Our House(50)

His expression remained phlegmatic. ‘It’s not a fantasy, it’s a plan, and it’s time to get it underway. The first thing we need from you is a look at Mrs Lawson’s passport photo, so Wendy here can do a bit of restyling.’

At this, Wendy pulled a theatrically modest face, as if receiving news of a promotion.

‘Just take a picture of the relevant page, will you, next time you’re home, and ping it over on the new phone. And a shot of her signature as well, please.’

‘Hang on a minute, what the hell are you talking about, “restyling”?’ I said.

‘She’ll be Fiona Lawson, of course. I told you this last time,’ Mike said. ‘Keep up.’

I laughed, the demented tone of it belying my certainty that this had to be halted now. ‘Look, this has gone way too far.’ I sprang to my feet. ‘You’ve left me with no choice but to go to the police. I should have gone straight away.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ Mike rose too, took a step towards me. In the lamplight, the bones of his face were cadaverous. ‘Go on, tell us, we’re fascinated. It wasn’t just because of the ban, was it? A charmer like you, you’d probably be able to persuade a judge to stick to the minimum sentence.’

‘I have no idea what you’re on about,’ I said, apprehensive in a whole new way.

He pulled an expression of faux surprise. ‘Your assault conviction, of course. You can’t have forgotten that.’

I felt a smash of cold, like a ridge of ice collapsing on my upper body.

‘A suspended sentence, wasn’t it? What, four years ago now? In return for a guilty plea, I’m guessing. Quite a record you’ve got there, Brammy boy. If you ask me, going to the police is the last thing you should do. Does your boss know, by the way? What about your wife?’

I said nothing.

He whistled. ‘A hell of a lot of secrets you’ve been keeping, Bram. But you can’t keep them from the police, can you? It all counts as evidence of bad character, when the time comes.’

When the time comes?

The blood roared in my skull. ‘Get out,’ I said. ‘The deal’s off. No money, nothing.’

Mike did not reply, simply looked at Wendy, who produced her phone and began dialling. I hovered, impotent, as she selected speakerphone mode and placed the phone on the coffee table between them.

A voice emerged: ‘Croydon Hospital?’

‘Critical care ward, please,’ Wendy said, her tone grave.

‘What are you doing?’ I hissed, lunging forwards. ‘Why are you ringing the hospital?’

With her eyes fixed blankly on mine, she continued to speak loudly into the phone. ‘Oh, hello. I’m enquiring about little Ellie Rutherford, the victim of the Silver Road accident. How is she?’

‘Stop!’ I gasped. My pulse hammered viciously.

‘But you just said you wanted to cut your losses,’ Mike murmured, voice close to my ear, as if genuinely puzzled by my protest.

‘What?’ Wendy was speaking over him. ‘No, no, I’m not a family member, just a concerned member of the public. I think I witnessed the crash, you see, and I’m not sure who I need to speak to.’

‘Can I take your name?’ the hospital worker said. ‘And a contact number, please.’

‘Sorry, could you repeat that?’ Wendy picked up the phone, covered the mouthpiece, and appealed to me with a phoney tone of dilemma: ‘She wants me to leave a name and number to pass on to the police. Shall I? It’s your call.’

‘No!’ I sank to my knees. ‘Hang up, please!’

Two sets of eyes did not move from me until, at last, Wendy looked at Mike for a signal.

She uncovered the mouthpiece. ‘No name. Please pass on my best wishes for her recovery.’

She ended the call.

‘That was despicable,’ I said, my breathing tight. ‘Saying you have information and then . . .’ My voice cracked.

‘Bless him,’ Wendy said to Mike. ‘I’m sure Karen Rutherford would be touched.’

‘How do you know their names? They haven’t been released to the public.’ Quite apart from the stress of this latest stunt, the exposure of the victims’ names was unwelcome to me: Karen and Ellie, they could be a mother and daughter at the boys’ school gate. I wished I could unlearn them.

‘Unofficial channels, mate,’ Mike said.

The same channels he’d used to discover my financial assets, my assault conviction and God only knew what else.

‘Bram, I think you need to understand how serious this is,’ he went on, his manner suddenly gentle, paternal. ‘Like I say, we’re ready to get the process underway and there’s plenty to get on with while we wait for the insurance money.’

‘Yes, you said. The insane and not at all traceable act of stealing a house by impersonating me and my wife.’

‘Oh, there’s no need for anyone to impersonate you,’ Mike said, chuckling. ‘Even if I had the acting skills, I couldn’t hope to match your matinee idol looks. Fading matinee idol. No, you can play yourself, mate.’

‘Get your plot straight,’ I snapped. ‘You just said I’m going to need a new passport. Which is it?’

‘Well, you’ll be yourself for the transaction, but when it’s done, like I said, you’ll have a bit of explaining to do and you’ll probably want to move on with a nice new identity.’