Before We Met(75)

‘What do you mean by danger?’ she said slowly.

‘I don’t know. I—’

‘Mark, say what you mean. Are you trying to tell me Nick could be violent?’

He closed his eyes as if to shut the question out. ‘I think so. Yes.’

Hannah felt the word sink through the air and settle like poisonous dust around them. They lay without speaking for what felt like a long time, and she listened for sounds from outside, evidence that the real, normal world was still out there, still going on. It was early afternoon, however, and the streets were quiet.

Mark was the first to speak again. ‘Han, being in prison for so long’s changed him. He’s . . . harder. And even without knowing about the money, he’s angry with me.’

‘Why?’

‘For having been out living my life all these years while he’s been in there rotting. He blames me.’

‘But that doesn’t make sense – how can he? You didn’t do anything. He was the one who . . .’

‘But that’s it: Nick’s thinking doesn’t make sense. He can’t see straight because in his mind, everything’s distorted, pulled into concentric circles around him.’ Mark drew the pillow tighter under his neck. ‘It sounds mad but sometimes he doesn’t even seem to understand that I’m separate from him, a different person. He thinks I’m responsible – like I’m his super-ego or something and I fucked up. He’s been sitting up there stewing, with all the time in the world on his hands, and he’s convinced himself it was my fault.’

‘I don’t even understand how that’s possible.’

‘I brought Patty into our group, didn’t I? If I hadn’t started seeing her . . .’

‘That’s nuts.’

‘But that’s it – that’s how he thinks. It’s not . . . normal.’

Hannah turned on to her back, away from him. ‘When is he getting out?’

‘Thursday.’

‘This Thursday?’ Her voice was loud in the stillness of the room.

‘Two days,’ said Mark.



‘It’s going to be intense – I’ll be doing horrible hours. David’s been hard at work getting stuff ready but I haven’t been able to focus at all, worrying so much about . . .’ he stopped.

Hannah sat on the old church pew and watched as Mark swung around the kitchen, consulting the recipe as if it was an alchemical text, pouring splashes of port and soy sauce into one of the copper pans, adding things to the mortar, a mad scientist at work in his laboratory. He opened the oven door, releasing a cloud of steam, and lifted the roasting pan on to the counter top to baste the pork again. He’d refused even to let her peel the vegetables, and instead handed her a glass of the incredible Barolo he’d picked up on his trip out to buy the rest of the ingredients. ‘You can talk to the chef,’ he’d said. ‘That’s your job tonight.’

When the pan was back in the oven he paused for a moment. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘Afterwards, when all this is . . . resolved, why don’t we have a holiday? Somewhere lovely, hot, with nothing to do but swim and read, snorkel. I was thinking about Mauritius, or maybe the Seychelles.’

She thought about their empty bank accounts, the terrifying mortgage. ‘Can we afford it?’

‘Not right this minute but if all goes according to plan . . .’

Of course. If it all went to plan and Systema agreed with the valuation, he’d be able to afford almost anything. Even with Nick’s twelve per cent and the twenty-five that David owned, a buy-out would make Mark very, very rich. Earlier, lying awake, she’d worked out that if DataPro was valued at fifteen million, his sixty-three per cent share was worth just less than nine and a half million pounds. Mark would be able to go on holiday for the rest of his life if he wanted.

‘A proper break,’ he said, tearing the plastic off a jar of star anise. ‘We need one. We’ve both been under too much pressure lately, you with the job-search, me with all this DataPro stuff and . . .’ Again, he stopped himself. Evidently he’d made a decision not to talk about Nick tonight. ‘I’ve been thinking we could go for three weeks, a month, really relax, perhaps somewhere for some culture first – I’d love to see more of Japan – and then on to an island in some ludicrously beautiful turquoise archipelago somewhere. What do you reckon?’ He looked at her, his face flushed from the heat of the oven.

‘It sounds incredible.’

‘You and me, no stress, nothing to worry about, a real break.’

Thousands of miles from your brother, out of his reach.