Something in the Water(68)

He stops what he’s doing and looks up at me.

“Erin, I found DCI Foster’s card in the pocket of your other coat.” He says this softly; he’s not angry, he’s disappointed, which is worse. He didn’t think we did things like this, kept things from each other. “I needed change, before you ask. When were you going to tell me about him, Erin? You scared the shit out of me! When did you stop telling me things?” Mark looks at me, hurt in his eyes. “First of all, I thought you’d been to talk to the police about the bag. I thought you’d told them everything. I had to Google the guy. Then I saw it was counterterrorism and I didn’t know what the hell was going on. And then I started thinking, is she having an affair with this guy or something? Why does she have his card? And then, like a pathetic moron, I look through your emails—and thank God! Thank God I saw your email to Phil about yesterday. About Holli. So, at least now, I know it’s just work you’re keeping from me. Which is fine, Erin, but don’t freeze me out, okay? I have a right to know what’s going on. Keeping secrets, especially about the police at a time like this, that…that is how things start to go wrong.” He frowns at me accusingly. “I wasn’t going to mention it, I was going to let you get around to telling me in your own time, but I guess we’ll just have to talk about it now. So, I’m sorry if I’m not completely ecstatic about what you’ve been up to all day, but I think you can see where I’m coming from, right? You’ll be all over CCTV in Hatton Garden, you know that, right?” He says this calmly, but his words pound in my head. “It’s not going to look good if they start looking into you. And it will definitely not look good if DCI Foster finds footage of you.”

He’s right, of course. I am acting like an idiot. I am so incredibly screwed if everything goes wrong.

“Just tell me we’re in this together, Erin. You’re not keeping anything else from me, are you? It’s just you and me, right?” It’s a serious question that requires a serious answer. I feel the importance of this moment. He’s putting himself on the line; I must take him or I leave him, he’s not offering half measures.

I still haven’t told him about the pregnancy, about Eddie knowing where we live, knowing everything about us, but I can’t tell him now, can I? I’m already on shaky ground. I’m the irresponsible one; I’m the one running around town risking everything, lying. Imagine if he knew I was doing it while I carry our unborn child. If I tell him now, I might break this fragile thing we have that we’ve spent so long creating.

He’s waiting for my answer. He’s genuinely concerned. I feel bad. So bad.

“I’m sorry, Mark. I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you after we’d sold the diamonds. I just didn’t want you to worry. And if I genuinely thought Andy—sorry, DCI Foster—was having me followed, I wouldn’t have gone to Hatton Garden, I promise. We really need to get the diamonds out of the house, though, you see that, right? Especially now.”

He’s hurt. I see that, even though he doesn’t want me to see that. But after a moment, he nods. He knows we need them gone.

I nod back in reply. “So we agree. We need to sell the stones as soon as we can. We need them gone, out of this house, and we need the money in the bank ASAP?” It’s a question. If he wants me to end all this now, I will end it. I love him too much to push it.

He pauses, briefly, and then nods again. “Agreed.”

“I should have told you about DCI Foster. I’m so sorry, Mark.” I angle for a half smile and he doesn’t let me down. God, I love him.

I cross the room to him and put my arms around him.

“Just don’t make a habit of it, Mrs. Roberts.” He pulls me close. “Let’s sell some sodding diamonds then.”

I press against him, relieved. “Do you know anyone who could help us do that?” I ask.

He looks down at me. “Do you?”





They lay her things out on the counter. Souvenirs of a life. We stand back and let her look through it all. She signs it out.

We pull camera focus to the counter. A Nokia 6100, one of the first mobile phones to have Internet connectivity. It was 2002’s most desired phone; Alexa was an early adopter. But there’s no charger. God knows how she’ll ever find one for it now.

A Mulberry brown leather purse. She opens it. Obsolete Amex cards, notes, coins. I wonder if any of the notes are obsolete now too. The five-pound notes changed again last September; they’re always changing. I think of all those wallets back there, in the prison storeroom, with five-pound notes that are now, or soon will be, utterly worthless.

A black collapsible umbrella. Half a pack of Wrigley’s Extra chewing gum. A faded zone 1-2 travel card. And that is it. Alexa’s life.

“Thank you very much.” Alexa gives the Trinidadian warden a warm smile. They seem to be getting on well.

“My pleasure, darling. Now, you have a lovely day. And I hope I never have to see you again, if you know what I mean.” He gives a throaty laugh and grins back at the beautiful woman before him.

Alexa gathers up her belongings into a small cream canvas bag and makes her way toward the exit.

She pauses by the door while the final officer signs her out. Phil, Duncan, and I stand in a cluster behind her. This is the only actual release we’ve been given the go-ahead to film. Alexa is the only prisoner who has allowed us this much access. We all feel the intimacy of the gesture. We slip out past her, out into the rain, the camera trained back toward her on the doorway as she steps out into the damp autumn air and the door shuts behind her.