“DC Clements is pretty certain she has her facts straight. She did some checks before we came over here.”
“Leigh has been secretly married to someone else for three years?”
“Yeah. Daan Janssen. He’s in bits too.”
Fiona is pretty sure that isn’t information that should be shared with her, but she files it away to examine later. It might be useful; it might be important. “Leigh is this Kai? They are definitely the same person?” Her voice is high with incredulity.
“Kylie, you said so yourself. Kai. Leigh.”
“That’s fucking madness.”
The policeboy deftly moves around Leigh’s kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, until he finds mugs, spoons and tea bags. He adds milk and sugar to Fiona’s, even though she mutters that she drinks only almond milk, that she doesn’t take sugar.
“Drink it up,” he instructs.
Fiona is not lactose intolerant; she just prefers the taste of almond milk, but it obviously isn’t the moment to be fussy. She does as he says.
“Quite the shock, right?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
He leans closer, lowers his voice. “Even though you’re her best friend? You can say if you did know. You haven’t committed a crime or done anything wrong in keeping your friend’s secret.”
“I didn’t know,” Fiona asserts firmly. He shrugs. Fiona notices that he is wearing a wedding ring; she’s surprised—he seems so young. She suddenly feels old and unsure. This boy is married.
He spots her staring at his ring and asks, “Are you married?”
“No.”
“Hard for you to get your head around this, then. Your best friend being married twice at the same time.”
“Hard for anyone, I should imagine,” Fiona snaps. She doesn’t want to sound irritable, but it is undeniably annoying that a child, practically half her age, is guessing at her emotional range. It’s true she has never been married even though she’s nearly forty-four, but she is aware of the concept. It has just never happened for her. Of course, there have been relationships. She’s lived with various partners before, but she’s never had anyone drop down on one knee. All three of her live-in relationships ended with infidelity. Theirs, not hers. Two left for other women and she chucked the third one out when she discovered he was being unfaithful. Fiona is no mug. She knows her worth. Leigh often says that men find Fiona intimidating or ultimately inaccessible because she is married to her work. It’s certainly true that her work takes up a lot of her time and that she feels passionate about it, but should that be an insurmountable barrier? Fiona wonders how people find it so easy to meet and marry. More and more men Fiona meet nowadays are married and looking for nothing other than a side dish. That is not something she can sign off on.
She briefly wonders whether this policeboy will remain faithful to his wife. He probably is now. He’s so young, they are most likely at it like rabbits, totally absorbed in one another, but will they stay faithful? Fiona doubts it, given her experience. The good ones are few and far between. Suddenly, Fiona is aware of the ungracious thoughts swirling around her head. She shouldn’t be thinking about the policeman’s marriage. She should be thinking about Leigh. What the fuck is wrong with her? She is probably in shock.
Fiona and Constable Tanner take the mugs of tea back into the other room but as soon as the tray is set down, the policewoman stands up and says, “Well, let’s leave it at that for tonight. It’s late. We’ll be in touch tomorrow. I’ll leave you two to drink your tea.”
The moment the door closes behind them Fiona dashes into the kitchen and opens the cupboard where Leigh keeps the vodka.
“What the fuck?” she says as she sloshes generous measures into two glasses.
Mark gives a weak shrug of his shoulders. Lost, defeated. “I don’t understand. I can’t believe it. They must have it wrong.”
“They seemed pretty certain. They wouldn’t have come round here unless they were sure,” she says carefully. She doesn’t want to twist the knife but it’s in no one’s interest to hide from the facts. Mark stares at Fiona. Glares. His face is stone.
She doesn’t like it.
Suddenly, she feels uncomfortable; it is as though the air is being sucked out of the room. She sees the tension build in his face, will it explode through his mouth or fists? He has no control over this situation. Mark needs to be in control. They are too close to each other and yet utterly distanced. It’s odd. Normally they get on really well, but he’s making her feel uneasy. She straightens her shoulders and reminds herself that everything about this is odd. Off-the-scale crazy. No one is behaving normally. Some women don’t get on with their bestie’s partners, but Fiona has always loved Mark. She’s always thought he was one of the good ones who are few and far between. He looks cold now. Stony. She doesn’t know how to reach him.
“They clearly think I have something to do with her disappearance.” Mark continues to glare. His chocolate eyes that bowled Leigh over more than a decade ago bore into Fiona. Alive—not with passion, the way they were for Leigh—but spitting anger. Fiona edges away from him and her back bangs up against the corner of the kitchen counter. She winces. He reaches out a hand toward her, but then hesitates from making contact when he sees her instinctually shrink a fraction. “Ouch, are you hurt?” His tone is forced jovial.
Fiona shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
Her voice seems to jar Mark back into himself, in an instant his expression changes. Melts. He looks suddenly vulnerable. “You don’t think I have anything to do with her disappearance, do you?”
Fiona holds his gaze, wondering what to say. The truth is no one knows what people are capable of. Who knew that Leigh was capable of being a bigamist, married to two men, running two lives for years and never telling a soul? Never telling her. Fiona thought she knew her best friend inside out. She thought Leigh trusted her. Who can say what secrets Mark might be hiding? What anyone is capable of. It is totally feasible that Mark discovered Leigh’s lie. What might that have led to? Crimes of passion are reported in the newspapers all the time. People murder betraying loved ones. It happens.
Fiona takes a deep breath.
She does not believe that about Mark.
“No,” she says eventually. “No, I don’t think you have anything to do with her disappearance, obviously not. My guess is she has run off. Leading a double life must be—” She shrugs, embarrassed. “Well, fuck, what must it be, Mark? Unbelievably stressful. I can’t comprehend it.”
Fiona pours them both another vodka. They knock them back without saying anything more for a moment. They can’t find the words.
“It can’t be true,” says Mark eventually.
“But she is only here half the time,” Fiona says quietly, trying to convey as much sympathy as humanly possible. “And the photo.” She shrugs apologetically, although it isn’t her that should be apologizing.
“What shall I tell the boys?” he asks.
“I don’t know. You should talk to the police. See whether they think this is going to hit the papers.”