‘I don’t give a shit how busy he is, I want him round here within the next hour, or I’ll find a lawyer who is available when I call.’
Marcus slammed the receiver back into the cradle, and Karla winced. Her husband didn’t get this angry unless he was really rattled.
They had barely said a word to one another since the podcast had played into the kitchen half an hour ago. Zachary had been banned from listening in the first place and, as the final bars of the end tune played, Brandon had silently picked up his phone and gone up to his room. Karla didn’t have the energy to follow him.
A mixture of relief and dread peaked in her chest as the doorbell rang. The police already?
‘It’s Felicity.’ Marcus came back into the kitchen. ‘I’m not letting her in. I’ve closed up the front of the house and locked everywhere. Let everyone get their gossip somewhere else.’
‘Doesn’t that make us look guilty?’ Karla picked up her mobile and put it back down again without reading any of the six messages. ‘Add that to our lawyer turning up, and we may as well get “I killed Erica Spencer” T-shirts printed.’
‘See, that’s what I love about you.’ Despite how irritated he’d seemed on the phone, Marcus grinned. ‘You see a difficult situation and immediately think, “How can I monetise this?”’
Karla glanced through the hallway blinds and watched Felicity’s front door close behind her. Guilt prickled at her – Felicity would only have been coming over to show support – now was not the time to be sending friends away. But Marcus was right, they just needed to close ranks until they had figured out a plan of action. This latest podcast didn’t mean anything. Okay, it wasn’t the best reflection of their lives, but it was hardly the damning evidence of murder that Andy Noon – whoever the fuck he was – had claimed to have on them. But what if this was only the beginning?
‘Did you hear how he talked about everyone? To everyone ? As if he knew us. It’s got to be someone who lives here. He said “our community”, for God’s sake. Why can’t we find out who he is?’
‘What do you want me to do, start hammering on all the neighbours’ doors, asking them if they’ve been accusing us of murder? We can’t start turning on each other, Karla. For all we know, it’s someone outside trying to make us believe they live here. Maybe they think we’ll all start burning each other’s houses down, smoking the bastard out.’
Karla sighed. ‘I know, it just seems so stupid that there are only thirteen houses here and we have no idea who this guy is.’
‘It might not even be a guy,’ Marcus reminded her. ‘You remember what Brandon said about voice distortion. It’s more likely to be a woman – wouldn’t a guy have used a woman’s voice as a disguise?’
Karla thought of the woman she’d confronted the night of the Halloween party nearly a year ago. Could Andy Noon be . . .? But why? She was angry, yes, but angry enough to set them up for murder? Or was this just her way of exposing their lies so she could sweep in and pick up the pieces – have Marcus back, the way she wanted? Karla wanted desperately to ask Marcus if she’d been in touch, if he’d seen her again. But that would mean talking about it, and once they pulled it out into the fresh air instead of burying it deep, an unspoken knowledge between the two of them, who knew where it would end?
‘I’m going out.’ Brandon’s voice broke into her thoughts.
Marcus was at the bottom of the stairs before their son could get halfway down.
‘Not now, mate. We’re all staying in tonight, keeping a low profile and all that.’
Brandon raised his eyebrows. ‘What, so because Mum lied to the police I can’t—’
‘Your mother did not lie to the police, and you need to watch what you’re saying. The papers get hold of you saying something like that, and you’ll end my career, probably your mum’s too.’
‘Oh, and that would be devastating,’ Brandon replied, his voice laden with sarcasm.
‘In there.’ Marcus directed his eldest son into the small living room the family kept for themselves, the room they had always referred to as ‘the snug’. It was there that Karla had breastfed her children, where she and Marcus had sat up all night watching horror movies under piles of fleecy blankets, and where the boys had retreated to when they felt ill, feet up on the squidgy sofa, watching back-to-back episodes of whatever TV show had been popular when Brandon was younger. Karla could hardly remember him being young, these days – it felt as though he’d always been a surly sixteen-year-old.
‘Zach?’ Marcus shouted up the stairs to their youngest.
