by Lodge, Gytha
So he’d done an awful, unforgiveable thing. He’d leaned over to her and said that he’d always been crazy about her. Ever since he’d first met her. That he’d seriously wondered if he was with the wrong person.
It had been profoundly stupid. The only saving grace was that Maeve didn’t believe in a physical relationship before marriage, and a kiss had been as far as it had gone. Having to backtrack the next day had been excruciating enough as it was.
They’d been OK in the end. After he’d explained to her that he had been projecting what he felt about Zoe, Maeve had admitted that she’d been doing the same. It was Isaac she wanted, another married man. Aidan had just been a stand-in for him, for a moment. That was all.
But from time to time, she would still drop him a few lines. Sometimes they would mention Zoe, and sometimes not. Either way, they all seemed to be fishing for something, and he found himself not quite trusting her apparent nonchalance.
“But he just needs to talk to her about it,” Greta was saying. “How hard can it be? She’s his wife!”
She’d said this last time they talked about Antony, and Greta had ended up angry with him when he’d demurred. She never had been able to understand how the truth could get snarled up inside you somewhere. He doubted she’d ever in her life felt a huge conflict between the need to speak and a total shutdown. It wasn’t a matter of just talking. Not when your whole body was against you.
If you were Greta, of course you just said it. Whatever you were thinking. It poured out of you because that was how you were wired.
This evening, he felt a nostalgic fondness for that fierceness. An affection for everything about her.
“I know,” he said quietly with a smile, and then he added, “Do you want a whiskey?”
“Sure.” She grabbed a cloth and started wiping down the stove. “I’ll make a coffee, too.”
He went ahead of her into the sitting room and opened the messages with a small squeeze in his chest. It happened every time Zoe sent him something, and was the one thing that seemed to bridge the two separate lives he was living.
There was a picture. When he enlarged it, he realized it was Zoe’s room, but changed. It was now dominated by a very large, very modern-looking bed with a velvet headboard.
She’d sent him a message underneath, too.
Look what I got! It’s a floor model! No more backache and cold feet for you! Hooray! Xxx
He sighed. She wasn’t supposed to spend money on him. That wasn’t how it was meant to work. He was supposed to treat her. To spoil her. Having her splash out on a bed all for his benefit made him feel wretched, not least because he often gave her old, small bed as an excuse for not staying over.
He’d brought this on himself. He’d had a furious rant to her about how difficult Greta was to live with, and how much he was itching to get away. Which had been fairly justified at the time. His wife had been trying to dictate to him how he should manage his career. It just didn’t feel so justified now, when they were getting along.
He pulled out two glasses and the whiskey, splashing a moderate freehand shot for Greta, and a larger one for himself. He took a good plug, and then almost spat it back out. Greta had pushed the bottles too far back on the sideboard again, and they’d ended up near the radiator. The whiskey was warm and unpleasant.
He felt his good mood sour almost in an instant. He’d told her so many times. So many times. It was one of the things that had ended up becoming a wedge between them, this apparent lack of willingness to adjust her behavior when it mattered.
“Is there any ice in the freezer?” he asked her as she appeared with two coffee cups.
“I don’t know,” she said, and went to settle herself on the sofa.
He felt irritated with her as he went back to the kitchen. Greta had caused this. She should go and get the bloody ice.
He slammed open three of the freezer drawers, and then slammed them shut again with a noise of irritation on finding no ice. He was going to have to go out to the chest freezer in the garage.
“I’ll get some from outside,” he said, waiting for her to apologize. Or at least sympathize.
“OK” was all she called back.
He was chuntering to himself as he shoved his feet back into his shoes and went out into the back garden. It was a filthy day, and the freezer was all the way out in the garage.
He’d grabbed a bag of ice and locked the garage back up by the time he remembered his phone. It was sitting on the table by the drinks.
Had he left the conversation with Zoe open? The one that made it painfully obvious that he was in love with another woman?
He hurried back to the back door and through the utility room, flung his shoes off, and walked straight to the door, to find Greta sitting peacefully on the sofa exactly as he’d left her, her legs tucked up underneath her, with the remote in her hand.
He felt his muscles droop in relief. She hadn’t checked his phone. Of course she hadn’t. That wasn’t the kind of thing Greta did. She was open and honest, and so she assumed that he was, too.
“Do you want to watch another episode of that one with James thingy in? The Irish guy?” she asked him.
“Sure,” Aidan said, feeling a little shaky with the aftereffects of the adrenaline. He sat himself down companionably with her as she fast-forwarded through the adverts, and left his phone right where it was on the sideboard.
* * *
—
IT FRIGHTENED ZOE how angry she seemed to have become. How hard it seemed to be to swallow down her frustration at everything that didn’t go right, and how quickly she could descend from joy into a deep, immovable rage.
