After the events of yesterday and that grand finale of a late-night visit to my grandmother, I need the stress relief of this morning’s trip to the gym more than ever. My heart rate is a steady 135 beats per minute. The speed of the treadmill is held at 10 kilometres per hour. It has taken almost two full years to get this strong. When I first moved here, I wasn’t allowed to exercise properly. Once the doctor said I could, I would clasp my side and gasp for breath after one minute of what could barely be described as a slow jog.
The skin where my bump used to be is tight again. You’re young – you’ll spring right back. That’s what everybody said. Nobody would guess she ever existed, unless they saw the scar. Work, exercise, good food, fresh air, not shutting yourself away, staying busy. Those are the things the professionals advise.
Working in the paediatric unit helps. We are all different, and for some it would be too painful, but for me, though it hurts, seeing children who can still be saved is a kind of therapy.
I am nearly finished with the five kilometres I routinely do at the gym on working days, when I have to be at the hospital early. Otherwise I’d run for an hour. Maybe I’d run all day, or until I exhausted myself and fell over. So often, when I run, I hear Zac’s voice. You know you’re not strong, Holly. Maybe this used to be true, and that’s why he chose me. Or maybe it wasn’t true but I let him make it so.
I hear Milly’s voice, too. It’s the rejection from MI5 – that’s why you let Zac do whatever he wants – you think you don’t deserve any better.
The treadmills are positioned in a row on the first floor, in front of windows that overlook the tiny car park. It fits six cars, so I try to get here a few minutes before the gym opens. That way, I can be in and out super-fast. Already, the car park is full.
I watch a familiar SUV pull in. It belongs to George, who joined the gym a few months after I did. He is smiley and chatty to everyone. He told me once that he worked in computer security, and I remember thinking that he had the vague, civil-service-y profile of a perfect spy. I’d promptly dismissed the idea as ridiculous and chided myself for being paranoid. I was starting to feel stronger, then, and it had been easy to let the thought drift away in the wake of medical appointments and counselling sessions. But given Zac’s reappearance, and the fact that this is the first time I’ve seen George in weeks, I am wondering if I should have taken my initial instinct more seriously.
Instead of finding a space on the street like any normal person would do when they see the car park is full, George leaves his car right in the middle of it. He blocks me in. He blocks everybody in. My heart rate climbs. 138, 140.
Again I hear Zac’s voice. It isn’t safe for you to drive, Holly. I can’t let you go, Holly.
I speed up. I watch George jump out of his car, whistling to himself as if he has done nothing wrong.
I look again at the fitness tracker circling my wrist. My heart rate is climbing so fast I can scarcely believe it. 142, 144. What if I need to get away suddenly? 146, 148.
I can see George’s mop of thick blond hair, flopping over his brow. He probably thinks this is a charming look. Dark grey tracksuit bottoms. A loose black T-shirt. Navy trainers. I take all of this in as he dashes from his car and disappears from my sight through the door and into the building.
My heart rate is increasing still more. 150, 152.
It’s dangerous to put your heart under strain, Holly.
You can’t think of yourself, Holly. You need to think of our baby.
Maybe I’m wearing the tracker too low, so it isn’t accurate. I try to push it higher up my wrist but there is nowhere left for it to go. It is snug enough. There is no doubt.
A minute later, George is on the next treadmill, barely a metre between us, foppish hair bouncing. He smiles and nods hello, as if what he did is so normal he has already forgotten it. His eyes are blue. George blue should be in the OED to signal the brightest blue ever seen in organic human form. They crinkle in the corners as he continues to smile. He puts the speed at 12 kilometres per hour and runs with the ease of someone on a gentle walk.
His mouth moves. I can read his lips. ‘Good morning.’
I give him a small nod of acknowledgement, continuing to look in front of me as if my lab-rat motion requires absolute concentration. Despite this, I am still aware of him in my peripheral vision. I grab the hand towel I laid over the console and wipe my forehead. My black-framed spectacles have slipped down. I push them back in place, wondering if I will ever get used to them, and swipe at the sweat beneath them.
George is motioning for me to turn off the sound on my earphones.
I touch my phone to pause the music. ‘What?’
He is studying my wrist and looking worried. ‘Something wrong, Helen?’
‘What could be wrong?’
‘Your heart rate’s a bit high. Do you think you should slow down? I’m only concerned.’
I’m only concerned, Holly.
I look again at the tracker. 165. The number practically gives me a heart attack. ‘My heart rate was fine until you blocked me in with your car.’
‘I park like that when there are no spaces – lots of people here do that. I’d move it as soon as you asked.’
‘I don’t want to ask. I don’t want to have to search for some arrogant stranger.’
‘Sorry.’ His expression manages to be a smile, an embarrassed grimace and an apology all at once.
‘I don’t want to have to spend time interrupting people – men – during their workouts.’
‘Why men?’ He ducks his head slightly.
