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‘And when did you say you got married?’ Harry asks.
‘Monday.’ Sam has the impression he is floating, looking down at himself having this conversation here in this room with its grown-up fixtures and fittings, with its furniture that is not Naomi’s taste. It is not Naomi’s furniture. It is not Naomi’s house. It is not his house. Upstairs, a baby sleeps, arms thrown up, fists tight, an angel child who is not his, was never his. This angel child is not Naomi’s. There is no blood link. No link at all. He has no right to see him ever again. He never had. He has no son, no family, no home.
No Joyce.
Does he have a wife? Was the woman at the Guildhall a plant, an impostor?
‘Monday,’ Cheryl is saying, though to Harry, not Sam. ‘That was when her sister had Tommy for the afternoon, wasn’t it? Naomi said she had a dental appointment and then she was off on holiday.’ She looks at Sam. ‘She took this last week off. Well, Tuesday to Thursday. She said she was going on a minibreak. A cheap deal, she said. We had no idea. She said Jo could cover, but… well, we decided to take a few days off, didn’t we? To be honest, we weren’t over-keen on the sister. Then this evening we were out with friends and she said she’d be back and that she could cover it.’
‘But she just isn’t the type to…’ Harry says. ‘Her sister perhaps, but not Naomi.’
‘She is the type,’ Sam whispers. ‘I thought she’d changed. But she hasn’t. She’s exactly the same. Worse. Oh God.’ He plunges his face into his hands. ‘Tommy’s my son,’ he says, unable to stop himself from weeping in front of these strangers. ‘I mean, I understand. He’s not. I know that. I know I have to… accept… but he’s my little boy, you know? He was. I loved him.’ He looks up, searches their faces. ‘Ilovehim.’
CHAPTER 55
‘I should go,’ Sam says, wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands.
‘We can’t let you go like this,’ Cheryl says. ‘You’re traumatised. You’re probably in shock. I mean, we’re all in shock, but at the end of the day, we’ve lost our nanny, whereas you… you’ve lost everything, haven’t you? We need to try and get hold of Naomi. There might yet be an explanation.’
Harry stands up. ‘I think we should call the police.’
Sam shakes his head. ‘I’ll call her.’
But it goes straight to voicemail again. He suspects her phone is off.
‘What about her sister?’ Cheryl asks.
‘I don’t have her number.’
‘I’m going to check on Toms,’ Cheryl says and leaves the room. Sam watches her go, understands her need to see her son with her own eyes. Didn’t he feel that need too? Doesn’t he still?
‘Sam?’ Harry is sitting down again, inclined forward, keen for information. ‘What’s your financial arrangement with Naomi? They say follow the money, don’t they? You said she’d pretty much sold your grandmother’s house from under you, by the sounds of it. I’m beginning to think…’
‘I was barely paying attention. My gran had just been murdered.’ Something in the fog. A smell. The smell of soap. Naomi smelt of soap when she came to him that night, in the small hours. He had roused her from her bed and she had come straight over. So why did she smell of soap, like she did at their wedding, as if she had just taken a shower? Did she care so little that she stopped to take a shower when he needed her so urgently? Yes. Yes, she did.
‘Sam? Sam? Do you know where the funds were transferred to?’
Sam looks up to find Harry staring at him.
‘The funds for your grandmother’s house. Do you know where they are?’
‘She set up a joint account. For both of us. For Tommy. She said it was for Tommy.’
‘Oh Christ.’
‘She said the house funds went in there. She was going to transfer them to an instant-access ISA when we got back. She said that would put us in a stronger position for buying our own place…’
‘Oh Christ,’ he says again.
Cheryl reappears in the doorway and shakes her head. ‘She’s taken her stuff. Cleaned out. She’s left the photo of her and Toms.’
Harry stands up again, stares down at Sam. ‘Do you have a banking app? Can you check it?’
With shaking hands, Sam manages to access the Barclays app. Once in the joint account, he stares at the number for a long time. Seventy-five pounds and forty-five pence. He continues to stare at this number after he has relayed the figure to Harry, after Harry has said oh Christ for the third time.
‘Maybe the funds haven’t cleared,’ he says. ‘Let’s just… let’s just wait for her to call, shall we?’
Cheryl shakes her head. ‘I don’t think she’s going to call. This is fraud – I think we need to look it in the eye now. Let’s just call the police, shall we?’