She’d felt so hopeful as she’d messaged Aidan the photos of her glorious new bed. She’d spent several weeks researching beds and mattresses, and eventually decided that the velvet headboard with a brand-new memory-foam mattress was going to be the ultimate in comfort. Better still, it looked good. Like the kind of furniture that Aidan seemed to appreciate.
But Aidan hadn’t even replied. He’d read her message quickly enough and then, instead of sharing in her enthusiasm, he’d said nothing at all, which had produced a swift drop in her mood. It had only gotten worse when, instead of Aidan messaging, Felix had messaged instead.
It was unfair to be disappointed, and still more unfair to feel harassed when Felix mentioned the flat again. He really wanted Zoe to move in, and he brought it up at least once a month. He was trying to be helpful, she knew, but also to help himself. His tenant had remained two months behind with her rent, despite promises to catch up.
She sent him a quick thanks and insisted that she was enjoying living with Maeve at the moment, and then asked how he was, which proved to be a mistake. He sent three huge long messages complaining about an agent who had promised to read a few chapters of his proposed memoir, and then, after months, had suddenly said it wasn’t the right kind of thing for him right now.
She was certain Aidan would have messaged by the time she’d replied and then made a cup of tea, but there was nothing. She felt as though she were stuck waiting on him as she tried to focus on a film and then some of her work. They had an eleven o’clock Skype date, as usual. At least she could talk to him then.
Only Aidan didn’t log on at eleven. His icon remained unavailable, and there was nothing from him on Messenger, either. She watched as it grew later and later, almost willing him not to contact her at all so she could go ballistic. How hard was it to send her a message? To let her know that he was running late?
None of this was good for her. She knew that. She had changed in so many ways over the last few months. Once upon a time, she had been the independent one. The one who had other things to do, which needed to be worked around. She’d often been late, and smiled to herself at Aidan’s enthusiasm.
She wasn’t sure when any of this had shifted, e
ither. Months ago, if she were honest with herself. Though there had been a few weeks in October, after the exhibition, when he’d been in constant contact. When he’d made her feel like he couldn’t do without her.
Seven months later, she was reduced to helpless, tearful rage. It was the third time he’d been late to talk to her this week. And yet she never gave him a hard time. She had promised herself a long time ago that she would never be one of those girlfriends. The ones who hassled and harried their partners until they pulled away. She had always favored breezy nonchalance and a pretense of being busy, too.
But it wasn’t good enough, any of this. Tonight, she really saw that. As he finally logged on and began to type her a message, she knew that whatever apology he came up with wasn’t enough. She couldn’t just accept it and move on with the conversation. Not when she’d spent the last three hours sick with fear that he was talking intently with Greta about their marriage, and deciding to try again.
His message eventually popped up, and it was even more casual than the last one.
So sorry, darling. We started talking about finances and it got complicated. Didn’t realize we’d been talking for QUITE so long…How are you doing? Xx
She sat looking at that message for several minutes. For long enough that he sent another message.
Really missed you today! That’s great about the new bed. Such a thoughtful thing to do. Want me to call now? xx
Of course she did. She wanted to see his face, and to remember how much she loved him. But that was why she shouldn’t do it. He would always manage to melt her anger.
I’d rather just message.
She sent that, and then wrote a longer message, which he waited for without trying to argue.
Aidan, none of this is good for me. This waiting and waiting. I understand that there have been issues with the money, but those are issues you can sort out directly with Greta after you’ve moved out. I can’t sit and wait for that any longer. Until you’ve actually separated, I shouldn’t even be thinking of you as single. For the last seven months you’ve essentially still been married, and I’m the one who’s suffered for that. I’ve had to accept these crumbs of your time, and your constant care for Greta’s feelings. Though that second one makes you a wonderful person, it also makes you easily swayed. I’m so afraid all the time that you’re going to change your mind, and every delay makes you seem more like you are. It’s torture, and it needs to stop. You need to leave her. Not in a month, or in a few weeks. Now. This weekend. Or we can’t be together. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.
There was a pause in which she felt her heart pounding, and then he began to type a series of short messages.
I’m so sorry. You’re totally right.
I didn’t realize you were feeling like that, but I should have guessed. That was crap of me.
Have you got time to meet up tomorrow for lunch? Let’s meet in person and sort all this out.
I love you, and I never want to hurt you. Xx
Zoe breathed out slowly. He hadn’t run a mile. That was good. She’d put her foot down and it had worked. It was all OK.
That would be nice. Love you too. Xx
She read his messages again as he typed more, wondering whether she should ask for clarification. Did he mean he was actually going to leave Greta now? In a couple of days? She wished he’d just said so.
His last message arrived, and she had tears in her eyes as she read it.
Don’t worry about anything, my darling. I’m going to make everything right. Xx
* * *
—
SHE WAS EARLY for lunch, but Aidan arrived only a few minutes after she did. She smiled at him as he walked through the door, profoundly relieved to have him there, but there was something solemn in his greeting and she began to feel afraid.
