‘How’s it going?’ asks Elle. I knew she’d crack first.
‘So-so. How about you? How’s Jonny?’
‘Reallygood.’
‘He’s fine,’ says Em. ‘He keeps saying he’s double-plus stable, so at least the bullet didn’t knock the Orwell out of him. He’s trying to persuade the hospital to let him plug into the NHS IT mainframe.’
‘They should absolutely not do that.’
‘No.’
The silence between me and Em at that moment is so thick and forbidding that not even Elle is willing to skate out across the surface. She turns and wanders along the front of the house, examining the wisteria. Em and I are left together.
‘I’m really sorry for how I …’ I was hoping we’d both start speaking at the same time, which would give me a good reason to tail off, but Em lets me twist, and so I have to continue. ‘How I behaved. Throughout.’
She shrugs. ‘We don’t have to talk about it now, Al. Still want me to refer to you as Al?’
‘I think so. Maybe I should change my name to that. You know, by deed poll. So I’m actually telling the truth from now on.’
She doesn’t quite smile, but it’s close. ‘Well,Al. You think this will work?’
‘Maybe.’
She wobbles her head in agreement, then looks out at the drive.
‘So, did they buy it? They didn’t mind coming out here?’
‘Seems like it,’ she says. ‘I told them that you’d only meet us here at the house, and I think they liked that. Gave them a little sense of drama. Hard to tell over a draft email, but they seemed tolovethe sound of betraying you and splitting the proceeds. They think we’re going to get into the account, drop you as soon as we’re in, and then they say they’ll split the money with us.’
‘Well, if they do shoot me as soon as they’re in, try to take them up on that before they shoot you too.’
‘But who is it? Who are we waiting for?’
I pat my pocket. ‘I’ll show you afterwards, assuming I was right. Anyway. Only the person who has access Davy’s inbox knows we’re here now. And they’ve as good as told us they killed him.’
She’s not listening to me. Her attention is on the gates. ‘Look lively. Here we go.’
A third car is approaching up the gravel drive, a grey Audi which looks almost respectable but for the tinted windows in the front. We’re not the only ones who know how to get round security codes. Elle comes back over to where we’re standing and takes her sister’s hand.
The Audi pulls up next to my car. The driver’s door opens, and Mr Bowling Ball unfolds out of it. He’s formally dressed, which makes him look more than ever like a manosphere vlogger arriving for a court appearance. His shoulders are giving the suit’s seams a hard time, along with the gun he’s clearly got holstered under his arm. He gives my borrowed Hyundai a look of pure disdain as he walks round the back of the Audi and bends to open the rear door.
Out of the car steps … Conor Vane. No. Wait, what? The person who gets out is, inexplicably, not Conor Vane. Conor Vane is who I was hoping for, who I’d have bet my last £65 on. Conor Vane is the man whose name I wrote on a piece of paper with brown Crayola to impress Em with once he arrived.
And yet, indisputably, out of the car steps Davy’s ex-wife, Charli.
She’s looking fab, as per. No coat, just a purple satin blouse, spray-on jeans and a clutch bag big enough for a single five-pack of Vogue Slims. Her heels are as thin and metallic as kitchen skewers, and she trots neatly to the front door despite the inches of gravel underfoot.
The impression she gave in the past was so shallow, so – will you forgive me for using a gendered term here? – soditzy, that it’s quite hard to recognise her now. Her face seems to have rearranged itself. But then I remember how she looked when I first met her at her friend Guggy’s launch party, and the thought that fleetingly occurred to me. Even in those fluffy, self-helpful surroundings, something suggested she had known difficulty, and was determined she would never know any more of it.
Shit.
As Charli approaches, Em leans over to me. ‘Was that who was on your piece of paper?’
‘… No.’
‘Thought not.’
‘Good morning, all of you,’ says Charli. She addresses Elle.‘I don’t think we’ve met. Related to this one?’ Elle nods, and Charli looks her up and down. ‘Mm. Two years younger, I’d guess, always in the shadow of big sis, never quite worked out how to be yourself, compensated by being terribly nice and hoping someone would notice? Thought so. This is Alfie. He’s met you a couple of times, I believe, and you’ve made his working life very stressful. Alfie, can you check the exterior?’
