Stepping out, she gulped at the air, holding her hand against the doorway to steady herself. Across the street, she saw the flicker of a net curtain from the upstairs window and she turned, as if part of a performance, to shut the front door behind her. She pulled it to quietly, sealing it with such precision that she might have been trapping a spider under a glass. Leaving it there to consider later, once she had worked out how it might be safely released.
Moving quite calmly down the tiled steps, she turned left again. This time as she passed the Freemasons Arms and onto the high street, nothing had changed. There was the Coffee Cup on one side, still with its burgundy reds and creams, mothers with prams double-parked outside. Opposite, in the window of Morgan de Toi, pistachio-green lycra and silver hooped earrings clung to emaciated mannequins. They looked dead, she thought, their bodies contorted and featureless, like staged corpses left out as warnings to others by some despotic regime.
* * *
She was amazed by her own performance the evening of the party as she welcomed her husband’s guests, watching David’s face light up as he received his presents.
May. She allowed herself the thought only once she was a safe distance from the house. She had been right. All these years since that phone call, she had convinced herself she’d imagined it and now here it was, the evidence she couldn’t ignore.
David’s grin stretched from ear to ear. Her heart wrenched as she leaned down and kissed her son, breathing in the scent of him as he took the Power Ranger from her hands and ran towards his best friend. By the time they left the playground, David’s rucksack bobbing against his back slightly in front of her, she knew she wouldn’t say anything to Clive. What good would come of it? She couldn’t think of a single thing, though she could think of plenty of bad. How could she risk him leaving her? This wasn’t about her and her feelings, it was about David. He deserved a better family life than the one she’d had, and she would let nothing put that in jeopardy.
That evening at the party, she moved through the room as if the volume had been turned down, sipping from a single glass of champagne. The scene in the living room was slowed down to the point of contortion, bared teeth frozen as laughter rippled across the table. David, dressed in a bright red polo shirt, moved in real time, his face in tight focus, happy and awkward in the manner of a child who didn’t understand the jokes and was doing his best to mimic the reactions of the grown-ups. Only when he looked up at her did his face break into a proper smile.
Clive and May remained on different sides of the room for the rest of the party. It wasn’t until David had gone to bed that she allowed the image to form again in her memory. Once it did, it stayed there, exactly where she left it, not daring to poke at it for fear of what else might crumble around her if she did.
Madeleine
London, present day
‘Can I keep this?’ Madeleine asks.
‘Of course,’ Isobel says, her eyes dancing with energy. ‘It’s just a printout. I still have the original photo I took of the article on my phone. What are you going to do with it?’
‘I need to go back to the office,’ Madeleine says, pulling on her coat.
Isobel looks reluctant to let her leave. ‘I’ll walk you down.’
Before opening the door, Isobel turns again to Madeleine. ‘Why were you there, at the inquest? I thought you worked in human trafficking?’
Madeleine nods. ‘I do.’
‘Right,’ she says, acknowledging that Madeleine is not willing to share anything more with her. Madeleine feels bad, like she has betrayed a trust that was growing between them. But no matter how helpful Isobel has been, she is a journalist, and there’s too much at stake.
‘I’m sorry,’ Madeleine says as they step out onto the landing. ‘I really appreciate your help, though, it’s extremely useful.’
Isobel leans down to retrieve the post from the doormat as they reach the entrance to the street. Madeleine hears her mutter under her breath as she looks down at the envelopes in her hand.
‘Is everything OK?’
‘Wow. Yes, I mean … I don’t know. It’s Eva, I applied for a visiting order to visit her in prison. I assumed she would reject it, but it’s been approved … I can visit this Friday.’
Madeleine pauses, studying Isobel’s face. ‘Perhaps I could come with you?’
Artemis
Greece, the Nineties
Artemis listened to her son’s shallow breathing as the plane took off at Heathrow, pushing up into a glistening summer sky. David’s head was pressed reassuringly against her arm, one of his hands resting on her lap, the other clutching the same red Power Ranger he had been given a year earlier, his love for it yet to be eclipsed by another toy.
Clive had already been gone for a few days, on a working trip to Moscow, and was due to meet them on the island a week or so later. Something had been going on with his work over the previous months so that when he was home, Clive was largely holed up in his study, the door closed against the outside world. When Artemis thought of the house now, the paintings of her previous life hanging like remnants of another world, goading her every time she passed, she felt a shiver.
She breathed deeply, a wave of freedom rushing over her. She didn’t have to think about the house, not now; she was on her way home.
Artemis ran a hand through David’s hair as he leaned against her shoulder on the Dolphin boat from Skiathos to the island, watching the sun dance on the surface of the water.
Markos and Rena met them at the port, armed with freshly baked snacks. David guzzled hungrily, flaky pastry clinging to his lips as they made their way from the jetty to her parents’ front door. Rena held David’s hand, merrily chatting away to her grandson in Greek, so happy to have him there that she was oblivious to his almost total incomprehension. Artemis had tried talking to him in her mother tongue at home, but over the years it had become increasingly difficult, David looking embarrassed in front of his friends if they were in public, or claiming to be too tired to think in another language when he got home after a long day at school. When he was there, Clive discouraged it, too, as though wary of any form of secret code between them. For someone with little interest in the day-to-day business of parenting, he could be remarkably possessive.
