by Gytha Lodge
He tilted his head back and forth a couple of times, as if allowing that that was fair. ‘Everything’s all right,’ he said, and glanced at her as if checking to see that she believed him. She made it obvious that she didn’t. But he went on, anyway. ‘It was a long day yesterday but the chief did a great job of talking people round.’
‘How did it go at the hospital? With Louise Reakes?’ It wasn’t really the question she wanted an answer to, but it seemed like safer ground than anything personal.
‘It went weirdly,’ he said, giving a slow nod. ‘Her husband turned up and was, to everyone’s surprise, desperately upset about what had happened. And of course I wasn’t intentionally listening, but they were only behind a curtain …’
Hanson grinned. ‘You can admit that you find people’s love lives as interesting as everyone else does, you know. Come and tell me at the bar.’
‘All right.’ Lightman rose and walked with her, speaking quietly as he went. ‘He did a good begging act. All about how much he loved her and how much of an idiot he’d been lying to her for so long. He told her it was all about this drug-running mess he’d got himself into. And he added what an awful person Dina is and how much he hopes he never has to see her again.’
‘Hmm,’ Hanson said, thinking inevitably about her own situation. About Jason. ‘Do we believe him?’
Lightman stopped with his hands on the bar and looked at her for a moment. A look that could have meant anything. ‘It’s hard to say. Tense situations can make people think they care more than they really do.’
‘I suppose so.’ Hanson flagged down the bartender. She ordered them both gin. It seemed like a gin kind of day. And then she asked, ‘What did Louise say?’
‘Somewhere between won over and wary,’ he said. ‘I’d imagine she’ll give him another chance.’
Hanson pulled a face and said nothing for a while. They both watched the bartender pour Tanqueray into a metal measure, and then she said, ‘I don’t know what I’d have done, in her shoes. Whether there was enough trust.’
Ben nodded next to her. She could feel his eyes on her, but it was easier to keep watching the bartender.
‘I suppose what it really comes down to is happiness, isn’t it?’ Ben said. He leaned further over the bar, resting his elbows on it. He was at her level now. ‘My theory is, that’s the only thing that matters. Does having that person in your life make you happier than not having them in it? And if the answer is yes, it’s simple.’
Hanson gave a small smile. ‘Yeah, well. I’ve pretty much always got that one wrong myself.’ She gave him the very briefest of looks. ‘Maybe I don’t want to be happy.’
‘You should work on that,’ Ben said, and then gave the ghost of a smile in return.
The bartender deposited their drinks in front of them. Hanson paid, and then lifted her glass. ‘Well, I’ll drink to it anyway. To not choosing to make your life more shit.’
‘Cheers to that.’
They were in perfect unison as they lifted the glasses and drank.
It was actually on Sunday night that Jonah’s worst conversation happened.
He was back at his desk, trying to provide the CPS with sufficient reason to dismiss the case against Louise Reakes. The sound of his phone ringing was a relief at first. He didn’t recognise it for what it was, not even when he saw the name of his ex-fiancée on the screen for the third time that week.
He still didn’t know what to do. But something in her insistent contact struck him as unusual. Michelle might be in some kind of trouble. Something could be badly wrong.
The ringing took on an urgency he found hard to deny. And so he picked up.
‘Jesus, Jonah,’ she said, sounding somewhere between angry and tearful. ‘Could you just have replied to one message?’
‘Sorry,’ he said, easily manoeuvred into guilt. ‘I’ve had a really intense case. Are you … all right?’
‘No, not really,’ she said. ‘I’m … well, in a bit of a state, to be honest. We fucked up. I’m four months pregnant.’
There was a beat, while Jonah’s mind did the maths, an instinctive checking to make sure he understood what she was saying, and then he said, ‘Oh. Fuck, that’s …’
‘A massive balls-up,’ Michelle agreed, and then he heard the sound of her crying down the phone at him, and he wasn’t sure he had it in him to comfort her. Not when he could feel everything falling apart.
