more thing,’ Warren says. ‘You left Guildford in September that year. Not just the house but your job too – why was that?’
How did they discover so much in such a short space of time?
‘The whole thing with Genevieve shook me up. I just wanted to get away and forget about everything.’
Akande raises her eyebrows.
‘You know, it’s getting late,’ I say. ‘And I’m not sure how much more I can tell you.’
‘We’re pretty much done,’ Warren says. ‘Just one more thing – your phone.’
‘What about it?’ I say too quickly.
Akande notices and looks at my mobile sitting on the table. They can’t know about the other one, though it’s less than three feet away.
‘Can we get your number please?’
I breathe again. ‘Of course,’ I say and recite my number.
Does my voice tremble? Do they notice?
‘Thank you,’ Warren says. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
I don’t close my door until I’ve heard them descend all the stairs and the front door shuts.
I knew the police would contact me. I should have been better prepared.
My landline starts ringing. I dive to answer it.
‘Hello.’
Nothing.
‘Hello,’ I say again.
The line goes dead.
Pearl’s presence lingered in the room Julia had taken over from her after leaving Guildford. Her Magritte print still hung on the wall and used gig tickets were tucked behind the mirror. Julia missed her and Andre. But not enough to risk meeting them.
She closed the door and wedged it shut with a chair. Not that anyone was likely to come in. She removed her shoes and a couple of large bags, lifted the wardrobe floor and removed the envelope. She took it over to the lamp and pulled out its contents.
A clever place to conceal something. Brandon had only betrayed his hiding spot through carelessness. She would never have found it without the backpack strap trapped in the gap.
There was a knock on her door. No one ever visited her in Archway.
‘Who is it?’
Silence. The knock sounded real. Not a ghost. Not an echo amplified by her mind. A solid knock, the door vibrating slightly against the frame. She knew that knock. She stood, staring at the door, half expecting it to fly open. Another knock.
‘Who is it?’
‘Me.’
She knew that voice.
‘Just a moment.’
She hurriedly replaced the envelope and its contents and put the shoes and bag back on top of it. Sliding the chair from under the handle, she opened the door. It was the first time she’d seen Gideon since Guildford.
‘We agreed no contact,’ she said. ‘Ever.’
‘I need to see you.’ He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. ‘There’s a private detective—’
‘I know.’
‘You’ve seen him?’
‘Yes. How did you find me?’
‘I had your home number from Genevieve’s address book. Your mother told me.’
Bloody Audrey.
‘What did you tell Lancaster?’ Gideon asked. His jaw was tense.
‘Nothing,’ Julia said.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Why would I talk to him?’
Gideon seemed to relax. He took a moment to look around the room.
‘Why are you living in this dump?’
‘It’s cheap,’ Julia said.
‘But you’ve got … I mean …’ His brow creased in confusion. ‘What have you done with it?’
She looked away from him and didn’t answer. Just moments ago she had it in her hands.
‘You can’t leave it lying around,’ he said.
‘I can’t spend it,’ she said.
‘Guilt won’t turn back the clock. Nor will grand gestures. Alan and I invested it in the business.’
‘Alan? We weren’t to have any contact.’
‘Let’s just say he’s not coping too well. I thought if he worked for me, I could help him out.’
‘Keep an eye on him.’
‘Support him. You could work for me, if you like.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘I could pay you enough to live somewhere better than this.’
He spread his arms to indicate the small room, its tiny ineffectual radiator emitting more noise than heat, the worn carpet and sagging, single bed.
‘I don’t know how you can live in that town,’ Julia said. ‘I don’t know how you can just carry on. It’s getting worse. I hear him. I smell him. Don’t you?’
Fear flashed across Gideon’s face. ‘I think you’re unwell, Julia.’
‘And what about his parents? They’re looking for him. We could still go to the police, say it was an accident.’
Gideon moved so fast, Julia had no time to react. He thrust her against the wardrobe door. Her head banged onto the wood. His face was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.
‘But it wasn’t an accident, was it, Julia?’ he said.
She wanted to push him off but was afraid what her struggling would provoke.
‘You don’t talk about this to anyone,’ he said. His eyes drilled into her. ‘We were protecting ourselves. We were protecting you. What would have happened if
