‘She was certainly working hard,’ Martin added.
‘Harder than usual?’ said Sam.
‘Yes, I think so. She was always on the phone. Like, always on the phone.’
‘On her laptop?’ asked Sam. ‘Computer?’
Martin shook his head. ‘Not so much. Not here anyway.’ He looked at Famie. ‘Is that odd?’
Famie shrugged. Possibly, she thought. ‘Not necessarily,’ she said. She paused, uncertain. ‘Have the police looked at her computer? Her phone?’
‘Yup. Don’t think they found anything. Not that they told me anyway.’
‘Did she keep a diary?’ asked Sam. ‘A journal of any kind?’
Martin looked apologetic. ‘Not as far as I know. I’m sorry.’
‘Did she ever mention a Hari Roy or a Toby Howells as far as you know?’ asked Famie, but only because she felt she had to.
Again, an almost embarrassed shake of the head. This was going nowhere. Famie thought of the visit to Hackney Police Station and the contents of Seth’s laptop. The police would be back here soon enough. She glanced at Charlie and Sam but they were impassive. This was her decision. She decided to tell.
‘Martin, I feel as though I should warn you about something.’
Martin frowned. ‘A warning? About what?’
Famie sighed deeply. She stared at the ground, then her hands, then, finally, Martin. Charlie and Sam were watching him too.
‘The police might ask you about whether Mary was having an affair,’ she said.
Martin tensed. His back straightened. His face coloured. ‘I’m sorry?’ he said. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure they’ll ask you, yes,’ said Famie. ‘And I think they’re right. I think she was.’
Martin stood and walked away from the table, beyond the shade, his face in the sunshine. Hands in pockets.
‘When was this?’ His voice was quiet but steady.
‘We’re not sure, Martin,’ said Famie.
Silence. Famie and Sam exchanged glances. Charlie was on her phone.
‘And this is a police matter?’ he said.
‘Apparently,’ said Famie.
A further silence. Famie’s phone vibrated in her pocket, she stole a glance. An image from Charlie. She glanced up, frowning. Charlie, with urgency, stabbed a finger at her phone. Famie enlarged the screen shot she’d sent. It showed Charlie’s screen with four phones indicated as being nearby. Grey circles, with small type underneath. Martin’s phone, Sam’s phone, Famie’s phone, Amy’s phone. Charlie had circled the last name. ‘Who’s Amy?’ she’d written. Another quick glance at Charlie, who was pointing at the house.
Martin hadn’t moved. She was going to let him ask the next question. Meantime, he appeared to have a woman inside called Amy. Way to go, Martin. That’s some recovery.
Eventually he turned round, walked back to the table. ‘How did they find out?’ he said. His arms folded, his tone resigned. ‘Does everyone know?’ This question seemed to be directed at Sam.
‘Not everyone,’ he said. ‘But quite a few.’
‘You don’t sound surprised,’ said Famie.
Martin shook his head. ‘I knew. Well, I found out.’ He perched again. ‘It’s the Egyptian, yes?’
Sam and Famie nodded.
‘And, Martin,’ said Famie, her voice dropping a register. She paused. ‘There are photos. Seth took photos. Of Mary.’
Martin closed his eyes, said nothing.
‘We thought you’d prefer to hear it from us,’ said Famie. ‘I’m so sorry, Martin.’
He sighed. ‘What sort of photos?’
‘Naked shots,’ said Famie. ‘Not posed.’ Hardly a comfort, she thought.
Martin didn’t move. Then a deep breath. ‘You knew this Seth Hussain, yes?’
‘We did, yes,’ said Famie. ‘I did particularly.’
‘And? You liked him?’
‘I did, Martin. Great reporter. Just turns out to have been a dick. I’m sorry.’
Martin shook his head. ‘Will this come out?’ he said, then shrugged. ‘Of course it will. Stupid question. It all comes out in the end. I’ll need to tell the kids, I suppose.’
‘How are they coping?’ said Famie.
‘They’re coping,’ said Martin. ‘Just about. Ella better than Fred, I think. We’ll get there, Famie.’
‘If you need any help …’
‘I got some, thanks.’
Hello Amy, thought Famie.
Martin looked at his watch, and they took the cue.
‘We’ll head off, Martin,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about the whole shitty mess, really I am.’
They embraced briefly.
‘Thanks for the heads-up,’ he said. ‘You’re right. Hearing all that from the cops would have been a nightmare.’
Famie lingered over one of the newspapers, scanning the headlines. A May-twenty-two-free zone for a change.
‘They’re yesterday’s,’ said Martin.
‘Could I have one for the car?’ asked Famie. ‘Conversation is getting a little dull.’
He waved expansively. ‘Help yourself. Of course. Still the journalist then, Famie.’
She cringed, theatrically. They said their goodbyes.
As Famie spun the car out of the drive, she handed the newspaper to Charlie. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever stolen anything before,’ she said. ‘But it seemed like a good time to start.’ From the folded pages of The Times slid a black tablet computer.
53
‘MUM, YOU’VE GONE mad.’
‘Just wait.’
‘No, seriously. You’ve gone mad. And got me worried.’
Charlie was in the back, Famie in the driving seat, Sam in the front passenger seat. They were on the dirt track Famie had used to U-turn. They were parked up, facing the main road and shielded from view by a line of thick-trunked sycamore trees and wild, white-flowering hawthorn. The engine was off, the windows open. The honey and almond scent of the hedge filled the car. No one noticed.
‘They’re coming,’ said Famie.
They could all hear the sound of a powerful car approaching, its low revs rumbling through the hedgerows.
‘Range Rover,’ muttered Sam, ‘incoming.’
Martin Lawson’s car swept sedately past in a matter of seconds, rolling past the track at around twenty miles an hour. His passenger – a woman, late twenties, short black hair, singlet and sunglasses – was in view for just enough time for Famie to say, ‘He’s gone for the younger model. What a surprise.’
‘She could be the nanny,’ suggested Sam.
‘Probably is the nanny,’ said Famie. ‘How totally predictable.’
‘And so what?’ said Sam. ‘Even if he is shagging the nanny, even if the Lawsons’ marriage was a sham, what’s it to us?’
He had a point, Famie knew that.
‘And why have you stolen his tablet?’ said Charlie, again.
Another good point. Maybe they had the same answer.
‘There’s something here,’ said Famie, waving her arms. ‘In the tablet, in the immaculate house, in the immaculate garden, in his demeanour, his manner. Now a beautiful young woman at his side. You notice he didn’t invite us inside? Did he seem like a grieving husband to you?’