The sound of sizzling fat fills the hallway as I approach the kitchen. Inside, the girls are seated at the table, their heads glued to the iPad Clive bought them at Christmas. Sensing my presence, Anna turns, her pupils large and flat, her movements slow and deliberate; any anxiety flattened by the pills she keeps stashed in handbags and cupboards around the house.
Her face breaks into an unconvincing smile as I move into the room, surprised to find the remnants of last night’s wake already swept away, the house a picture of domestic order.
‘Maria, sit down.’
She joins me at one of the stools by the marble island, which always reminds me of the one at Clive’s house in Greece. From the way she launches straight in, I know she has spent the night thinking this through, carefully selecting her words.
‘You being here, it’s … you’ve been like a mother to the girls.’
Her eyes move briefly to Stella and Rose, her voice lowering though they show no signs of interest in anything beyond the screen; the pair of them all cried out from the day before.
‘I am so grateful to you for that. David, he … we both, we’ve loved having you here. But I think it’s time you moved on.’
There is a moment when it occurs to me that perhaps she knows, perhaps he told her? And then I realise she is speaking to herself as much as to me, buoying herself for the next stage.
‘I’ll pay you, of course, for the next month – however long it takes. And I’ll book you into a hotel. I don’t want you to be left high and dry, but it’s time.’
I nod, a lump forming in my throat.
‘OK,’ I say, knowing she is right, knowing this has run its natural course, though still I cannot stop the unexpected pricking sensation at the backs of my eyes.
‘I’ll miss you.’ There were tears rolling down her cheeks, too. ‘But I know it’s for the best.’
Gathering my things, I step into the cab Anna has ordered me, and watch the street fade into a memory that I will never quite comprehend. As the car stops at the red light by Belsize Park Tube station, I feel my phone vibrate.
New WhatsApp message.
It is him.
Not long now. Can’t wait until you’re here. D.
CHAPTER 64
Anna
Work has offered me a fortnight’s compassionate leave.
‘More if you need it,’ Clarissa added at the end of the funeral, her face stained with tears. ‘Whatever you need.’
After wanting so much for so long, the thought strikes me as strangely unfathomable.
The one thing I know I don’t need is time. A gaping black hole in which to ruminate on the choices I have made. What I need is to move forward, as far away as I can from a past that I hardly recognise as my own.
I plan to return to the office after a few days at the most. The girls went into nursery this morning on the advice of Sarah, one of the mothers I had met there, whose husband had also died when her children were younger.
‘Best to keep their minds on other things,’ Sarah advised, catching me off-guard as the girls and I made our way through the aisles of the Marks and Spencer in South End Green, in an attempt to induce a state of normality.
‘You’re right,’ I had nodded, resisting the urge to pull away as she took my hand in hers, imagining the deferred maternal pain that I saw wetting the corner of her eyes bleeding into my own.
My fear when I first saw Jorgos outside the house, the quiet figure of him watching my betrayal through the window, was soon replaced with something far worse. My terror that Jorgos had caught me where I should never have been – in the house where I had told David I would not be arriving for several days – was surpassed by the sharp realisation that he had hardly noticed this fact. Something far worse was occupying his attention
‘Jorgos, what are you doing here?’ Even as I asked the question I did not want the answer, my arms shaking as he held my gaze.
‘I saw you at the port. I was in the bar and I assumed you had arrived early. I was about to get up, to come over to offer you a lift … I was, but there was a woman. I’m sorry. I was planning to come and see you in the morning but …’ He stopped. ‘But then I got the call from Clive …’
I took a step back then.
‘Anna, I … it’s David …’
I am dreading the prospect of being alone in the house, grateful that over the next few days there will be strings to tie up, papers to sign, the formalities of loss offering some respite from the aching unknown.
But for now I feel a fizz of excitement as I weave my way through the familiar copse of trees that stands a moment or two on the other side of the gate at the end of the garden, a hint of smoke on the air as I make my way across the Heath.
I am the first to arrive at the café in Kenwood House, taking a seat in the raised outdoor seating area.
The Heath is relatively peaceful at this time on a weekday. I pull my scarf closer around my neck, lifting my cup for warmth, distracting myself with the line of dogs tied along the railings a few metres away, heads cocked, waiting for their owners to return.
It is too cold to sit outside, but I need the horizon, the clatter of the canteen jangling against my nerves as I order an Americano, pausing to order something for Meg before realising I have no idea what she likes to drink.
The initial relief at seeing her again after so long has now settled to a quiet ache; my hurt at her sudden disappearance seeping through the edges of my smile as she makes her way up the paved steps.
Her skin without the heavy make-up I am used to seeing on her looks naked and over-exposed. She looks younger somehow, her hair lifted from her face, pulled into a clip at the back of her head.
Our embrace is more stilted this morning than it was at the funeral, a self-conscious smile passing between us as we pull away, me first.
‘I hope you weren’t waiting long.’ She settles on the chair opposite me, smoothing her coat under her legs, her movements more considered, more self-conscious than the ones I remember.
‘Not long. Do you want a coffee, or something to eat?’
‘I’m good, I’ll just have one of these.’
