by Toby Faber
Laurie gazed out at the view. Once you knew where to look, the top of the London Eye was fairly easy to see, poking out above the top of that nearby tower block. Was that when she should have realised Paul wasn’t all he claimed to be, at least not a north Londoner? Now that she thought about it, so many things should have made her suspicious. She got up from the bench and walked around. If she wasn’t waiting for Dad and Jess, she would have ignored her tiredness and gone for a run.
What would she tell the two of them about the morning? She’d have to explain why they didn’t need to worry about Dominic Sanderson any more, what had happened to ‘Paul’, who he really was. And yes, she’d have to persuade them there was no point in going to the police, that she had said all that needed to be said – no need for Jess to admit to what she had done, or for Dad to take responsibility for anything. They had this one chance of an uncomplicated future together. Laurie would never forgive herself if it were spoilt.
Inspector Carmichael had been interested to hear that Laurie had an appointment to meet Mrs Pennington: not just interested, pleased in fact, that she had thereby explained the phone call from a house in Somerset on Sunday morning; it saved him a line of inquiry. Laurie allowed herself a few a tears at the news that Mrs Pennington was dead; they were genuine enough, even if the surprise wasn’t. And then she had let the story emerge: her proximity to Mr Pennington when he fell; how she was sure it was an accident and had gone to Mrs Pennington to say so; how she had ended up offering to look at the books he’d asked for at the British Library, to see if they gave any insight to his state of mind.
‘And did they?’ The inspector had asked, without Laurie needing to prompt any further.
‘Well, what they told me was that he was worrying about pensions. Mrs Pennington had told me he was due a good one. So at first I just thought that if he was going to be comfortably off then that at least meant he was less likely to kill himself. That might have been what he was checking at the BL, but looking at those books made me aware of something else.’ Here Laurie had paused, as if to gather her thoughts, before continuing, ‘I wasn’t sure whether I was going to say this to Mrs Pennington, but I guess it can’t do any harm if I tell you. Promise you won’t think I’m crazy.’ She had looked directly at the inspector then, waiting for the consent that came with his, ‘Go on.’
‘What I realised was how expensive he was going to be to the company as a pensioner. Only now he was dead, of course, he wouldn’t be. That’s when I remembered Mrs Pennington telling me that another of his colleagues had killed himself. That was someone who had just retired too. It just strikes me as a bit of a coincidence, I suppose.’
That was it, but surely it was pointer enough to anyone with any curiosity? At least the inspector had asked for the names of the books at the BL, even if the statement Laurie eventually signed made no reference to them or the little bit of speculation she had dangled before him. All she could attest to, after all, was that she had spoken to Mrs Pennington on Sunday morning, and that they had made an arrangement to meet on Tuesday afternoon.
Even if there was no proper investigation now, Dominic Sanderson’s disappearance would soon become obvious. Would anyone link it with the fatal fall of a gym manager across the road? Or with the disappearance of a trainer at the same gym? It was hard to see why. The deaths of several Sanderson pensioners, on the other hand, was another matter. In the absence of a body, the assumption could only be that Dominic Sanderson was on the run. He’d almost certainly withdrawn the cash that was now sitting at the bottom of Roxanne’s feed barrel. The police would find out about the withdrawal; it would only add to the impression of a fugitive from justice.
One thing was for certain. There was no reason for anyone to think Dominic Sanderson would have paid a visit to Dad’s house in Somerset. That part of his story – of the circumstances of his death – would never emerge. Dad and Jess were in the clear.
Laurie looked back towards the bench. Somehow, while she had been lost in her thoughts, Dad and Jess had arrived. They stood there, side by side, looking at her, wondering what she had to say.
Words could wait. The two of them were close enough to each other for Laurie to catch them both in her hug, pressing them together, willing their happiness to last.
Acknowledgements
I’m very grateful to all the kind friends who read early drafts and were either encouraging, or suggested improvements (in many cases significant), or both. Charlotte Robertson was particularly supportive at a crucial time, and through her I came to have Peter Straus as my agent. His faith in the book was inspiring and his editorial comments insightful. I am so pleased to have been taken up by Sarah and Kate Beal at Muswell Press and am looking forward to the adventure of publication with them. This has already included significant enhancements first (and crucially) in the structural edit by Laura McFarlane and then in the copyedit by Kate Quarry. As ever, my greatest thanks are to my wife, Amanda, both as a reader, and for everything else.
About the Author
Toby Faber was Managing Director of Faber and Faber and remains chairman of its sister company Faber Music. He has written two celebrated works of non-fiction, Stradivarius and Fabergé’s Eggs. His history of Faber and Faber comes out later this year. This is his first novel. Toby lives in London with his family.
Copyright
First published by Muswell Press in 2019
© Faber Productions 2019
Toby Faber asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781999613549
Muswell Press
London
N6 5HQ
www.muswell-press.co.uk
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