After a pause Clara turned to Oliver and asked as casually as she could, “Have you heard from Tom recently?”
He shook his head. “No. Not for a few days, actually, though that’s not unusual. Why do you ask?”
She looked away. “Oh, no reason.”
He nodded absently and the moment passed, but she wondered what Anderson’s inquiries were leading to, whether her suspicions would be proved correct. It was almost too terrible to think about, that it could be Tom who was behind everything, that the person responsible had been amidst them all along.
The evening passed slowly. They sat down together for a meal—a halfhearted affair of sausages and mash—and though Clara and Mac did their best to make conversation, the strange, stiff atmosphere between Rose and Oliver remained. There was a sense of waiting, of impending doom, and they were both relieved when Rose took herself off to bed early, Oliver padding up not far behind her.
Clara and Mac took their drinks into the living room. “My God,” Clara said, flopping onto the sofa. “I had no idea they were in such a bad way.” She shook her head miserably. “I feel so sorry for them both.”
“I know.” Mac nodded grimly, taking the armchair opposite her. “They look terrible. Do you think they’re even eating properly? Maybe we should try to get them some help, contact their GP or something. . . .”
Wearily she rubbed her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about Tom. I wonder where he is, whether the police have talked to him yet. I tried to call Anderson earlier, but he didn’t pick up.”
“Do you really think he’s involved?” Mac asked her doubtfully. “It seems so . . .”
“Yes,” she said emphatically. “I really do.”
There was silence for a while, both of them lost in their own thoughts. A fire Oliver had lit earlier crackled in the grate, an unwelcome reminder of what had happened at her flat only three nights before. Even Clemmy seemed on edge tonight, restlessly pacing the room, ears pricked as though alert to something they couldn’t hear.
Finally Mac asked cautiously, “How are you feeling now about what Alison told you?”
She sighed. “To be honest, it just made me wonder what the hell else Luke was up to that I didn’t know about. Which reminds me,” she added, getting to her feet again. “Remember that picture of the girl I found in Luke’s filing cabinet?”
“Yeah. Any idea who she is yet?”
She shook her head. “No, but I haven’t had a chance to really think about it. Hang on—I’ll see if I can find it.”
When she reached Luke’s old bedroom, she went straight to his filing cabinet, which they’d wedged in the corner earlier, two bags of Luke’s clothes balanced on top of it. She riffled through his papers before she came to the manila envelope. When she returned to the living room, she slid the pictures out and passed one to Mac.
“I wonder who she is,” he said as they both stared down at the stranger’s beautiful face.
“Must have been someone else he was shagging,” she replied. “I mean, it has to be, don’t you reckon?”
“I guess. Seems a little young, though—”
But just at that moment they heard a noise from outside. Clemmy sat up, her hackles raised, a low growl emanating from her throat. Clara’s chest tightened in fear. There it was again, followed by the sound of a car door slamming. “What was that?” she asked, alarmed.
They sat very still and listened, their eyes widening when they heard footsteps crunching on the gravel outside the front door, followed by a loud barrage of knocks. They looked at each other. “It’s half past ten,” Mac said. “Who the fuck would be out here at this time?”
A moment later they heard a key being put to the lock, followed by the sound of someone swearing, a voice saying, “Mum? Dad? Why’s the door bolted?”
“It’s Tom!” Clara said, another jolt of fear shooting through her, while Clemmy continued to growl.
The hammering intensified. “Mum? What’s going on? Let me in!”
Fear nestled in Clara’s chest. What was he doing here? Did he know she’d told the police about him? Had he come to hurt Rose and Oliver? When Mac got to his feet, she put a hand out to stop him. “Wait,” she said. “What if he—”
“I can’t leave him out there battering the door in.”
She followed him into the hall and watched as he drew back the bolts. When he opened the door, Tom stood staring back at them in amazement. “Mac? Clara? What the hell are you doing here?”
“We brought some things of Luke’s up after the fire,” Clara replied, her heart still pounding.
He nodded distractedly. “The fire, yes, my God, are you okay? I couldn’t believe it when I heard—”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Thank you,” Clara replied. She tried to smile, but it died on her lips. Nobody moved.
Tom glanced past them. “Where are my parents?”
“They’ve gone to bed,” Mac told him. “They asked us to stay tonight. They’re actually in a pretty bad way, mate. We don’t want any trouble.”
Tom stared at him. “Trouble? What are you talking about? Look, I’ve had a long day. I’ve just been questioned by the fucking police for three hours and I need a drink.” Pushing past them both, he strode into the kitchen. Following him, they watched as he took a bottle down from the wine rack. He poured himself a drink and downed it, then immediately poured another, watching Clara steadily above the rim of his glass.
Clara and Mac exchanged a glance. “Tom, what are you doing here?” Mac asked again.
Tom considered him for a moment. “Well, not that it’s any of your business, Mac, but I’ve come to talk to my parents.”
There was a belligerence about him, a wildness she’d not seen before. She thought about how Mac had said he’d gone off the rails as a teenager, and she saw in him for the first time now a slightly unhinged, unpredictable
