‘Fishy fingers ready!’ cheers Nathan.
I’ve spent years trying to calm my internal chaos, but this chaos is different. This moment, this treachery of teeth, this stapling of friends, this fascination with exploding fish fingers,this unbridled and raucous laughter – if I could stop time now, I would be happy, I think.
As soon as I realize I am feeling a kind of contentment, I fear that I’m losing all of it. Whatever becomes of Stephen and me, it will not be this.
I kneel down and take Nelly’s hand. ‘Don’t bite or staple, Nelly. I know we’re all annoying, but try not to hurt other people.’
‘OK,’ says Nelly, and continues her ballet. I know that inside Nelly there’s a void as deep as my own, but she can’t say. I couldn’t when I was her age either. When your heart feels so empty you fill it with sensation, just to stop the silence.
‘You must punish her, or she’ll be confused,’ says Aimée.
‘There are worse things in life than stapling someone to a chair,’ I say.
Aimée lets out a puff of French air and flounces out. Later, I have to pay her extra to look after the children for the afternoon, while I leave to visit Tor. She’s not the Tor of old, and the latest perturbations have clearly left their mark. The charts on her fridge appear to have been neglected and there’s an unwashed plate by the dishwasher.
‘It’s absolute bedlam here,’ she says, and throws up her hands.
‘I can see, it must be terribly hard.’
‘They’re getting closer and closer.’
‘Who is?’
‘The Facebook group! Whoever’s doing this is torturing me. They already know the woman in the photograph drives a four-by-four and has blonde hair. Hello?’ she says and pulls up a strand of her hair.
‘I’m sure it will blow over,’ I say.
‘Why are they doing it? They’ve got the money.’
‘I can try to contact Zac again to see if he has more news.’
‘Oh God, that’s what makes this so awful. I miss him so much. He must be so worried too.’
‘Yes, I think he must,’ I say, knowing that Zac will be off planning new schemes.
‘If it gets out that it’s me, I’m ruined.’
‘I think I know the problem,’ I say.
‘You do?’ says Tor, suddenly erect and attentive.
I nod and sit on one of her Carlos Cane swivel bar stools. She has six. Each one costs a thousand pounds, which is a lot for a stool. It is comfortable, though.
‘You may need a stiff drink.’
‘Oh, fuck, is it that bad?’
‘Look, I don’t think there’s a third party in this situation, Tor,’ I say with my most serious expression. ‘In fact, I doubt there ever was any ransomware.’
Tor gets up and places her hands flat on the shining white surface of her breakfast bar. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I know you’ll find this hard to take on board, but I think it’s Zac who’s scamming you.’
‘No,’ she says with strains of a dying heroine.
‘I think he targeted you, researched you, faked his interest, and seduced you.’ I watch her reaction and can’t help feeling some pleasure in her distress.
‘But he loves me.’ Tor holds her head in her hands and whimpers. I have a sense that she suspected this. She’s an intelligent woman. You can listen to the ache of lust, but the mind continues to speak the truth.
