“How?”
“Take me to see Thomas and Emily. If they tell me Flora lives with you all and hasn’t been in England recently, I might believe them.”
“You know what?” He sounds angry. Finally. “I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to introduce my kids to someone displaying pathologically obsessive behavior. Even if she is an old friend.”
“All right. Never mind. They’d probably lie for you anyway if you paid them enough. If mine are anything to go by, teenagers are generally bribe-able.”
“Are you listening to yourself? Can you hear how you sound?”
“Who’s Chimpy?”
“Chimpy?” I see a flash of what looks like genuine confusion. “I have no idea who Chimpy is. Who is it?”
“I don’t know. I think you do, though.” As I say it, I’m aware that it doesn’t feel true.
He doesn’t know. Everything else I’ve said, even if he wasn’t expecting it, he knew it might come up. But not this. Not Chimpy.
“What’s happened to you, Beth? Hearing you say these things . . . it makes me ashamed for you. How have you become this? I can withstand any attack you want to launch at me, but it makes me sad for you.”
“Nothing you say is going to work on me,” I tell him. “Not until you tell me the truth.”
“All right, well . . .” He shrugs. “I guess we’re done here.”
“Are we? You’re not curious about anything I’ve said? If you don’t believe the two children living in your old house are called Thomas and Emily, you could easily check. Ring Huntingdon police and ask for PC Paul Pollard. He’ll tell you.”
“The police? You went to the police about this?”
I nod. “I’m worried about the children. And Flora. She would never have cut off her parents and stopped them from seeing their grandchildren. Not of her own free will.”
“Ah, I see. You think I’m controlling Flora? Stopping her making her own decisions?”
“She was always scared of you. I didn’t see it at the time, but now I see it as clearly as I see you standing here in front of me. All those times she mumbled, ‘Lew-is,’ when you were off on one of your rants. I always assumed she was embarrassed, but she wasn’t. She was scared. That was her way of begging you to stop—and even that she could only bring herself to do in the mildest way. That’s why I didn’t recognize it for the fear it was. And I think it must have gotten worse and worse. The last time you all came around was the worst I’ve ever seen it. Do you remember ordering Flora out of our living room so that we wouldn’t catch a glimpse of her breasts while she fed Georgina? She obeyed without question. She always obeyed you, but on that day she looked properly scared. I was too wrapped up in my own guilt about that stupid photo to notice at the time, but I remember it vividly. That was fear I saw on her face. Fear of you.”
“I feel this is where I should say, ‘Much as I’d like to spend the morning talking about my wife’s breasts . . .’” Neither of us laughs. Lewis says, “You’re scraping the barrel, Beth. Her breasts? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t remember . . . No, I’ll go even further. I don’t think anything like that happened the last time we all got together. In fact, I’m sure it didn’t. Flora sunbathes topless on beaches all over the world. You know she does: you’ve been on holiday with us enough times to know. People in every continent have seen her tits and I don’t give a shit. Wow.” He exhales slowly. “That’s something I didn’t expect to be saying this morning.”
“You’re not going to make me doubt myself, Lewis. I’ve spoken to Tilly from number 3 Wyddial Lane. The woman you stalked, remember?”
“You want to talk about stalking?” He’s not quite shouting, but he’s almost there.
I’m in the middle of the room. He’s behind his desk. I could make a dash for the door and I’d get to it before he could stop me.
If I need to. I still don’t think he’ll turn violent. His losses of temper were always verbal only. I never saw him hit anything or anyone. He wouldn’t risk me running out of the room yelling that Lewis Braid had assaulted me.
“What is it that you’re doing if not stalking, Beth? Coming all the way to America to tell me about some children that are nothing to do with me . . . My life, Flora’s life, it’s none of your fucking business. I owe you nothing. No explanations, nothing! You have the nerve to say Flora’s scared of me? You’re the one she’s scared of. Not me. You. She never runs away from me.”
My breath catches in my throat. Does he realize what he’s done? Lewis closes his eyes. He slumps a little in his chair.
Yes. He realizes.
“So you admit Flora was in Huntingdon—that I saw her there, and that she ran away from me in the car park? There’s no point in denying it now. We both heard what you just said.”
I count the seconds, waiting for an answer. Finally, he gives a small nod.
Thank you. I wasn’t wrong and I’m not crazy.
“Why would Flora be scared of me?”
“Because she needed you to leave her alone, and you wouldn’t. Instead, you turned into a stalker.”
“Needed me to leave her alone, or wanted me to?”
“I can’t answer that,” Lewis says wearily. “I’m not her.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Come on.” He pushes back his chair and stands up. “I’m not having this conversation without Flora.”
“Where are we going?”
“Do you want answers? I thought that’s why you came here—for answers?”
“It is.”
“Then you need to trust me, or you won’t get any. Which might be better for everybody, but it’s too late for that. You won’t leave it alone, so you’re going to get your answers—whatever the cost, right?”
“What do you mean?”
