The air has a vicious chill to it. Even the roaring fire can’t take the edge off it.
‘Freya, can I borrow your jacket? I didn’t dress well enough for this weather at all!’
‘Sure! It’s in my—’
‘Actually, I think it’s in my bedroom,’ Kate interjects. ‘Remember, Freya, I borrowed it yesterday? You can go through – it’s hanging in the closet. My bedroom is the first door on the right.’
Kate’s room is a chaos of French notes, makeup products and the multiple outfits of a woman who couldn’t decide on what she wanted to wear that night.
She peers into the cupboard, searching for the familiar leather jacket Freya loves so dearly. As she pulls it from the hanger, a glint of something catches her eye. It’s a gold necklace, tucked away in a clear bag amid the tangle of hats and shoes. Maybe it’s the location, maybe it’s the item’s obvious value, but something urges her to pick it up. It’s one of those name necklaces, popular since the days of Sex and the City. Isla casts her eyes over the letters, her gut clenching further with each one. The necklace is identical to the one listed as missing in the case report. The necklace spells out a name. Nicole.
She digs deeper in the cupboard. There, buried under more shoes is a scrunched-up piece of lace. She remembers the detail of it from the first time she met Freya, the way it contrasted with the black leather of her jacket. Now, the antique cream color has been stained brown with blood.
She leaves the offending items in place, to avoid sullying them with her fingerprints, and runs across the small apartment to where Simon is standing, awkwardly nursing a beer.
‘Isla, hi! You look lovely.’
She blushes, then remembers why she approached him in the first place. ‘Uh, thanks. You too. Listen, am I right when I say that a gold necklace was noted as missing in the case file?’
‘Yes. As far as I remember, it was one of the items Nicole had recently insured. It was solid gold, burned into the shape of her name.’
It makes no sense, but it’s a clue, a trail leading to an unexpected answer. ‘Come, I need to show you something.’
They run to the bedroom. Kate’s eyes catch them, and she and Freya follow them into the room.
‘Everything OK here?’ says Freya, looking nervously between Simon and her friend.
Simon is poker-faced. ‘Kate, would you mind showing us a couple of things in your closet, please, a necklace and piece of lace, specifically?’
Kate’s face crumbles as she leans forward, and they all stand staring at the incriminating name glinting in her hand.
‘I can explain.’ She looks desperately to Freya, whose face is contorted in horror.
‘She was so fucking awful to Freya, she made her life a misery . . .’ She backs towards the door. Simon is shifting from foot to foot, ready to move if he has to.
‘I didn’t ask you to do anything,’ Freya says softly.
Kate is sobbing now. ‘Freya mentioned that Nicole was learning French at Alliance Française, so I joined the same class as her. At first I tried to be her friend. I wanted to protect Freya, just like I always have. I needed to know why she hated her so much.’ In a barely audible whisper, she turns to Freya. ‘You’re so special. Nobody should hate you.’
Freya cries, ‘Kate . . .’
‘I didn’t mean to kill her,’ she cries. ‘I befriended her, I started to get how her mind worked. But that night Freya came home from the office party so upset and I knew I needed to teach her a lesson. I just wanted to scare her, but she wasn’t even sorry for everything she did. She was wild, crazy, and she lashed out at me. I feared for my life.’
‘No, Kate, no, no, no—’
‘I needed to protect myself. She was drunk and raging, coming at me with that statue. But I was stronger than her . . . you have to believe me when I say it was self-defense. I regretted it the moment I’d done it. She was such an unhappy person.’
‘She doesn’t need prison, she needs psychological help,’ Freya says softly, looking desperately at Simon. ‘I hope a judge can see that.’
Hattie, Jasmin and Isla hold Freya tightly while Simon moves forward. Kate doesn’t resist.
‘Kate Jones, you are under arrest for the murder of Nicole Whittington.’
Chapter 103
Freya
Six months later
‘You ready?’