40
Louise
It’s time for you to read all of this. Everything I’ve written to you. Everything I wrote up until the night that almost killed me. It’s all here.
There isn’t a lot to add from the last few days. Except that I’m honestly not afraid.
That doesn’t mean I’m deluded. I know the CPS is bringing a manslaughter charge against me, and I know it’s possible that I’ll be convicted. There are a lot of women who have been convicted for killing their attackers in the past. The stats are actually quite frightening now I’ve looked into it.
I don’t know how much Patrick has told you about the case. But he tells me a lot will hinge on my decision to take the knife with me, which implies premeditation. However, he hopes that any jury will understand I had no idea I was going to meet my attacker and was purely thinking defensively.
The other bonus is the trauma I’d already gone through. Legally speaking, that is. I can speak openly and honestly about that when my time comes. Nothing anyone says will change how frightened I felt. Patrick thinks I should allow myself to look vulnerable when the time comes. This is something I am now struggling with, and it’s the strangest feeling. I keep somehow coming across as too strong. Too together. What happened to the old Louise?
April has managed to be our star witness even in her absence. The statement she gave was pretty conclusive. Apparently there’s no case being pursued against her at present to make that statement doubtful, which is lucky for me. The National Crime Agency is looking into her, but Patrick tells me she’s done a remarkably good job of disappearing. I suppose that’s the advantage of planning it for a long time. I just feel strangely grateful that she risked it all to spend one last night out with me. It’s obvious to me, now, that it was a farewell.
It probably seems strange to you that I feel the loss of her so intensely, given how much she hid from me, and how responsible she was for all the shit you got into with Dina. I know that she essentially blackmailed you into running drugs for eight years. I understand that nobody made her do any of it, and that she must have made unbelievable amounts of money off you, Dina, and every other person dragged into her scheme. And I know that you’re still angry as hell with her, for all sorts of reasons.
But I miss her, Niall. It’s clear to me that she’s cared about me for the past five years more than anyone else, even you. I’m sad that I’m going through this without her now. I’m sad, too, that I won’t get to hear her stand up in court to say her piece. I know she’d have done a great job tying the prosecutor in knots. Though I don’t feel scared of it. I don’t feel like I actually need her to fight my corner any more, however much I might enjoy it.
I found out a little more about her from the National Crime Agency. They asked me if I knew her by any other names, and then they asked if the name Abigail Jones-Rounier rang any bells. She was April’s age, the daughter of a Tennessee doctor whose wife left him. April brought up her sister, Dolores Jones-Rounier, pretty much single-handed, and then lost her to a drunk with a gun one New Year’s Day. Abigail vanished soon afterwards, but not before the drunk had been beaten senseless with a scaffolding pipe.
So maybe you could argue it wasn’t really me she loved. It was her baby sister, Dee. Everything she felt for me might only have been a shadow of that, it’s true. And yet I felt like April saw me and understood me like nobody else. Like I hope you will.
There’s one more thing for me to tell you about April. I had a card that’s clearly from her, even though it isn’t signed. It called me ‘honey’ and apologise
d for her terrible lack of judgement in Charlie’s character.
There was a key taped into it, too. For a Big Yellow storage facility. It has the address on the fob. And she’d circled it and written ‘not to be opened until your next, next birthday’.
I’m pretty sure I know what’s inside it. That she’s left me a comfortable life, and the option of clearing your debts if I want to. I’m not sure yet whether we should take it. Whether I should just leave it and everything to do with April behind.
I’ll certainly have to leave it until after all the court proceedings are done, and even then, it might get me into a lot of trouble if anyone finds out. Taking the proceeds of crime. But I’m still glad she sent it. And equally glad that she’s out there in the world, unarrested and probably kicking ass.
Anyway, I think that’s enough about April. This is supposed to be about us.
