Later that night, before bed, Mark sits on the edge of the bathtub watching me while I brush my teeth, a single sock in his hand. I can tell he wants to say something but he’s having trouble putting it into words. He takes a breath.
“Honey, I’m worried now. And please don’t take this the wrong way, you know how much I love you, but I think you might be getting a little bit overwhelmed by all of this. That photo business today and the answerphone. Erin, you know no one is coming for us, right, honey? No one is watching us except the police. And you are refusing to acknowledge how dangerous that is. This Patrick guy today. You need to stop doing things that might attract attention from now on, sweetheart. Will you promise me that, Erin? I need you to stop doing things that the police might notice. We’re sailing close to the wind here already.” He looks at me, softly. I feel foolish and so guilty about the things I haven’t told him.
He’s worried about me. He’s worried about us. He continues, “You asked me before what I thought we should do about the diamonds, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You’re not going to like it, I know, but I think we should dump them. Just get rid of them. This is getting crazy. We should cut our losses, stop trying to sell them, and just dump them somewhere. I don’t think it’s worth the risk we’re running right now. We already have the other money, Erin. We’re good. We have enough. We should stop.”
Something bubbles up inside me when he says this. I don’t know why, but I’m annoyed with him. It’s the first time I’ve ever really been frustrated by something Mark has said or done. Dump the diamonds? Why would we do that? We’ve come this far. What about his business, his plans, our plans? He was so concerned about our finances before, why isn’t he anymore? What we’ve got in Switzerland won’t last forever; we’ll need the diamond money too, to get his company up and running and keep all of this going. We could just store the diamonds somewhere, couldn’t we? Why would we dump them? But then, realistically, I know there’ll never be a later date when we can magically find an easier way to sell them. And once we have a child we won’t be able to take any risks at all. Either we try to sell them now or it’ll be too late.
I look at him in his boxers, the sock still dangling from his hand. I love him so much. He is right, it is dangerous, but I don’t want to just give up. Not after everything he’s been through in the past couple of months. And what if, God forbid, his new business falls through like all those job offers that never seemed to materialize. No, we need to keep going. But…cautiously.
“All right, yes, I see your point of view, Mark. I do, but can we please try one last thing? I’ll come up with something, okay? Something safe. Just give me a few more days. I really think I can make something work. I do. Isn’t that a better outcome overall, if we get the money from the stones too?” I try to say it gently, calmly, but I’m not calm. To give up now would make no sense at all.
He holds my gaze for a beat, then looks away. He’s disappointed, again. He tries to hide it but I saw the flicker of it in his eyes. I’ve let him down, again.
“Fine,” he concedes. “But that’s it, all right? If this doesn’t work, Erin, you’ll stop? Please don’t take it any further, honey. Don’t keep pushing.” He doesn’t look at me then, he just stands and walks to the bathroom door. Distant. Alone. I feel like this is the closest we’ve got to an honest conversation for a while and it hasn’t brought us any closer together. A rift has opened between us. The more I tell him, the wider it will get. He knows about Andy now, he knows about Holli, he knows about the man outside the prison, Patrick. I can’t just let him walk away. I need to bring us back together; I need to share a bit more of myself.
“Mark. Do you really think they’re not looking for us?” I blurt out. He turns back, surprised.
“Who, honey?” He looks confused.
I don’t know why I choose the plane people of all things to get closer to him. But they’re on my mind. “The plane people. Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m crazy, but I feel like something is closing in on me, Mark, on us. Not just the police. Maybe it’s something I haven’t even thought of yet. I don’t know. I know it sounds stupid and paranoid and I have no evidence to back this feeling up, but I can just sense it all around me. Like it’s just waiting for something. I can’t see it yet, but I can feel it coming….”
I falter, seeing his concerned face. I must sound totally insane. And I know if I feel this way about things, then I should definitely stop all of this—the diamonds, the interviews, everything, like he says. But instead of stopping, I’m just diving deeper and deeper in.
Mark steps back into the bathroom and circles his arms around me; I let my head rest gently against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. He knows I need him.
“They’re not coming for us, Erin. Whoever they are, they’d never be able to find us. And even if they could find us, they already think we’re dead. Honey, they aren’t the ones we should be worried about. We should be worried about the SO15 investigation. And this Patrick character is almost definitely part of DCI Foster’s team. I mean, think about it. If Patrick were related in some way to the bag, then I’m pretty certain the police would have noticed him hanging around by now too, wouldn’t they?”
I nod mutely against his shoulder. He’s right; in a way, DCI Foster might be keeping us safe. Mark places a tender kiss on my forehead and leads me to bed. Magically we’ve come together again. I seem to have fixed the rift. For now.
But as I lie in bed beside him I wonder. Would the police notice someone following me? They didn’t notice a vulnerable young woman being radicalized right under their noses. They haven’t noticed Eddie looking into my life. They haven’t noticed a lot.
My coffee steams in the sharp chill of the interview room. This September has been arctic. The guard in the room with me here in Pentonville looks like an extra from the TV series T. J. Hooker. His physique appears to be ten percent hat and ninety percent barrel chest. Maybe I’m being unfair? He’s definitely more focused this morning than I am. I feel like I’m half asleep, stuck in an extended jet lag. I remember the sky back in Bora Bora, the heat on my limbs, the bright clear days.
I hope I wake up soon.
What if the rest of my life is just a waking dream, trapped here forever? I think of Mark, out there in the cold, somewhere on the bustling streets of London. He’s looking into office spaces for the new firm this morning. It all seems to be becoming a reality now. He’s meeting Hector at a notary later today to sign some paperwork. It’s all getting very exciting.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I decline the call. It’s Phil again. He’s furious we’re dropping Holli from the doc; I emailed him first thing this morning and he’s already called three times. He’s not happy. There’s a missed call from Fred too. He wants to see the footage I’ve got so far. He’s interested. He’ll want to dissect the wedding too, no doubt. It’s pretty rare that a BAFTA-winning, Oscar-nominated director would ever have even a passing interest in a first-time film like mine, but that’s nepotism for you. Or maybe it’s not. I mean, we’re not related; he just gave me my first job, somehow I managed not to fuck it up, and he’s been watching over me ever since. Plus he gave me away. I’d love to give him some of the footage, but of course, SO15 has most of my footage. Explaining that to Fred will take more time than I have right now.
The cage buzzer in the hall rumbles. Unlike the room at Holloway, this one has no door, only an archway leading out into the corridor. I wince at the off-white prison walls and tell myself to perk up. Life could definitely be worse. It could always be worse.
The buzzer sounds again.