She pulls out a packet of cigarettes, admonishing herself with a raised eyebrow, before offering me the pack.
I shake my head, recognising one of the multiple rings on her fingers, the same oval turquoise stone she always wore.
Meg exhales, looking around. ‘Do you mind if we walk?’
I am pleased to be moving as we make our way up the steps in silence, only speaking again once we reach the top of the hill that rolls down from Kenwood House towards the pond. My eyes move towards the climbing tree, to the right of the false bridge, where the girls loved to scramble from branch to branch, under David’s supervision, whilst I peered out across the water, always too afraid to watch.
‘How did you know?’ I speak first.
‘I saw it in the paper.’
The grey London sky hangs above our heads, heavy curtains drawn against the rest of the world, the seams frayed.
We walk side by side past the gardens, turning left down the hill before the dusty path gives way to bog.
‘I knew you’d married, I saw that in the papers too. It was the weirdest thing – to see it there and not be able to get in touch.’
Unable? I feel Meg sense the words I am too weak to say.
‘I was so happy for you. I wanted to send a card or … I didn’t know where you lived.’
‘Are you living in London?’ It is unsettling, someone knowing so much about your life, but knowing nothing of theirs.
‘No.’
‘What are you doing here, Meg?’ I stop walking, suddenly impatient to hear whatever it is she has to say. ‘I mean, for God’s sake, it’s not like it makes much difference to your life, David being dead. We haven’t seen, haven’t heard from you. You could have been dead for all I knew.’
She pulls another cigarette from her pocket, and this time I reach for one.
‘Well
, you might have bloody checked!’ There is a moment’s pause and then she adds, ‘I’m sorry …’
For a moment I think she is going to walk away and then she looks up at me, mouthing the words, ‘Do you have a phone on you?’
‘I don’t know if it has any reception.’ I look away as I pass Meg the phone, too tired to question it, an ache running across my chest.
She takes it from me, nodding. Pushing her hand into her pocket, she pulls out a keyring with a safety pin attached, which she carefully removes before pressing it into a tiny hole in the phone.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
Meg looks up without answering, silencing me with her eyes as she prises the battery from it, moving towards a bench and laying the pieces out side by side before sitting.
‘Please.’ She pats the seat next to her and I pause for a moment before taking a step forward, reluctantly lowering myself to the other side of the bench, taking a drag of my cigarette.
‘I need to tell you something, and I need you to listen. OK?’ She nods encouragingly, pacing her words. ‘The truth is, I didn’t want to leave London. I had no choice.’
I remain still, exhaling a line of smoke, which is magnified in the ice-cold air.
‘You remember Harry?’
For a moment, my whole body turns cold and then a little piece of my heart floats away like an iceberg breaking free of the glacier, into the abyss.
CHAPTER 65
Maria
‘So let me get this straight, you’re saying that the deliveries of mercaptan are a cover for arms dealing?’
It was nearly a year by then. A year after she’d first pulled me in, little by little, and then by the throat.
Felicity threw up her arms, businesslike.
‘Exactly, they’re a decoy. Arms, night-vision goggles … It doesn’t really matter what it is they’re selling. What matters is the influence these trades can buy you, in these sorts of places.
‘Look at it this way. If you wanted to smuggle something into a country, what better way than to pad out your cargo with a trace of chemical waste and label it “toxic”? In fact, TradeSmart owns so many of the ports that it’s unlikely the guards will check properly anyway. But even if they did, a low-paid customs guy? He’s going to look at that skull and crossbones sticker and chances are after that he is going to take a cursory glance inside the box, if that. Thanks to the spillage, everyone in Equatorial Guinea knows the harm that chemicals can do, and for companies like TradeSmart, that makes for the perfect cover.’
I nodded thoughtfully.
‘And David knew about this?’
Felicity looked at me and her eyes narrowed. ‘Well, I’d imagine so, wouldn’t you?’
The library café was closing soon, and a couple of women with trays were collecting used cups from one of the tables next to ours.
‘OK, I see what you’re saying, but …’ I leaned in closer towards Felicity. ‘What I don’t understand is, if TradeSmart has its financial centre in Switzerland, as you say it does, to exploit the possibilities of secretive banking, and it has its head office in Holland, for the benefit of the tax loopholes there, why is any of this of interest to MI6?’
I felt her look me up and down appraisingly. Did she trust me? Of course, I knew she was in no doubt of my competence – I had after all been the one to suggest setting up a fake website for a non-existent new trading company as a way to lure Clive’s colleagues to open up about any nefarious activity within the firm. But trust?
‘Maria, if I’m honest, we’re not really interested in Witherall’s links to arms dealings in Equatorial Guinea. That, let us say, is his Achilles heel. What we’re really interested in is the role his company is playing in destabilising our work in … somewhere else.’
Felicity paused, tapping her finger against the table, the eternal head-girl, simultaneously frustrated and reassured by the inability of us mere mortals to keep up.
‘Look, the point is, Maria, you’re doing a brilliant job. We’re thrilled with you, we really are. But don’t ask too many questions, hey? There’s a good girl.’
