‘Hey,’ said Sophie.
‘Got you a cold brew,’ said Famie.
‘Thanks. Come in. And, er, sorry about the mess.’
‘No worries. I’m not your mother.’
Famie stepped inside. It wasn’t messy. One living room with a corner kitchen. A small sofa, an armchair, two wooden chairs, one holding a laptop charging. Two small framed prints were on the wall – old maps, Famie thought – and a family photo sat in a gilt frame above an electric fire. An open door led to a darkened bedroom. A clean sink, no plates or cups waiting to be washed up. The two small windows were open wide, the smell of the kitchens below already filling the flat.
‘I hope you like Chinese food,’ said Famie.
‘I used to,’ said Sophie.
She appeared agitated, preoccupied.
‘Where’s the mess?’ said Famie, looking around. ‘Looks pretty damn clean to me.’
‘The bin is full,’ she said, ‘overflowing. And yesterday’s clothes are behind the cushions. I just shoved them there.’
She was a young twenty-six, wild, curly blonde hair and a slender frame. Loose-fit cotton pyjamas billowed around her as she moved. They were right about the alcohol; Famie could still smell it on her breath.
‘Hangover?’
Sophie grimaced. ‘Just a small one.’
She sat on the armchair, Famie perched on the sofa.
‘Tommi said you called him at four a.m.’
Sophie nodded, glanced down. ‘Took me that long to get the balls to call. And the gin helped.’
‘The gin always helps,’ said Famie. ‘But you didn’t tell him anything.’
‘I wanted to tell you.’
‘What did you want to talk about?’
Sophie stared down at her cup, concentrated on drinking her coffee. Her hands began to shake. The ice in her coffee rattled. She cleared her throat.
‘I’m scared, Famie.’
Famie waited for more but Sophie was drinking coffee again.
‘We all are, Sophie,’ she began, but Sophie shook her head.
‘It’s not that,’ she said.
She was taking deep breaths. Pain control. Building up to something. Famie was getting anxious for the girl.
‘Sophie?’
‘I’m pregnant,’ she blurted.
Famie, startled, kept her silence; Sophie’s intonation suggested there was more to come. Another deep breath.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she repeated, ‘and … and Seth is the father. Was the father.’ She pulled her legs to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and started to cry.
Famie’s head spun. Seth and Sophie. Seth and Sophie? My God. She clambered on to Sophie’s chair and embraced her. She waited for the crying to subside. It bought her a few seconds. A few seconds without which she would have been cursing both Sophie and Seth as slut and manslut. A few seconds in which she then realized she had no right to feel angry, no right to be hurt.
‘My God, you poor thing,’ she whispered into Sophie’s ear. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Eventually Sophie calmed down enough to speak. ‘I didn’t know who to talk to,’ she said. ‘I feel so alone, Famie. Then I read about you and Seth in the paper.’ The tears came again. ‘It’ll be me next, I’m sure of it. And I don’t know what to do.’
Famie held her hand. ‘I saw you at the funeral,’ she said. ‘Christ, you must have found that difficult.’ She felt her hand squeezed, a slight nod of the curls. ‘I couldn’t hang around. Had to leave.’
‘I saw you go,’ said Sophie. ‘I so wanted to come with you. Didn’t have the courage. And Amal would have noticed, I know he would. He kept looking at me …’
Famie pushed back far enough to see Sophie’s tear-stained face.
‘Wait. You knew Amal Hussain?’
Sophie’s hands started to shake again. She gripped her cup tighter. ‘Sure,’ she said, ‘we met quite a few times.’
Dread was beginning to sink deep into Famie’s gut.
‘Are you still working, Sophie?’
She nodded.
‘So you know Amal is EIJ and has disappeared, right?’
Another small nod.
Famie sighed. ‘So I’m guessing you haven’t told the police and that’s the other reason I’m here.’
Sophie hauled herself out of the armchair and walked to the kitchenette. Poured herself some water which she drank in three gulps. Famie studied her stomach. Nothing showing yet.
‘I haven’t told the police, no,’ said Sophie. ‘And there’s one more reason I asked you to come.’
‘Christ, there’s more?’ said Famie. ‘I can’t imagine what you’ve kept till last.’
Sophie pointed at the laptop on the kitchen chair. Famie glanced at it.
‘It belongs to Seth,’ Sophie said. ‘And I know the password.’
Famie stared at the laptop. It had been between them all this time but she had ignored it. It looked cheap; small, black, and with a manufacturer’s logo she hadn’t seen before. Not expensive at all. Classic Seth.
‘What’s on it?’ said Famie, suddenly fearful. ‘What have you found?’
‘I wanted to wait for you,’ Sophie said.
‘I know that!’ said Famie. ‘But—’
‘I wanted to wait for you, Famie, because there are pictures of you on it. That’s why.’
25
FAMIE PACED THE cage. It was too early for a drink and she hadn’t smoked since she’d got pregnant but she wanted both now. Sophie watched her as she circled the room.
‘How many photos?’ Famie asked.
‘Eight,’ said Sophie.
‘How bad are they?’
‘You want to see them?’
‘Just tell me first! Then I’ll look.’
‘You’re getting changed, I think. Taking off jeans, putting on a dress. Blue and white stripes. In his flat by the look of it.’
‘You make them sound harmless.’
‘You’re naked in one, topless in three.’
‘Christ, he was a shit.’ She smacked the wall with her hand. ‘He kept them. I remember him “deleting” them but he actually kept them all this time. Bastard.’ She continued her laps.
Sophie knelt in front of the laptop, opened it, hit some keys.
‘How come you know the password anyway?’ said Famie. ‘I’ve never shared mine with anyone. Don’t know anyone who does.’
Sophie hit enter.
