Page 102 of Meet me at the Seaside Cottages

‘Sweetie, I’m worried about you. Darling. I just want to see you.’

Essie feels bad, briefly, for lying. But it’s small beer compared to what’s happening.

‘It’s just me, darling. I just wanted to give you a cuddle and . . . ’

His pale, strained face is visible through the letterbox.

She can tell by his expression that he wants to believe her so much. She doesn’t want to say it’s going to be alright, in case that’s going too far and he’ll be able to tell immediately that she’s lying. She smiles at him, as sincerely as she can. ‘My love.’

‘Oh, God, Essie. I’ve been so . . . I’ve been so scared . . . ’

‘It’s okay,’ says Essie. ‘I just want to make sure you’re alright.’

And he opens the door.

*

‘Give me the office entry code.’

Connor is blinking. He looks awful; he is in his pyjamas, unshaven, and he obviously hasn’t slept. All his pink and white clean-cut freshness has gone. Which means he must have known this was coming. None of his sleek suits or Burberry raincoats today.

‘What? I can’t . . . ’

‘Okay,’ says Essie, ice-cold. She was an idiot. He is an idiot. He is an idiot who worked in the actual criminal office and shared a flat with the criminal, so who even knows how deep in it he was.

‘Those first investors of Tris’s when you set up this fund – it’s his rich uncle, isn’t it? Who owns this place. It’s all his family?’

Connor stutters, his eyes darting about. He doesn’t recognise this Essie, his sweet, quiescent girlfriend. Hasn’t recognised her since she moved back north, in fact; her behaviour in Carso was completely out of character too. He doesn’t understand anything.

‘Uh, yeah – yeah, I think so. They gave him seed money to begin with—’

‘So they’ll be the first to get their money back,’ says Essie, almost to herself. ‘And it will be the little guys, the last-minute guys who suffer.’ Then she repeats, ‘Give me the office entry code.’

‘Don’t be daft. There’s people there,’ says Connor miserably. ‘It’s a crime scene. It’ll be crawling with police. And you can’t touch anything; you’d be interfering with evidence. You can’t do anything, Essie. It’s all gone.’

‘Fine,’ says Essie. ‘Well, then, it doesn’t matter anyway. Give me the code.’

‘No way.’

‘I’ll tell them . . . ’

She realises just as she starts saying it that she doesn’t know whether this is true or not, is too scared to even let herself think. She finishes the sentence anyway.

‘I’ll tell them you knew.’

He freezes, and the colour drains from his face.

‘I didn’t. Essie, you have to believe I didn’t.’

‘You spent a lot of time saying it was a fund for ultra-high net worth. Then you all let in some two-bit rigger, no bother at all.’

He’s white. Essie lets the silence hang.

‘Tris told us . . . he told us it was going to be fine. He was going to get sorted. I didn’t . . . I thought it was just a bump. Honestly. I promise.’

‘Give me the code.’

‘You have to believe me.’

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