Her eyes were bleak as she looked across the desk at the customer service manager whose sympathetic expression made her want to cry… no, howl… she wanted to howl for the perfect life that was slipping from her grasp with such speed she was stunned. From somewhere deep inside, she managed to drag up anger that strengthened her. ‘We may need time to get this sorted,’ she said, meeting his eyes.

He nodded slowly. ‘Please be aware, Mrs Chatwell, that the next mortgage repayment is due in two weeks. If you can make some payment towards that. Any payment,’ he added, seeing her tightened look. ‘It would be viewed kindly by the bank.’

They didn’t have money saved anywhere else. They were both well paid, but even their combined salaries wouldn’t clear the arrears and the next payment. She closed her eyes. She still didn’t know why Jack had been suspended. If he lost his job? She gulped again and met the manager’s worried look with a shake of her head. ‘I’d better go and see what I can do, Mr Roberts,’ she said and stood.

He got to his feet. ‘I’ll walk you out.’ With his hand on the doorknob, he turned to her. ‘Do what you can to make repayments,’ he said, ‘keep the bank informed, if you can’t. We’ll be able to work out some form of repayment schedule.’

In a daze, Molly headed back to the Underground. She remembered Jack’s blasé statement that he played the tables. At a rough estimate, he’d done so to the tune of over three hundred thousand pounds.

31

Outside the bank the rain still fell, heavier now, a deluge that pounded Molly’s head and ran down her set face, rivulets running down her neck to slip under the collar of her coat and soak into her shirt. Passers-by glanced at her from under their umbrellas or as they ducked under the shelter of storefronts, but nobody stopped to ask if she was okay as she walked robotically, arms rigid by her sides, feet heedlessly splashing through puddles, kitten heels slipping and sliding so that she jerked from side to side.

She should have felt pain but all she felt was numb… too numb, too shocked for thought, her feet automatically taking her back to the station. On the busy, noisy platform, waiting for her tube, her brain swirled, trying to make sense of everything. It took a few seconds before she realised her phone was vibrating. Hoping it was Jack, she took it out, her eyes widening when she saw it was DI Fanshawe.

‘Hi,’ she said, holding the phone to her ear. She tried to shut out some of the noise that surrounded her by pressing her free hand against the other ear. Unfortunately, being deep on an Underground platform meant the signal was poor anyway and being jostled by impatient commuters didn’t help.