Cat ignored the slight. It didn’t feel right to take the piss out of Ginny. Not now that she was dead.
Frank slid the new passports across the table towards her. ‘I was starting to think you weren’t coming . . .’
Cat picked up the passports and flicked to the ID pages, taking in their photos and their new identities. She held them up to the light, watching the colours of the holograms shift and swirl. ‘Pretty good. Let’s just hope they stand up to scrutiny.’
‘I told you – working in Asia gets you many good contacts. My friend who did these for me is basically a pro. Oh,’ he said, pointing to her pendant, ‘and the GPS on that thing is shit, by the way. Why do you think I had to hide in the house?’
The train pulled away from the station with a lurch, and Cat sank back in her seat. ‘Another crazy risk. What if one of them had gone upstairs?’
He grinned. ‘I knew they wouldn’t. Not after I kicked the stairs in to make them look unusable. Besides – you were lucky I was there to clean the place up. You and hubby made a proper mess with Tristan.’ He paused, waiting for her to react. When she didn’t he shrugged and carried on. ‘My only real fuck-up was getting spotted in the woods . . . I thought I was far enough back from the track. But your bloody sister must have the ears of a bat.’
She took him in, his easy smile. Her mind went back again to that first night they’d met in France, over ten years ago. Then the night in London, later on, when she’d told Ginny about him, and Ginny had just assumed he was French. For some reason, she hadn’t bothered to correct her. Cat had quite liked the idea of having an exotic, sexy French boyfriend – and, to be fair, he spoke French impeccably, and his accent was spot on. She’d be surprised if anyone would have suspected that it wasn’t his native tongue.
‘You know,’ he continued, ‘she didn’t look quite as I expected. None of them did.’
‘You were checking out their social media though, weren’t you? Saying that, Paul doesn’t post much. Ginny’s is so heavily filtered that it’s basically fiction. And of course Tristan doesn’t use it at all. Well, except Messenger, sometimes.’ She took a breath, realising what she’d just said. ‘I’m still talking about them in the present tense . . .’
He reached across the table and put his hands on top of hers. ‘Until they find the bodies, they’re still technically alive.’
The train picked up speed and she glanced up at her suitcase, squeezed into the rack above her head. Frank was looking at her expectantly, but something had changed now. Now that she was there. Apart from a few hiccups, things had mostly gone to plan. Paul was meant to be dead, of course, but he’d come in handy at the end. She was still a little sad about Tristan, but that part couldn’t be helped. That was all Paul’s fault. The original plan was that they would go back to the car and drive to the train station, and then she would give Tristan the slip, there. It’s not like he would go home and tell anyone what they’d done. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d report them all missing and leave it at that. He’d already shown that he didn’t care about Ginny and Paul. So it wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine that he would soon get over Cat’s disappearance. Even if she did have the money.
Anyway, that was all irrelevant now. And Paul was going to get what he deserved in prison.
‘Do you want a drink?’ Frank said, leaning across the table. ‘I can go to the restaurant car . . . you look like you need one. I mean . . . you’ve had a mad time. You’re clearly in shock.’
‘I’m OK,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll wait until we get on the sleeper. I could do with a little rest though, you’re right.’
‘Of course. You shut your eyes. We’ve got a couple of hours to go.’
When she woke up, the light was different. They were in the station. She’d slept for the whole journey but it felt like five minutes. Her eyes were gritty and dry. Frank was pulling the bags down from the rack.
‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ he said, leaning down to kiss her. She turned her head at the last minute. Her mouth felt disgusting. And those words had given her a little flash to that room in Ascot, Tristan’s face above hers.
She blinked, rubbing at her eyes, trying to dislodge the image.
She let him carry the bags off the train.
‘Do you know which platform it is?’ he said, glancing around. The station was huge and quiet. Bright lights and Tannoy announcements in German now that they’d moved into another of the Swiss cantons.