Something in the Water(84)

As I’m making my way down the ladder, the doorbell rings. I freeze, mid–ladder rung.

A flash of terror, like a shot through my system.

I suddenly wish we still had that gun—the one we dumped in the sea in Bora Bora. Were we stupid not to keep it? Do I need it?

But then, what the hell would I do with a gun? I don’t know how to use one. I wouldn’t even know if it was loaded or how to do the safety catch or anything.

No, I don’t need a gun. This will be fine. I’m being paranoid. It’s broad daylight. I continue down the ladder from the loft, jumping the last three rungs and sprinting back down to the hall.

Hot-cheeked, I pull open the front door, grateful for the blast of September wind it lets in. And there stands Simon.

Simon looks harmless. Suit, tie, smile. Not the smile of a predator, just the smile of an iffy friend of your dad’s, maybe. A little bit too knowing a smile, but ultimately harmless.

I don’t need a gun, of that I’m suddenly sure.

His manner suggests we’re both in this together; I’m part of the gang now.

“Simon?” I have to say something; we’ve been standing in silence for slightly too long now.

“Guilty as charged.” He grins. I’m pretty sure he’s used that one before. But the inoffensive humor settles me.

“Great.” I nod. I really don’t know what we do next. “Do you want to come in?” I hazard. From my tone I think it’s fairly clear to Simon I have no idea how this situation is usually supposed to go. I’m hoping he’ll take the lead quite soon.

“Nah, gotta dash. Thanks though, love. I’ll just grab the stuff and get out of your hair, if that’s all right?” He’s dealing with me beautifully. I appreciate this delicate handling of my obvious ineptitude; in an odd way, it’s very reassuring. I hand him the pouch. I’m relieved to be unburdened. That’s half the battle. He takes it.

But what about the money? Should I say something? Is that rude? But he beats me to it.

“You got a number for me?” He’s one step ahead. He’s obviously done this before.

“Yes, yes, here we go.” I fish the paper slip out of my pocket and smooth it out on my upper thigh. “Sorry, it’s creased. You can still see the numbers, though, can’t you?” I pass it to him.

We both stare down at the slip of paper in his hand, very clearly legible through the slight folds. I’m an absolute moron.

“Hmm, yep, yep, that should be fine,” he mumbles, over-feigning interest in the rumpled slip. “Right, I should be off then.” He weights both hands: a note in one, a million-pound pouch in the other. He grins and turns to leave, then stops.

“One quick question, love. How did it go today? Eddie wants to know.”

“Um, I don’t think it’s going to work out.” I say it gently, as if I’m personally heartbroken about the cruel twist of fate. Eddie the reformed hero denied a second chance with his daughter.

Simon seems confused by my answer.

“Why, what did she do?” He looks at me quizzically.

“Well, she watched it. The video. She cried. She was extremely upset but she was concerned about her children and—”

“Oh, the kids,” he interrupts. “Oh well, fair enough.” He seems satisfied. I wonder if this was an official inquiry about Lottie or if I’ve spoken out of turn.

“Don’t worry about the kids.” Simon’s smiling again. Order restored. “He can get round all that. Good work, though, sweetheart. She cried, aye? Nice. Very good sign. Eddie’s gonna bloody love that. That’ll cheer him right up. If she’s crying, we’re halfway there.” He beams at me. Today’s going well for him.

“Right, darling, I’m off then. Take care.” And with a cheery hand raise, he’s away.

“Um, thank you, Simon!” I call after him. I don’t know why. I have to say something, don’t I? I can’t just stand in silence as he strides back toward his black Mercedes with my diamonds in the palm of his hand.





An extremely large bunch of flowers arrives in the morning.

Thanks for your help. Shan’t forget it. E. He’s got style, I’ll give him that. But Mark is less sure.

“It’s not exactly covert, is it?” he asks over breakfast. He’s worried about police surveillance.

“They’re only flowers, Mark. They could be for doing the interview, for all anyone knows. Through a lawyer or something? I’m pretty sure Eddie knows how to cover his tracks at this point in his career. Well, except for the bookkeeping, obviously.” I smile. We’ve done it, after all. Haven’t we? The full payment for the diamonds hit the numbered account at midnight last night. Much more than we expected. Certainly a lot more than I thought we’d ever be able to get by ourselves. Two million. Two. Sterling. I literally cannot keep the smile off my face. Ten grand a pop per stone. Eddie barely took a cut. The payment came from another numbered account. Wherever Eddie’s money is squirreled away, I guess. Great minds think alike.

Mark’s worried.

“I’m sure the gift trail will be well covered from his end, Erin. It’s our end I’m worried about. If SO15 is watching you, they’ll wonder…” He gestures to the massive bouquet. “It’s not exactly low-key, is it?” He has a point, I suppose. The flowers look ridiculously ostentatious.