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“Wait until we’re inside,” he said quietly.
I followed him into the house and shut the door behind me. He leaned back against the wall. He looked exhausted.
“We were going to have to talk to them at some stage,” he said.
“Why did you say what you said about Leanne and Andrew? We don’t want people to stop asking questions, do we?” He didn’t answer me, but he didn’t need to, because my brain had finally caught up. He’d denied the story to feed the story. Video clips of his statement would play on all the news channels, on the internet. Of course people wouldn’t stop talking about the Frasers and debating and wondering, just because Rory went on TV and asked them to. They’d talk more.
“People are going to see through this,” I said. “They’re not stupid. They’re not going to believe that you went out there to try to help the Frasers out.”
Rory nodded. “Maybe some people will question my motivation. That doesn’t really matter. What matters is that we keep muddying the waters. People are going to be talking either way. What we want is a lot of confusion, we want people to feel like there’s more going on here than meets the eye. Like there are secrets they don’t know, like there’s information that’s being kept back.”
“Kept back by who?”
“It doesn’t matter, Jamie.” He pushed himself off the wall and went into the study, and I followed him. He took a seat on the couch and I sat beside him. It was very quiet in the house, and the light in the study was muted. It was hard to believe that I had just been outside, having questions yelled at me by the press. That they were still out there, guarding our gate.
“Look, to build a conspiracy theory, you need to feed two appetites. The first appetite is that people want to feel like they’re in the know. Like they’re smarter than someone else. They want to have the latest twist or little bit of information that they can pull out when their smart-ass, know-it-all brother or sister or friend or colleague starts to talk. Just to be clear, it doesn’t matter if that piece of information is correct or not. Nobody trusts facts anymore; it doesn’t matter if the source for the information is an expert in their field or some bottom dweller living in his momma’s basement. They’ll get equal weighting online.” He paused. “Actually, the bottom dweller will probably get more eyes on his content, because it will be more entertaining, and it will attract more argument.
“The second appetite we’re feeding is that people want to feel safe. No one out there really wants to believe that Leanne and Andy Fraser are good parents. No one wants to think that they’re innocent. Because if they are, and if Nina is equally blameless, then that means that Nina’s disappearance is completely random. And people don’t really want to believe that, not deep down. Because if bad things happen to good people, and it’s all completely unpredictable, what’s to stop it from happening to them too? People would much rather believe that the Frasers did something to deserve this.”
“But they didn’t.” I didn’t know Andy, and I didn’t like Leanne, but she was a good mother. Or at least she had been, until she lost her mind.
“No. They didn’t.” Something passed over his face. Something dark. “And I don’t give a shit. This is war, Jamie. We didn’t ask for this to come into our lives, but it has. Something like this could destroy all of our lives, and I’m not going to let that happen. Whatever it takes, I’m going to protect this family. If that means taking down the Frasers...” He shrugged. “You saw the way they were in Stowe. They’re not thinking about being fair, about understanding both sides. They are only thinking about Nina, and I don’t blame them for that because I would be the same. But I’m not going to play nice while they go after our son.”
He reached out tentatively and took my hand. He waited, I think to see if I would pull away, and when I didn’t, he slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him. My head rested on his chest. I felt awkward. I was leaning into him at an uncomfortable angle, and besides that, this was not how we did things. What did he want from me, exactly? Not sex. I didn’t get that vibe. But something. Carefully, I slipped my right arm around his waist to his back. He let out a long breath and sagged back into the couch. His arm tightened around me. Comfort. He wanted comfort. Okay, I could do that. I adjusted my position so that I was more comfortable, and I relaxed into him. If anyone had walked into the room they would have seen the picture of a loving couple, turning to each other after a difficult day. It was just an act, but for some reason I felt tears stinging my eyes. I blinked them back.
“The PR boys have set up an interview with one of the morning shows. They want to come to the house. You don’t need to worry about it. Arrangements have been made. The interviewer will be friendly.”
“When?” I said.
“Later today, if possible. Tomorrow, if not.”
“Okay,” I said. I sounded hoarse. I cleared my throat. I tried to think about what clothes we should wear, about where we should sit, but I couldn’t focus.
“I know you’re scared,” he said, “but it’s going to be okay.”
I felt an unexpected wave of warmth toward him. Of affection.
“Every time I go to sleep I dream about Simon in prison,” I said.
“It’s not going to happen. We won’t let it happen.”
“Right. That’s right.”
I stayed there for a while, for as long as I could, and then I sat up and laughed a little. “Just next time maybe warn me before you drag me in front of the press. I look terrible.”
“You look great,” Rory said. “You always look great.” He sounded almost like he meant something by it. I stood up.
“I should go and check on Simon. See if he’s had breakfast.”
Rory nodded. If he was disappointed that I was leaving, he didn’t show it. “Don’t push him to talk right now. Trust me when I say he’s not ready. Just be there for him. As his mother.”
“I can do that,” I said. I went to the kitchen, still feeling off balance. I turned on the coffee machine and went looking for Simon. I found him in the living room. He was sitting on the couch with his back to me. He had his earbuds in, so he didn’t hear me coming. I leaned down. I was going to give him a hug, but he was holding his phone with two hands, the screen pointed upward, and my attention was caught by the message he was sending. Without really intending to, I read it. The message said:
Send me a pic
Part of me froze. I decided to look away, to give him his privacy. He was an adult. His relationships were none of my business. I thought all of that but still I didn’t move. My eyes were glued to his screen as the picture came in. He clicked on it so that it expanded and took up all of his screen. The picture was.... not what I expected. It was a selfie, taken by a young girl. It showed her smiling shyly up at a camera that she was holding at an angle. But she was fully clothed. In fact, she was wearing a jacket and a riding helmet and she was on horseback. I gasped involuntarily. Simon turned quickly, and our eyes met. He flipped his phone upside down. He made the move so smoothly, so naturally, that all my warning bells went off at once.
“Hey,” he said, and he smiled at me warmly.
