Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Sunday
EMILY
For a moment or two, I could almost feel life is normal. The tea, the soft kitchen light and the feeling of calm that surrounds me.
Lara moves around, serene and organized, like she’s done this a hundred times before. Absorbing my panic and smoothing the edges of disaster until it starts to feel manageable.
I cling gratefully to her steadiness because, without her, I’d currently be checking into some anonymous hotel room, then staring at magnolia walls, my thoughts eating me alive.
The front door slams open and heavy, urgent footsteps stomp in the hallway.
‘Jeez, it’s mayhem,’ a man’s voice calls out. ‘Had to leave the car at the bottom of the lane, can you believe it? What the hell’s happening out there?’
Tim strides into the kitchen, tall and still dressed for a padel game. His glasses have slipped down his nose, boyish hair damp and flopping on to his forehead.
Bizarrely, given my current problems, it strikes me he’s actually very nice-looking, in a less obvious way than Oliver. Softer, perhaps; more approachable. The sort of man you might underestimate if you weren’t paying attention.
Angela Thomson obviously noticed.
I don’t know Tim well enough to be able to read him.
We’ve met only in passing, when we’ve had polite, fleeting encounters.
He’s smiled, asked how we’re settling in, said nothing of substance at all.
Lara speaks about him vaguely, always circling around work, family, complications, as though there’s a story there she doesn’t quite want to tell.
Oliver must have seen something in him to agree to go for drinks. Perhaps he even confided in Tim about the text messages he was getting.
My stomach contracts at the thought of Oliver, trapped in a fusty, claustrophobic interview room somewhere in the middle of the city. I need to get him out of there sharpish, before the police start asking questions about his past.
Tim pulls up short when he sees me sitting on the sofa. ‘Emily! Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here. What’s happened out there, do you know?’
He looks at me, but Lara is already on her feet, steering him back out to the hall. ‘Come in here a moment,’ she says, her voice low and confidential. ‘I’ll explain.’
They move out of clear earshot so now I can catch just hushed tones, layered over the loud tick of the kitchen clock.
I sit very still, staring at the damp AstroTurf outside, the ridiculously vivid flowers.
I shouldn’t be here. I’m contaminating their neat little life with the chaos leaking out of my own.
I wish I could be completely honest with Lara, but that is literally impossible.
If she knew everything, she would open the door and shove me straight back out there in front of the cameras.
And it will get worse still when the police start asking questions.
When they start to uncover loose ends I’ve been tying down for years.
At last, the footsteps return. Lara comes back in first, her expression composed. Tim follows, his brow now furrowed and his eyes much sharper. He looks less mild-mannered and far more focused.
‘Tim’s going to shower and get changed then go to the police station on your behalf,’ Lara announces.
‘Really?’ I blink. ‘That’s—that’s amazing of you, Tim.’
Tim adjusts his glasses. ‘They might not tell me much, but I’m going to try my best to find out what’s happening. Such as whether Oliver has been interviewed yet and if he’s got a decent lawyer.’ He hesitates. ‘We need to know what they’ve got on him and how serious things really are.’
His voice has shifted. Less friendly neighbour and more astute businessman who is seeking an assessment of the situation. And suddenly I see a facet of his personality: Tim likes being the one with information. The one people depend on in a crisis.
His voice is steady and professional.
Against all odds, a flicker of hope stirs in me. Having someone at the police station who is in Oliver’s corner, in my corner . . . it means the world.
Saying all that, I know things must be very serious if they’ve already arrested Oliver. They must feel they have enough evidence.
‘Thank you, Tim, Lara,’ I say, meaning it. ‘I can’t tell you what your support means to us.’ Still the words feel insufficient.
Lara reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze.
‘Does Oliver have a lawyer we can call?’ Tim asks.
I stare at him blankly. We’ve had accountants, financial advisors, even the odd property lawyer for Oliver’s ventures—but criminal law? We’ve come close to needing it on a couple of occasions but always managed to escape by the skin of our teeth.
Up until now, at least.
My throat closes. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone.’
‘No bother, don’t worry,’ Tim says, in a forced, upbeat tone. ‘I can contact a very good lawyer I know. Criminal law is her forte, and she can at least advise on the basics if Oliver does want to bring someone else in. Much better than him being at the mercy of some clueless duty solicitor.’
I take a moment to force the emotion back, but it breaks anyway. It’s hot, humiliating, and I hate that I’m struggling to hold it together in front of them.
Relief, gratitude, fear—they all collide and spill over before I can stop them, and tears begin to slide down my cheeks. I swipe at them clumsily.
Lara shuffles closer to me on the sofa, her hand warm on my shoulder. ‘You’re not alone in this, Emily. We’ll help in whatever way we can.’
Her kindness nearly undoes me. I lower my head, pressing my fingers to my temples as if that might have a chance of holding my thoughts in place. Everything feels so unstable, like I’m teetering on the edge of something vast and dark and it’s only a matter of time before I tip over into the abyss.
Unless Tim’s lawyer can get him out quickly, the police will work on the fabric of Oliver’s life until everything comes loose. They’ll look at him first, yes—but then they’ll move to me.
I have no answers that won’t expose and unravel me. I could be about to lose everything.
Tim is speaking again, in his practical and reassuring manner. ‘I’ll get showered and changed and go over there before it gets any later.’ He turns to Lara before leaving the kitchen. ‘There are a lot of press out there baying for blood. Don’t open the door to anyone.’
He is competent and reliable and I’m glad to have him onside.
Oliver has always been a firework—dazzling, noisy and potentially dangerous.
And for years I’ve been the idiot with the match, lighting him up again every time the last explosion died down.
By the time I’d got fed up of it all, he had a taste for the spoils of our cons.
I enabled his addiction to us conning a good income. Until I couldn’t stand it any longer, and now here we are. In an even worse predicament.
Tim appears ten minutes later and peers around the kitchen door again before he leaves. ‘You have so much on your mind, I can see that, Emily. Talk to Lara. I find she’s an excellent listener.’
Lara gives me a reassuring smile.
‘I’ll call as soon as I know anything,’ Tim adds. ‘Try to get some rest in the meantime.’
Rest. I feel like I’ll never be able to sleep again.
The front door closes behind him, and silence stretches long and loose again, broken only by the ticking of the kitchen clock.
‘You’re safe here, Emily,’ Lara says softly. ‘I want you to know that.’
I nod and close my eyes, swallowing down the dread. Because no matter how warm and perfect her kitchen, no matter how kind her words, safety is the one thing I no longer believe in.
Cold panic slides between my ribs. The edges of my life are fraying faster than I can hold them together.
For a moment, the old fight-or-flight instinct rises—the familiar calculation. What I’d take. What I’d leave. How long it would take to disappear, to become someone else again. I know how to do that. I’ve done it before.
But the thought doesn’t comfort me the way it once did.
I’m so tired of running. Tired of rebuilding myself from scraps, of learning new lies, new versions of who I’m allowed to be. And this time, running would mean leaving Oliver behind—abandoning the one thing I still want to believe in.
Because I don’t believe he’s a murderer. I don’t know what has happened, or why the police seem so certain. I only know that although he’s done some terrible things in the past—as have I—he would never kill anyone in cold blood.
So this is where I stay. Where I stand beside him. Where we face whatever comes next together.
If they charge Oliver with murder, there will be no stopping the implosion.
It will all come apart.
But for the first time, I find I don’t want to outrun it. I can’t keep running for ever and this time Oliver isn’t here to convince me otherwise. I’m ready to stay and fight.