The Other People: A Novel(62)

He turned to the Samaritan. They stood on the motorway bridge, vehicles parked a short distance away. The policeman had not returned to Gabe’s van last night. Gabe thought that the Samaritan had sounded a little disappointed when he told Gabe this.

“You destroyed her daughter’s life,” he said now. “Sounds like she had a pretty good reason to want to destroy yours.”

The wind gusted cold drizzle into their faces. Gabe pulled his collar up to his chin. The Samaritan leaned on the railing, in his usual black jacket and T-shirt, seemingly oblivious to the weather. Below, the motorway flowed with fast-moving early-morning traffic. Like a river, it never stopped, not entirely. Always more cars. Always more journeys.

“Charlotte isn’t behind this,” Gabe said firmly. “She didn’t contact the Other People.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“For a start, Charlotte hated technology. Miriam once told me that she didn’t even own a mobile phone. She had no idea what Google was, let alone the Dark Web.”

“Maybe she got someone to help her?”

Gabe shook his head. “No. She was a virtual recluse. No family. No friends.”

“People will surprise you,” the Samaritan said. “Not usually in a good way. And Charlotte Harris sounds like a piece of work.”

“Oh, she was.”

Charlotte Harris was a polished shell full of poison. And Gabe was sure she would have taken great delight in his torment over losing his wife and daughter.

But she never had the chance.

The Samaritan shot him a look. “Was?”

Gabe smiled thinly. “Charlotte Harris is dead. She died a year before Izzy was born.”





They sat at a sticky table in a corner of the motorway café. The place smelled of stale food, and the fluorescent lighting lent everyone the pallor of zombies. A young girl served customers behind the counter. Katie half expected to see a parallel version of herself walk out and start collecting cups.

They were a few junctions south of Newton Green. Katie didn’t dare risk returning to her own place of work. For a start, Steve knew where that was. He could come after her. Once, that might have sounded paranoid. Not anymore.

This café was about a third full, the other tables occupied by a mixture of travelers: a couple of young laborers tucking into bacon sandwiches and studying their smartphones; a group of pensioners chatting over tea; a young mum with a toddler in a high chair.

Customers came and went here with more regularity than in a high-street café. A constant stream of strangers. That was what Katie was counting on. Somewhere safe, anonymous, well populated. So she could have some time to think. To recalibrate.

She had bought activity books and coloring pens from the shop, plus some ibuprofen and bandages for her swollen nose. Then she had fetched milkshakes and chocolate cake and settled the children at a quiet table in a corner.

For now, they seemed to accept the situation. Children did. They were able to adapt, to just get on with the moment in hand. Of course, they still had questions, which Katie had attempted to field as best she could.

Why did we run away? What happened to Uncle Steve? Wasn’t he a policeman? Are we going to jail?

She had told them that Steve was a bad man, even though he was dressed as a policeman. They had to run away until the good police could sort things out.

“Like the Terminator?” Sam had asked. “He pretended to be a policeman, but he wasn’t. He pretended to be John Connor’s mum, too, and put a spike through his dad’s eye.”

“Something like that,” Katie had said, and then told him not to talk about spikes through eyes in front of his sister (and wondered at which friend’s house he had seen Terminator 2).

While they ate their cake and slurped milkshakes, she texted the school to say that Sam and Gracie were sick and wouldn’t be in today. And then she texted Louise.

“Are you okay?”

“No, Steve broke up with me last night.”

“Good.”

“Thanks.”

“Steve is dangerous. He came to my house and attacked me this morning.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No joke.”

“WTF?”

“Are you at home?”

“Lucy’s.”

Lucy was Lou’s oldest friend. Sensible, mumsy, the complete opposite of Lou. Katie felt relief wash through her.

“Can you stay there tonight?”

“Suppose.”

“Steve doesn’t know where Lucy lives?”

“No.”

“If he calls, don’t answer. Don’t tell him where you are.”

“Scaring me.”

“Good. Promise you won’t speak to him?”

“Promise.”

Katie just hoped she would keep her promise. She took a sip of coffee. Alice was helping Gracie color a trio of Disney princesses. Sam doodled superheroes while picking at a piece of chocolate cake with his fingers, hardly any of the crumbs making it to his mouth.

Despite what she had told them, she didn’t know if she could call the “good” police. What if they didn’t believe her? Whatever else he was involved in, Steve was still one of their own. They would take his word over hers.

She couldn’t go home. Couldn’t call her mother. It struck her that she didn’t really have any other people she could turn to. No friends, not even any casual acquaintances. She was always so busy working, looking after the children, getting by, she had no time left to form relationships.