Of course he does. Jake doesn’t want to be reminded of Rob’s wealth, or how he, Jake, was singularly unable to provide for Kate.
‘That’s good of him.’ The words sound more sarcastic than he meant. He remembers Bex mentioning something about a shrink.
‘I wish I could explain to you what it’s like,’ Kate says. ‘One moment he looks familiar, the Rob I know and love, the next he’s a total stranger.’ It’s her turn to pause now. ‘I’d be so bloody relieved if it is Capgras, Jake. At least I could stop thinking I’m going nuts.’
Her voice cracks. Jake wishes he were with her now, there to comfort her. In truth, she always was a little bit nuts. Impulsive. Like the day gay marriage was legalised and she painted the outside of the boat in rainbow colours. Her hair has been most colours of the rainbow too, since he’s known her, although she settled on a conservative chestnut when she worked for the police. He wonders what colour it is now.
‘Talk to this guy Dr Varma,’ he says. ‘When are you seeing him?’
‘Tomorrow. I’m coming up to London. On the train.’
He’s not aware of her having come up-country since her move to Cornwall, but what does he know? They live separate lives now.
‘Don’t forget to wave,’ he says. The Penzance to Paddington line runs through the village, parallel with the canal.
‘Sure.’
They are both silent, neither of them hanging up.
‘Did you really not read any of my messages?’ she eventually asks. ‘To Rob?’
‘No.’
‘Thank you.’
Monday
50
Kate
Kate is sitting on the train from Cornwall to London, watching the Wiltshire countryside slide by. Bex and Stretch dropped her off at Truro station this morning, later than she planned. She and Bex both overslept, having stayed up late to talk about what they’d seen on the beach. Bex is going to hang out at the house for a few days, drive around in the Tesla with Stretch.
The train will soon be passing through Kate’s old village, where she shared so much of her life with Jake, and she should be able to see their boat – what’s left of the burnt-out hulk. She’s not sure if she wants to.
She’s still cross with Jake for logging into her Facebook account, but it was good to talk to him last night about Capgras. And to hear about the story that Kirby told him online – told her; she must remember that. Rob’s encounter with Gil in Thailand fits with what Rob told her – his fear of being found by his double. But Jake’s right, it doesn’t explain her own suspicions whenever she sees Rob face to face, that he’s been replaced by Gil. That just doesn’t make any sense, on so many levels. Take the piece of beach glass she and Rob found. How would Gil, a man Rob met nine years ago, be aware of that? He certainly wouldn’t know to give it to her as a necklace. It’s ridiculous. She must be suffering from Capgras syndrome. Dr Varma will know. Rob has arranged for her to see him later today.
Her phone rings.
‘You alright?’
It’s Bex, calling her for the third time since they said goodbye at Truro.
‘Just coming up to the village,’ Kate says, her face pressed against the carriage glass.
‘Give it a wave from me,’ Bex says, echoing what Jake said yesterday. ‘I think I’ve been caught speeding – sorry.’
‘Seriously?’
Rob won’t be happy. When Kate spoke to him earlier, he agreed to put Bex on the Tesla insurance as long as she watched her speed.
‘Stretch was on my lap so he can take the points,’ Bex continues.
She’s joking. Of course she is. Kate worries that she lost her sense of humour too after the crash.
‘Goes like a rocket though, doesn’t it?’ Bex says. ‘And it can drive itself, does the parking for you, even blow-dries me hair.’
They chat some more, Bex’s usual joshing cut through with a new note of concern. The sight of a dead man has left them both frightened. Kate knows Bex is worried about her going up to London on her own. She fell very quiet after Kate told her about Kirby and Thailand – Kate had expected her to be outraged by Jake’s behaviour – and she gave Kate an extra-long hug on the platform.
Kate’s train starts to slow as it approaches the village. The service from Cornwall to London rarely calls here, but she’d had to take a stopping service after oversleeping. As they draw near to the platform, she catches a brief glimpse through a row of poplar trees of the wreck of their old boat, semi-submerged in the canal, the adjoining towpath blackened by the fire and ringed off with cones and police tape. The sight of it takes her breath away. The boat looks so forlorn, utterly broken. And then she sees a figure walking towards her. It’s Jake, hunched shoulders, defeated gait.
She grabs her bag from the overhead luggage rail and finds herself standing at the door, waiting impatiently for it to open. One other passenger at the far end of her carriage is preparing to get off and she doesn’t recognise the few people gathered on the platform. There’s a delay with the door and she begins to wonder if she misheard the announcement. Before she knows it, she’s slapping at the glass and the door slides open, fresh air is on her face and she’s running down the platform towards the canal.
And then she stops. This is crazy. What is she doing? Jake, the narrowboat, this village – it’s the old her, the life that she left behind. She needs to keep moving forward, to London. To Rob. The only other person to get off the train walks past. The woman in her carriage. Big eyebrows, like Cara Delevingne’s. She must think Kate’s a madwoman. The doors are still open. Kate glances up and down the platform, spots the guard at the far end, and starts to move back towards the train.
The guard shouts at her. ‘Stand away!’
The doors close. And she’s still on the platform.
She stands there in a daze, watching distorted reflections of herself as the shiny train pulls out without her and continues on its journey. She knows she hesitated, could have jumped back on board. When the train has gone, she’s alone at the station, the sun beating down on her. Even the birds are too hot to sing. It feels like yesterday she was here, and yet it could also be an eternity ago.
She’s about to turn when a movement in the doorway of the shelter on the opposite platform catches her eye. There are no windows. It’s just a basic wooden hut, popular with teenagers who gather there at night to drink cans of cider. She remembers the graffiti and stale smell of urine.
She looks across the tracks again, into the hut’s dark interior, and sees someone sitting on a metal bench in the shadows. It’s hard to make out his face in the poor light, and he’s wearing a beanie, pulled down hard. But she can glimpse enough to know that she has seen him before – staring out from a missing person poster.
51
Silas
The boss is furious with Silas, much as he expected, demanding to know why he should authorise him to spend time on a murder investigation two hundred miles away in Cornwall.
‘Even when you told him about a possible link to our modern slavery investigation?’ Strover asks.