Lasting Damage by Sophie Hannah

with them as I am.’
    ‘Did Connie take your advice?’ Sam asked. ‘Did she share her problem with Simon?’ Was that why he took two days off a couple of weeks ago? He’d mumbled something vague about ‘wedding preparations’, not making eye-contact. At the time, Sam had put it down to embarrassment; Simon was undoubtedly, if inexplicably, mortified to be in a relationship, and avoided referring to his attached status.
    Alice looked apologetic. ‘Ask Connie,’ she said. ‘I’m sure she’ll tell you the whole story, if you’re willing to listen sympathetically.’
    ‘Did her unlikely-sounding and possibly criminal problem involve a virtual tour of a house on a property website?’ Sam asked. Alice’s facial expression was the only answer he needed: she didn’t know what he was talking about.
    So Connie Bowskill had two impossible-to-believe problems, one since January and one since thirteen hours ago. Interesting.
    Impossible to believe.
    ‘Did you advise Connie to talk to Simon because you genuinely believed she needed police help, or because you hoped he would contact you to ask about her?’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sam knew he’d overstepped the mark. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘That’s a question I have no right to ask. Ignore it.’
    ‘Why, when it’s one I can answer freely?’ said Alice. ‘I genuinely believed Simon ought to hear about Connie’s problem, because . . . well, because it was so odd, so unusual. It was either something truly horrible or nothing at all. I . . .’ She stopped, stared down at the table. Sam was starting to wonder if he ought to prompt her when she said, ‘I’ve only just this second realised it, but I told her to speak to Simon because that was what I wanted to do. I wanted to talk to him about it. He and I haven’t spoken since 2003, and – this, Connie’s . . . issue that she had, made me want to be in touch with him again more than anything else ever has. It made me miss him, though I never really knew him in the first place. Oh, it’s crazy! The funny thing is, I’ve always known absolutely for sure that one day he’d reappear in my life. And when you rang this morning . . .’ She shook her head, looking past Sam out of the window.
    He could guess what was coming next. When he’d rung this morning and asked her to meet him, she’d given her sick daughter to a friend and devoted the next two hours to writing the letter she’d wanted to write for the last seven years, the one Sam had refused to deliver.
    ‘Look, I’m sorry about—’
    ‘Don’t be,’ said Alice. ‘I shouldn’t have tried to turn you into the very-likely-to-get-shot messenger. It was unethical. And unnecessary – I don’t need you. I know where Simon works – I could post the letter to him. I won’t, though.’ She nodded, as if to formalise the decision. ‘I’m a firm believer in fate, and today fate’s made it clear to me that now’s not the right time. I bet you’re not used to thinking of yourself as an agent of fate, are you?’ She grinned.
    ‘I’m not.’ Colin Sellers would have had a jokey response ready, but Sam couldn’t think of one.
    Alice closed her eyes and took a sip of her drink. ‘The right time will come,’ she said.

Chapter 5
    Saturday 17 July 2010
     
    ‘1.2 million pounds? Oh . . . Ow! Ouch.’ My mother has missed the five mugs lined up on the worktop and poured boiling water over her left hand instead. Deliberately, though I can’t prove it. She has burned herself, and it’s my fault for causing her more worry than she can cope with. Again . She wants everybody to notice and blame me. If they do, if Fran or Anton or Dad says, ‘Look what you’ve done, Con,’ Mum will stick up for me, but her defence will be a veiled attack: ‘It wasn’t Connie’s fault – I should have known better than to look away, with a kettle full of boiling water in my hand, but I was so shocked, I couldn’t help