He looks as if he’s weighing whether to say what’s on his mind. “Since Georgina died, Flora hasn’t been . . . She’s not the same person you remember, as you’ve so observantly noticed. Seeing and speaking to you will make her much worse. That’s why we’ve been trying to keep you at bay. It’s not going to help Flora to share intimate details of our life to satisfy your curiosity. It’s not going to help me either, as the person who has to look after Flora—which is why I’d very much appreciate it if you’d turn around, go home and forget all about us. But you’re not going to do that, are you?”
How has he done it? How has he gone from lying brazenly to my face to making me feel guilty?
He’s a liar. The guilt you’re feeling is a lie. Don’t let him see it.
“If you want to protect Flora from having to talk to me, you could easily do that,” I tell him. “Give me an explanation that makes sense.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to do that without involving Flora. It’s her story to tell as much as mine. Where are you staying? A hotel?”
“The Marriott, Delray Beach.”
“Go there now. Flora and I will meet you there in an hour, hour and a half. Soon as we can.”
Will you? Or will you take Flora and the kids and run?
I can’t think of any way to stop him from leaving his office and going wherever he wants. I can hardly block his way to the door, or lock him in.
Locked up at Her Majesty’s pleasure . . . Lewis said it before and it stuck in my mind.
Wait. What if . . .
An idea is starting to form in my mind. Of all the expressions Lewis might have used, he chose that one. He chose it: Lewis Braid.
I’ll need to check to see if I could be right. A simple Internet search will sort that out.
“I’ll see you at the Marriott,” I say as evenly as I can manage.
“Are you all right?” Lewis asks. “You look a bit . . .”
“I’m fine.”
“What room are you in at the hotel?”
“We won’t be going to my room,” I tell him. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
We leave the building together. Lewis smiles and waves at the three re
ceptionists on his way out. I hand my laminated pass back to Wayna.
Once we’re outside, Lewis heads for his car without looking at me or saying good-bye. I walk over to my taxi, more grateful to be reunited with my silent driver than I would have believed possible.
As we pull out of VersaNova’s car park, I fumble in my bag for my phone. It won’t take long to search for the name that I might have invented . . .
A few seconds later, I have the confirmation I need. And no idea at all what it might mean.
21
I’m sitting in the lobby of the Marriott, facing the main doors, when Lewis and Flora walk in. At last. It’s nearly two hours since Lewis and I left VersaNova together. He looks preoccupied and determined, as if he’s in the middle of completing an important task and nobody had better interrupt him until it’s done. He’s still holding his black leather bag, the same one he had with him at the office. Flora looks at me, then quickly looks away, as if she might still avoid an encounter with me if she plays this right.
It occurs to me only now, when I see them together: he looks a lot younger than she does. That never used to be true. Whatever they’ve been through, she’s come out of it worse.
I stand up and walk toward them. Flora stops. For a moment, I wonder if she might turn and run again. Lewis drapes his arm over her shoulder. Anyone else in the hotel lobby who observed the gesture would think it was affectionate: a man putting his arm around his wife. To me it looks as if Lewis also fears Flora might try and escape.
None of us says hello. Lewis says, “Let’s go to your room, Beth.”
“I told you, I’m not doing that. We can sit there and talk.” I point to an octagonal space nearby, marked out by eight white floor-to-ceiling pillars. Between the pillars, on a raised platform, there are tables and chairs. “No one’s sitting there. We’d have it to ourselves.”
“I’m not doing this in a public place,” says Lewis. “Either we go to your room or Flora and I leave. What do you think we’re going to do to you, Beth?”
My room has a balcony that overlooks the swimming-pool terrace, where there are bound to be a good number of people sunbathing or reading on loungers. If I leave the door to the balcony wide open, so that I can shout for help if I need to . . .
“Can I see what’s inside your bags before you bring them into my room?” I say.
“From TV detective to airport security.” Lewis shakes his head.
I don’t care how disappointed he is in me. I don’t trust him and I’m not taking any risks. I’ve never trusted anyone less, in fact. He needn’t be here, with a story he’s reluctant but prepared to tell me. There’s only one reason why he’d bring Flora here and give up his working day to explain things to me that—as he correctly pointed out—are none of my business: he’s still hoping to control me. He wants to satisfy my curiosity because he fears what will happen if he doesn’t.
“You can look in Flora’s bag.” He pulls it off her shoulder and hands it to me. “Mine’s full of confidential documents. I can leave it in the car, if it bothers you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Fine. Give me five minutes.” Flora tries to follow him when he moves to leave the lobby. “What are you doing?” he asks her.
“Coming with you.”
“Why? Wait here.”
He leaves. Flora stares down at the ground.
“Are you angry with me?” I ask her.
“No. Of course not.”
“I wish you and I could talk alone.”
“We can’t,” she says quickly.
“Now? Or ever?”
“We won’t see each other again after today.”
“Why? Because Lewis won’t let you see me again?”
“We only agreed to meet you so that you’d leave us alone. You need to stop . . . what you’re doing. Stop following me around.” She looks up at me. There are tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to see you.”
“I’m not here because I want us to be friends again,” I say. “If you don’t want that then I don’t either. All I want is to know that you and your children are all right—your two youngest children, who have the same names as your two oldest. Don’t they?”