Ruth unveils a bright pink neon sign.
Freya’s mouth hangs open, ‘Oh my God, it’s beautiful.’
‘Isn’t it just?’
After the dust settled, Ruth decided to relaunch Atypical as an NGO, dedicated to using technology to help women all over the world. She apologized to Freya for being so small-minded about her pregnancy and offered her a job as Head of Technology and Innovation. Together, they decided to rebrand the business Malkia, meaning ‘queen’ in Swahili.
They have designed a new business, one that supports women at all stages of their lives, including motherhood. Freya is much bigger now. She, Hattie and Jasmin have started converting Kate’s old room into a nursery. A recent gender identification scan confirmed what she knew all along – the baby is a little girl, Freya’s own tiny queen. Just two days ago, she laid out the tiniest piece of fabric and smallest pattern she has ever cut, and started making her baby’s first outfit.
‘Freya – your phone!’ says Mel. ‘Wait – don’t even think about running to answer it.’
She dashes across the room and returns, looking serious. ‘It’s Detective Cohen. He says he has news . . .’
At first she thinks it is to do with Kate. Dear Kate, so misguidedly loyal. Some nights, when her back aches and the baby’s kicking wakes her, she cannot shake the guilt that she should have done something to help her.
‘Detective Cohen? How’s everything going?’
He takes a deep breath. ‘Kate’s case has been scheduled for trial. She is pleading temporary insanity and self-defense, which I hope will hold with a judge. However, the time and effort Kate made befriending Nicole and gaining her trust doesn’t look good. It suggests a premeditated crime.’
‘All those nights Kate came home after French class, telling me about her new friends. I was so stupid, I didn’t suspect a thing!’
‘How were you to know? We think we know our friends . . . but often we don’t. But that’s not what I am calling you about. Our technology unit did a forensic audit on all the laptops possessed by Atypical the night Nicole was murdered. We found a dating advert, written in your name.’
Freya sits down slowly, palms sweating. The stress and fear of those messages still grips her when she least expects it. She still feels a rush of anxiety every time her phone lights up, still looks behind her twice when walking down the street.
‘It was someone from work?’
He laughs over the phone. Inappropriately, Freya thinks.
‘It was Nicole. She must have known about the prank you pulled that night and decided to get you back.’
Freya can’t help but laugh herself. She can imagine Nicole receiving a message that night, asking her to approve the advert, and in her drunken state, writing one for Freya in retaliation. She may have had her good points, but when it came to Freya, Nicole was determined to terrorize her to the very end.
‘But how did she get it approved?’
‘We’re not sure, but my guess is she somehow used her technical knowledge to override it.’
Freya wracks her brain – dammit, it’s possible, if you try hard enough. ‘She obviously really wanted to get back at me.’ Then, she remembers. ‘But it wasn’t just an advert. Someone was engaging with these men, sending them private photographs of me that were taken long ago but still stored in my Google Drive. I don’t understand how that person accessed them.’
Simon is quiet. Freya says, voice shaking, ‘Oh shit, it was Jay, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. As he confessed, Jay hacked into your Facebook account, and your personal email.’
Freya thinks back
to the moment she changed her number, and the email sent to her account notifying her of the change.
‘That’s why, when I changed my phone number, he was still able to harass me! Him and the man who stalked me were two different people.’
‘Correct.’
‘You can prove that, right? As part of his data infringement case?’
‘We’re sure as hell going to try. For now, the advert is down, both Jay and your stalker are in custody, so nobody will bother you anymore.’ The relief is so great, she begins to cry, despite herself. For so long she has lived her life looking over her shoulder. She needs to move on.
‘I suspect you won’t be hearing from me again. Keep well, Freya.’
‘You too, Detective Cohen.’
Freya hangs up the phone and sits for a minute on her own, letting the news sink in. A shriek of laughter bellows across the offices – Mel and Ruth are joking around again. For all their complicated history, Freya wishes that Nicole hadn’t died, and that she was here to see this, an office alive with smart women, all working together instead of being pitted against each other.
