‘I keep thinking I’ve seen Louis,’ Adam continues. ‘Yesterday, in the park – that man in the leather jacket?’

  ‘Oh God, Adam.’ She shakes her head.

  It’s all coming out now. ‘When you start looking, you see cameras everywhere. That’s the problem. It’s not just people’s mobile phones. There are cameras on train platforms, in our hospitals, on the streets. Above us.’ He glances around again, but there’s no sign of the drone. ‘In the theatre. Last summer, at the Minack, when I took Freddie to see Dandy Lion with Mum, I thought the security cameras were watching me then. I think I’m being filmed all the time, Tania.’

  They walk through the open gates. He knows what his wife will say, now that he’s explained everything. She’ll switch to GP mode, reassure him that there is help available for his sort of condition. That there’s been a marked rise in anxiety levels in society since the pandemic and he is right to have sought help. But she doesn’t say any of those things.

  ‘It just sounds so self-centred,’ Tania says. ‘Egotistical. But if you really think this guy Louis is filming you, you need to do something about it. Go to the police.’

  ‘I can’t. It’s too risky. I would have to tell them why he might be filming me. Our pact. What happened at the party with Lecter.’

  They walk on in silence. He feels flat, let down by Tania. Why doesn’t she believe him?

  ‘I’m not making this up, you know,’ he says.

  ‘How about your friend Ji?’ Tania says, ignoring him. ‘He’s in the tech world. Can’t he tell you if someone’s able to hack into security cameras? It sounds so unlikely, even just saying it.’

  ‘You really don’t believe me, do you?’

  ‘Talk to Ji,’ she says, exasperated. ‘He’ll put your mind at rest. He knew Louis too, presumably?’

  ‘Knew of him, but they never actually met,’ Adam says. Or did they? Not as far as he knows. Contacting Ji is a good shout. Last Adam heard, he’d invested in a spyware company. Adam has never told Ji what really happened at the party. He needs to tell him now.

  45

  May 1998

  Ji was standing at the front door when I left Louis’ room, talking to the flatmate who’d let me in. He sounded animated, asking where I was.

  ‘It’s OK, Ji,’ I said, coming down the stairs. ‘We’re leaving.’

  I walked past the flatmate without saying anything. I knew Louis was watching from the landing above, could feel his gaze burning into my back as we left the house.

  ‘I was getting worried,’ Ji said, taking off his camouflage cap. ‘You were in there for ever.’

  ‘Was I?’ I asked.

  I wasn’t thinking straight, my mind still trying to process what Louis had just said, what I had seen in the film. If I was certain that I hadn’t pushed Lecter to his death, why didn’t I want to go straight to the police to tell them about Louis? It was clear, from what he’d said, that Aldous and I weren’t Louis’ only blackmail victims. His activities were more widespread. He’d spoken of undergraduate teachers and accountants, as if he’d blackmailed them as well, knowing that he could ruin their nascent careers. Clio too was clearly in his thrall. Why didn’t I want to tell Ji what I’d just seen either? Because I had seemed so aggressive in the footage, so angry, pushing Lecter around in the seconds before he disappeared? Any jury that saw that film would find me guilty. The last look on Lecter’s face was one of pure fear.

  ‘Did you find a hidden camera then?’ Ji asked.

  ‘No,’ I said quickly, in case I changed my mind.

  I realised, in that one simple exchange, that lying will need to become a habit. In a few months’ time, I’ll have to stand up at a coroner’s inquest and describe my last moments with Lecter. If I don’t mention the film, Louis won’t either. I’m already trapped in a web of deceit. A lifetime of lies. And if I see Grace again, I’ll have to lie to her too.

  ‘What took you so long?’ Ji asked.

  ‘Just saying my goodbyes to Louis.’

  Another lie. I didn’t say goodbye to him. I didn’t say anything. I just walked away with a copy of the video wrapped up in a plastic bag. We have one copy each. He said that he’ll post me the finished version – without the shocking ending – and might see me around in Cornwall. I can’t think of anything worse. Cornwall is my retreat, where I go to get away from all this, from people like Louis.

