Catherine Steadman - Something in the Water - A Novel

“Wait—I’m not sure you can use that stuff. I don’t want to have to go to court or anything, you know. I don’t really know what I saw. It was just…enough for me to know.” She gives me a tremulous smile.

“It’s okay. I need to run a lot of stuff by the lawyers before we release the documentary anyway. I’ll flag this for them. If it can’t be used for legal reasons, we can easily scrap it. Are you worried about upsetting Eddie?” I prompt.

She lets out a little laugh of surprise. “No, I’m definitely not worried about upsetting Dad. These things happened; if he doesn’t like them, that’s his problem. I just won’t give evidence against him. There’s a line. And I won’t cross it.” She says it calmly. I realize not much in life upsets Lottie. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Maybe they have more in common, she and Eddie, than she’d like to believe.

I think now is the time.

“Lottie. What I want to do now, if it’s okay with you, is show you a video. It’s a message your father made for you during our interview on Saturday. I know it was your choice not to see him over the past seven years, and if you’re not comfortable doing this, that’s fine. We just won’t.”

I take it easy. I do want Eddie’s help, but I’m not going to be a complete arsehole to get it. If she doesn’t want to see him again, that’s his problem, not mine.

She nods, slow at first but then faster. She wants it. She wants to see it.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” I whip out my laptop and slide it onto the table. “I’ll load it up for you and we’ll just leave the camera rolling if that’s okay?” I want the footage of her watching Eddie. I want the reaction. I want people to see it.

I want his favor and I want the footage.

I slide it around to her and she hits play. Her hands fly up to her mouth.

Maybe he looks older? Maybe he looks sadder? Maybe it’s the tracksuit or the empty off-white room. Maybe he’s thinner, weaker than she remembers. I don’t know. But seven years is a long time. I track into her eyes. Transfixed. I hear his words from last week.

He’s seen photos of Ben, their wedding.

Her eyes crease. A smile behind her hands.

Ben’s a good man, she did well.

He’s proud of her job.

She frowns.

He’s proud of her choices .

She drops her hands, lets them lie lifeless on the table before her. Rapt.

Then the meat of his message.

He did things he regrets. He will change.

Her eyes fill with tears. She is frozen now. Mesmerized. The tears drip from lash to table.

I’m no longer here in the room for her. Nobody exists but them, father and daughter.

He won’t bring that world to her. She’ll be safe. Separate.

She wipes her tears away. Sits up. Solemn. Inhales.

He’ll be a great granddad.

Nothing.

Sweets all round.

A burst of laughter, gone as quick as a burnt magnesium strip.

He loves her.

Silence. Nothing.

She pushes down the laptop screen until it clicks.

She gives me a tight smile.

“I’ll just get some tissues. One second.” She exits frame.

—

Her eyes are still red when she returns, but she’s back to her usual self. A bit embarrassed by her display of emotion. I turn the camera back on.

“So how does that make you feel, Lottie? Do you think you could give your father another chance? Let him back into your life once he’s out?” Now, I want to know for myself as much as for Eddie.

I don’t know what I’d do if I were her. I could speculate, but reality never matches speculation, does it? At least not in the big things.

She smiles. Gives a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Sorry—it’s a lot to process. God, I thought I was over all this! I really did. Um, what was the question? Will I let him back in my life? Huh, no. No, I really don’t think that’s a great idea. I’m sure people will watch this and root for my dad. Root for the underdog. He’s a charmer, I should know. But no, no, I won’t. And I’ll tell you why. Because he’s actually killed people, real people. Sorry, alleged, alleged! Don’t use that, please. Fuck. Look, he’s a convicted criminal. He is unreliable, he is manipulative, he is dangerous, and I have children. Two little children, and a husband I love. And my husband has family, who don’t want to meet him either. I love my life. I like it just the way it is. I made it for myself, from scratch. So, don’t get me wrong, Erin, I am thankful for my education, the opportunities afforded to me, but I put in the work. I turned up every day, in spite of my family, not because of them.”

She looks directly into the lens.

“Dad, I know you’ll watch this. So here it is. I love you. I love you so much, but I can’t be responsible for you. You made your choices. I’m glad you’re proud of me. I’m going to keep making you proud, but I don’t want you in my life. Know that and respect that decision.” She’s finished. She nods at me; that’s all she’s got. I turn off the camera.

“I know you’re thinking that he’s a good guy, but you don’t really know him, Erin. Trust me. I think it’s lovely that you want a happy ending for us all, but things don’t work like that. He isn’t like that. He’s careless. He’s careless with people. People drop off the radar and to him, that’s fine. Well, I don’t think that’s fine. So I’d rather not. I appreciate the effort, though. I really do. When you see him again, tell him he looks well. He’ll like that.”

We make more small talk as I gather my bags. I pack away my footage, like gold dust.

I did all I could do. She’s not an idiot, and if I’d championed him any more, she’d have realized something was up. I gave her the information, passed along his request, and let her choose. That’s all I could do. I just hope that’s enough for Eddie.

The house phone starts ringing the moment I unlock the front door. Mark is out looking at more office rental spaces this afternoon. He should be home in an hour or so; I asked him to come back around three just in case it all went wrong with Lottie.

The phone rings twice before I can reach it, racing across the front room. It could be the silent caller again. It could be Patrick. I might catch him this time.

“Hello, is this Erin?” It’s a gruff voice, forties, cockney. It’s something to do with Eddie, I know it instantly.

“Uh, yes, yes, speaking.” I try to sound professional, as if this might still be a legitimate work call. I really hope Andy Foster isn’t monitoring my calls, because if he is, this one could very quickly become incriminating.

“Hello, Erin. My name’s Simon. I’m meant to be picking up a package from you, I think?” A second’s silence on the line. “Now, I know you’re busy but I’m in the area at the moment; would now be a convenient time for you?” He must suspect a phone tap too because he’s working around it; he just sounds like a courier. Or at least that’s what we can argue in court, if we have to.

“Yes, that would be—now would be fantastic. Five, ten minutes?” I try to mask my relief, my excitement at the prospect of finally being free of the diamonds.

They will be out of our home in less than an hour. It will be finished. The bag, the plane. Only the USB and the phone nestling under the attic insulation left as evidence.

I cradle the phone against my shoulder and hastily jot down the Swiss bank account number on a slip of paper. I’ve learned it by heart now. There is no paper trace of the number. I burned all the paperwork over a week ago, in the garden in our fire pit. All the relevant information is memorized. The number and the password. On his end, I hear a car engine come to life.