The Last Girl (27 page)

‘I’d get up and greet you but I’m stuck to the couch.’

‘How attractive.’ I bent over him and kissed him briefly. ‘Been here long?’

‘About half an hour. There’s beer in the fridge if you want to join me.’

‘I’m not in the mood for alcohol just this second, but I’ll get a drink once I’ve cleaned up.’ I glanced at the TV. ‘Must we watch golf?’

‘Only for a bit,’ Rob wheedled.

‘Fine. Enjoy.’ I left him to lounge, deciding I would take my time to get changed. Golf was up there with cricket as far as I was concerned – mystifying, time-consuming and ultimately boring. I made the most of my usual hot-weather routine: remove clothing, rehydrate, shower. Alone, on this occasion, though I told myself not to mind, and almost persuaded myself that I didn’t.

It was nice to have some time to myself, anyway, to think about the case and the people I’d interviewed, and wonder what I’d missed. I didn’t feel as if I’d made much progress. All I had learned so far was that Philip Kennford didn’t waste much time on morality. That didn’t mean that his wife and child had deserved to die. There was
something
missing, something I wasn’t seeing about the family and how they were before the killings. The victims were still unknown quantities, and the more I found out about them, the less I felt I knew them. I wanted to talk to Lydia again, to see if I could get a better sense of Laura, in particular, but breaking through her reserve without shattering her fragile composure seemed like an impossible task. And I couldn’t very well ask her the question everyone was wondering: why did you live when the others died?

Despite spinning things out as long as I could, the golf was still on when I went back to the sitting room. I was juggling an open bottle of beer and a glass of water as well as a stack of post, and had to do a sort of curtsey before he could rescue the beer. ‘Is it exciting?’

‘In a word, yes. Do you want me to explain what’s going on?’

‘Don’t bother.’

He grinned. ‘You should let yourself like it. You might get into it.’

‘I’ve had every opportunity to get into it. So far, nothing.’ I collapsed on a chair, stretching my legs out in front of me.

Rob sat up on one elbow. ‘Do you want to sit over here? I can make room.’

‘You look far too relaxed to disturb. And it’s not as if I need to see the TV.’ I was leafing through the letters, working out which of them I could be bothered to open.

‘Don’t say I didn’t offer.’

‘I won’t,’ I mumbled, not really paying attention any more, not that there was anything terribly diverting to read – a bank statement, a bill for my mobile phone, an offer of a new credit card with a crippling interest rate, a shrink-wrapped catalogue from a company whose name I didn’t recognise. I turned the package over, checking the label to see if it was meant for someone in one of the other
flats,
but it was addressed to me. I ripped open the polythene bag, pulled it out and began to flick through it.

‘Did you sign me up for this?’

‘What is it?’

‘Lingerie.’ I raised my eyebrows at him. ‘There are subtler ways to hint I should make more of an effort.’

‘Not me.’ He held out his hand. ‘Let me see?’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You might want me to start buying this sort of crap.’ I paused on a particularly skimpy G-string, wondering how miserably uncomfortable the model had been. The expression on her face was far more wretched than sultry. She looked like a side of ham trussed up for the oven.

‘That doesn’t seem likely. You know me. I don’t go in for that kind of thing. It just gets in the way.’ I threw the catalogue to him and he thumbed through it, looking not particularly impressed. ‘Have you seen the prices? Who would have thought it would cost so much to look so cheap?’

‘That’s my boy.’ I leaned my head against the back of the chair, shattered. ‘I don’t know how they came up with my name. If I don’t buy anything from it, they’ll probably stop sending it to me.’

‘They might. But once you’re on a mailing list, they’ve got you for life. Are you absolutely sure you didn’t sign up for it?’

‘Absolutely positive. If you want me to dress up in nipple tassels and suspenders, by all means say, but I’m not going to volunteer to do it.’

‘What a tantalising prospect.’ He looked back at the TV and I saw his eyes widen. ‘I don’t believe it. It’s over. I missed it.’

