I step under the shower. For a moment nothing happens. Then water cascades like rain from the massive showerhead. I lift my face to it, exultant.
Everything’s going to be all right.
I wash myself carefully for him, soaping all the intimate corners of my body that he might want to explore. Then, without warning, the water stutters and turns icy. I shriek and back away.
Emma, a voice says behind me.
I whirl around. What are you doing here? I say. I grab the towel off the rail and wrap it around me. And how did you get in?
NOW: JANE
“Your budget is how much?” Camilla doesn’t actually laugh, but she clearly thinks I’m deluded. “While you’ve been at One Folgate Street, the rental market’s gone crazy. Not enough houses, plus foreign investors piling into London property as a safe haven for their cash. You’d have to double that to get a two-bed now.” She gestures at the ads in the agency’s windows. “Take a look.”
On the way back to One Folgate Street I’d decided to take James Clarke’s advice and start flat-hunting. Now I rather wish I hadn’t. “A large one-bed would do. For the time being, anyway.”
“And you don’t even have the budget for that. Unless you’d consider a houseboat?”
“I’m going to have a baby. Soon to be a toddler. I don’t think a houseboat’s a great solution, do you?” I hesitate. “Are there other landlords who do what Edward does? Renting houses cheap to people who’ll look after them?”
She shakes her head. “The deal with Edward Monkford is unique.”
“Well, he can’t evict me while I’m still paying the rent. And I’m not leaving until I’ve found somewhere else.” Something in Camilla’s expression makes me stop. “What?”
“There are over two hundred rules in that agreement you signed,” she reminds me. “I just hope you haven’t broken any. Otherwise you’ll be in breach of contract.”
I feel an irrational burst of anger. “Screw his rules. And screw Edward Monkford.” I’m so furious I actually stamp my foot. Mother tiger hormones.
But for all my brave words, I know I won’t fight Edward on this. Since the conversation with Simon and James Clarke, I’m starting to feel something about One Folgate Street I’ve never felt before. I’m starting to feel scared.
THEN: EMMA
I kept the keycode, he says.
He takes a step toward me. His eyes are red and slightly wild. He’s been crying.
I told Mark I deleted it when I moved out, he says. But I didn’t. Then I used it to hack the system here. It was easy. A child could have done it.
Oh, I say. I don’t know what else to say.
I’ve been upstairs, he says. In the attic. I come in after you’re asleep sometimes and sleep up there. So I can be near you.
He points suddenly at my throat and I step back, frightened. That’s the necklace he gave you, isn’t it? Edward.
Yes. Simon, you have to go. I’m expecting someone.
I know. Simon pulls out an unfamiliar phone. Edward Monkford. Except you’re not. I sent that message.
What? I say, bewildered.
I took your phone one night last week and put this number on your contacts under his name, he says, almost proudly. So when I text you, it looks like it’s from him. I’ve deleted the messages now, of course. And this is a pay-as-you-go phone. So it can’t be traced.
But—why?
Why? he repeats. Why? That’s what I keep asking myself, Em. Why Monkford? Why Saul? Why any of them? When none of them loved you the way I did. And you loved me back. I know you did. We were happy.
No. No, Simon, I say as firmly as I can. We wouldn’t have been happy, not in the long run. I’m not right for you. You need someone kind and nice. Not someone like me.
Don’t say that, Em. There are tears streaking his cheeks now. Don’t, he repeats. I won’t let you.
I try to take charge of the situation. You have to go, Simon. Right now. Or I’m calling the police.
He shakes his head. I can’t do it, Em. Can’t do it.
Can’t do what?
Can’t let it go, he whispers. Can’t let you be that person who wants them but not me.