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‘Cheers, pal.’ Silver hung up. His emotional intelligence might be out of kilter, but his gut instinct was working hard now at least. He had tried to convince himself all afternoon that things were all right – but he knew deep down something was definitely wrong.
TUESDAY 18TH JULY CLAUDIE
In the evening, I managed to open the front door to my best friend Zoe. Good old Natalie had rung her, and despite all my best protestations she had been insistent that she’d cook Paella and sit with me tonight. Zoe had a new Spanish boyfriend called Pablo and was learning Spanish cuisine for his benefit, which was infinitely preferable to the toasted cheese sandwiches she normally lived on. She arrived at six in her latest incarnation – Zoe was the eternal chameleon when it came to men – Capri pants immaculate, ingredients spilling out of the wicker basket she lugged up to the flat, neat auburn ponytail and gold hoops swinging from her ears as she unpacked her wares, black eyeliner flicked above her watchful eyes. We drank white Rioja and didn’t talk about the explosion, apart from the plaster on my cheek. We talked about love; she was thinking of moving to Barcelona to be with Pablo.
‘Hmm,’ I mused. ‘It means your babies will play for Barca and not Man U. Your dad will be devastated.’
‘My mum will be relieved, that’s all I know. She knows my clock is ticking.’ She shot me a quick look.
‘It’s fine, Zoe,’ I murmured, staring into my cloudy glass. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘So,’ she said brightly, ‘how’s it going with that nice Rafe guy? Will you be moving into Number 10 together soon?’
‘It’s not going.’
She stared at me.
‘Are you joking?’
‘No.’
‘I thought he was good for you.’ She looked so disappointed, I almost felt guilty. ‘And so bloody successful.’
‘Good for me?’ I drained my drink. ‘Like Vitamin C or broccoli?’ I thought of Francis’s botched attempt earlier at making me feel better. I thought about my new fears that the disassociation I’d experienced after Ned’s death was returning. I wondered whether to mention it to my oldest friend.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Do I?’ I stood to stack the plates.
‘Don’t be difficult, Claudia.’
‘I’m not, really. It’s just – it’s meant to be love, not – not health.’
Zoe gazed at me until I felt uncomfortable. ‘And it’s not love?’
‘No. It was company. And I’m fine on my own.’ Though I had definitely felt a little more protected since I’d met Rafe. I pushed that thought away.
‘Are you?’ She stared at me until I nearly squirmed.
‘Yes. Even though I did quite fancy opening the door in my nightie on Election Day.’ I chucked a prawn shell in the bin. ‘I’d have made sure I got my hair done first though.’
We gazed at each other for a moment and then began to laugh, almost hysterically, so I had to sit down again and catch my breath.
‘It’s not funny,’ I gasped in the end.
‘No, it’s not.’ Zoe wiped her eyes with some kitchen roll. ‘And you could do with a good haircut actually. You do look a bit – dishevelled at the moment. Slightly – Worzel Gummidge.’
‘Oh thanks a lot.’ She was revving up for a lecture, I could tell. I changed the subject. ‘It’s just – it was all wrong. Me and Rafe. I think he’s been seeing someone else, anyway.’ I stood again.
‘Really?’ she frowned.
‘Yes. And the funny thing is,’ I considered it for a moment, ‘I couldn’t really care less.’
‘That’s what worries me.’
‘I mean, he’s nice and everything, but—’
‘But he wasn’t Will,’ she finished for me.
I plonked the plates into the sink.
‘I heard he’s back you know,’ she said, and I felt ice in my belly. ‘Will, I mean.’
‘Did you?’ I said casually. I hadn’t. I was still furious with him.
‘Claudie,’ Zoe looked at me all seriously, her dark eyes almost beseeching, ‘I really think it would be a good idea to—’
The phone rang and I snatched it up gratefully. It was a policewoman called DS Lorraine Kenton from Holborn.
‘We have some routine enquiries following the death of your colleague Tessa Lethbridge.’
I felt the cold kick of guilt and sorrow again.
‘Is there a suitable time we could meet please? Where will you be tomorrow or Thursday? It won’t take long.’
Unnerved, we arranged a time and place and I hung up the phone. Zoe had busied herself in the kitchen and was manfully grating nutmeg over baked peaches, her middle knuckle bleeding into the sauce.
‘Ouch! What I was going to say about Will was—’
The phone rang again.
‘Blimey, you’re popular,’ she glared at me as if I had arranged the call to stop her probing.
‘It’ll be that policewoman wanting to move the time.’
But it wasn’t.
‘Claudia,’ the voice said, and I wasn’t sure I recognised it. It was low and threatening, angry even. ‘If you are there, you know you shouldn’t be. Time is running out.’
They hung up before I could reply.
With shaking hands, I tried to call the number back, but of course it was barred.
‘Who was that?’ Zoe asked, and I stared at her stupidly. Behind her the sky was melting into darkness.
‘Some complete nutter,’ I tried to joke but it didn’t seem very funny.
‘Are you OK?’ She peered at me, running hot water into the sink. ‘You’ve gone terribly white.’
That voice. I’d heard it in my dreams.
‘Yes I’m fine. I’m just going to wash my hands.’
