She puts her rubbish in the kitchen bin and then yawns her way into the hallway before disappearing up the stairs.
I wish I knew what to say but what is there? The not knowing is awful. It would be awful if he was dead – but at least she’d know. For now, Olivia doesn’t know whether to mourn or to keep searching. She’s stuck in limbo. So am I, though for different reasons. At the centre of it all, seemingly, is Tyler.
With the living room empty, I do at least get a chance to do the rest of the googling from last night. It’s surprisingly easy, probably ominously so, to find the information I need. I spend a bit of time learning the names and places, making sure it’s clear in my mind before putting the laptop away.
I text Graham, telling him I’m not feeling well, and then say goodbye to Olivia before heading to my car. The journey is straightforward enough and I spend the time repeating back to myself the names I need.
When I reach my destination, there’s nobody there. I park outside and go to the window, pressing my hands to shield the glare. All the lights are off inside, which is quite the annoyance. I’d worked myself up for a big showdown and now there’s nobody around.
I head back to the car and go for a drive. When my stomach starts grumbling, I realise I haven’t eaten in almost a day. I left the restaurant before my spaghetti arrived, didn’t eat when I got home yesterday evening, and didn’t have breakfast this morning.
Luckily, I passed a roadside café a mile or so back. I drive there and pull into a car park rammed with vans and lorries. The smell of sausage and bacon is almost overpowering and I’ve not even left the car. By the time I get inside, I’m practically drooling. The air is thick with grease and there’s a fizz of frying food hissing across the chattering voices. I’m in my work clothes, drastically out of place against the backdrop of truckers and men in overalls.
I still don’t care.
I head to the counter and order a full English. The manager gives me a sideways look. ‘You sure? It’s a lot of food…’
‘I think I can handle it.’
I pay and then find an empty table. There are newspapers scattered around and I pick one up, flicking through to the Sudoku and finding a pen in my bag.
It feels good to be doing something that isn’t thinking about conspiracies. Nobody knows me here; nobody cares who I am. For the first time in what feels like a really long time, I actually relax.
The food arrives after a few minutes – and the guy behind the till was right about it being a lot of food. It’s only now I spot that there’s a half-English on the menu – but it’s too late. The plate is loaded with a good half-tin of beans, half a dozen rashers of bacon, five sausages, four slices of black pudding, three tomatoes, three fried eggs, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.
Maybe not those last two things.
I take my time, both with the puzzle page of the paper and my food. The manager comes around with a pot of coffee and asks if I want more, which I do. He asks how the food’s going and I tell him it’s one of the greatest meals I’ve ever had. I’m not even lying.
An hour has passed when I stand to leave. My stomach is bloated and I dread to think what the bathroom scales would think of it all. My clothes feel too tight but it’s a bit late now. I’d not even noticed him, but the bloke on the adjacent table points to my empty plate and gives a thumbs-up. I laugh and he congratulates me as if I’ve achieved something worthwhile. It’s so satisfying to enjoy an interaction with someone and not doubt their motives.
Which is a far cry from what I have to do next.
Declan is inside his office when I pull up outside for the second time. Graham told me I’d be fired for even texting him, so I figure I might as well go out in blaze of glory. As I get out of my car and step onto the kerb, I spot Declan through the window. He sees me at the same time and rushes to the door, probably to lock it. I get there first and push my way inside, standing defiantly in front of him as he steps away.
‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ he says. He’s in the same suit from the other day and there’s not so much lustre about him this time. Perhaps it’s because I’m not trying to sell him something, but I suspect it’s more because he’s so shocked to see me.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I reply.
‘I’ll call your boss.’
‘Do it. I quit this morning.’
I didn’t – but Declan doesn’t know that and it’s the one thing he holds over me. He knows it, too. His eyes dart both ways but there’s no way out. I’m standing in front of the only door and it’s only us in the office. The back of the room is still filled with boxes but largely empty otherwise. I have a feeling it’ll always be like this.
‘I’ll call the police then,’ he says. ‘You’re trespassing.’
‘Please do call the police. I’ll tell them how you made up lies about me and tried to defraud my company. It should make an interesting story.’
Declan’s worried now. It’s all bluster on my part but it’s starting to dawn on him that he might not have thought all this through.
Just as I’m beginning to feel confident, my phone rings. It’s instinct to pull it from the pocket on the front of my bag. It’s Ellie and I almost press to answer – except that I can’t talk to her in front of Declan, and I really need to get this over with.
I press reject – and then turn back to him.
‘Your girlfriend is called Nicole,’ I say. ‘You got engaged about six weeks ago while on holiday in Spain.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I’ve got Nicole’s phone number and I’m going to call her to say how you tried it on with me. You can make things up – and so can I.’
Declan has stopped backing away. He’s now staring curiously, eyebrows dipped. ‘Even if you did have her phone number, she’ll never believe you.’
‘Maybe not. You know her better than me. But do you think she’ll completely dismiss it? Or do you think she might have the tiniest inkling of doubt? She might tell me to get lost – but every time you leave the house, she’ll wonder what you’re doing and who you’re with.’
My phone rings again but I ignore it. Declan glances to my bag and then back to me.
‘She won’t believe you,’ he repeats.
‘I’ll take that chance. What have I got to lose?’
He gulps and I know I’ve got him. Confidence is the thing. It took a full English and a thumbs-up from a stranger but I feel like a rock star. A fat, bloated one – but a rock star nonetheless.
‘What do you want?’ he asks.
‘Who put you up to it?’
Whatever he expected, it wasn’t that. His neck cranes back a little. ‘What?’
‘Someone put you up to all this. Who was it?’
Declan starts to shake his head slowly. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’
We stare at each other for a moment, seemingly both a little off guard. With everything that’s gone wrong in the past week, I’ve linked it all together. Stephen was put up to doing something for money and I thought Declan had been as well.
Trust is such an important part of a person’s life. It’s intrinsic to someone’s well-being that the people in his or her life can be relied upon. Over the past week, I’ve viewed almost everyone with suspicion. It’s only Olivia who has escaped that. When that trust goes, everything becomes a conspiracy. But I can see in Declan that the timing of his complaint is a coincidence that made everything worse. Graham might have given Declan’s details to Natasha or Claire – and the complaint would have come about either of them. This was a dodgy scheme to try to get a discount for a struggling business. Nothing more. As with Stephen, it’s all about the money.
It’s almost disappointing.
‘You’re going to call Graham,’ I tell him. ‘And you’re going to say that your complaint about me was all a misunderstanding. Got it?’