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Jen holds her hands up. ‘I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ll be just a second.’ She gives Ezra a wide smile. ‘Where is it?’
‘You’re five minutes from home.’
‘This is middle age, Todd.’
Todd dies on the spot, but Ezra indicates the living-room door wordlessly. Yes. She’s in.
Jen squeezes past Todd and Clio and emerges into a room at the very back of the house, a combined kitchen/lounge. It’s square, with another door off to the right. There are no photographs on the walls. More bare plaster. A large, printed piece of material hangs over the far wall with a sun and moon stitched on to it. She peers behind it, looking for – what? A secret cupboard? – but of course she doesn’t find one.
Jen opens the door to the downstairs toilet and runs the tap, then walks a slow circle around the kitchen. It’s mostly bare. Worn tiles underfoot. Crumbs along the kitchen counters. That musty smell, the smell of old and empty dwellings. No fruit in the fruit bowl. No reminder letters on the fridge. If Ezra does live here, he doesn’t appear to spend much time at home.
A large TV is affixed to the left-hand wall. An Xbox sits underneath that. On top of the console rests an iPhone, lit up and blessedly unlocked. Jen picks it up, scrolling straight to the messages. In there, she finds Todd’s texts to, she assumes, Clio:
Todd: I am attracted to you like covalent bonds, you know?
Clio: You make me LOL. You are a nerdarino.
Todd: I am YOUR nerdarino. Right?
Clio: You are mine xx forever.
Jen stares at them. She scrolls further up, feeling guilty as she does so, but not enough to stop.
Clio: This is your morning update. One coffee consumed, two croissants, a thousand thoughts about you.
Todd: Only a thousand?
Clio: Now one thousand and one.
Todd: I’ve had a thousand croissants and only a few thoughts.
Clio: Sounds perfect tbh.
Todd: Can I say something serious?
Clio: Wait, you weren’t being serious? Have you had TWO thousand croissants?
Todd: I literally would do anything for you. X
Clio: Same. X
Anything. Jen doesn’t like that word. Anything implies all sorts. It implies crimes, it implies murder.
She wants to read further, but she hears footsteps and stops. She replaces the phone on the console. Clio really likes him. Possibly loves him. She sighs and scans the room, but there’s nothing else.
She flushes the toilet, turns the tap off, then leaves.
Jen pulls up Andy Vettese’s details in the car. She needs help. She emails him on a whim, having been sent away by her embarrassed son.
Dear Andy,
You don’t know me, but I’m Rakesh Kapoor’s colleague, and I really would like to speak to you about something I’m experiencing which I believe you have studied. I won’t say any more for fear of sounding unhinged, but do email me back, please …
Best
Jen
‘How was work?’ Kelly says as she walks in through the door. He’s sanding down a bench he’s restoring for them. The sort of solitary activity Kelly enjoys. Jen knows what the finished product will look like – he sprays it sage green in two days’ time.
