I stand facing the gates of my new lodgings, the key fob in my hand, a sense of foreboding running through me as I try to work up the courage to go inside. Just twenty-four hours ago I was looking forward to a fresh start, to moving into Adriana’s luxurious home and having the time, space and quiet to write. But now I dread going back inside knowing the house may be bugged, that possibly my every move is being watched. Jasper was right, the whole set-up was too perfect. I want to be able to pick up the phone to my best mate, tell him all that’s happened, ask for his advice. But I can’t. The person watching me made it clear that Jasper’s life could be in danger if he continues to dig and, knowing how gung-ho Jasper can be, if I tell him about the email, it’ll heighten his curiosity rather than dampen it. And that could prove fatal.
How is this even happening? It feels like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole into some nightmare parallel world.
It’s just after 9:30 a.m. and I’m guessing Adriana must be up by now, possibly having breakfast. How the hell am I going to be able to look her in the eye and act like everything’s peachy, when things couldn’t be further from the truth? I want to ask her about Ethan, why she was so quick to shoot down Stella’s claim to have seen someone up on the roof with him the night he fell. Aside from the obvious, of course: that Stella is an insomniac who likes her drink. There was no mistaking the haunted look in Adriana’s eyes when she talked about Ethan on Monday. I thought she was just upset about his death, about it being a tragic accident. But perhaps it runs deeper than that. Perhaps she suspects foul play, but is too afraid to speak out. Hence all the tight security, her vigilance about locking all the doors, her snapping at me when I asked about the man I saw hovering on her street.
Whoever sent the email clearly sees me as a potential ‘threat’, in the same way they appeared to have viewed Ethan after he asked questions about Adriana’s childhood, based on what Stella said. It’s a stark warning to me not to repeat his mistakes. They took extreme measures to stop Ethan from meddling and clearly won’t hesitate to do the same with me. Still, if all Ethan did was ask questions, killing him seems extreme. It makes me certain he discovered something bad, as Stella suggested. Something that either implicates this person in whatever happened in Adriana’s past, or something they fear might destroy the life Adriana’s built for herself.
Are they protecting themselves or Adriana? That’s the question. And if it’s the latter, what is it they want to protect her from?
What secret is this person determined to keep buried?
It’s going to be torture hiding the email from Adriana. Not being able to ask her if she has any inkling who might have sent it and why. I’m also desperate to get a professional in to check the house for spyware because I can’t think how else they could have known about Jasper’s digging unless they’d listened in on our conversation yesterday afternoon. But I know I’ll be putting Adriana’s life in danger if I dare utter a word to anyone. I’m trapped in an impossible situation and it’s like I can’t breathe I’m so fucking terrified. I have to do something, though. I can’t just ignore it, pretend everything’s fine; my conscience couldn’t live with that. I tell myself I must try and act normally, as tough as that’s going to be, and in the meantime carry out some careful digging of my own.
Before parting ways with Stella, she insisted I take her mobile number. She said that if I ever needed to talk, I shouldn’t hesitate to call her, despite this being on Adriana’s forbidden list. She also gave me Ethan’s father’s number, in case I felt the urge to speak with him directly. I thanked her, then retraced my steps back through the Heath, trying to run off steam and my escalating anxiety levels. It was lighter by then, busier too, something that should have been a comfort to me, seeing other faces, knowing I was safe in the open air, that no one would dare try and make a move on me in public and in broad daylight. But I felt no more secure than I had done since setting out this morning. If anything, my conversation with Stella only served to heighten my nerves because it’s now clear to me that something very sinister is going on, yet I have no idea how to get to the bottom of it.
I figure if I try and speak to someone close to Adriana, a friend or a family member, they might be able to shed light on her past, on anything bad she’s been at pains to keep under wraps. It’s unfortunate the doctor she remained close to in Guildford died; he’d have been a good place to start. Despite being bound by patient–doctor confidentiality, there’s every chance he’d have broken his oath if he thought Adriana’s life was in danger. Adriana’s aunt and uncle in Guildford would be the other obvious choice. But how to approach them without raising their suspicions? I’ve only just moved in and they’re bound to alert Adriana to my questions. For now, Ethan’s father appears to be the only person I can credibly contact. Hopefully, Ethan told him something he didn’t tell Stella that may prove useful.
One thing’s for sure, though: I won’t be making any calls from inside the house.
Feeling slightly clearer-headed, I’m about to press the key fob, when my phone buzzes. Another email. I shiver, fearing the worst, then feel calmer, buoyed even, once I see who it’s from.
Dear Sebastian,
I hope you’re well. Thank you for your message and I’m sorry for not responding sooner but I’m currently in Florida, on sabbatical. My wife and I bought a holiday home here last year and we decided to spend Christmas and most of January in Tampa. You’re right, I did have dinner with your father back in July 2013. I know it wasn’t long after that, that things took a horrible turn for you and your poor mother, for which I’m very sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you. I’d be happy to meet with you when I get back next week, although I’m not sure how much help I can be.
You mentioned you’re staying in Hampstead. That’s perfect for me, so how about we meet at The Spaniards Inn just by the Heath? Next Thursday, 26th at 1 p.m.
Looking forward to meeting you,
Very best wishes,
Trevor Carrington
Finally, it’s the email I’ve been waiting for. From an old university friend of my dad’s, and one of the last people to have seen him alive.
Before Mum received his suicide note.