‘Of course.’

‘Great, sounds good.’

‘Oh, our boys and girls are always good,’ she said, the practised patter of an experienced madame. ‘Very, very good.’

I swung my leg back over the moped and headed for King’s Cross. I pushed it as fast as it would go, went through three red lights and up on the pavement a couple of times to save time getting through traffic-clogged junctions. It was ten past five by the time I was buying a single ticket for the 17.18 to Sunderland – paying in cash – and then I ran all the way from the ticket office across the concourse, through the barriers and down the platform, jumping aboard the train just before the guard slammed the last of the doors shut.

I was headed north. In search of answers.

Chapter 67

67

North London slid past outside the train window. Tunnels of Victorian brick and graffitied concrete, a dual carriageway winding overhead. Old terraced houses pushed up too close to the tracks, grimy and tired, sagging with age. Ben was out there somewhere, hiding, laughing, congratulating himself on how clever he was for outsmarting everyone. Waiting for his moment. But how long would he wait before he came back? His endgame was all about Mel, about driving a wedge between us and exploiting that weakness to prise our marriage apart. Wrecking my reputation was a part of that, throwing enough mud so that some would stick, so that I would always be tainted with guilt. Because eventually he would – at a time of his own choosing. I was sure of it. He would be back, sooner or later, to show who had won. Who was the best. And to the victor, the spoils.

I felt totally alone, cut adrift from everything normal, carried along on a powerful current.

My phone was plugged in and charging. It buzzed with a notification, making a rattling sound on the table in front of me.

Where are you? Worried sick. Ring me. xxx

5.25 p.m. Mel mob

I stared at the text for a minute, typed a reply, thought about it for a moment, then deleted it. Typed another reply. Deleted it again. As I contemplated a third, the phone started ringing in my hand, the tone loud and intrusive in the half-empty carriage.

Larssen’s mobile number showed on the display.

‘Joe?’

‘Yeah, it’s me.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine.’

The train sounded its two-tone horn as it built up some speed, and Larssen was silent for a moment.

‘Where are you?’ he said slowly.

‘On a train.’

He gave a little sigh of disappointment.

‘A train to where, exactly?’

I told him, feeling his disapproval coming through the phone line like white noise.

‘And when are you planning to return from this jaunt?’ His tone was acidic.

‘As soon as I find Ben.’

‘And that means what? Days? Weeks?’

‘Not long, a day or two.’