He gave her a hug, and it should have been reassuring, but his lips only went to her forehead and not to her mouth. Zoe felt a trembling start in her limbs, and she sat down feeling as though none of this were real.
“Look. I’ve been…selfish,” Aidan said as he tucked his chair in. A momentary crease of what looked like anger crossed his forehead. “Worse than selfish. I’ve been an idiot. I’ve not been able to see what was in front of me, and I’ve ended up hurting two people who don’t deserve to be hurt.”
“It’s all right,” Zoe said quickly, trying suddenly to dismiss her concerns. To put everything back how it had been. “I was just upset.”
“No, it’s not,” Aidan said quietly. “None of it is all right. I should never have started a relationship with you. I thought I knew my mind, but I didn’t.”
Zoe thought she might be sick. What had she done? This wasn’t what she’d wanted.
“After what you said, I had to really think about it. To think, in full, what it meant to break up with Greta.” He let out a long huff of air. “And it made me realize that I don’t want to do that. Somehow, underneath everything, I care enough about her that I want to make our marriage work. I woke her up last night and I told her how I felt, and she admitted that it was how she felt, too.”
It was every nightmare she’d had for the last seven months all come true. He was telling her he loved Greta more. He was telling her it was over.
“Don’t,” Zoe said, hot, humiliated tears starting to flood her eyes. “That’s not what you think. We love each other…”
“We do,” Aidan said, and he reached a hand out to touch her cheek. She let him do it. “And that’s the real tragedy of this. That I love two wonderful women, and I have to choose. I have to let you be with someone else, someone who can give you his whole heart instead of half of it.”
“So I get no choice in this?” Zoe asked. “I get no say at all? That’s it, and you’ve decided between the two of you that she’s in and I’m out?”
“I’m sorry,” Aidan said.
Zoe stood, the tears mingling with a vicious fury now.
“Fuck you, Aidan,” she said. “Fuck you, and fuck the day I met you. You’ve ruined everything. You’ve broken me, all just as some…experiment to see if you really preferred your fucking marriage.”
“Zoe, don’t,” he said, and she saw that he was pale. That she had hurt him. “I still love you and I still want you to be happy. Let me help you. Let me look after you, as a friend. You deserve a good friend.”
“I don’t want anything to do with you,” Zoe said, and she knew it was finally, honestly true. She snatched up her coat and shoved her chair under the table, hoping that it had hit his leg. That it had hurt him, too. “I never want to see your face again.”
By the time she was yards away from the restaurant she’d pulled out her phone and started to block every form of contact from Aidan. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to remove him from her life at last. Irreversibly.
She searched for his name in her emails and deleted every message between them. She removed the conversations they’d had on Skype—thousands of messages. She deleted everything in her messages folder, and then she opened up her photos and began to delete each picture that included him.
And then she messaged Maeve and told her that if Aidan contacted her, she needed to ignore him. That they were done. That he wasn’t allowed into the house, and he wasn’t allowed to know where she was, either. Which she knew in her heart of hearts that Maeve would not go along with.
So after that, she messaged Felix and said she might be interested in the flat after all.
O’Malley had spent the morning feeling like a kid being kept out of a sweet shop. It wasn’t that he really minded working on the blackmail case. It was more the obvious picking up of pace on the Zoe Swardadine murder, and the frequent conversations between Hanson, Lightman, and the DCI about developments.
By lunchtime, however, he’d begun to feel as if he’d made some real progress. It had suddenly occurred to him that all the information being used as l
everage had come from things that had happened in people’s homes. Affairs. Illegal activities conducted from a home office. The question had been how this information was being accessed by the blackmailers.
Remembering the login codes used by Felix Solomon brought a potential answer to mind, and he dropped his new friend Ziggy a message on WhatsApp. The IT student took only a few moments to reply.
O’Malley explained that he thought hacking might well be involved in this blackmail case, but added that not everything was electronic.
So would you be able to spy on people, like? In their homes?
Ziggy’s reply was quick and enthusiastic.
Yeah, sure! You’d just have to hijack their webcams.
O’Malley asked whether they were only looking for technical people.
No, you can pay people to do it on the dark web. It only costs a few hundred quid for a specific IP address or account. You can also buy lists for much less. Like a guy who likes looking at young girls might buy access to a whole load of cameras that belong to teenagers.
God, O’Malley thought. That was horrible. He said so to Ziggy, and then asked if you’d need access to their computer.
No, it’s just done remotely. That’s why I put tape over my webcam. You should consider it too. You never know who might have a thing for middle-aged coppers…
O’Malley couldn’t help laughing.
I’ll bear it in mind. Thanks!
* * *
—
JOJO’S FIRST MESSAGE in several days arrived as Jonah was deep in thought about Aidan Poole. He’d left Lightman to take Maeve Silver’s new statement and log the note as evidence. He needed to think.
