The Guilty Couple(71)

I search through my things again, tipping out my make-up and toiletry bags and shaking out each piece of clothing. And then I remember. When everyone left I put the lanyard in my pocket and I was wearing this hoodie. There’s nothing in the first pocket I try but my fingers close around ribbon and metal in the second and I slump against the arm of the sofa with the keys in my hand.

When we stole them from Rosa I explained to Smithy that one key was for the front door, the one was for the back door and the third one was probably for the shed. I was so hyped up that it didn’t strike me as odd that Rosa would have a full set of keys. When she worked for me she only had a key to the front door; there was no need for her to have a key to anything else. Dominic always put a bit of black tape on the back door key to distinguish it from the front door key.

This is his lanyard, they’re his spare keys.

He must have changed the locks after I was arrested and forgotten to get a key cut for Rosa. And, unless he’s bought a padlock in the last five years, I’m pretty sure the smallest key is for his lock-up, not our tumbledown, rotting shed.

With my phone to my ear I walk out of the living room and into the small hallway that leads to the bathroom and Ayesha’s bedroom. I’m ringing Jack’s number and he’s not picking up. When I reach the bedroom I lower the phone and listen carefully. When I put it back to my ear it’s clicked through to an automated voicemail.

I end the call and tap out a text as I make my way back to the living room. Sorry. I know you said not to ring. I just wanted to hear your voice. I’ve got so many questions I don’t know where to start.

And I’ll answer them, comes the reply. I promise you. Can you meet me at the lock-up with the keys?

I need proof it’s you, I type back.

I thought I’d already done that?

One more question. I pause, searching for the right one. What’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever done whilst drunk?

There’s a lot to pick from!

The worst thing. Something that makes me cringe every time I think about it. Something to do with my first proper boyfriend.

There’s a pause, then. When you went for a meal with his parents, you drank too much and puked over his mum in the cab.

Normally that response would make me laugh or cringe with embarrassment. Instead an icy sensation passes over me – a single sentence has hollowed out my heart. I glance at my watch: 6.50 a.m. I’ve got about six hours until I need to be at the airport. I’ve still got plenty of time. I know if I ask Ayesha for advice she’ll tell me not to meet Jack but it’s the only way I’m ever going to get answers. There have been too many secrets, and too many lies.

I create a WhatsApp group chat with Lee and Nancy and send them both the same message:

Jack’s been in touch. He claims to know where the evidence is and wants me to meet him. Would one or both of you come with me please? I need to go as soon as possible. I know it’s early but I really, really need your help.

Nancy looks simultaneously bleary-eyed and alert as I slip into the passenger side seat of her car. Her red hair is pulled into a ponytail, she’s wearing a sweatshirt over her pyjamas and there isn’t a scrap of make-up on her face. My text woke her up but she rang me immediately, unlike Lee who still hasn’t replied.

‘Are you all right?’ she asks as I pull on my seatbelt.

‘Not really.’

‘Have you called the police?’

‘To say what?’

‘That you know where Jack is. There’s an arrest warrant out in his name, isn’t there?’

I sigh, wishing she’d just start the engine so we can get this over and done with. The sun’s coming up now, streaking the sky between the buildings with scarlet and gold light.

‘He said not to get the police involved or he’d run.’

‘Okay …’ she considers what I’ve just said. ‘But if he does run you could still search the lock-up, couldn’t you? You’ve got the key.’

‘You’re assuming there’s evidence in there.’

She makes a little ‘ooh’ of surprise but she doesn’t push it. She can tell I’m not in the mood. ‘He’s not going to be … dangerous, is he?’

I turn to look at her. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.’

‘I do.’ She meets my eye. ‘I definitely do.’

‘Okay then, let’s go.’

As we drive out of Wood Green along Great Cambridge Road I stare out through the window, seeing, but not registering, the people strolling down the streets, stepping onto buses and scurrying into tube stations. All around me life is continuing as normal while mine is anything but. Six years ago Nancy and I would have been sitting side by side in this car, chatting excitedly as we headed down to Brighton for a girlie weekend, or to a spa to pamper ourselves. We might even be doing something as mundane as going to Ikea in Croydon to buy our own bodyweight in candles or plants, or heading off to some random address to pick up something bizarre and useless that one of us had drunk-ordered from eBay after a particularly boozy night out. Now we’re driving to my ex-husband’s lock-up in Enfield so I can get answers to the questions that have been plaguing me for so long. I’m not hopeful, I know this is a goose chase to divert me from discovering the truth, but what the architect of this game doesn’t realise is that I’m one step ahead of them – I know who they are.