‘Because you can bet it’s men who do this, not women. I can just hear myself. Hello. Are you the inconsiderate bastard who blocked me in? No thank you. And then I’d have to plead with him to move as if he were doing me a favour.’ I look behind me, where a handful of men are urging each other on with the weights. ‘What if you were with them? I’d have to deal with all of you.’
‘But I’m not with them.’ The effort of speech doesn’t make him breathe any faster.
‘I want to get away when I want to get away. I don’t want to have to negotiate some kind of treaty to do it.’
Want, want, want. It’s always what you want. Why is what you want the only thing that matters?
Is it really so terrible to want?
George jumps his legs to either side of the treadmill belt so he can hop off before the machine slows and stops. A few seconds later I see him striding towards his car, jumping in, driving away. In five minutes he is back on his treadmill, again gesturing for me to turn down my music so I can hear him.
‘I’d never want to make anybody uncomfortable. I should have thought.’ His balance is perfect, even though he is looking sideways at me. ‘Glad to see your heart rate is calming down.’
I glance at the tracker. Already it has fallen to 145, though I can’t blame George entirely that it rose in the first place. Jane – what Zac did to her – the fact that he is so near – all of this is a big factor in my increased heart rate. George blocking me in was merely the tipping point.
‘Can I buy you a coffee when we’re finished here? To apologise for being such an inconsiderate idiot?’
This is unexpected. ‘I can’t.’
Eliza and Alice will be waiting for me at the little park near the hospital for our early morning date. Eliza has promised to bring flasks of coffee that I am predicting will rival a professional barista’s. I will bring nothing but my suspicion, hidden beneath smiles and the new moves of embryonic friendship.
‘No worries. We’re all busy. I know I am.’ He is running at his steady 12 kilometres per hour and there isn’t a drop of sweat.
Oh? I think. What are you busy at?
My suspicion that George is a spy no longer seems at all ridiculous. In fact, the suspicion has grown so huge that my urge to test it is now irresistible. ‘What is it that you do with computers, George? Am I remembering right that it’s something to do with security?’
I have an impression that he wipes away all emotion from his face as if he were erasing a chalkboard with one swipe. His voice goes flat, where before it was expressive. ‘I work with information systems.’
‘Tell me more.’ As soon as the words are out, I remember Maxine using them against me.
He manages a half-smile. ‘It’s boring.’
‘Is it cyber-security?’
‘You could call it that.’
‘Who do you work for?’
‘The civil service.’
‘Ah. You said.’ Of course you did. ‘Can you find stuff out? Find people?’
He taps his mouth with his index finger. ‘Sometimes.’
Workout finished. Congratulations. My treadmill slows, comes to a stop, but the world around me seems to be moving, still, in a funny kind of near-vertigo.
I climb off the treadmill and sling my bag over my shoulder. ‘Can I ask you a favour?’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘I’m intrigued.’
Push, push, push. Test, test, test. What will you do, George? What will you reveal?
‘There’s someone I need information about,’ I say.
‘Mysterious.’ He brings two fingers to his chin. There is more tapping.
‘Exactly. Because I can’t find much.’
‘“Curiouser and curiouser.” Who?’
I reach into my bag for a pen and paper and sketch a bare-bones version of Jane’s family tree. I circle her brother’s name and point. ‘Him.’ I hold the paper in front of George.
He stops his treadmill for a second time, then jumps off and leans against the machine, his arms crossed. ‘Why does he matter to you?’
Because I want to know why Maxine and Martin were talking about him the day Jane was killed.
I don’t answer this direct question of his. I say, ‘I put the other names and details there to help search – for connections to him, maybe, or to narrow down any results. He’s American.’
George’s voice is gentle, verging on teasing, but what he says is not. ‘To do something like this I need to know more. You’re going to have to tell me why he matters.’
‘I’ve never met him. I won’t understand why I need to know about him until I know it. Does that make sense?’
‘It actually does, yes.’
I have estimated Frederick Veliko’s age, guessing that he’d be a few years younger than Jane. ‘He’s probably in his early to mid-thirties, but he’s nowhere on social media. I’m not an expert at Internet searches, but I’ve tried everything a non-specialist can think of.’
‘Let’s see.’ He takes the paper and studies the family tree. ‘Frederick Veliko.’ He looks hard at me. ‘Unusual surname.’
‘I suppose it is. I hadn’t thought until you said.’
‘So his sister’s dead, according to your chart and dates. Very recently dead. Sad.’ He doesn’t sound surprised.
‘Yes.’
‘She must have been young.’
‘Yes.’ I watch him carefully.
‘Different surname.’ His face is again a blank.
‘Yes. Jane Miller. Her legal surname was her mother’s.’ I’m betting you already know all this, George. I glance at Zac’s name, which I also wrote on the family tree. A few days ago it would have seemed unthinkable to speak or write it. But the sky has since fallen. Zac has found me. He has found Jane. ‘Jane was married to this man.’ I touch Zac’s name and George looks sharply up at me. His guardedness disintegrates. His eyes do not leave my face. ‘Jane may have had an affair. If so, I haven’t been able to figure out who her lover was.’