‘Oh dear.’ I peered at the screen, not recognising anyone. ‘Did the right person win?’

‘Nope.’ He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, then smiled. ‘Never mind. Want to watch something else?’

‘Nothing specific.’ I watched him flicking through the channels. ‘This is weird. It’s almost like we’re people with ordinary jobs, relaxing after a hard day at the office.’

He picked up his phone and waved it at me. ‘Except for these. We’re never off duty really.’

‘Which is part of what you like about it. You love being that important.’

‘You got me.’

‘Do you want to go out?’ I was still working my way through the post. The last thing was an envelope with a typed address label and I slit it open.

‘Two nights in a row? Not unless you do. I’m not sure I can take the excitement. Anyway, I should take things easy. It’s work drinks tomorrow night.’

‘Bonding with your new team?’

‘Most certainly.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you want to come along? I’m sure they’d like to meet you.’

There was something reluctant about the invitation, something that made me think no was the right answer. ‘I don’t want to get in your way.’

‘Don’t be stupid. How would you be in the way?’ He was staring at the television, not meeting my eyes.

‘I won’t know anyone except you. If the point is for you to talk to your new colleagues, having me there won’t be a help.’

‘You probably won’t spend any time with me at all. Once they get a look at you––’

‘They’ll be queuing up to talk to me. Yeah, yeah.’

‘Seriously. Come with me. If you’ve got time.’ He was sounding more enthusiastic now, but I still wavered.

‘I’ll see what time I get finished, but I’ll probably be working late. Where are you going?’

‘Somewhere near Tower Bridge. I’ll let you know where tomorrow.’

I turned the envelope upside down and let the contents slide onto my knee.

‘What the fuck is this?’

He sat up to see what I was talking about. ‘Are those photographs?’

‘Yes. Of you.’ I held one up. ‘And some blonde.’

‘That’s DI Ormond.’

‘Is it, indeed?’ The picture showed a curvy woman in a low-cut top, smiling at Rob as they both sat in the front of a car. He was grinning back. It all looked very cosy.

‘That was when we were doing surveillance. Who sent you that?’

I checked inside the envelope. ‘No note.’

‘What else is there?’

There was another photograph of the two of them in the car, this time taken from the side. It was recognisably the back of Rob’s head. DI Ormond was looking at him, lips parted, eyes half closed. ‘She looks like she’s auditioning for a porn film.’

‘Nothing so interesting.’ Rob held out his hand for the pictures. ‘Who sent these? Seriously?’

‘I don’t know. They were addressed to me. Someone wanted me to see them.’

Rob shrugged. ‘Maybe a prank. A way of welcoming me to the team. Trying to cause some domestic trouble for me.’

‘It’s a funny sort of prank. Or rather, not funny at all.’ I flattened out the envelope. ‘Besides, how would they know my name?’

‘If I mentioned you?’ He grinned. ‘It’s not a state secret any more. I do tell people about you.’

‘Hmm. Are you finished with the pictures?’

‘Do you really want them back?’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘I wouldn’t mind another look at them.’

‘Okay.’ He handed them to me. ‘But if it was up to me, I’d bin them.’

‘Don’t you want to know who sent them?’

‘Chances are I’ll find out tomorrow at work. Or someone will confess in the pub once they’ve had a few beers.’
He
shook his head. ‘Really, it’s not worth worrying about.’

‘Okay.’ I stuck them in among the pile of envelopes I had set aside for the rubbish. It might have been my imagination but I thought Rob looked very slightly relieved. Or I was being paranoid again. I went quiet, letting him concentrate on a documentary about deep-sea diving that seemed to have caught his attention. The interview with Niele Adamkuté was playing in my mind, specifically the bit where she’d talked about Kennford going off her once they moved in together. It was like a stone in my shoe, irritating and impossible to ignore once I was aware of it. Rob was Kennford’s polar opposite in almost every way, but he was a man, and men didn’t like to feel trapped, as I understood it. Maybe moving in with him had been a mistake. It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, a solution to the problem of a particularly persistent stalker I had acquired. I wouldn’t have suggested it so soon if it hadn’t been for that. In fact, there was a chance I wouldn’t have suggested it at all.