She says nothing. Her eyes flit back and forth.
“Why, Flora? Why would you do that? I’ve seen Yanina picking Thomas up. They didn’t look at each other or speak to each other. I’m worried for him and Emily. I saw him walking along with the sole of his shoe hanging off. Even if you don’t care about yourself, you should care about those children.”
“I care,” she says.
“Well, then, you must know they’re not okay. And you’re not okay either. Let me help. Tell me what’s going on before Lewis comes back. We don’t have to wait here for him. We could go somewhere else where—”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need you to worry about me.”
“If you don’t want to talk to me, why are you here?”
“Lewis says we have to, otherwise you won’t ever leave us alone, and that’s all I want: for you to leave me alone.” Instead, Lewis has left her alone with me. Why? He could have easily let her go with him to the car.
It would have looked odd, though—her trotting after him like a slave. And he knows he’s trained her well enough that she won’t say anything. Unless . . . No. Unless nothing. Every time I find myself starting to wonder if maybe Flora’s the one in control, I think back to the way she and Lewis were when I knew them before.
He’s the boss. Always was, always will be.
“Who’s Chimpy?” I ask.
Flora looks puzzled, as I expected her to. “Chimpy? I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry about Georgina,” I tell her. “When I saw you outside your house in Hemingford Abbots, you were talking on the phone. I heard you say that you were very lucky. To lose a child isn’t lucky.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Why did you describe yourself as lucky? It might sound like a strange question, but I heard you say it twice. Once was outside the house and the other time was when Lewis first rang me, after I sent him a message on Instagram. I heard you in the background saying those exact same words: ‘I’m very lucky.’”
“I am lucky.” She looks away. “Only people with nothing to live for are unlucky. Do you think that because Georgina died, I have nothing to live for? I have other children, and I love them.”
“How many?”
“What?”
“How many other children do you have? What are their names?”
“How can you do this to me?” she whispers. “I’ve told you I don’t want it. The children are fine.”
“Flora, they’re not. They’re . . .” Too late. Lewis is back. My time alone with Flora has run out. I try not to feel frustrated. It’s not as if the conversation was going well.
“I’m good to go,” Lewis says. “No bag, no concealed weapons.” He twirls around. “Do you want to pat me down?”
“Wait here,” I say. “I need to use the bathroom. Then we can go up.”
“There’s probably one in your room.” He smiles. “I’ll help you find it.”
“I’m not leaving the two of you alone in my hotel room.”
“Worried we’ll snoop around in all your private stuff? I think that’s what they call projection.”
“Wait here. I won’t be long.”
Locked inside a cubicle, I repeat to myself the words, “You are not at risk of physical harm” until I believe them. Then I pull my phone out of my bag, go to Voice Memos and press the “Record” button. I don’t know what story I’m about to be told or if any of it will be true, but I want it on record, whatever it turns out to be.
* * *
Up in my room, I decide I’m not going to open the door to the balcony. Now that we’re all here, the feeling that I might be in danger has evaporated, and the only thing worrying me is that I’m about to waste more time listening to lies. How would I know?
Lewis and Flora sit
in the two chairs opposite the desk and TV. I sit on the edge of the bed nearest them. “Well?” I say, putting my bag down on the floor in front of my feet. Hopefully it will be close enough for the recording to work.
“What do you want to know?” Lewis asks. “We’ll answer your questions on two conditions. One: that you leave us alone afterward and don’t reappear in our lives at any point in the future, for any reason. Can you give us that guarantee?”
“If you tell me the truth, and if the children aren’t at risk of harm.”
“The children are fine. Though I’m not sure which children you mean. Presumably the younger two?” Lewis raises a hand to silence me. “Between us, Flora and I have four children. All of them are safe, loved and well looked after.”
“What’s your other condition?” I ask him.
“Confidentiality. You can tell Dominic. I know him well enough to know he won’t say anything. I assume he’s still a fan of the path of least resistance?”
“He won’t tell anybody.”
“Good. Impress on him that he mustn’t. And you tell no one apart from him. Understood?”
I nod. Lewis must be delusional if he thinks it’s a real promise. I’ll tell whoever the hell I feel like telling—whoever I think needs to know.
“Thank you,” he says. “It’s all yours, Beth. Ask away.”
“Why did you lie? Why pretend you and Flora are still together? You’re not still together, are you?”
“No.”
“And Flora’s married to Kevin Cater?”
“Yes. Though she’s not called Flora anymore. Her legal name is Jeanette Cater.”
I turn to Flora. “Why did you change it? And if you’re married to Kevin Cater, why do you live in the same house you lived in with Lewis? Why call your children Thomas and Emily when you’ve already got two children with those names?”
“Flora?” Lewis prompts. “I’m not doing this on my own.”
“And why are they your children, if she’s with Kevin now?” I ask him. “They’re not Kevin’s. I’ve seen them. They’re yours. They have your eyes, like the other Thomas and Emily. I thought they were the same people. I thought the Thomas and Emily I knew hadn’t grown in twelve years—that’s how similar they look.”
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