‘I see.’
‘Here’s the thing that’s bothering me. The first time I searched for Frederick Veliko was a couple years ago. All I got then was an obituary, and that only came up because I plugged his father’s name in. I tried again last night. Now, the obituary is gone.’
‘Things come and go from the Internet.’
‘Yes.’ I nod in agreement. ‘But there was another weird thing. I tried some birth and death websites, all government records databases in the US. Each time I plugged Frederick Veliko’s name in, I got an error message with this long string of numbers, saying there were too many requests. I tried other names and that didn’t happen.’
He hesitates, as if he is considering something. ‘Leave it with me. No promises, but I’ll see if I can find anything.’
‘Do you think I’m crazy to think it’s as if he never existed? As if someone tried to clean him away but missed the obituary at the first pass. Then they went back and got rid of the crumb they’d overlooked.’
‘I’d never think you were crazy.’
‘Thank you.’ I imitate his mixture of seriousness and teasing.
‘It’s nice to see you, Helen.’ He adds, ‘I mean, nice for me. Obviously not nice for you. I was a bastard, blocking in your car. I’m truly sorry. Maybe we can meet for a drink sometime …’
It’s not a marriage proposal. It’s a drink. With a man who is probably spying on me. But if he is, why? ‘Maybe,’ I say. And whose side is he on?
I arrive at the park ten minutes early. From the car, I can see that the children’s play area is still deserted. While I wait for Eliza and Alice, I take out my phone and find the review blog that Milly and I created. I haven’t let myself look at it since last June, when I posted my illicit reply to Abandoned Friend’s comment.
She answered me a month later. The heroine should have trusted more in those she was closest to. It is dangerous not to do that. Love can all too easily turn to hate when you think you’ve been abandoned.
Quickly, I type, Not if it’s real love.
To my astonishment, Abandoned Friend likes my comment almost instantly. She must have set up some kind of alert for whenever I make a reply, since discovering my first. She is out there, in real time, talking to me. It must be her.
My heart is beating so fast. Half a minute later, she replies again to my comment. There is no doubt that it was, she says.
I look up, and see Eliza and Alice entering the park from the other side of the children’s play area.
I type another reply. One word is all I have time for. One word is all I need. Was?
She answers my single word with her own. Is.
Then, before my eyes, the review vanishes, and the comments along with it. Is Milly erasing any evidence that could possibly hurt me? Whatever the answer to this question, the contact with her has given me a much-needed boost of strength and heart, but also a reminder of how deeply I miss her.
I drop my phone in my bag and jump out of the car. Eliza waves madly as I walk towards her and Alice. We stand in front of the swings. She punches a juice box with a straw, then hands it to Alice before reaching into a bag she has hung on the handles of the pushchair and producing two flasks of coffee.
She takes a sip, closes her eyes, and sighs. ‘Oh, do I ever need this.’
‘Me too. Thank you. It’s delicious.’
‘Good.’ She smooths a stray hair from Alice’s eyes. ‘Madam’s had a bad couple of nights. We don’t seem to be able to do bedtime without a temper tantrum lately, do we, poppet?’ She touches a red mark on her cheek that she must have noticed I’d been staring at.
It makes my stomach drop in worry. ‘Alice did that?’ Is this a version of the I-walked-into-a-door excuse? Alice herself is holding a little pink pig, which she squeezes so it lets out a squeak and makes her giggle. It doesn’t seem the right moment to ask Eliza if her husband has been extra busy stalking his ex-girlfriends and murdering his ex-wives while beating his latest partner in between.
Eliza looks down at the grass as she says, ‘Never underestimate the strength of a squirming toddler.’
‘Swings,’ Alice says, and Eliza bends to release her from the pushchair, kissing the top of her head before plonking her into a toddler swing with safety bars.
While she pushes, I tell Eliza about a make-your-own-pizza restaurant that a patient’s father mentioned. ‘I thought you and Alice might enjoy it. Sounds fun.’
‘Meet us there tomorrow for an early dinner,’ she says. ‘I could so use the break.’
‘Will your husband come along?’ How can I get her to talk about Zac?
Eliza doesn’t colour or hesitate. ‘I wish. I’d love you to meet him, but he’s flying to Edinburgh tomorrow afternoon.’
So I say yes to the make-your-own-pizza dinner, promising to meet them there after I finish work. ‘What a shame your husband will miss it.’
Her response is a vague and regretful nod, and I see that yet another of my attempts to introduce Zac into the conversation has led nowhere.
I cannot make up my mind if this is natural or deliberate. Is it normal never to say her husband’s name? Probably, I decide, at least at this early stage of friendship. When I glance at my watch and realise I need to be at the hospital in fifteen minutes, I am no closer to working out if Eliza is Zac’s co-conspirator, his victim, or oblivious to it all.