I tell Mark almost everything. He takes it all in, calmly, nodding me on. I tell him about Patrick, about the calls. He checks his own phone, to check it wasn’t him pocket-dialing. I tell him about the open door, about the missing photo. I hold back on my suspicions about Eddie—I know he’ll stop me going to the interview tomorrow if I tell him about how Eddie knew where we were from the other side of the world. How he may be monitoring my every move. I don’t want Mark to stop that interview.
I don’t tell him about the pregnancy either. Once I tell him that news, I’ll have to stop it all—the documentary, the diamonds, everything. He’ll want me to stop it all.
When I finish talking he leans back against the sofa, arms folded across his chest. He takes a long beat before speaking.
“All right, here’s how I see it. First of all, that photo is in the study. I scanned it the other day for Mum. So that explains that.”
“Oh my God, Mark! No one took the photo?!”
He gives me an amused grin and I feel my cheeks flush with color. Oh God, how embarrassing. I slump my head down into my hands. What a paranoid idiot. And suddenly I’m not sure how much of this situation is real at all, and how much is just adrenaline-based fabrication.
Mark snorts a chuckle before continuing, “Yeah, the picture is safe! Second, I’m not sure we should read too much into forgetting to lock the back door. You know, the mind does funny stuff when we’re stressed out. But, having said that, I think the guy you met today does sound like he could be a serious issue. I think you’re right to be concerned about that. I mean, my initial thought, obviously, is that Patrick’s connected with DCI Foster and the SO15 investigation into Holli. Don’t you think? I mean, that’s the only logical explanation really. He’s been following you and he’s seen you at Pentonville Prison a day before you should be there for your big interview, so he decides to intervene and ask you some questions. That makes sense. He wouldn’t know Pentonville called you in a day early for that meeting; you only found out last night. I’d say that’s it.”
It makes sense, what he’s saying. But I can’t quite shake the feeling that this is something else entirely.
“But why wouldn’t he introduce himself as police, Mark? And what about the answerphone messages? Do the police leave weird answerphone messages?”
“Listen, I know you think it’s the plane people, but think about it logically, Erin: If it was the plane people, if they knew where you were, do you think we’d still be here? Do you think the stuff in the attic would still be here?” He lets the questions hang in the still air.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think we would be.” I answer slowly, realizing the truth of it as I say it out loud.
He continues briskly. “I don’t know why he didn’t say. I guess he hoped you’d believe he worked for the prison, like he said, I mean he was undercover, right? And the messages: they could just be a prank. I don’t know, pocket dials. And, I mean, come on, you know that’s not really our newsagent, right? Most of the corner shops in London have that noise. I really don’t think someone is threatening us via door noise. Maybe it’s something to do with one of your interviewees? I mean, that’s definitely a possibility, right?”
I think of Eddie again and the champagne. Yes, it’s definitely a possibility. Maybe Eddie needs to speak to me? But how could he be calling from an unknown number from prison? They wouldn’t agree to let him have his own phone in prison. And then it hits me. Eddie is a criminal. Of course he has a way to call me. I remember reading about the methods gang members use to get burner phones smuggled into prison. It’s certainly not a comfortable process for the smuggler, but they are handsomely rewarded for their troubles, or at the very least not murdered in their beds. It could definitely be Eddie leaving me those messages.
“Erin, you need to focus on the real situation here. The man you spoke to today, Patrick. Let’s say SO15 is doing some checking up on you. Forget the missing photo and our back door. The photo’s fine and as far as the door goes, well, sometimes we just forget to lock things—”
“Mark, I don’t. I don’t forget to lock things,” I interrupt, but I can feel my conviction flagging.
“Er, yeah, you do, Erin.” He studies me for a second, frowning, surprised. “Sorry, honey, but you have definitely done that before. You know that door blows open if it’s not locked properly. Trust me—you’ve forgotten to lock it before.”
Have I? That door does blow open if it’s not locked, he’s right. How would I know that unless I’d seen it do that? I guess I must have left it unlocked at some point. Then I think of our photo. It probably hasn’t been in our room for days; I didn’t notice that it was missing at all, not until now. I hadn’t even checked the answerphone until today. Shit. I am probably not half as observant as I think I am and I have been pretty preoccupied lately. Oh my God, I hope I haven’t been wandering around London making too many mistakes.
“Don’t worry about it, Erin, it’s fine. Just concentrate on the actual person you met today. The facts. This Patrick guy is probably SO15. I don’t know, maybe they think there’s a vague possibility that you’re running information between prisons or something like that. I mean, your dad does live in Saudi, right?”
I give him a hard look. We don’t talk about my family. It’s weird that he’s brought them up now.
“Erin, the police have to follow up on possibilities like that even if they don’t suspect you. They have to at least check. It would be ludicrous for the police not to check up on you. So, in light of that, honey, I think you seriously need to drop the Holli storyline. Just drop it. There’s too much attention on her right now. All it will take is the smallest amount of digging by DCI Foster to bring up some fairly awkward questions about us. To put it mildly.” He holds my gaze expectantly, brows furrowed.
He’s right, of course. They’ll want to know why we traveled to Switzerland last week. And who is suddenly paying me a monthly retainer.
“Okay.” I nod, reluctantly.
“Good. Drop the Holli storyline, drop it from the doc, stop the research entirely, distance yourself, distance us.” There’s finality to it. He’s so clear about this being the solution. The last I’d heard was that Andy, and SO15, now had CCTV footage of Holli and Ash leaving the Istanbul airport and boarding a bus to Gaziantep, a small Turkish village near the Syrian border. It’s all gotten very serious.