They stayed at her parents’ that first night. There was no need to head up to the house in the old village just yet. Artemis slept well, thanks to the extra pill she had taken just in case, she and David side-by-side in her old bed. There was no point risking a return of the nightmares now that she was back in her childhood home.
‘You look exhausted,’ Rena said the following morning, handing Artemis a coffee. She breathed in the aroma gratefully. Coffee in London was awful, so thin and insipid.
‘Do I?’
‘I bet you haven’t had a proper cup in months,’ Rena said, echoing her thoughts, taking a seat opposite her daughter at the kitchen table while David entertained Markos with the new Mario Kart game Clarissa had given him for his birthday.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Artemis said defensively. ‘We have coffee in London. There are plenty of quite charming cafés on the high street just next to us, as you would know if you ever visited.’
Rena snorted. ‘London? You have to be joking. Anyway, it’s nice for David to come here, to see his grandparents in his mother’s home.’
Artemis smiled, taking a sip. She couldn’t stay angry with Rena for long. Besides, she was right, she was never coming to London and Artemis was relieved. This way, she could paint a picture of her life to show her parents from a distance, without risking her seeing the cracks that were impossible to miss up close.
‘How’s Athena?’ Artemis asked, changing the subject, taking a sip of coffee and closing her eyes, savouring the taste.
‘You haven’t spoken to her?’
‘Not for a few weeks.’ Actually, when she thought of it, it had been well over a month. They always had their ups and downs, made worse since Clive told Artemis t
hat he and Athena had been talking about her behind her back. But Athena always called on David’s birthday and this year there had been no word.
‘Panos has left,’ Rena replied.
‘What?’ Artemis felt like she had been punched. Her best friend’s husband had walked out on her and she’d had no idea. ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’
‘I thought you knew.’
Artemis stood. ‘Can I leave David with you for an hour or so?’
‘Of course,’ Rena said. ‘You know we love to have him here as often as we possibly can.’
The house Athena and Panos had moved into not long after she became pregnant with Maria stood at the top of the mountain, on the cusp of the old village, just before the cliff gave way to the water.
Through the kitchen window, she could see Athena standing at the sink. It was clearly her, but Artemis thought how different she looked, frail in a way that was impossible to pinpoint.
Artemis knocked on the door and waited a moment. She heard running footsteps and then the door opened wide, Maria’s face falling as she saw who was there.
‘What did I tell you, Maria? It won’t be your father, he’s not coming ba—’
Athena’s voice was moving towards the door.
She stopped when she saw Artemis, the dishcloth she had been using to dry a pot falling from her hands.
* * *
‘Now, what is your favourite food to eat, if you could eat anything in the world?’ Artemis asked, swinging Maria’s arm gently as they moved down the hill later that day. Maria thought for a while, her little face concentrating hard on the question. At six, she had grown even more like her father, albeit a far prettier version. She had the same dark, intense features, the same look of concentration.
‘Chicken,’ she said after a while.
‘Chicken?’ Artemis sounded impressed. ‘I love chicken, too, and so does David. He’s going to be so happy to see you.’
‘Where are we going? We shouldn’t leave Mummy when she’s sad,’ Maria said, her voice growing small.
Artemis stopped and crouched down so that she and Maria were on eye level. ‘You’re going to stay with us for a few nights, while Mama sorts a few things out and has a little rest. Does that sound OK?’
Maria nodded reluctantly.
‘Good.’ Artemis squeezed her hand. ‘David and I are going to take very good care of you. You’re like family to us. You know that, don’t you?’
Artemis heard the diggers as she stepped out of the taxi, holding the door open for David and Maria to follow her onto the side of the road next to the house. Her hands gripped theirs more tightly as they walked up the dirt path towards the olive grove where earth came up in clouds of dust, like smoke.
‘What are you doing?’ she called out to the men, who turned nonchalantly from their tools, the metal claws chewing up the foundations of the land.
‘Who are you?’ the nearest replied, taking a step towards them.
Artemis felt David pull at her arm. ‘Mama, it’s OK.’
She ignored him, continuing to address the builder. ‘This is my house.’
‘Then you’ll have to speak to your husband, the Englishman,’ he shrugged, turning away.
Artemis’ fingers trembled as she hurried through the front door, moving to the house phone and dialling Clive’s mobile number. She had no idea what time it would be in Moscow and she didn’t care.
‘Clive, there are men digging up the garden,’ she shouted down the line when he answered.
‘Oh yes,’ he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him.
Now she remembered, Moscow was only one hour ahead of Greece. And yet already Clive sounded drunk. Listening harder, she heard the clatter of cutlery in the background. She wouldn’t ask him where he was – she didn’t care where, or who he was with.
‘Why are they here?’ She tried not to sound agitated in front of the children.
