Later, on Hampstead Heath, I try to interrogate Adam about DC Huhne. He didn’t originally want to come to the Heath. He wanted to get home, finish off his reading. Work papers, I assume. Seeing as he’s already read book two. But I told him I’d already made a picnic, we could find a nice secluded spot, and that it was really on his way home.
‘So what did she say?’ I ask. ‘Was Nicole giving Huhne her latest theories about Helen?’ I want to add: or Ally. But I don’t.
Adam shrugs. ‘Maybe. I left the room. There were so many theories, back at the time. None of them brought Helen back. Where shall we sit?’
‘Here?’ I ask, gesturing to a grassy area, near to the ponds, beneath a tree. There are no other picnickers at the usually popular bathing spot today. Still, I suppose we’re out of season.
Adam throws his jacket down on the ground for extra padding and sits down.
‘How long did she stay for?’ I ask, unwrapping the sandwiches.
‘Jam?’ says Adam. ‘What are we, fourteen?’ But he picks one up and begins eating it anyway. The jam smears the edges of his lips. I move to wipe it away with kitchen roll, but he has already removed it with the back of his hand.
‘So, Huhne,’ I say. ‘Little Debbie Huhne. How long was she there for?’
‘Oh, Debbie, is it now? Someone got a crush?’ He elbows me in the ribs to show he is joking.
‘Hardly,’ I say, rubbing my ribs. It was a harder elbow than the joke warranted. I think there’ll be a bruise.
Adam tears at his sandwich.
‘How long was she there for?’ I repeat.
He shrugs. ‘Half an hour?’
I tilt my head from side to side. ‘That’s quite a while to talk about Nicole’s mad theories.’
‘Maybe they’re not so mad,’ he says. ‘Her theories about you.’
I look at him.
‘Well, you don’t have a great alibi, do you?’
‘I didn’t know I needed one,’ I say.
He mutters something I don’t hear. It sounds a bit like: ‘Not for that’. What is he talking about? Helen or Ally? Or – no. Not the other thing. He doesn’t know about that.
I’ll opt for Helen.
‘You don’t seriously think I killed Helen?’ I ask. ‘Why would I do that to you?’
He shrugs again. ‘Why wouldn’t you?’
I stand up and throw down my jam sandwich. Stress or no stress, he is going too far.
Adam looks up at my combative stance.
‘The duelling ground’s that way,’ Adam says, grinning, cocking his head to the left, towards the fabled spot where duellers used to meet.
‘Adam, are you accusing me of killing Helen?’
‘Oh relax,’ he says. ‘Have an apple.’ He throws me one.
‘Because the police cleared me, you know,’ I remind him. ‘At the time.’
‘Not DC Huhne,’ he says. ‘She’s new.’ He crunches into his apple. ‘Keen to get her teeth into a new case. Nicole looked her up. Interesting profile. She won’t let it go.’
‘It’s hardly new,’ I say.
‘Not that one,’ Adam clarifies. ‘The new one. The dead girl, from the flats opposite that restaurant we ate in. Remember?’
I nod. I wait to hear what Adam has to say. Why DC Huhne was talking about it.
‘Nicole was pumping her for information, I guess. Said we were having dinner opposite. The police reckon she was already dead by then. That we were eating opposite a murder scene.’
I nod. ‘Big new case,’ I say.
‘You’re probably never more than a few feet away from a murderer, or a rapist, in London,’ he says, looking at me.
It is my turn to shrug. I am about to take a bite of my apple but he seizes my wrist so I drop it. ‘I fancy a swim,’ he says. ‘In the ponds.’
He lets my wrist drop, too soon. Then he stands and starts unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes are locked in mine. My groin responds.
‘Tempted?’ he asks.
I step forward and the corners of his mouth twitch. A smile? No. A sneer.
I stop moving and shake my head.
‘What’s wrong?’ he laughs, undoing his trousers. ‘Got your period?’
Ah, the girl jokes. I remember those from school. They were just as funny then.
‘Got your period,’ I mimic, his echo. Then, ‘Someone needs to watch your valuables,’ I say. ‘And I’ll keep watch for snakes.’ It’s not a joke – there was an adder sighted, earlier this year.
He hands me his watch, heavy and silver. I slip my wrist into it, where it sits heavily. I take his clothes, a white shirt and chinos, and the jacket, plus my backpack (we’ve left the violin at mine so I can practise) and follow him to the water. I put my rucksack and his shoes down besides. While he swims, I lean over the edge of the pond, watching him. At one point he dives under, and I lie down to admire his muscular beauty as he swims beneath the silvery surface. I get so close to the water that I could almost kiss it. Just when I think he must be running out of air, and that if I get any closer I will fall, he swarms upwards and his own face bursts through my reflection. We stay there for a moment, frozen, almost touching, with his white shirt billowing out from my hands over the pond, while he treads water.
Then he pulls me in.