  ‘Thanks for waiting,’ I said to Ji. ‘And sorry I took so long.’

  ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day,’ Ji said.

  I smiled. A day. Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four years.

  I’ve decided I’m not going to dwell on Louis’ curious deal. I’m going to treat it as playful, a whimsy, even though I know that’s naive, given it’s Louis, someone who’s prepared to blackmail his fellow students and let them die if they can’t pay up.

  We walked back to the college in silence. Ji knew I wasn’t telling him everything, that I was holding something back, but he’s not the sort to pry. I’m going to miss him, his proverbs, the offers to play Tomb Raider III at 4 a.m.

  ‘Do the police suspect foul play?’ he asked later, watching me as I stacked my two suitcases in the corner of my room, ready for a painfully early departure in the morning.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said, a chill passing through me. Had Ji somehow managed to overhear my conversation with Louis? Gone round the back, over the wall, to see if I was alright? ‘Actually, that’s not quite true,’ I said. ‘Turns out a local drug dealer might have sold him some dodgy gear.’

  ‘Which made him jump out the window?’

  I nodded, thinking of Louis’ film again. The curtain billowing with accusation.

  ‘I’ve just been looking at rotten.com,’ Ji said. ‘In case, you know, someone posted footage of the guy at the party falling out of the window.’

  I shook my head in mock despair at Ji’s ghoulishness. In truth, my heart was racing. What if Louis hadn’t kept to his side of the bargain and had already posted the film he’d just shown me?

  ‘You’re one sick bastard, Ji,’ I said, failing to sound casual. ‘Anything doing?’

  ‘No live footage. Maybe one day, when we all have mobile phones with cameras.’

  God help us. Ji has a mobile phone, of course. A Nokia 5110 with interchangeable coloured covers. No camera, but Ji says it won’t be long.

  ‘There’s one photograph that’s just been posted that I did wonder about,’ he continued.

  My heart stopped. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You wanna see?’ he asked, with his usual conspiratorial smile.

  Thirty seconds later, I was looking at the same vertical shot that Louis had inserted into his film. Lecter’s body, sprawled awkwardly on the brick courtyard, staring upwards. I was shocked all over again by his open, vacant eyes.

  ‘Is that the guy who died?’ Ji asked. ‘Those look like speakers and you said—’

  ‘I don’t recognise him,’ I said, interrupting Ji. ‘Jesus, who puts this sort of horrendous stuff on the World Wide Web? It’s awful, so insensitive.’

  I know who posted it, of course. Louis. He’s sending me a message. That there’s a lot more material that he could publish – enough to end my medical ambitions; my life. He knows it. I know it. I have no choice but to drop my inquiries into Aldous’s death, however much it upsets me. And I won’t tell anyone of our Faustian pact, that he can film my life again in twenty-four years’ time in exchange for him not going public with the footage of me and Lecter. If I tip off the police, tell them that Louis tried to blackmail Aldous, he’ll know it was me and will release the film. It’s a brutal, troubling agreement, one that makes me feel as if I’m a silent accessory to Aldous’s death.

  46

  ‘There’s one other thing I need to tell you,’ Adam says. He pulls out the two cards, one with ‘S’ on it, the other with ‘O’, and shows them to Tania.

  ‘I’m not sure I can take much more of this,’ Tania replies, as they hover outside her parents’ front door on the gravel. By some miracle, Tilly has remained asleep and Freddie is still helping to set up the Scalextric with his grandfather.

  ‘I found this on the dresser, in our kitchen’ – he holds up the ‘S’ card – ‘after Clio had gone. And this one was left on my desk at work.’ He shows her the ‘O’ card. ‘Might they be Freddie’s? When he was learning the alphabet?’

  Tania shakes her head. ‘Never seen them before. Do they mean something?’

  ‘They could stand for any number of things.’ He tries to recall all the acronyms he had to learn at medical school. ‘Second opinion… systolic output…’

  ‘Sphincter of Oddi.’

  ‘You haven’t forgotten much,’ he says. The sphincter of Oddi is the smooth muscle that allows bile and pancreatic juice to flow into the intestine.

  ‘You never remembered much,’ she says.

