changed the subject. She wondered how long he could keep this up. If she asked him every time they spoke, what excuse could he come up with over and over again? She wanted to think she was overreacting, that everything was fine, nothing to worry about, but it was beginning to seem unlikely.
‘What's Peter and Abi's surname?’ she asked him out of nowhere, trying to sound casual, when he called for the second time.
He answered without missing a beat: ‘Smith. Why do you keep asking me about them?’
‘Smith. Peter and Abi Smith. Or did she keep her own name?’
‘I'm going to bed now, goodnight.’
‘Night, darling,’ Katie said sadly. ‘Sleep well.’
‘Do you have an address?’ the friendly sounding man at 118118 asked her. ‘Only there are a lot of Smiths.’
‘Swiss Cottage somewhere, I don't know.’
‘Postcode?’
‘Sorry. NW something, I suppose.’
He sighed. ‘I have seventy-six P. Smiths in northwest London. Plus eighteen Peters. What would you like to do?’
Katie knew she was defeated. ‘Nothing. Thank you.’
Smith, thought James, had been a stroke of genius. He had no idea why Katie was suddenly so interested in Peter and Abi but he also knew she didn't have a suspicious cell in her body. She had never been one of those women who asked where you'd been if you were home five minutes late, or quizzed you about what you got up to when you were away. Come to think of it, Stephanie was the same, he realized, and felt a rarely acknowledged spasm of guilt. There was no getting away from it: he couldn't take any pleasure in deceiving two women who were so easily deceived, who loved him enough to truly trust him.
He pushed the thought from his mind. He felt confident that Katie wasn't trying to catch him out. He could come up with a plausible reason why Peter and Abi didn't want him to give out their number to anyone even for emergencies. They were on witness protection? Hiding from debt collectors? Had recently changed their number to avoid nuisance calls from violent ex-lovers and been advised by the police not to give it out to anyone, whoever they were? No, it would have to be more prosaic than that, but he would come up with something and fortunately —or maybe unfortunately — Katie being Katie would believe whatever he told her.
In fact Katie was struggling to decide just what to believe. There was no doubt that James was hiding something from her. She just wasn't sure she wanted to accept exactly what that something was. Maybe she should have heard Stephanie out at least, given her the benefit of the doubt. She wondered whether she should call her back, although it was hard to imagine what she could say: ‘OK, so I know I basically accused you of being delusional but now I'd like to indulge you in that delusion for a while, then decide once and for all whether or not I believe you,’ was hardly going to win Stephanie round. And, anyway, it was half past ten at night: she couldn't call her now and risk waking her up. Stephanie had a young son — presumably she had to be up at the crack of dawn to get him off to school so she was bound to go to bed early. It would have to wait until morning. That gave her the whole night to decide exactly how she felt. James would ring her as soon as he got to the surgery, as he always did. She would try to think of one more way to challenge him, another question that he would struggle to answer. Then she'd know.
‘I've had an idea,’ she said, when she answered the phone the following morning. She had been up since six, too unhappy to sleep. ‘I was thinking maybe I could come down to London tomorrow night. Book a hotel so it wouldn't be a problem for Peter and Abi. It would be like a holiday.’
She heard James gulp. ‘Really? But that's crazy. I mean,I'd hardly see you. I spend all Saturday with Finn, remember.’
Katie knew in an instant that what Stephanie had told her was the truth. She tried one last shot. ‘But we'd have the evenings
‘What's Peter and Abi's surname?’ she asked him out of nowhere, trying to sound casual, when he called for the second time.
He answered without missing a beat: ‘Smith. Why do you keep asking me about them?’
‘Smith. Peter and Abi Smith. Or did she keep her own name?’
‘I'm going to bed now, goodnight.’
‘Night, darling,’ Katie said sadly. ‘Sleep well.’
‘Do you have an address?’ the friendly sounding man at 118118 asked her. ‘Only there are a lot of Smiths.’
‘Swiss Cottage somewhere, I don't know.’
‘Postcode?’
‘Sorry. NW something, I suppose.’
He sighed. ‘I have seventy-six P. Smiths in northwest London. Plus eighteen Peters. What would you like to do?’
Katie knew she was defeated. ‘Nothing. Thank you.’
Smith, thought James, had been a stroke of genius. He had no idea why Katie was suddenly so interested in Peter and Abi but he also knew she didn't have a suspicious cell in her body. She had never been one of those women who asked where you'd been if you were home five minutes late, or quizzed you about what you got up to when you were away. Come to think of it, Stephanie was the same, he realized, and felt a rarely acknowledged spasm of guilt. There was no getting away from it: he couldn't take any pleasure in deceiving two women who were so easily deceived, who loved him enough to truly trust him.
He pushed the thought from his mind. He felt confident that Katie wasn't trying to catch him out. He could come up with a plausible reason why Peter and Abi didn't want him to give out their number to anyone even for emergencies. They were on witness protection? Hiding from debt collectors? Had recently changed their number to avoid nuisance calls from violent ex-lovers and been advised by the police not to give it out to anyone, whoever they were? No, it would have to be more prosaic than that, but he would come up with something and fortunately —or maybe unfortunately — Katie being Katie would believe whatever he told her.
In fact Katie was struggling to decide just what to believe. There was no doubt that James was hiding something from her. She just wasn't sure she wanted to accept exactly what that something was. Maybe she should have heard Stephanie out at least, given her the benefit of the doubt. She wondered whether she should call her back, although it was hard to imagine what she could say: ‘OK, so I know I basically accused you of being delusional but now I'd like to indulge you in that delusion for a while, then decide once and for all whether or not I believe you,’ was hardly going to win Stephanie round. And, anyway, it was half past ten at night: she couldn't call her now and risk waking her up. Stephanie had a young son — presumably she had to be up at the crack of dawn to get him off to school so she was bound to go to bed early. It would have to wait until morning. That gave her the whole night to decide exactly how she felt. James would ring her as soon as he got to the surgery, as he always did. She would try to think of one more way to challenge him, another question that he would struggle to answer. Then she'd know.
‘I've had an idea,’ she said, when she answered the phone the following morning. She had been up since six, too unhappy to sleep. ‘I was thinking maybe I could come down to London tomorrow night. Book a hotel so it wouldn't be a problem for Peter and Abi. It would be like a holiday.’
She heard James gulp. ‘Really? But that's crazy. I mean,I'd hardly see you. I spend all Saturday with Finn, remember.’
Katie knew in an instant that what Stephanie had told her was the truth. She tried one last shot. ‘But we'd have the evenings
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