Our House(98)

Merle reaches to take her hand. They’ve done this a lot, lately, grasped hands in sisterly support. ‘Well done, darling. Concentrating for that length of time is exhausting. Any idea when they’ll be releasing it?’

‘The first week of March, the producer said. They have a really quick turnaround.’

‘They didn’t ask anything too awkward?’

‘They did, but I stuck to the house sale, obviously. I said I’ve been advised by the police not to discuss anything else.’

‘Which is perfectly true. Excellent. Look what I’ve just found.’ Merle has a page from a missing persons website open on her phone. Thumb and forefinger enlarge a face as familiar to Fi as her own:

Abraham Lawson (known as Bram)

Reported missing after the weekend of 14–15 January 2017, when a crime took place at Mr Lawson’s residence in Alder Rise, South London. Has not been seen since Thursday 12 January, when he spoke with neighbours and with the staff of a storage facility in Beckenham.

If you know the whereabouts of this man, please call the Metropolitan Police on the number shown below.





‘Interesting that they don’t say what the crime is,’ Merle says.

‘Maybe that’s standard policy.’ Fi sighs. ‘But after this recording goes out, everyone will know what he did.’

‘You realize that he might hear it? You can download The Victim from anywhere.’

‘That’s what the producer said. It’s happened a few times that the accused has come forward to deny the allegations. Very helpful to the police, apparently.’

‘Well, if he did get in touch, it would only be his word against yours.’

‘It always has been, hasn’t it?’ Fi says. ‘All those years together, his word against mine.’

‘That’s what marriage is,’ Merle says, with a trace of her old smile, playful, wicked.

‘I spoke to the police this morning, actually,’ Fi tells her. ‘Before I did the interview. They told me something interesting.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘They’ve found a phone they think was Bram’s. It has the numbers of the Challoner’s estate agent and the solicitor, plus searches relating to Silver Road. Obviously they’ll check out all the other numbers, but the main thing is this phone had the forensic code from our address. It was marked with our security pen.’

‘The pens we gave out at the meeting? With the fluid that shows under UV lamps?’ Merle stares at her, a smile creeping across her mouth. ‘That’s an incredible piece of evidence. It obviously was Bram’s phone, then.’

‘Must have been. Harry went around the house marking everything that wasn’t nailed down. Bram must have had it in his pocket or left it out on the side or something.’

‘Where did they find it? In the flat?’

‘No, it came in with some petty criminal. He had a haul of stolen phones, claims he found Bram’s in a bin in Victoria.’

‘Wow.’ Merle exhales. ‘That’s it, then. He’ll be arrested the moment he’s found. Where the hell is he? Do you think he’s still in London?’

‘I doubt it,’ Fi says. ‘One thing’s for sure, he’ll never go back to Alder Rise.’

‘But you will, won’t you? As soon as they find the money.’

‘If they do. And apparently, any accounts involved will be frozen while they investigate, maybe for years. Then there are all the costs.’

‘But after all that, you might be able to come back to Trinity Avenue?’

Again their hands touch. ‘I don’t see how,’ Fi says. ‘Property prices will have gone up even more by then.’ There’s a bittersweet moment when she’s plunged into the past, to simpler times, when she and Merle and Alison and the other women of Trinity Avenue talked about house prices, how their properties had saved them, ensnared them, obsessed them. ‘It’ll be a long time before I buy again, Merle, but that’s fine. It’s not my main concern. The boys are. They’re my only concern.’

‘Of course they are. Fi, did you . . .?’ Merle falters. It is a rare moment of self-doubt. ‘I have to ask: did you say anything about me during the interview? Do I need to prepare myself for when this goes out? All the women at work listen to it.’

‘Of course not,’ Fi says. ‘The occasional bit of conversation from Kent, that kind of thing, but nothing else.’

They pay for the coffees and walk together to the station. At the barriers for the overland train, which Merle will take to Alder Rise, they hug goodbye. It’s still odd knowing she will take a different route, the tube to Waterloo and then the train to Kingston.

‘We’ll come and visit you soon,’ she promises. ‘I’ve told Leo and Harry about the baby and they’re very excited.’

‘That’s sweet,’ Merle says. ‘Give them a kiss from me. It sounds as if you did brilliantly today, Fi. I’m really proud of you.’

Fi watches her friend make her way towards the stairs to the platform, her movements, like her mind, lithe and elegant. She’s pleased that Merle is proud of her; she’s proud of herself, if it’s not too immodest to say. Yes, it was painful having to relive the events of the last six months, but it was also, as Merle warned, a necessary pre-emptive strike.