‘We found you in the end, my darling Alice,’ says Mum, looking at the grave as the car pulls away.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more glad to see our home than I am when we pull up this morning. I managed to sleep on the flight but Mum is tired and goes straight to her room.
‘I’ll get off to the office,’ says Leonard. ‘I’ll see you over the weekend, no doubt.’
I step forward and give Leonard a hug. ‘Thanks for everything,’ I say. ‘For looking after Mum. It means a lot.’
‘You don’t have to thank me. It’s what I do. I look after people.’ He smiles. ‘You included.’
I nod and give a half-smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘You know it’s Tom’s funeral tomorrow,’ he says.
I nod again. ‘I’m not going. Part of me feels bad. I feel I’m mourning for the person I thought I knew and yet when I think of the person he really was, I can’t summon up the same emotion.’
‘It’s all still very raw. It will settle down eventually. It will leave a scar, but one that you can live with.’
I walk out to the drive with Leonard, my arm tucked in his. ‘I know. I have a few scars already. One more to add to the collection,’ I say to try to make light of the moment.
We stop at Leonard’s car. ‘Clare, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.
‘Right,’ I say slowly. ‘You’d better ask, then.’
‘That night on the pier with Tom. What did he say to you?’
‘He didn’t say anything,’ I reply steadily.
‘He didn’t show you anything on his phone?’
‘No. He didn’t.’
Leonard appraises me through his beady eyes. ‘I suppose if his phone was ever found, it would be damaged by the salt water by now.’
‘Yeah. I guess so.’
There’s a small silence as Leonard seems to be deciding whether to say something or not. In the end, I guess he decides against it. ‘Right, well, I’d better get on.’
‘Bye, Leonard.’
As soon as Leonard’s car turns out of the gate and I hear the engine power away down the lane, I go straight indoors and up to my bedroom. I turn the lock on the door and go over to my wardrobe. I keep all my shoes in the bottom, neatly paired up on shoe rails. At the back stand my boots. I delve my hand into the long knee-high black-patent boots, which I rarely wear these days but can’t quite bring myself to part with. From the toe of the boot, I pull out a black smartphone. Tom’s phone, which I had stuffed in my pocket just before we went into the water.
Leonard’s comment about Tom’s phone has unnerved me. What if the salt water hasn’t damaged it enough and the image he showed me is still there? I take the phone into the en suite, along with a pair of stilettos. I take the sim card out and with my nail scissors I cut it into three pieces, wrapping each piece individually in tissue paper and flushing them down the toilet. Then I wrap the phone in a towel to deaden the noise and smash the heel of my stiletto down on the screen. I hear the glass crack. I repeat this several times before I unfold the towel. The phone is smashed to smithereens.
I wrap what’s left of the phone in the hand towel and put it into my gym bag, making a mental note to gradually dispose of the pieces over the next few days in various different bins around Brighton.
I go back downstairs and Luke is sitting at the computer. ‘Just thought I’d check my emails while I had five minutes.’
‘Good idea. I dread to think how many I’ve got. I’ve had my phone switched off the whole time we’ve been away.’ I turn my phone on and after a minute it pings into life.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ asks Luke. ‘The computer’s on the go-slow.’
‘Yeah, sure. I’ve missed a good British cup of tea.’ I click on the emails. ‘Forty-eight emails and I bet they’re all junk,’ I say, as I begin to quickly scroll through, looking out for any important ones.
I almost miss it as I whizz through the names, but then I see it. Two emails from Tom Eggar. I drop my phone as if it’s burnt my fingers. ‘Shit!’
‘You okay? It’s not broken is it?’
I grab my phone up from the floor. ‘No. It’s fine.’ I tap on the first email entitled Plan B.
Hi Clare
I set this up while you were in America. I knew you had sussed out what Martha and I were up to. If you’re reading this, then I guess you didn’t want to come in on Plan A and I’m possibly in jail, which I sincerely hope not, or I’ve disappeared off the face of the earth where no one will find me or the money.
So, why am I emailing you? Well, Clare, this is Plan B aka REVENGE. Had you decided to accept my offer, then I would have cancelled this scheduled email.
Of course, I will never get the satisfaction of witnessing the effects of Plan B, but imagine me sitting on a beach somewhere hot with a nice cool beer, wondering how the hell you’re going to explain this one to Luke.
Enjoy the rest of your life!
Tom
Frantically, I go to the next email from Tom and the subject heading makes me feel sick.
More than one cuckoo in the nest