‘They’re building a pool.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘A pool. You know, those things you swim in?’
She heard him put a hand over the phone, saying something to whoever he was with.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘It was supposed to be a surprise.’ He moved his hand away so that his voice became clearer. ‘David and I thought—’
‘David knew?’ She turned to look at her son. Since when did David and Clive have secrets? Irrationally, she flinched at the thought of the two of them conspiring against her. Yet it was hardly a conspiracy. Clive said it himself – it was supposed to be something nice. A surprise. Artemis had a sudden image of Clive and May in the kitchen.
When she pictured it, in hindsight, the image mutated so that at one minute it was a passionate embrace, the next a form of combat. Her throat constricted as she recalled the intimacy of what she had seen – her husband and his best friend’s wife turned in on one another in her kitchen surrounded by her son’s birthday balloons.
Blinking, the image of Jorgos formed in its place, his face towering over her as he held open the door of her wedding car.
How many more surprises would there be?
Madeleine
London, present day
She hasn’t eaten since breakfast. Following the map on her phone, she walks the twenty minutes or so from Isobel’s flat to Highbury Corner, stopping at a tiny café near the tube station. It is the kind of place she has only discovered in adulthood, after years of refined restaurants and stuffy hotels with her parents, and she still relishes the sound of cheap meat sizzling on the griddle.
‘I’ll have a bacon roll, please, and a chocolate muffin,’ she says.
‘Hot drink with that?’ the woman behind the bar asks.
Madeleine’s eyes survey the foam cups and industrial size pot of Nescafé.
What is wrong with people? ‘No, thanks,’ she says. She won’t go that far.
Taking a seat while she waits for her order to be called, Madeleine’s mind drifts back to Isobel, and the question she had asked about Madeleine’s reason for being at the inquest. She would have liked to tell her about Sean asking Madeleine to join the team based on information initially supplied by an old MI6 friend of his, suggesting a tertiary link between the Witherall family and Ivan Popov and Irena Vasiliev, whose frankly polymathic endeavours – including their human trafficking operation and tax evasion, with plenty more between – meant that what had started as one investigation had quickly morphed into another. But that’s not how things work and Isobel knows it. Besides, it was almost embarrassing, how little progress had been made since Ivan Popov had been detained. They had Gabriela’s testimony alongside information obtained by his maid, Polina. He would be charged with something, that was for sure, but how much they could make stick was another matter. Not least if he ended up refusing to testify against Irena Vasiliev – though the way things were going it was unlikely Interpol or Europol could get at her, and if they did it would be a tussle. The whole thing could take months if not years. Unless they could just break that bloody EncroChat.
‘Bacon roll, chocolate muffin?’
By the time Madeleine tunes into the hum of the café, she can tell from the woman’s face and the volume of her voice this is not the first time she has called out her order.
‘Thank you,’ Madeleine says, taking her food. ‘I don’t need a bag.’
Artemis
Greece, the Nineties
Artemis had forgotten how long the days were on the island compared to London.
Every morning that summer she, Maria and David would rise early, walking into town for fresh fruit and bread before coming home, the children watching the builders while Artemis made breakfast. They spent most afternoons on the beach, music drifting out from the restaurant on the edge of the cliffs, at the top of a steep path, staying until early evening when the sea-salt formed crystals on David’s back, catching a lift back up the hill with one of the waiters.
When Clive arrived from Moscow on t
he Saturday, he was distracted with work, immediately casting a cloud over a near-perfect scene.
‘I’ve been thinking, I want to stay in Greece,’ Artemis announced one evening at the house, once David had gone to bed. Maria was back at home with her mother, Athena having had time to come to terms with what was happening and start looking for a job now that Panos was gone, taking with him their only form of income. Not that Artemis could entirely blame him, given that he had caught Athena in bed with another man.
Athena had been furious, blaming everyone but herself, her rage swinging from one target to the next, so that for a moment she spoke as if it was Artemis who had been responsible for what had happened. It was unfathomable to Artemis how her friend could have cheated on him – Panos had always been so generous. He was the only boy who had ever tried, gently, to comfort her at school when things got too much. As they’d grown older, he remained attentive and polite, always asking about her life – and actually listening – when she turned up at the house and Athena wasn’t home. From what Artemis had seen, he was a loving father, thoughtful in a way that most men weren’t. It was hard to believe that Athena would jeopardise what they had. And yet to walk out on their child? Artemis shuddered. Maybe he was as bad as the rest of them, underneath it all. Whatever happened in her own marriage, she could never leave her son.
‘Sorry?’ Clive looked up from what he was doing. He had been head-down in papers ever since he had arrived on the island, distracted with work. Always so damn distracted.
She fixed him with her gaze. ‘I want to stay here. There’s an international school in Skiathos David can join—’
He laughed. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘Why would I joke about something like this?’ She was calm. ‘Besides, I can’t see that it would make much difference to you. You’re rarely in London these days and when you are, you’re working. You could come and stay with us here. I want to be close to my family and my friends – I don’t see why it’s that surprising to you. You know how lonely I’ve been …’
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