She carefully stands up. This body, once a source of fear, once a threat to her livelihood, is stronger than ever before. This life, that she spent so much effort trying to define, now leads her down a path more wonderful and rewarding than she ever expected. This is the new life she has been waiting for.
Chapter 104
Isla
Six months later
She should wear a dress, Isla thinks. Sadie, her psychologist, has encouraged her to go shopping more, and find items that celebrate her body. No more hiding her sexuality behind androgynous, baggy clothes. She throws on a floral tea dress she found at a vintage store during a shopping trip with Freya. It’s cobalt blue and brings out her eyes. But it’s a little too sweet.
‘Fuck it,’ she says, scratching in the chaos of her cupboard. Finally she finds them – her pair of Doc Martens, dusty and untouched since that fateful night ten years ago. Isla wipes the dirt off. Pulls them on. Now, she feels herself again.
Her hands brush against her new notebook as she prepares to leave. A brand-new Moleskine, embossed with her name, a gift from Bernard to celebrate her new job. Her exposé on Julian spread across the media like wildfire, and her photographs of Kenneth, Julian and the Deputy Chief of Police together assisted in outing their media coverup. Turns out that several women had tried to go to the press and the police with the story before, but their stories were squashed every time.
She had received job offers to work at The New Yorker, The Atlantic, even Buzzfeed, but Isla wanted to do something more meaningful with her time. With a generous investment from Ruth, she plans to start her own online magazine, filled with stories about women, written in their own words. Just thinking about it makes her feel lighter. She’s been eating regular meals for over a month now, and, while she can’t quite give up coffee, she has cut down to only two cups a day. All of this feels easier, now that she has found her voice.
A soft knock on the door. A new future lies on the other side, the most daunting future of all. Isla grabs her purse and runs down the hallway, just another girl about to go on a date, ready to love again.
‘Hello, Isla,’ he says.
Isla’s heart swells in her chest. She can’t control the smile that beams across her face.
‘Hello, Simon.’
Epilogue
The night of the murder
‘This is a bad idea, Kate,’ Freya says. In the dead of night, the city is imposing, their footsteps echo, loud as gunshots.
Kate paces ahead of her, determined. ‘I know Nicole now, we’re friends. She is an angel to everybody but you. We need to find out why, tonight.’
‘Jay won’t be happy that we’re doing this,’ Freya mutters. Her thoughts are woozy, grabbing at random moments. What if someone else shows up at Nicole’s door, someone that she and Jay have summoned through their prank? But her feet lead them to the apartment building, their memory stronger than her fear. Her hand raps abruptly at the door.
Nicole answers in a kimono, and Freya catches a glimpse of a dark nipple beneath the lush fabric. The smooth, tanned skin on her shoulder is exposed. The idea of Jay’s hands on her body makes Freya queasy.
‘Oh. I wasn’t expecting you . . .’
‘Hello, Nicole,’ Kate says calmly, but Freya can sense the aggression in her voice.
‘You two know each other?’
‘I’m her best friend, bitch.’
Nicole tries to push the door shut. ‘It’s two in the morning, you’re both insane.’
Kate is stronger, she is always stronger. She overpowers Nicole and pushes her out the way.
‘You’re a bully!’
Nicole starts to laugh, a deep, petrifying laugh. ‘Well, that is rich coming from the both of you.’
Freya speaks up now. ‘It’s not my fault that Jay loves me more than he ever loved you. It’s about time you got over him and left us alone.’
There’s a wild look in Nicole’s eyes. Her laughing grows louder, hooting and out of control. ‘Jay loves you more. Jay loves you more. Oh please, tell me another joke, I’m all ears.’
That’s when she smells it. The scent of Jay’s aftershave, mixed with Nicole’s perfume. She sees his leather jacket carelessly thrown over her sofa. Nicole’s naked, sun-kissed chest. It all makes sickening sense.