Such an awful lot of strangeness has come out of all this. Your fear for me. Your respect for what I did. And your sudden, absolute hatred of Dina for betraying you when things got tough. I actually think you calling her a manipulative cow might have been the most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard you say. I fully recognise that that’s a petty victory, but it doesn’t lessen my enjoyment of it one iota.
There was the other thing you said, too. About how worried you’d been that I couldn’t cope with a child. How stupid you’d been, in fact, because I’d just coped with something a lot harder, and come through it just fine. You said you should have seen that capacity in me before, but in fairness to you, Niall, I never truly saw it, either. It was hidden from both of us.
Perhaps the strangest thing of all is suddenly thinking we might have a future again. And actually wanting us to have one. It’s still only a might, of course. There’s a lot of shit that the two of us have to deal with. Two probable prosecutions and potential jail time in each direction, though Patrick says Daniella’s working incredibly hard on a plea deal for you.
We also have a lot to work through and explain and apologise or get angry for. Or to just … forgive. But it feels like we might get to build this again, on solid foundations. That maybe, just maybe, if we fight hard enough for it, we might end up the family I’ve always wanted us to be.
And I want to tell you that I’m looking forward to the fight.
Acknowledgements
A book is created by so many people. It is never, ever just one author sitting alone and writing.
Felicity Blunt is, was, and always will be the reason that this book happened at all. My wonderful human dynamo of an agent. You rock in every possible way.
Joel Richardson was the one who ran with my sudden change of idea for this book, and helped me turn the idea into a real, wonderful reality. The very best of editors, one of the nicest people on the planet, and a huge amount of fun to work with.
Grace Long was my fabulous second pair of eyes, and turned in an unbelievably excellent set of notes to help me through that significant last draft. Also, a constant support and organisational demon. Huge thanks.
To the fabulous cover design team at Penguin Michael Joseph, you have surpassed yourselves once again. I’ve been so lucky to have such beautiful covers on all my books, and I know just how important they are.
To the wonderful Penguin reps, who are the reason my books end up on any shelves at all. I am so fortunate to have your faith in what I write, and for that to turn into the amazing reality of seeing it in countless shops all over the country.
To Jen Breslin and Ella Watkins, who are just the most amazing publicity and marketing team. The thought, imagination, and constant determination to support have been unbelievable. Also, your patience with my constant questions and ideas. You are fabulous.
To Andrea Walker, US editor extraordinaire. Your faith in me is wonderful, humbling and inspirational. And your team is as warm, smart and exciting as you are. I am so proud to be working with you.
To Beatrix McIntyre, Jennie Roman and the whole wonderful copy-editing team. You provide such smart, insightful comments and save me from huge embarrassment time after time.
To the wonderful rights team at Penguin, who have brought my books to a staggering number of countries across the world. I owe you so much.
To Tariq Joyce, who was there for that all-important conversation right at the beginning. The one that made me realise how this book would work, and that it really would work. Great writers give the best advice.
To Chris Haines, the policing mastermind I go to whenever I want to ask about how some aspect of the forces work. You are just fantastically patient and helpful. It’s so heartening to have you there, and I just hope I managed to ask all the right questions in order to avoid any unintentional errors. Any of those are obviously mine.
To David Stubbings and Sarah Preston, who I somehow (inexcusably) missed off my list of the fantastic Girton Players last time. Thank you for every minute of your time and support over huge numbers of plays.
To my fabulous family and partner, who are still the most incredibly supportive bunch. I hope you have the patience for it all with the next books, too.
To Colin Smith for all the cheerleading, support and epic procrastination. This book would genuinely have been written more quickly without you.
And to all the wonderful members of the crime-writing community I have got to know over the past three years, who are too numerous to name but who have been the most welcoming, fabulous and entertaining bunch. Who knows how such lovely people write such horrific things?
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
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First published by Michael Joseph in 2021
Copyright © Gytha Lodge, 2021
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket design by kid-ethic.com
Cover images © Alamy
ISBN: 978-1-405-93853-2
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