So, what would a truly heart-broken Maya Scotton do? Drink wine, that’s for sure. Fail to eat anything healthy, another certainty. Wallow in self-pity for a few days, take an inordinate number of baths … and finally go out on the pull. Well, I can easily manage the wine, wallowing and baths, but I’ve no intention of ever pretending to pull another man. That’s a step too far. I’d love nothing more than to bury myself in painting, but seeing as everything’s at Dan’s apartment, that’s currently impossible. I’m sure it’ll be shipped over sooner or later, but in the meantime I need to keep myself busy.
In the absence of anything else to do, I opt for cleaning the kitchen, discovering along the way that Lucy wasn’t wrong. There are things growing in the sink. In fact, it’s a full-blown bio-hazard. I pull plates out of the bowl and scrape them into the bin, wash up every single dirty pot, mug and glass I can find, and wipe over the tops. When I’m satisfied with my efforts, I check the fridge, only to discover it’s practically empty. Apart from a lump of mouldy cheese and a half-empty tub of spread, there’s nothing. Not even milk. A trip to the local shop is in order.
I grab my purse and keys, open the front door and freeze. My old friends fear and anxiety are standing in the doorway, blocking my exit to the world. I remain motionless, telling myself I’ve spent far too much time under their spell. They’re here now because of Boyd, but I’m not about to let them defeat me. With a deep breath, I shove them to one side and step out into the street.
Two hours later, I’m still chuffed to bits I made it to the shop and back in one piece. Okay, so I might have panicked a couple of times and I might have forgotten everything I went for, returning with four bottles of wine, three bars of chocolate and a slab of cheese. Fear and anxiety came along for the ride, but by the time I got back to the flat they were dragging their heels in my wake.
I’m pottering about in the kitchen again when the doorbell rings. I hear Lucy in the hallway, the front door opening, and I grit my teeth, wishing I could be anywhere else but here.
‘Maya.’
Clive’s voice greets me from the doorway, and he’s not alone. Watching me carefully, as if I’m on the FBI’s most wanted list, Lucy’s standing by his side.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
I glance at Lucy. What would she expect right now? A good helping of hard-edged bitterness, I expect.
‘Of course,’ I scowl, coming up with the goods. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ I point at the bottles of wine, ready and waiting on the table. ‘I’ll be drowning myself in that little lot before long. Don’t worry about me.’ And then, for effect, I add on a touch of break-up nastiness. ‘Just worry about your twat of a friend.’
While Lucy baulks, Clive’s face remains impassive, soaking up my fake vitriol.
‘I’ll just go and …’ Lucy hesitates. ‘Sort out my make-up. Clive, are you coming?’
‘No,’ he answers, keeping his eyes fixed on me. ‘I’ll wait here.’
Lucy beats a hasty retreat. When he’s satisfied she’s holed up in her bedroom, Clive pushes the door shut, marches over to the sink, turns on the tap and motions for me to join him. As soon as I’m by his side, he pulls me down until my face is practically in the bowl. Leaning on the draining board, he moves in close.
‘What are we doing?’ I ask.
‘The sound of water should mask our conversation,’ he informs me seriously. ‘If your place is bugged, they won’t be able to hear what we say.’
‘Did Foultons tell you to do this?’
‘No, I saw it in a film.’
He’s going totally over the top and I really should tell him that, but we don’t have time.
‘Are you really okay?’ he asks.
‘Like I said, I’m fine.’
‘So what’s all that about?’ He motions back to the wine.
‘Play acting.’
‘Just make sure the truth doesn’t dribble out when you’re three sheets to the wind.’
‘I’ll be fine. How’s Dan?’
‘Same as this morning. Just worried about you.’ He touches my arm. ‘They’re taking good care of him. You need to focus on the show … and we need to crack on.’
‘Are you definitely going to finish with her tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shit.’
‘It needs to be done and it needs to be public.’ He watches a pigeon land on the sill outside. ‘Just remember what I said. Don’t let any other man get his mitts on her. She’s mine.’ He focusses on me, a little awkward. ‘Listen, a couple of practicalities,’ he goes on quickly. ‘You’ll be getting your wages from Fosters. It’s not much, but you’ll see another payment in your bank account. It’s been channelled through a few places, but it’s from Dan.’
‘For what?’
‘To keep you going.’
‘How much?’
‘You’ll find out. If anyone asks, tell them Dan bought your last painting. Make out it’s guilt money. He’ll back up the story.’
‘I can’t take it.’
‘You can and you will. There’s a flat up for rent over the road. We’ll be renting it through a third party. You’ll be watched from there. Twenty-four seven. Whenever you go out, you’ll be followed and tracked, discreetly. You’ll never be alone. Not for one second.’
I gaze at the running water.
‘This is real.’
‘Yes, it is.’ He fiddles with the tap, reducing the flow. ‘And this is making me