In every relationship in my adult life, I’d been the one who called the shots. I’d been the one who was pursued, the one who was difficult to keep, the one who decided when we’d reached the end of the line. It was painfully obvious, even to me, that it was my way of protecting myself. I was pathologically afraid of starting to care more than my boyfriend did and, as a result, getting hurt. And with Rob, I was in new territory. For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was in control, and I hated it. There was something Rob wasn’t telling me, I was sure of it.

There was also the fact he had said he loved me the previous night. And had not repeated it, I reminded myself. People said stupid things in the heat of passion; I knew that much.

People also said stupid things when they were sitting in their living room watching television, as I proved a minute later.

‘What would you want me to do if I got pregnant?’

‘Huh?’ He tore his eyes away from the screen and stared at me, utterly bewildered.

‘It came up today. If I was pregnant. By accident, I mean. What would you want me to do?’

He looked down at the glass of water I was holding and raised his eyebrows. ‘Is this a hypothetical situation or do you have something to share with me?’

‘Definitely hypothetical. Really.’ I was blushing, I realised, and wished I hadn’t said anything. ‘Forget it.’

‘You asked. You must want an answer.’

‘Actually, I don’t want to think about it. It’s my worst nightmare.’

‘Funny, that. I had you down as the maternal type.’

‘Don’t pretend you’d be pleased.’

‘It’s not unthinkable,’ Rob countered. ‘It would be complicated, but people manage.’

‘Not in the job. Not if both of them want their careers to go somewhere.’

Rob peeled himself off the sofa and crossed the room, hauling me to my feet so he could put his arms around me. I stood there stiffly, my own arms by my sides. ‘It’s not worth worrying about it until it happens.’

‘That’s just because you’d rather not think about it.’

‘I wasn’t aware that you were worried about it.’

‘I wasn’t. Not really. But someone I was interviewing asked me about it and I started to think about how it would be. The reality is, I’d get stuck with the responsibility of looking after the baby and it would make it impossible for me to do my job.’

Rob was frowning a little, puzzled. ‘I don’t think it would be the end of the world.’ He let go of me but stayed where he was, looking down at me. ‘What’s this really about?’

I shook my head wordlessly.

‘You’re worried about getting tied down.’ His mouth
thinned;
I thought it might have been irritation, or even disappointment. ‘Always looking for the exits, aren’t you?’

His talent for mind-reading was really inconvenient now and then. ‘That’s not it.’

‘Isn’t it?’ He sounded frankly sceptical, as well he might. He was getting far too close to what I really felt. ‘I thought you were happy here.’

‘I am.’

‘And that makes you feel panicky because …’

I let him wait for the answer while I sorted it out in my own mind. At last, I said, ‘I’m just not used to it. I’m not used to thinking about the future.’
Whether I’m with you or not
. ‘To be honest, I don’t know what I want.’

I could see him debating the wisdom of pushing me to say more. He settled for keeping things simple. ‘Well, when you work it out, let me know.’ He kissed me once, gently. ‘I’ll be here.’

I was grateful to him for saying it, and I wanted to believe it, but I watched him walk out of the room with nothing but doubt in my mind.

By making a super-human effort to act as if nothing had happened, we had a fairly pleasant evening. Rob cooked, we watched mindless television, then we went to bed in a companionable way, shelving passion in favour of sleep. A normal night for normal people – a privilege for us.

And somehow unsettling. I didn’t get to sleep for a while. It was stiflingly hot, too, and I lay as far away from Rob as I could, not needing the extra body heat. When I finally drifted off it was a restless kind of sleep, frequently disturbed by noises from the street below. The window was wide open but there wasn’t any air, even late at night. Sirens cut through the nearest intersection now and then, heading for bar fights and domestics and violence and all of the misery of a hot summer night in the city. It had been going on for too long, the heatwave. The novelty had gone
and
all that was left were frayed tempers and surfacing grudges.