  She’s right. She always knew more than he did. It’s the first moment of lightness between them for a while.

  ‘Salpingo-oophorectomy?’

  He cocks his head for an explanation.

  ‘The removal of one ovary and a fallopian tube.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He’d forgotten the rivalry that existed between them in their early days of dating, the flirty competition.

  ‘I think they might have been left by Clio,’ he says.

  ‘Clio? Did she visit your office? The hospital?’

  Adam hates how her name causes Tania such instant anguish, resents the damage Clio has already done to their marriage. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she was trying to send me a message of some kind, without Louis knowing.’

  ‘She could have just left you a note.’

  ‘Not if Louis was filming her. Filming me. He would have seen.’

  ‘So she leaves playing cards around the place with letters on them? Adam, I thought we’d just been through this.’

  ‘She might be in trouble, Tania.’

  ‘And you think these’ – she points at the cards – ‘are part of some kind of Mayday distress call? S-O… We’d better keep our eyes peeled for another “S”, hadn’t we? They look like cards from a nursery, Adam. From your Day Care Unit at work. You must have accidentally brought one home. And I really couldn’t care less if Clio’s in trouble. I’m sorry, but she’s not my problem. Not our problem.’

  ‘I just don’t understand what happened in the park, that’s all,’ he says. ‘She had the chance to take Freddie, but she chose not to.’

  ‘Because he’s not her son, that’s why. Jesus.’

  He’s thought about it a lot in the past few hours: why Clio brought Freddie back to them in the park. It doesn’t make any sense, not in the light of her sending the semi-nude photos. Why didn’t she take him?

  ‘What if it was a dry run?’ he asks, thinking aloud.

  ‘A dry run? Hear yourself, Adam. You’ve got to stop this.’

  Adam stops and listens. The drone has returned. And this time they both see it, hovering high above the railway line, five hundred yards from the house. Is it really watching them?

  ‘You need to visit Ji,’ Tania says, eyes still fixed on the drone. ‘It looks exactly like the neighbour’s drone. The one that’s been buzzing the village.’

  Adam pulls out his iPhone, weighing it in his hand. ‘I’ll buy us some burner phones too, before I go.’

  Tania shakes her head.

  ‘Daddy?’

  They both turn to see a tearful Freddie by the front door of the house.

  ‘What is it, monkey?’ Adam asks.

  ‘I can’t find my Ferrari.’

  If he could only hear himself. At least it’s the Scalextric version, Freddie’s pride and joy.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll turn up,’ Adam says. ‘Not in the garage?’

  Freddie shakes his head, fighting back the tears. Crispin keeps the whole Scalextric set immaculately, knows what pleasure it gives his grandson. The extensive track, laid out in the garage, was built in the Ferrari’s honour. The idea of the car going missing is unthinkable. Freddie keeps it in London with him, sleeps with it by his bedside, but a deal was brokered for it to be parked up safely by Grandpa whenever he comes to stay – locked up along with the real vintage cars in the outbuildings.

  ‘I’ll come in and have a look in a sec,’ Adam says, turning to Tania.

  ‘I found this,’ Freddie says. ‘Where my Ferrari was.’

  Adam and Tania stare in horror at Freddie’s outstretched hand. He’s holding another playing card, this time the letter ‘U’.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Tania says, rushing over to take the card from Freddie as if it’s contaminated. She twists it in her fingers, staring at it in disbelief. ‘It’s a “U”. S-O-U…’

  ‘L,’ Adam finishes. ‘Now do you believe me?’

  ‘We’ll find it, darling,’ Tania says, scooping Freddie up in her arms. He buries his head in her shoulder. ‘Call the police,’ she mouths to Adam. ‘Right now.’

  ‘I’m going to see Grandpa,’ Freddie says, sliding out of Tania’s embrace and running off, tears flowing.

  ‘She’s been here, hasn’t she?’ Tania asks. ‘In Mum and Dad’s house.’

  Adam nods, trying to work out the implications. Tania’s voice is freighted with anger. Clio’s broken into the garage and found the one thing that Freddie would miss. How did she know? She must have been listening. Watching them. The thought of her stalking through the premises, keeping to the shadows, chills him to the bone.

