‘I don’t trust you,’ Lydia says immediately. ‘Not when you’re like this.’ She lies back, removing her hand from his, thinking. ‘What do you mean, that I need to know about?’

He shifts closer to her, and he rests his head on her chest, their legs entwined. He breathes deeply in and out, an almost-sigh. It’s the only sound in their room, even though the window is open.

‘I mean that – okay. Something has happened that – if you know about it – will make your life worse.’

‘About Evan’s ultrasound?’

There is just the slightest hesitation. ‘No.’

‘Well, I think I need to know what,’ Lydia says, sitting up, moving him off her.

‘You don’t,’ Joe says.

‘I’m – Joe.’

‘Look. Something’s happened. In the business. And, if I tell you – then –’

‘Is it illegal?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does it affect me?’

A beat. ‘No.’

‘You can’t –’

‘I’m not going to tell you, Lyds,’ Joe says gently, lying propped up on one elbow. She can’t make out anything except the vague shape of him, his shoulder and his eyes.

‘What sort of thing is it? I should know, shouldn’t I? Even if it is illegal.’

‘You won’t want to know. It’s for …’ Joe’s gaze shifts to the window, then back at her. ‘This is for your own good. I promise,’ he says. ‘When have I ever given you reason not to trust me?’ He waits for her to answer, and then, when he catches her expression, he adds, ‘Not them, not your family.’ An earnest hand to his chest. ‘Me. Me.’

‘There’s no need for that,’ she says.

‘What?’

‘You don’t need to say it that way.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says immediately, earnestly. ‘My bad.’

‘You haven’t,’ she says softly. ‘You haven’t ever given me a reason not to trust you.’

‘Then,’ he says, like it is a full sentence.

‘Are you helping somebody?’ she says. ‘Is this a kestrel situation?’

He smiles at that. ‘Yeah,’ he says. He flaps a hand uselessly in the night air, then lets it fall back on to the bed. ‘You could say that.’

It’s light, but early, when Lydia wakes. Joe is gone again. She stands at the window. The sky is stippled, violet clouds with pink edges, like a messy child’s painting. She wonders where he is. She sees him in the distance, with Cathy again, at the edge of the grounds of their villa. She has her hands on her hips. His position is defensive. She knows it well. Lydia stares at both of them.

She will keep an eye on this, she decides. Listen out.

The longer she looks, the more she sees.

29.

Joe

Joe did send that text.

He went back into the city. He travelled in on an evening bus, the sky an intense peach beyond the dirty windows. He’d stayed standing up for the duration of the journey, even though it was empty, wanting to burn off some of his nervous energy, his fingers sliding down the plastic pole in the centre of the bus.