Tom shakes his head and looks down at his hands for a moment before sitting up and clicking out of the files and into another set of files marked ‘pictures’.
‘I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but you’re one of my oldest friends, you know how much I care about you.’ He clicks a folder within the main folder.
‘What is it?’ I ask again. I have this impending feeling of distress. Tom is about to show me something that I’m going to like least – by far. I brace myself. There can only be one thing.
Tom clicks a picture icon. The screen flickers for a second and is then filled with an image of Luke and Martha in an embrace. Not just an embrace, but a full-on kiss. The picture has been taken at a distance, but there is no mistaking the subject matter. Martha with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a pink T-shirt, which I have half a suspicion is one of mine, and a pair of jeans. Luke is wearing his surf T-shirt and a pair of jeans. They are on Brighton seafront, the pier in the distance and pebble beach immediately behind them.
‘Where did you get this?’ I demand, the anger rolling inside me, building up higher and higher. The pressure so tight, I think my chest might burst.
‘I took it,’ says Tom. ‘I followed her for a few days – after you first told me you were suspicious of her. I thought I’d be able to put your mind at rest. But turns out …’ He nods towards the screen.
‘I can’t believe it. After everything that’s happened. Luke was making me feel like I was the jealous one, like I had some sort of problem and was overreacting.’ I look at the picture again. I want to smash the screen with my fist. I jump up from the chair and march out to the living room, searching for my handbag, where my phone is.
Tom follows me and before I have a chance to call Luke, he takes the phone from my hand. ‘Not now. Leave it for a while. You’re angry and upset.’
‘Too fucking right I am!’
‘Which is exactly why you shouldn’t confront him now. Come and sit down. Have some more wine.’ Tom coaxes me over to the sofa and places my glass in my hand. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but I thought it was best coming from me.’
I nod and shake my head at the same time, trying to dismiss the image of Luke and Martha kissing. How could he do this to me? ‘Oh, God, Tom, what an awful mess everything is,’ I say at last. My shoulders sag as the energy seeps out of me. ‘I’m tired of all this. I don’t know how much more I can take.’
Tom puts his arm around me, careful not to squash my plastered arm. ‘It’s okay. I’m here for you. Always have been. Always will be.’ I rest my head on his shoulder. Even my neck seems to have lost the ability to hold my head up. ‘That’s it, just relax.’
We stay like that for several minutes as I take comfort in the warmth of his arms. ‘You’re a good friend,’ I mumble into his jumper.
‘Have you ever wondered about us?’ he says. ‘What would have happened between us if you hadn’t called it off?’
‘Oh, Tom. Let’s not go there,’ I say softly. ‘Too much water under the bridge since then.’
‘But have you never wondered?’
I sit up. ‘Not for a long time,’ I say.
Tom nods thoughtfully. After a moment, he leans forwards and picks up the wine bottle. ‘Ah, empty!’ He stands up. ‘I’ll go grab us another from the off-license across the road. Won’t be a minute.’
‘No, it’s okay, Tom. I shouldn’t really. I ought to go back. It was silly of me to run away like that. I need to face up to everything. I’ve got the police interviewing me tomorrow.’
But he isn’t listening and is out the door before I’ve even finished speaking. I pick up my glass and loll back into the sofa, momentarily forgetting about my bad arm. It jars and I jump with the sharpness of the pain, in the process spilling red wine down my top. ‘Oh, for goodness sake.’
I go into the kitchen and sponge the stain out as much as I can, resigning myself to the fact that the top is probably ruined. As I leave the kitchen, the screen saver of the laptop in the second bedroom catches my eye, as an image of James Bond marches across the screen and turns to fire his gun. I smile to myself. Typical Tom. He loves his computers and is such a geek at times. I’m sure he’d have made a great spy.
I wander into the room and tap the screen to have another look at the figures and spreadsheets Tom showed me earlier. It’s a hollow gesture as I know I still won’t be able to make any more sense of them. My head feels a bit fuzzy and I stumble slightly, my thigh knocking the chair, which, in turn, spins around and the arm catches the box of memory sticks. It falls to the floor, spilling the contents across the carpet.
‘Bugger!’ I kneel and collect them up. As I pick the last one up, the sticky label on the side catches my eye.
Martha Phone Call 0.2
I look at the others and they are labelled with Photos 0.1, 0.2 and 0.3. Work files A-L, Work files M-Z, Personal 0.1, 0.2.
I drop all of them into the box, except for the one marked with Martha’s name.
With a shaking hand, I slide the memory stick into the free USB.