CHAPTER 66
Anna
The ground is like ice beneath my feet as I scramble down the worn path that leads back towards Parliament Hill, Meg’s voice still echoing around my head, calling after me. Pleading.
I take the steps to the house two at a time, my hand shaking as I press the key into the door, my boots smearing the carpet with crunched leaves, toes stubbing against the last tread as I reach the top of the stairs, my balance wavering, threatening to give way.
Harry and Meg. I push the image away, through the haze, shaking my head. Refusing to believe.
Running to the wardrobe in my bedroom, mine and David’s, my fingers rummage for the soft-leather clutch bag. Collapsing back onto the carpet, I pull the phone from the inside pocket, my fingers pausing for a moment before tapping in my pin. The date we first met.
Despite my efforts, I think of him now, walking across the pub garden that first night in Canary Wharf, side by side with Meg. She is lying, she must be. Trembling through my whole body as I type Harry’s number, I feel the quiet roll of the current wrapping itself around my ankles, preparing to pull me silently under.
The sound of his answerphone stings my ear. I close my eyes, letting the tears run down my cheeks, fear clutching at my stomach.
There is a beep in my ear and I hear myself speak. My lips tremble and I do not recognise my own voice, his name an unfamiliar shape on my lips.
‘Harry, call me right now. I’m serious. Wherever you are. Now. Please.’
I throw the phone at the floor, as if it might bite me, before lurching into the en suite and placing my face under the tap, lapping at the water, which pours out of the sides of my mouth.
Startled by something, I lift my eyes and see David’s toothbrush discarded on the side of the sink, abandoned.
‘Anna?’
The voice is moving closer to the bathroom door. Standing, my body rigid now, I move back into the bedroom, the hairs on my arms alert, my eyes scanning the room for something to clutch, my palms beading with sweat. Before I can lunge at the lock, I see the handle of the door turn.
Once again, I freeze, and I cry out instead with fear as the door opens.
‘Anna, my God, are you OK?’
It is Sarah, the nursery mother who has offered to bring the girls home. Behind her, I see my daughters looking back at me, their faces recoiling.
It is Stella who speaks next, but it’s David’s voice I hear.
‘What are you doing?’
Twisting my head to face the girls, standing on either side of Sarah on the landing, I catch a glimpse of my own reflection in the long mirror on the far side of the bedroom and see wild eyes, my clothes scuffed with mud from where I fell.
‘I … I went for a walk, I tripped. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘No, I’m sorry. We tried the bell but I thought perhaps you were still out, and then we realised the door wasn’t properly closed. So I, the girls, we …’
Sarah pauses for a moment, her eyes catching briefly on the phone in the middle of the carpet, before continuing, her voice unsettled.
‘I’ve left Mabel in the car, I should go back to her. Are you … I mean, I could take the girls back with me for the night, if you …’
‘No. No, I really appreciate you bringing them home. Honestly, I was just going to get cleaned up, but I’m fine, thank you.’
I feel Sarah’s eyes scanning my face.
‘Actually, you know, that would be great. If you don’t mind.’
Avoiding my daughters’ eyes, I smile, the skin straining, and Sarah nods, placated, reaching out her hand as if to touch me, but I step back, unable to stop myself.
‘No problem at all, Mabel will be thrilled. I was going to make cupcakes for dinner. What do you say, girls?’
There is an obedient mumble in response but I cannot make out their words.
&nbs
p; Sarah places a reassuring hand on Stella’s shoulder as she leads my daughters back down the stairs. Turning, she adds, ‘I’m just down the road, if you need anything. You know what they say, a problem shared …’
I smile weakly, following them towards the stairs. Closing the door firmly behind them and pulling the chain, I notice the sky is already laced with black.
CHAPTER 67
Maria
They were doing to Anna exactly what they had done to Artemis, of course – the pills, the doctors who would attest to her madness, to her instability when it was all over; once they had silenced her for good.
The difference was that, unlike David’s mother, Anna had no idea of the danger she was in. Unlike Artemis, she believed she had control, she thought she knew what she was doing. There is nothing more dangerous, more precarious, than a drunk who thinks she is sober.
CHAPTER 68
Anna
The sound of ringing from the bedside table lures me out of a heavy, medicated sleep, the grey sky already clawing its way through the curtains the following morning.
My head is thick, caught between day and night, teetering dangerously along the crack between two worlds, as I lift the phone. Looking at the screen I see it is not Harry but my new assistant, Lara, whose name flashes back at me.
Falling back against the pillow, I let the phone drop from my hand, rolling over into the blanket until I hear a beep, informing me of a new voicemail message.
‘Anna, it’s Lara. I’m so sorry to bother you, but a friend of yours came to the office and was very insistent that I call and tell you she is thinking of you and wanted to check you were OK. She asked me to pass on her number … Her name is Meg …’
As Lara started reciting the digits, I press delete.
Once again, my wallpaper blinks back at me: a photo of myself, Stella, Rose and David at the table outside the villa in Tuscany we had taken one summer, cypress trees lining the garden behind us, David’s hands resting proprietorially on his daughters’ shoulders.
The Most Difficult Thing Page 31