The Family Remains(64)

Lilian glanced at Rachel and then answered, ‘Yes. Precious and semi-precious. Everything from the orange diamond in this pendant to rare stones like the black opals in this ring. Isn’t it exquisite?’

‘My God, yes, it really is. Rachel, you really took it up a gear. I’m imagining some heavy-duty financing going into this?’ His gaze went to her father as he said this. ‘Brian, you really are the greatest dad in the world.’

‘Michael,’ Rachel began. Her voice stuck halfway up her throat on the second syllable and she swallowed. ‘This is wrapping up now. The staff need to clear away and lock up. Thank you for coming, but …’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Of course. I get it. I was just passing. I just really, really wanted to see your work. You know I always thought you were the most incredibly talented person I know. And I mean that. Insanely talented. And now look at you. Finally getting the recognition you deserve. I’m in awe. Honestly.’ He put his hands together into a gesture of prayer, whisked a canapé off a tray, put it in his mouth, said goodbye to everyone and left.

Rachel grabbed her handbag, ran to the toilets and threw up.

By the week before Christmas the entire range had sold out at Liberty and there was a waiting list for orders going into early spring. Rachel renewed the contracts with the two goldsmiths and took out another loan, this time in her own name, to buy in more stock. Dominique threw her annual Christmas party, this time with an eight-month-old baby and no time limit on the invitation. Rachel came just to be polite. The ghosts and echoes of the year before when she was madly in love, when she was moments from getting engaged, when she had walked in on the arm of a man who matched her in looks, in gloss, in hopes for the future and who had turned out to be a sadistic rapist were just too much for her to stomach. But before she left, she cornered Jonno, who was making cocktails in the kitchen and asked him to make her a Negroni.

‘Jonno,’ she said as he pulled a low-ball glass from a shelf and filled it with ice. ‘Remember when you did that digging around about Michael? All that stuff you were telling me about his business affairs? How did you get that information?’

‘Well. I have weird contacts, I suppose you might say. Former coppers. Former criminals. Journos who’ve infiltrated certain rings and sub-cultures. I just know a lot of randoms and we all owe each other favours.’ Jonno shrugged and unscrewed the lid of the gin bottle, tipped a slug into her glass.

‘So would you know people who could trace someone’s ex-wife, maybe?’

‘You talking about the street wench Michael took under his weird rapey wing?’

Rachel shuddered slightly and shook her head. ‘Rapey? Why did you say rapey?’

‘I dunno. Just a vibe I got. The way he was.’

‘The way he was? With you?’

‘No! Ha, no. With you, I thought. I dunno. I may be misspeaking. Sorry.’

‘No. I mean – no. It’s fine. I just thought – I thought everyone kind of liked him?’

‘Yeah. I kind of liked him. But I also thought he was kind of sinister too. Dark undercurrents. So yeah. What do I know? Anyway, the street wench?’

‘Yes. Lucy. Would you be able to find out anything about her?’

Jonno threw her a quizzical look and opened the Campari bottle. ‘What for?’

‘I don’t really know. I just – I sort of want to talk to someone, someone who’s been through the Michael thing. It got a bit toxic towards the end. I want to find out what it was like for her.’

‘Well, apparently, she disappeared in the night with their kid, and nobody knows what happened to her next. She genuinely disappeared.’

‘But the kid. What about the kid? He must be at school somewhere or registered with a doctor. Surely?’

‘Yeah. I guess. But needle-in-a-haystack situation. He could be anywhere. He could be in another country. He might have been taken into care. He might be living in a cave with her for all we know. What’s his name? Did you find out?’

‘Yes. It’s Marco. Marco Rimmer. He’s about eleven, I think.’

‘Well, I can have another sniff around. But it’s unlikely, to be honest.’ Jonno passed her her drink and looked at her for a moment. ‘What really happened?’ he began. ‘Between you and Michael? Did he hit you?’

Rachel shook her head and said, ‘No. He never did that.’ And that, at the very least, was true.





47




June 2019


Samuel


I live in Enfield. I have a very nice house. Although after the houses I have seen these past two days I now see it a little differently. I do at the very least need a new kitchen.

I have not had a meal at home for four days and I feel happy as I unpack my Tesco bag on to my (now unsatisfactory) kitchen worktop: fresh pasta, some broccoli, garlic, a very large tomato with just the right amount of give around its girth. A vegetarian meal. I try to eat meat only once a week. For the planet, mainly. But also for the animals. Any animal if brought into your home as a baby would behave like a pet. I have seen very loving turkeys on the internet. I try to think of them when I shop, but sometimes all I want is a chicken salad sandwich or a charred burger fresh from a barbecue and I forget about the turkeys that hug their owners.

Donal and I spoke with Libby Jones again this afternoon. We confronted her with what we knew about her bank transactions, and she replied – with very high colour in her cheeks – that Marie Caron and Phineas Thomson were her friends. I asked her where her friends were and she told me that they were on holiday, that she did not know where, that they did not have their phones with them. I asked her why she’d given two-thirds of her money away to friends who go away on holiday without telling her where they are going, and she said that they were very good friends and that she wanted to share her good fortune with them. I asked her if they’d invited her to join them on their holidays (paid for, one assumes, with the proceeds of Libby’s charitable act) and she said no, they didn’t.