She didn’t answer.
They veered off to the left, to Max’s enormous car park with its painted white lines and gleaming vehicles. Mik unlocked his BMW, and Gwen tucked herself into the passenger seat, sliding down low as they pulled away. He drove them out of the estate with only a perfunctory wave from the security guard at the gate.
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Devon,’ she said.
‘Really?’
‘I went there a few times as a kid. The north coast. I know it, a little.’
‘You got enough money for a hotel down there? Until this blows over?’
‘It’s not a whim, Mik.’
‘No, I meant – I’m sorry. You will need money, though, won’t you? Think it through.’
‘Okay. Yes. I’ll need money. But—’
‘Well then. I have money.’
‘No, I don’t want…’
‘Shut up. It’s just money. I have it, more than I need. I always wanted to get into property. Listen, I’ll buy a house down there and you’ll live in it for me. You can help me choose it. Think investment potential. From a bodyguard to a live-in housekeeper and portfolio manager in one day. Come on, let’s do it.’
‘You’re mental,’ she said, but she was smiling, and she didn’t say no. It was a wild gamble, an attempt to make an adventure, but why not? That was the great blessing of money. And when she was ready to make up with Max, and for it to be the three of them again, he would know exactly where she was. He would keep her safe.
‘What kind of house did you stay in before? In Devon?’
‘It was a rental cottage in a village. Just a pub and a post office. No television. We stayed in the same place every year. I used to read so many books. Stories I could escape into. Then go and walk along the cliff paths. It never changed. I hope it still hasn’t.’
‘Cottage. Pub. Post office. Cliffs. Room for books. Got it.’
‘Mental,’ she said, again.
Mik’s phone rang. The dashboard displayed the name—
‘Don’t,’ she said.
‘Gwen, I should just—’
‘No. No.’
‘Okay,’ Mik said. ‘Okay, okay,’ until she was calm again.
Max rang four more times on the journey to Devon, and then fell silent.
There was a B&B in Lynmouth that was, Gwen said with great emotion, just the same. He gave her what cash he had in his wallet and then handed over one of his credit cards. He told her he’d be back in a couple of days to start house hunting with her.
‘Are you going back to Max’s?’ she said.
‘Of course. I won’t mention you.’ Max would, no doubt, tell him everything. But with a gloss upon it. An argument? A hare-brained scheme that had backfired? Mik had considered all permutations. Nothing fit.
The room in which they stood had a large bay window that looked out over a valley; he crossed to it, and was rewarded with a view of a fat, slow river winding through boulders below, and an astonishing mass of greenery – an explosion of natural beauty. Gwen came to stand beside him.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘I can see why you like this place.’ But it would have been too quiet for him; he already knew that.
‘It’s not fair,’ she whispered.
‘What isn’t? Tell me. Just tell me.’
‘The last time we came here I was thirteen. We had a brilliant week. My mother, my stepfather and me. When we got back home he moulted. He left that night. We never saw him again. End of happy families. Then I moulted for the first time the week after, the week after, God, everything was suddenly so different. I was different. I couldn’t bear it. I wanted it all back, to have it back, to have that one thing and for it to last.’
‘You’re my friend. Friendship lasts. It’s not love. It’s not even the Bond.’
‘You chose me over Max. I know how much that will cost you,’ she said, and then told him she was very tired, and wished him a safe journey back, so formally, like a grand lady saying her goodbyes at the end of a party.
‘Gwen,’ he said, before she could shut the door on him. ‘It’s okay. You’re still you and I’m still me.’
‘Not really,’ she said, and then he left her, and began the long drive away from a magnificent sunset over the sea.
He tried to reach Max, ringing every half an hour. There was no answer.
Back at the estate, the gates were standing open, unattended, and there were so many people, uniforms, at the top of the gravel driveway, with the blue lights of the police cars and the ambulances flashing, flashing, flashing.
SATURDAY, 20 JULY 2019, 10:05PM.
ROSE: You couldn’t have known. You didn’t know a thing about it. Why he took all those pills. You still don’t know, do you? Taylor never told you. It’s not your fault.
MIK: He called me. I didn’t answer.
ROSE: You did your best. You couldn’t help them both.
MIK: I don’t get it. Why I had to make a choice between them. But I made it, and I’ve stuck to it. Whatever Gwen did, I didn’t falter. That’s a good friend, right?
ROSE: Yes. Absolutely.
Rose turns off her phone. ‘I’m done recording,’ she says. She wears a deep frown. I get the sense she’s profoundly troubled by the things I’ve told her.
I get up from the sofa, stiff from sitting still for so long, and take a slow walk around her living room. On the mantelpiece, above an unlit wood burner, there are matching candlesticks holding white tapering candles. They look like they’ve never been lit. There are two silver-framed photographs, too. One shows the Eiffel Tower. The other shows Rose, not much younger than she is now I’d guess, with a toddler on her lap. There’s a sky-blue background behind them both; it looks like a happy holiday memory.
‘You’ve got a family?’
‘Just Ethan,’ she says. ‘My late miracle. He’s six now. He’s with his dad this weekend.’
‘You’re on good terms with his dad?’
‘Yes, fine. I was never in love with him, so that simplifies things. I’ve learned how to stay friends with people over the years.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Friends.’
How pathetic these words are: sex, love, friend. How little they describe.
‘I’ve spent years trying to understand myself,’ she says. ‘I’ve even tried writing it down. I described myself in the third person, past tense. She did this. She did that. She fell in love. She became a student. An administrator. A bodyguard. An investigator. A designer. It never all adds up to one person. One complete person, not in the way Max was complete. But now I’m beginning to think that’s how it’s meant to be. To be otherwise is either a lie or insanity.’
‘I don’t know. All I know is I keep looking for the truth.’
‘You think it will make a difference?’
‘How could I ever know that until I hear it?’
‘All right then,’ she says. ‘I’ll tell you my truth. I’ll tell you what they did to me, and you can decide what they are, and what I am.’
It’s getting late. I could easily tell her to leave it until the morning, or even later still. Or never. I’ve lived life in the easy territory of not knowing for so long.
I return to the sofa. She’s composed, and ready to speak.
‘Just tell me,’ I say. ‘Tell me now.’
2022. BUSINESS.
Gwen’s right. The duck pond is restful. Insects skim across the surface, and the ducks dally, dive, resurface to create concentric circles, radiating out from their activities. It’s a sunny afternoon in Devon, and she’s picked a good place to wait to die.