‘You are just a game to him, Freya. Nothing more.’
The laughter is too much, it unravels something in Freya’s mind. She is sick of people telling her she is not good enough, that she is not worthy of love, success or a seat at the table. Everybody laughed when she said she wanted to study software engineering, they laughed when she said she wanted to come top of her class. People underestimate her at every turn. A decades-old rage is stoked. She picks up the object nearest to her, a statue, and hits Nicole, her blood soaking into the intricate lace of her leather jacket.
‘Freya!’ Kate shouts.
‘Stop laughing at me,’ Freya whispers, bringing the statue down over and over again.
‘Stop. Fucking. Laughing.’
By the time Kate pulls her off, it is too late. Nicole is dead. The two women lug Nicole’s body into the bathroom and prop it up in the shower, knocking over her perfume bottles in the process.
They walk quickly, quietly through the silent corridors of Nicole’s apartment building. Outside, in the street, they can’t stop shivering. It is more than the chill of snow in the air. It is something else.
Kate pulls off their woolen gloves, now soaked through with blood. She stuffs them in her handbag, along with Nicole’s necklace that had fallen off during the struggle.
‘Run, Freya, we’ve got to run now!’ Her friend, usually so strong, and so self-assured, is shaking.
They sprint through the backstreets, as the sky begins to lighten ahead of them.
‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ Freya says softly, shock coursing through her veins and tears streaming down her face.
‘You did it to protect yourself. Shit. You have too much ahead of you, with no safety net to fall back on. This can’t ruin that. I will protect you. I owe you so much. My parents are rich, and we have great lawyers. I’ll plead insanity, or self-defense. If the police come for you, blame me, OK? I can take it.’
*
‘I’m sorry, Kate. I was so angry. I lost it. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t let you take the blame for this. What will I do? Tell me what I should do!’ She can’t stop crying. Every time she takes a breath, more tears flow, hysteria building.
‘It’s OK, we’ll get through this,’ Kate tells her. ‘We always do, we just need to forget it. I know you didn’t mean to do it.’ She repeats this, as they walk home, arms interlinked. ‘You didn’t mean to do it.’ But her voice sounds as if she is trying to convince herself.
Acknowledgements
The Pact is a special novel for me, in part because it reflects aspects of my own e
xperiences, and those of the generous experts and people I interviewed.
Thank you to Katherine Armstrong, for seeing the heart of this book from its early drafts. From our first communication on the book, right till the end, you recognized my vision, and applied your incredible editing skills (and intense crime scene knowledge) to help me get out my own way and make the book the best it could be. Thank you to Jennie Rothwell for devising the perfect title for the book, as well as for your razor-sharp editorial insight. I’m also so appreciative of Alex Allden’s creative interpretation of the book into a truly striking cover.
I am grateful to the Zaffre team for their assistance in getting The Pact out there, and into the hands of readers. A special thanks to Stephen Dumughn, Felice McKeown and Sahina Bibi from marketing; Nico Poilblanc, Angie Willocks, Vincent Kelleher from the sales team; and Francesca Russell, Clare Kelly and Ellen Turner from publicity.
As always, thank you to Sarah Hornsley who is a consistent source of support and guidance. I am so grateful to have you as my agent and so proud to be represented by The Bent Agency. Thank you to Jenny Bent for believing in my writing voice in the first instance. Without you, none of this would have been possible.
I consulted a wide range of sources in the writing of this book. Thank you to Michelle Craig for introducing me to the right journalistic contacts, and to Barry Bateman for your insights and anecdotes on investigative journalism. When it comes to the tech industry Luana Jordaan and Anna Vaulina are two of the most talented women out there – thank you for sharing your experiences with me, and Lu, thank you for our philosophical and entertaining discussions on Silicon Valley. Blaize, thank you for your excitement and encouragement from the start, and for helping me create the perfect tattoo for Freya.
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