We’ve put money in trust for Megan and her brothers, too. We wanted them to come and live with us, but the social services decided it was too complicated. They are living with Carla’s sister in Surrey; apparently, she’s a lovely woman. They are settling well enough. I know they will be taken care of, looked after and loved. Emily has stayed in touch with Megan. Their relationship isn’t as tight as it was—how could it be? But they send one another snaps and messages. There’s talk of a meetup in London. I don’t know if it will happen. Time will tell whether they can remain close, after everything. It might be better if the friendship fades. If they move on. Like the social worker said, it’s complicated.
My children are doing okay. Considering everything, they are doing brilliantly. They have had to deal with so much. They’ve been hurt and horrified in a way that will take years to heal properly. They’ll never get over what’s happened, but I think they will get through it. I’m impressed by their courage, their resilience. We spent the summer in Moldova at Toma’s school for underprivileged kids. It was just what we all needed. To get away. To climb out of our own lives and skins for a while. The work he is doing there is astonishing. He’s genuinely making a profound difference, offering opportunities through education. Lives will be changed for the better. I love him for it.
I love him for many reasons.
The kids have returned to their old school. Logan was delighted. He has a great friendship group and simply slipped right back into it. Emily seems to be getting along very well with Scarlett, Liv and Nella. They are sweet girls.
Sadly, I never went back to CAB. Our family name has been dragged through the mud and I’m basically a reluctant celebrity. Ellie couldn’t in all conscience sanction my return—it would be too disruptive. I miss the bureau, but I understand. You can’t have everything in life. Besides, I want to offer the kids as much stability as I can, and being at home helps with that. I don’t need the money. The police recovered the ten million Jake pretended he’d given to the kidnappers. It was spread through various accounts: most in his and Carla’s name, about a million in Patrick’s account. The money in Patrick’s account suggested his guilt, no matter how much he protested his innocence. I don’t know if that money was his cut of the kidnapping or Carla leaving him a bit of money to assuage her own guilt. Or was it crueller than that? Did she and Jake frame Patrick? I guess that will remain a mystery forever. The money has been returned to me. Emily, Logan and I have spent a lot of time talking about what we might do with it next. Following the experience in Moldova, they both seem keen to set up something similar here in the UK—a trust that gives opportunities, creates light where before there was only despair.
“Not all of it, though? Right, Mum?” Emily asked. “I mean, we can spend some of it on clothes and stuff.”
“Of course, I promise.”
We ended up staying in the rental longer than I expected. It seemed sensible to stay somewhere gated throughout the trial, to avoid being stalked by hungry journos, but we’re moving back into our old home. Whilst we’ve been here, we’ve had some work done on our old place. An extra bedroom, a sunroom. I’m looking forward to going home. To getting back to normal.
CHAPTER 54
Saturday, April 13
“Not this week,” announced Jake, looking up from his phone, his face pulled into an expression that approximated a comedic take on disappointment. “Not a single number.”
“Situation normal,” said Lexi. No one else responded at all. The lull in conversation seemed heavy. Fred had been talking about, oh, something or other, Lexi couldn’t recall, his car engine? Tire pressure? It hadn’t been gripping, but Jake’s interruption to announce they weren’t lottery winners had created an atmosphere. No one liked to be reminded that they’d lost at anything, even if there was never any real expectation of winning. “Oh, by the way, it’s time to chip in to the kitty again,” she said.
“Why are we even doing the lotto?” asked Patrick, his face flushed, his voice booming. “What’s the bloody point?”
Lexi couldn’t understand why he was suddenly grumbling. He’d hit the bottle of red hard that he’d brought with him. Polished it off before she had even served the main.
“Well, we do it because we’ve always done it, haven’t we? Since we first met. It’s our thing, our gang’s thing.” She smiled coolly. “Do you remember, we used to say if we won, we’d invest in twenty-four-hour childcare?” The absolute dream of all exhausted, shell-shocked new parents.
“That would still seem like a good investment,” commented Carla with a wry grin. “Perhaps not a nanny but a private detective, someone to follow Megan around—I never know where she is or what she’s up to nowadays.”
“Or a clairvoyant,” added Jennifer. “To read Ridley’s mind. You are so lucky, Lexi, to have a chatty girl. I don’t get more than a grunt out of my son—typical boy.”
“Is that the best you can come up with? Spending the dosh stalking your kids?” Jake challenged. “If I won the lotto, I’d have much more fun spending it.”
“You’d buy a Lamborghini and a yacht, I suppose,” said Fred with a grin.
“Absolutely,” Jake beamed. “You?”
“A bigger house. Several bigger houses, actually. One here, one in London.”
Jennifer joined in. “South of France.”
“California,” added Carla.
“What about you, Patrick? Would