  ‘I think it was a message,’ he says. ‘A warning. If she can take the car, she can take Freddie.’

  ‘Are you going to call the police or am I?’ Tania asks.

  ‘Freddie might be less safe if we ring them. We all might. Louis will lash out if he’s cornered. Like a wild animal.’

  ‘Looks like I’m calling them then.’ Tania pulls out her phone.

  ‘You don’t know who we’re dealing with here,’ Adam says. ‘Don’t know what he’s capable of doing if we go to the police. He will escalate things, believe me.’ He thinks back to Louis in his dimly lit student room, his parchment-dry skin. Over time he’s mutated in his memory into something almost reptilian.

  ‘She’s been on our private property, Adam. Stolen something.’

  ‘I just need time to find out what he’s really up to and work out how to stop him. How to keep you and Freddie and Tilly safe. We need to get those new security cameras turned off – and stay inside if you hear the drone again.’

  47

  Newlyn,

  May 1998

  It was early afternoon by the time I arrived here in Newlyn, my suitcases bulging with textbooks and lecture notes as I stepped off the bus. The train from London had taken an age, crawling through Redruth, Cambourne and St Erth before it finally reached Penzance, where the smell of the sea lifted my spirits. The Swordy looked busy, drinkers spilling out onto the street, but I took the back route to Mum’s, unable to face making an appearance in the pub, having to explain to everyone why I’m home; to accept what’s happened, that my studies at Cambridge have been suspended. I also didn’t want to greet Mum smelling of beer – a reminder of the bad old days.

  ‘Mum?’ I called out, lowering my head and stepping through the tiny wooden doorway of the Nook. The smell of furniture polish hit me first, followed by something roasting in the oven. The polish was a good sign. Mum’s only house proud when she’s feeling well.

  Mum appeared at the top of the old granite stairs that lead up from the front door and smiled down at me. She looked older than she did when I last saw her a few weeks ago, but there was a spark in her eyes. Tears too.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked, watching as she turned and stepped carefully back up the stairs. It was good to see her taking her time. Falls are what tend to do it in the end for the elderly.

  ‘I’m alright,’ she said, but I knew at once that she wasn’t.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, giving her frail little body a gentle hug in the sitting room.

  ‘Got your books for reading week, then,’ she said, looking at my suitcase.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said, surprised by her comment. ‘A lot to pack in.’

  I was suddenly conscious of how strong Mum’s Cornish accent is and how mine has already begun to fade. I felt ashamed, as if I’d betrayed her in some way.

  ‘I’ve cooked us a roast lunch,’ she said.

  ‘I can smell it.’

  Normally she’d get me to sit down at the window table with her, clasp my hands, ask me to tell her all about life at Cambridge. But not this afternoon. She was keeping herself busy, checking the already-laid table, adjusting a framed photo of Dad above the fireplace.

  ‘What is it, Mum?’ I asked, following her through to the cramped kitchen.

  She stood at the sink. Maybe it was because she’d prepared herself for not seeing me for another month.

  ‘I told Bernard that you’re down for reading week,’ she said, her back to me.

  Bernard’s been a good friend to her, even if he is the local know-it-all at the Swordy and won’t let any of us forget that he once appeared on Mastermind (specialist subject: the Spanish Armada).

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I said casually.

  ‘He said Cambridge doesn’t have a reading week. Terms are so short you don’t need one.’

  I stared at the kitchen’s lino floor, traced its familiar patterns. Mum and Dad moved into the Nook when they were first married – it had once belonged to her mum, before she went into a home – and I’ve never known anywhere else. I once tried to describe the Nook to Ji: its paper-thin wooden walls; the dank cupboard in the basement where the coal is kept; the old Davy Descender fire escape harness above the window in Mum’s bedroom, last tested circa 1955; and of course my bedroom in the attic, too small to stand up in. ‘The place used to be a net loft,’ I’d added, but Ji was still none the wiser. The Nook has to be seen to be believed.

  ‘Do you have a reading week?’ Mum asked, her face etched with concern.