Karla followed Brandon into the snug, immediately feeling calmer. The wall to the left of the door was lined with bookshelves, crammed with everything from Jenny Colgan to Shaun Hutson, books from every decade of their family life. There were box sets of Secret Seven novels and true-crime compendiums. The carpet was a muted scarlet, mostly covered by a woven multicoloured rug Karla had found on a market in Benidorm. A DVD cabinet housed box sets like Lost and films like Taxi . The desk in the corner was covered in Zachary’s homework, and pictures of the family adorned the wall above – not huge canvases taken by professional photographers but actual photographs – family camping holidays, Bran on his first bike, Zach on the potty. An electric guitar lay propped up in the corner; it had been there for four years, and Brandon had barely touched it in three. This was the only room in the house that showed who the Kaplans were when they weren’t being famous.
Karla took up residence in the armchair, pulling her feet underneath her, while Brandon slumped into the corner of the sofa. Marcus sat on the floor and Zachary appeared in the doorway, the only one who had no idea of what was going on.
‘What? What is it? Is someone ill?’
At Zach’s words, Karla realised just how long it had been since they had gathered together as a family. How was this so unusual that it had to mean bad news to their ten-year-old son? How had they built a brand out of showing others ways to craft the perfect family when their own children couldn’t remember the last time they had all spent together?
‘Listen, we need to talk about what this guy is saying, this anonymous podcaster. It’s imperative that if the press ask you anything, you don’t make a comment. In fact, it’s best if you don’t comment on it to anyone, not kids at school, not—’
‘What’s he saying?’ Zach looked confused.
Karla beckoned for him to come to her and when he did, she pulled him onto her knee.
‘He’s saying Mum lied to the police,’ Brandon said, a hard edge to his voice that Karla didn’t like. ‘He’s saying that Dad planted cigarettes on Erica Spencer’s dead bod—’
‘Brandon!’ Karla’s hand flew to her mouth, but Marcus shook his head.
‘Don’t, Kay, he’s right. We heard what he said: that Erica had written in that bloody journal of hers that I was smoking again, and that my brand of cigarettes were found in her pocket when she had quit smoking months ago. So for once in a long time, let’s treat our kids like the adults they are growing into. If they can’t talk about it here, they will only talk at school.’
‘Spoken like a true self-help guru,’ Brandon muttered, rolling his eyes.
‘What is your problem?’ Karla snapped. ‘Just what is it that we’ve done to you that is so bad? We’ve given you everything – probably too much, by the looks of it – but we always thought we had taught you to be respectful of how much you have, to appreciate our good luck. We volunteer at shelters, we donate to food banks – Dad has his own charity, for fucksake – and still, you’re turning into a spoiled brat. What is it, Bran?’
‘Why don’t we see Nana Randley?’ Brandon asked, looking his mother level in the eye.
Karla flinched.
‘You know why,’ Marcus interjected. ‘I haven’t spoken to my mother in years. You don’t need to know the details, but we had a falling out, and we thought it best she wasn’t part of your lives.’
‘Because she abused you.’
Karla gasped. ‘Who told you that?’
When Brandon didn’t speak, Marcus answered for him. ‘You’ve read my book.’
‘What, did you really expect me not to? When all anyone at school can talk about is my junkie dad whose mum beat the shit out of him. Do you know how many times I’ve been asked if Mum’s books have any recipes with dog food in? Or if the pair of you have plans to work together on a hash brownie book?’
‘Oh, Bran,’ Karla breathed.
Marcus just looked white. Zach still looked confused by the whole outburst.
‘You mean hash brown,’ he corrected his brother.
Brandon scowled.
‘Mate, I’m sorry—’ Marcus started, but Brandon jumped to his feet.
‘And I’m not your mate, why do you have to call me that? You think you’re so cool and hip because you’ve been on drugs, but everyone I know thinks drugs are for losers. So what does that make you, mate ?’
Without waiting for a reply, Brandon stormed from the room. Marcus looked at Karla, and she felt as though her heart was breaking. While they had been busy building an empire, she hadn’t ever realised how opening their family life to the public would affect the two most important people in it.
Karla heard Brandon’s door slam.
‘I’ll talk to him tomorrow,’ Marcus said. ‘I need to go out.’
‘Wait, where are you going?’ A vision of long blonde hair, watery blue eyes, flashed into her mind.
Marcus hesitated. He could still decide to stay. It wasn’t too late yet. He shook his head. ‘Just out.’