘Sounds cute,’ says Hollis.
‘They’re mine, you know, but I still wade through fog to find them.’
‘That’s how I always felt with you,’ he says. ‘You weren’t ever with me totally. I was jealous of not being the centre of your world. I loved you hard, but you’re hard to love. You don’t really love back.’
‘You never wanted to find someone who would love you back?’ I say.
‘I suppose I’m selfish. I get to do all the loving.’