“Consider it dropped.” I plop down on the sofa opposite him. My brain is whirring. I’ll come back to Holli once our situation has settled down. But something doesn’t quite fit in my mind. I don’t agree about Patrick being linked to DCI Foster. I don’t think the man I met today had anything to do with the police. I can’t shake the feeling that what happened today is because of the bag. That someone did come to our home. Even if they didn’t take that picture, I think they were here. No matter what Mark says. Yeah, I’m aware of how paranoid that sounds. Maybe the plane people know we’re not dead. And now maybe they know we still have the diamonds and the phone in our home. It’s true that we’re still alive, but maybe they’re just taking their time. Working out the best way to do it. I think about the Sharpes; they took their time with the Sharpes. Worked out a safe way to get rid of them. Because they needed to make their deaths look like an accident. But then again, maybe what happened to the Sharpes was just an accident. Mark seems convinced it was.
Later that night, before bed, Mark sits on the edge of the bathtub watching me while I brush my teeth, a single sock in his hand. I can tell he wants to say something but he’s having trouble putting it into words. He takes a breath.
“Honey, I’m worried now. And please don’t take this the wrong way, you know how much I love you, but I think you might be getting a little bit overwhelmed by all of this. That photo business today and the answerphone. Erin, you know no one is coming for us, right, honey? No one is watching us except the police. And you are refusing to acknowledge how dangerous that is. This Patrick guy today. You need to stop doing things that might attract attention from now on, sweetheart. Will you promise me that, Erin? I need you to stop doing things that the police might notice. We’re sailing close to the wind here already.” He looks at me, softly. I feel foolish and so guilty about the things I haven’t told him.
He’s worried about me. He’s worried about us. He continues, “You asked me before what I thought we should do about the diamonds, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You’re not going to like it, I know, but I think we should dump them. Just get rid of them. This is getting crazy. We should cut our losses, stop trying to sell them, and just dump them somewhere. I don’t think it’s worth the risk we’re running right now. We already have the other money, Erin. We’re good. We have enough. We should stop.”
Something bubbles up inside me when he says this. I don’t know why, but I’m annoyed with him. It’s the first time I’ve ever really been frustrated by something Mark has said or done. Dump the diamonds? Why would we do that? We’ve come this far. What about his business, his plans, our plans? He was so concerned about our finances before, why isn’t he anymore? What we’ve got in Switzerland won’t last forever; we’ll need the diamond money too, to get his company up and running and keep all of this going. We could just store the diamonds somewhere, couldn’t we? Why would we dump them? But then, realistically, I know there’ll never be a later date when we can magically find an easier way to sell them. And once we have a child we won’t be able to take any risks at all. Either we try to sell them now or it’ll be too late.
I look at him in his boxers, the sock still dangling from his hand. I love him so much. He is right, it is dangerous, but I don’t want to just give up. Not after everything he’s been through in the past couple of months. And what if, God forbid, his new business falls through like all those job offers that never seemed to materialize. No, we need to keep going. But…cautiously.
“All right, yes, I see your point of view, Mark. I do, but can we please try one last thing? I’ll come up with something, okay? Something safe. Just give me a few more days. I really think I can make something work. I do. Isn’t that a better outcome overall, if we get the money from the stones too?” I try to say it gently, calmly, but I’m not calm. To give up now would make no sense at all.
He holds my gaze for a beat, then looks away. He’s disappointed, again. He tries to hide it but I saw the flicker of it in his eyes. I’ve let him down, again.
“Fine,” he concedes. “But that’s it, all right? If this doesn’t work, Erin, you’ll stop? Please don’t take it any further, honey. Don’t keep pushing.” He doesn’t look at me then, he just stands and walks to the bathroom door. Distant. Alone. I feel like this is the closest we’ve got to an honest conversation for a while and it hasn’t brought us any closer together. A rift has opened between us. The more I tell him, the wider it will get. He knows about Andy now, he knows about Holli, he knows about the man outside the prison, Patrick. I can’t just let him walk away. I need to bring us back together; I need to share a bit more of myself.
“Mark. Do you really think they’re not looking for us?” I blurt out. He turns back, surprised.
“Who, honey?” He looks confused.
I don’t know why I choose the plane people of all things to get closer to him. But they’re on my mind. “The plane people. Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m crazy, but I feel like something is closing in on me, Mark, on us. Not just the police. Maybe it’s something I haven’t even thought of yet. I don’t know. I know it sounds stupid and paranoid and I have no evidence to back this feeling up, but I can just sense it all around me. Like it’s just waiting for something. I can’t see it yet, but I can feel it coming….”
I falter, seeing his concerned face. I must sound totally insane. And I know if I feel this way about things, then I should definitely stop all of this—the diamonds, the interviews, everything, like he says. But instead of stopping, I’m just diving deeper and deeper in.
Mark steps back into the bathroom and circles his arms around me; I let my head rest gently against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. He knows I need him.
“They’re not coming for us, Erin. Whoever they are, they’d never be able to find us. And even if they could find us, they already think we’re dead. Honey, they aren’t the ones we should be worried about. We should be worried about the SO15 investigation. And this Patrick character is almost definitely part of DCI Foster’s team. I mean, think about it. If Patrick were related in some way to the bag, then I’m pretty certain the police would have noticed him hanging around by now too, wouldn’t they?”
I nod mutely against his shoulder. He’s right; in a way, DCI Foster might be keeping us safe. Mark places a tender kiss on my forehead and leads me to bed. Magically we’ve come together again. I seem to have fixed the rift. For now.
But as I lie in bed beside him I wonder. Would the police notice someone following me? They didn’t notice a vulnerable young woman being radicalized right under their noses. They haven’t noticed Eddie looking into my life. They haven’t noticed a lot.