Maud passed Danny Kemp in the corridor. He was dressed in a close-fitting black suit that Maud thought looked too tight on him but which he was obviously well pleased with, and his hair was brushed back from his forehead.
‘Guess where I’m going,’ he said.
She studied him.
‘A funeral.’
‘Kira Mullan’s funeral.’
‘The woman who took her own life?’
‘Yup. All the way to fucking Derbyshire. But that’s me. I like to show how much I care.’
‘I hope it’s a good funeral.’
‘And you know that woman who said we should investigate further?’
‘Yes.’
‘The one you said we should listen to?’
‘I remember.’
‘She only went and got herself sectioned. Shut up in a mental home.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Maud said gravely.
His face reddened.
‘You never even met her. She wasted police time.’
‘Not that much time.’
Felix opened the passenger door and leaned over to do Nancy’s safety belt up for her. The interior smelt of pine.
‘It’s my mother’s car,’ he said. ‘She sends her love, by the way.’
Nancy smiled at him. As far as she remembered, she hadn’t uttered a word yet, but he didn’t seem to mind. He put the key in the ignition, started the engine, then took her hand and gazed at her.
‘You look so frail.’
Little spots of rain pattered on the windscreen.
‘I bought us some coffee,’ said Felix. He handed her a large cardboard cup. ‘It should still be hot. And there’s a cinnamon bun if you’re hungry.’
‘It won’t take very long to get back to the flat, will it?’
‘We’re not going back to the flat. Not right away.’
He released the handbrake and eased out of the parking space.
A small part of Nancy was relieved – she had a horror of the whole house, of the faces she would see, of Kira’s closed door, of Michelle and Dylan paying a visit, of how everyone would look at her, speak to her. But the sooner she went back, the sooner she would be able to leave again. This time she would leave for good.
She just needed to do it right, so that nobody would be able to stop her. She was free, but she still felt unsafe, as though she had only been granted a temporary reprieve and that at any time she could be recalled if she put a foot wrong. She had been let out of the hospital because she had gone along with a collective version of her story that cast her as deluded. If immediately on release she reverted to the other Nancy, the one who believed Kira had been killed, who thought her neighbours had tricked her, and who urgently needed to leave Felix, what would happen?
‘I worried about going back there at all,’ Felix said. ‘After everything that happened. But we’ve paid for the next quarter. Will you be able to bear it?’
‘Yes,’ said Nancy.
‘And I was thinking it might even be good for you, to meet the people you thought were plotting against you and see how much they are on your side.’
‘I guess,’ said Nancy.
It was tiring, being this sweet and docile woman.
‘Michelle brought a cake and some flowers round.’
‘How kind of her.’
She was thinking of how tomorrow after Felix left for work she would pull the big case from the top of the wardrobe, pack a few clothes, retrieve her passport, be gone.
‘Of course I’ve taken tomorrow off as well, so we have three clear days together.’
Not tomorrow then, she thought. Three more days of smiling and lying and being servile. She could do that.
‘Amazing,’ she said.
The car turned onto the main road. Nancy pressed her face to the rain-streaked window and looked at the receding hospital. Her heart was still thudding: perhaps it would take a long time before she was free of the terror.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘It’s a surprise.’
She slid a glance at Felix, his large competent hands on the steering wheel, the smoothness of his freshly shaved cheeks, and the little smile that was twitching his lips. He was content.
‘Will you have some coffee?’
‘Please.’
She handed him one of the cardboard mugs of coffee and he took a hasty sip before handing it back. She took a mouthful of her own; it didn’t taste quite right, something metallic about it. That would be the drugs.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ said Felix. ‘After everything.’
Nancy could scarcely believe it either; it was as if she was in a dream and at any moment might wake to see Mil Burns leaning over her.
‘This will be our new beginning.’ Felix’s tone was fervent.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re very quiet.’
‘I’m feeling in a bit of a daze.’
He put a hand briefly on her thigh and her flesh shrank, her soul shrank.
Three days.
