So everyone knew. Hal, Brendan, Alice. The police. The rest of the department.
Was this the same person as the one sending the texts to Tom’s phone? If so, it meant that whoever it was had been following her and Tom around for a while now, at least two weeks. Why?
She looked out over the view to the north, the spread of expensive houses directly below, fanning out from the pond at the base of the hill. Tom’s house was down there, in Mortonhall Road, easy walking distance to KB. She thought about Alice down there, sitting at her kitchen table, a mug of tea, opening her laptop to find that email. Or maybe that’s not how it played out. Maybe Alice wasn’t surprised at all by this news. Maybe Alice was behind it.
Surtsey stood there for a long moment, then began running down the hill.
*
15 Mortonhall Road was a fresh-faced Victorian semi with high hedges and sturdy gates leading into a smooth driveway. A builders’ van was parked in the street and a large skip sat outside the garage, full of old bits of tiling, a toilet, hand basin and bath. The front door was open and two workies in overalls were carrying packets of tiles inside.
‘You after Mrs Lawrie, love?’ the older one said.
Surtsey steeled herself. ‘Yeah.’
The old guy nodded. The younger one looked Surtsey up and down and smiled at her.
‘I’ll let her know,’ the older one said. ‘She’s inside.’
Surtsey didn’t know why she was here. Except she had to be. She had to face this down eventually, why not now?
She heard the guy shouting inside. ‘Mrs L? Someone to see you.’
Part of her had hoped Alice wouldn’t be in, would be off doing whatever grieving widows did. She looked behind her along the driveway to the road, thought about running away, but her feet wouldn’t move underneath her.
Alice came to the doorway holding a glass of white wine. Surtsey resisted the urge to look at her watch, but it was definitely still morning. But who the fuck was she to judge anyone else?
Alice wore black designer jeans, tight, showing off great legs, a sky blue shirt and navy blue jacket. Her blonde bob was shiny, her eyes red. She stopped and stared when she saw Surtsey.
‘You,’ she said. She took a big swig of wine. ‘Wow, you’ve got a lot of nerve.’
‘Excuse me.’ This was the older builder, squeezing past and back out to the van in the street.
Alice waved her hand up the stairs behind her. ‘Getting a new bathroom fitted. Although Christ knows how we’re going to pay for it now. Listen to me, “we”, there is no “we” any more.’
Surtsey’s mouth was dry, and she had to peel her tongue from the roof of her mouth to speak. ‘I’m sorry about Tom.’
Alice narrowed her eyes. ‘Really? That’s all you’ve got? You were fucking my husband and you’re sorry?’
‘So you got the email.’
Alice shook her head. ‘Christ almighty.’
The workman excused himself past again, leaving the smell of plaster dust and an awkward silence in his wake.
‘You don’t seem very surprised,’ Surtsey said eventually.
‘I am so close to putting this glass in your face right now.’
‘Well, you don’t.’
Alice sighed. ‘You think I didn’t know already? I’ve loved him for twenty-four years, since you were in fucking nappies. You think I didn’t know he was up to something? My God, it was obvious. The spring in his step, the extra workload, suddenly looking after himself. So many clichés. Every women’s magazine in the world tells you to look out for the same signs, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t know it was you specifically, but what difference does it make now?’
Surtsey frowned. ‘Did you send the email?’
Alice went bug-eyed. ‘Are you insane?’
‘Maybe you were following him. Following us.’
‘I have better things to do with my time than follow my husband around. For a start, trying to keep this family together. So much for that.’
Surtsey took a deep breath. ‘Maybe you killed him.’
Alice slapped her hard across the cheek. Surtsey saw the hand coming but didn’t do anything to stop it.
‘How dare you,’ Alice said. She was glassy-eyed from the wine, or maybe crying. ‘Gracie and Belle don’t have a dad any more. Do you want to come back after school and explain to the girls why their daddy is never coming home?’
Surtsey shook her head. ‘Have you been texting me?’
Alice stared icily at her. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Nothing.’
Alice put a hand on the doorframe, maybe to steady herself. ‘All I know is that you were fucking my husband, and now he’s dead.’
‘That’s not my fault.’
Alice went to close the door, the conversation was over.
‘Isn’t it?’ she said.
19
DCI Yates looked as if he’d always been old. The gut, the pockmarked skin, the slump of his shoulders. Surtsey tried to picture him as a young boy chasing a football or flying a kite in the Meadows. Her mind came up blank.
Yates and another cop were sitting in her living room, bulky uniforms and jackets on despite the warm day outside. Surtsey had hoped to see Ferris, but he was obviously just a lowly uniform grunt. This other cop was younger than Yates but not by much, pale flesh in a double chin, thick, stubby fingers. The two of them were like something from last century, an anachronism. They were probably no older than Tom but seemed like a different species, dinosaurs still roaming the earth. As if to highlight their old-fashioned nature Yates had a small notepad and pencil out. He actually licked the pencil before he started writing.
‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ he said.
Surtsey sighed and looked out the window. The rowing club were out on their afternoon training session, the green seven-seater easing through the calm of the Forth. She watched the rhythm of their oars for a few strokes, tried to breathe in time with it,