I went in to the bathroom and leant my hot head against the cool bathroom tiles. Did I know that voice? It was probably someone just winding me up. My hands were trembling as I looked through the little basket on the shelf for my pills. What would Helen say? Breathe deep, breathe into the panic.
I held on to the basin, and looked into the mirror, shocked at the sight of me. My shoulder-length hair was unbrushed and rather like hay with roots; my eyes seemed a darker brown than normal, black almost, and slightly wild. Half my face was still hidden beneath a great plaster; I slowly peeled it off. The dirty marks from the tape made me look like a panda and my skin beneath the dressing was almost translucent. I stared at myself, trying to come back to the moment. I had the strange sensation I should be going somewhere right now. I shook my head and swallowed the pills, scooping water from the tap like a man in a desert.
Zoe was calling me from the other room.
‘Claudie. Listen. They’re saying someone has taken responsibility for the explosion.’
She’d switched the radio on whilst she did the washing-up; the Northern tones of the presenter were crisp and precise as he announced:
‘We can reveal that earlier today a letter was sent to the BBC claiming the explosion in Berkeley Square was entirely deliberate and down to their organisation, although no names were given. However, the package contained a banner that read DAUGHTERS OF LIGHT: FOR PURITY. New Scotland Yard have refused to comment at this juncture, saying only that they receive many numbers of false claims every day.’
‘Sounds pretty far-fetched to me.’ Zoe pulled the plug out with a resounding squelch. ‘Daughters of Light, my arse; creating mayhem and killing everyone.’ She dried her hands on the oven gloves for want of anything better. ‘I’d better get going, darling, if you’ll be all right? Said I’d Skype Pablo later.’
‘I’m fine,’ I mumbled. I looked down, clenched my fists, then unclenched them. I forced myself to speak. ‘Actually, I’m – I’m a bit scared, Zoe.’
‘Why?’ She stepped closer, peering into my face as if she could read my thoughts that way.
‘I think—’ I took a deep breath, ‘I’m worried it’s happening again.’
‘What’s happening?’ She took my hands in hers, her neat little nose slightly wrinkled with worry.
‘The splitting. I’m worried—’ I tried to smile. ‘I’m worried that I’m having – an episode.’
‘Like last time? I thought it was under control now?’
‘So did I.’ I freed my hands and busied myself with the dishwasher for a moment. Zoe waited patiently. ‘It sort of feels like that, but different.’
‘What does?’ I could sense her struggling to understand. ‘Tell me.’
‘It’s like – I had this weird thing last week. I found myself at Rafe’s and I – the thing is, I couldn’t remember how I’d got there.’
‘Have you told the doctors?’
I shook my head vehemently. ‘No. I don’t want to get locked up again. I’m not mad, Zoe, I know I’m not.’
‘Of course you’re not,’ she soothed me like a child.
‘But why can’t I remember?’ I frowned at her. ‘I know that the day before the explosion Tessa was panicked—’
‘Oh, bloody Tessa.’ Zoe had never gelled with Tessa, and I’d secretly always wondered if she was a little jealous of our friendship. ‘I mean, I’m sorry she’s dead – but she was a loose cannon, Claudie.’
‘A loose cannon?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe that’s harsh. But there was something not quite right about her, if you ask me.’
Which I hadn’t.
‘But she was trying to tell me something, Zoe, and I don’t know what. And then the explosion. I was in town and yet, it’s just so confused in my head.’
‘You’ll be telling me next that you did it,’ she joked.
I stared at her.
‘Claudie,’ there was an urgent note suddenly in Zoe’s voice. ‘You didn’t do it, for God’s sake. That was a joke. Not a very good one, admittedly.’
‘I know,’ I tried that smile again. ‘But something’s wrong somewhere.’
‘Look, perhaps you should see the doctors again.’ Zoe’s phone bleeped. ‘Tell them you’re worried.’
‘Perhaps.’ There was no way I was admitting this to the doctors. And anyway, confused as I felt, I knew this was not exactly the same as last time.
Zoe checked her message. ‘Pablo,’ she grinned ruefully, her face lighting up.
‘Ah, young love. Don’t let me keep you from Skype.’
‘If I can still speak after all the vino. My Spanish is still crap, though my swear words are coming on a storm.’
At the door, Zoe swung her wicker basket onto her arm like Little Red Riding Hood – though I imagined it was more Penélope Cruz she was channelling.
‘Let me know what they say, Claudie.’ She kissed me and took my hands in hers. ‘The doctors.’
‘I will.’
‘And talk to me, won’t you, if it gets really bad again.’
‘OK,’ I mumbled, trying to pull away.
‘And promise me one thing.’
‘What?’ but I already knew what Zoe was going to say.
‘Promise me you’ll call Will. I think you may need—’ she trailed off.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ She frowned. ‘It just worries me. You being alone again.’
I reached around her to open the front door. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I like being alone. And I’ll think about it.’
But right now, I had more pressing things on my mind.
WEDNESDAY 19TH JULY SILVER
Silver woke feeling hungover, which was ridiculous because he hadn’t had a drink for five years, three months, four weeks and – well. His fanatical counting of the days AA-style had dissipated a little in the past year or so, but old habits did die hard, it appeared.