The rain was strengthening, the windscreen wipers made hasty arcs on the window. Vans and cars ahead of them were dirty smudges in the wet greyness. Felix hunched forward in the seat, frowning in concentration.
They passed under a large bridge of thundering traffic and now seemed to be leaving the density of the city behind them. There were open spaces, light industrial units, a line of great pylons marching into the fog.
Felix was saying something about plans for Christmas Day, only seventeen days to go, about the new year.
‘Where are we?’ she asked.
‘Nearly there. I might need the sat nav in a moment.’
They turned off the road, down another, smaller one, and he pulled over into a layby and took out his phone, keying something into it.
‘Just a few minutes now.’
‘Can’t you just tell me?’
She almost allowed herself to sound cross.
They drove slowly down a small country lane. Felix nearly ran over a dead badger.
He slowed down and turned up a rutted driveway that ended at a narrow red-brick house, an enormous ploughed field behind it.
‘I don’t understand.’
Felix turned off the engine and faced her.
‘Paying almost my entire salary to live in that poky flat isn’t good for you. London isn’t good for you; all the pressures of city life. I should have recognised it before. I blame myself.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Felix pointed. There was a For Sale sign half-hidden by the hedge.
‘I’ve put an offer on it,’ he said, smiling triumphantly at her. ‘Yesterday I heard it’s been accepted.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t worry, my parents have lent me the deposit. We can have a house of our own, Nancy. Two bedrooms and a box room and our own little garden. I can commute to London if we buy a cheap car to get me to the station. We’ll actually save money. You can have some peace and quiet and recover.’
‘You did all this while I was at Oakwood?’
‘The owners are expecting us. I told them you wanted to see it as well.’ He leaned in closer. ‘Are you pleased?’
‘It’s a bit of a shock.’
‘I know it will take time for you to adjust. You think of yourself as a city girl. But look what the city has done to you.’
He got out of the car and by the time he was opening her door, was soaked, his hair plastered to his skull.
Nancy got out, into a deep puddle. Rain ran down her neck.
‘What’s that smell?’ she asked.
‘There’s a farm along the road. It’s better than the smell of traffic, isn’t it?’
Nancy preferred the smell of traffic.
They walked through the mud to the front door and rang the bell, which set off a musical chime. The woman who answered was about their age; she was carrying a bawling baby that reminded Nancy of Olga and Harry’s daughter, Lydia. From inside, they heard a screaming and crashing sound.
‘That’s Joey having a tantrum,’ the woman said wearily. ‘Can you take off your shoes?’
They took off their shoes. They looked into the living room, where Joey was indeed having a tantrum, flinging wooden bricks and miniature cars at the wall, his face huge and purple with rage. They examined the kitchen, whose window looked out onto the unyielding ploughed field, and the downstairs toilet. They went upstairs and took in the master bedroom with a side cot attached to the bed, the small bedroom decorated with dinosaurs, the very small box room piled high with junk, the bathroom.
‘What do you reckon?’ asked Felix as they climbed back into the car. For the first time that day, his face was anxious.
‘It’s a lot to take in.’
‘Think of it in the spring, when everything is green and fresh. There are some lovely walks near here and the village is only a mile up the road. It’s got a shop and a pub. We could go and have a drink there now, if you fancy it, get a feel for the place.’
She looked at him, then nodded.
‘That’d be nice,’ she said.
In the Green Man, which was cosy and pretty in a very English way, with a fire in the grate, Nancy had a ginger beer and a packet of crisps. Felix had a half of a local ale. He raised it to her and they clinked glasses. He smiled. She smiled back.
Then he looked away.
‘About the house.’ He was speaking in a mumbled rush. ‘There’s no rush, you need to get well, but if we ever decide to have a…you know.’
He broke off.
‘Felix,’ said Nancy gently, imagining screeching and throwing the ginger beer into his face. ‘The house is perfect.’
‘Really.’
‘You’re right. London hasn’t been good for me.’
‘You don’t mind I went ahead without consulting you first?’
‘You couldn’t consult me. I was ill. You’ve done all this for me, and I won’t forget it.’