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“See, I scanned this stupid code earlier today and ever since I’ve been getting weird messages from someone named Miranda telling me to come and meet them tonight. In Central Park. And for some reason you have a ton of cameras up in Central Park. So. Let’s try again. Who are you? And who is Miranda?”
Lark steps toward Jessica then and hands her a passport. It’s a British one. Jessica turns to the back page and sees a photo of the dweeb guy.
His place of birth is Portsmouth.
His date of birth is July 1990.
His name is Arthur Maximillian Simms.
“Fox,” says Lark, turning to her brother, who has been standing with his back pressed against the wall since they burst in, looking dazed and shell-shocked. “Talk to me. Please. What the hell is going on here?”
He lowers his eyes and shakes his head. “Go away,” he says softly. “Please just all go away.”
Lark steps toward him and lays a hand on his arm. “Please. Fox. Whatever this is, it isn’t good. Surely you can see that?”
“It is good,” he says. “It is good. It’s going to help everyone. So please, don’t try to stop it.” His voice cracks as he speaks, and he sounds on the verge of tears.
Then everyone falls silent at the sound of a ringtone coming from one of the phones on the dining table. Jessica puts a finger to her lips and crosses the room to press answer. The name Pol is on the screen, alongside a photograph of a heavily made-up, very pretty young woman with blond hair and her face pressed up against that of a beardy dog. Jessica presses speakerphone and indicates to the man named Arthur Simms that he should reply.
“Hi!”
“Arthur? Are you okay? You sound weird?”
“I’m fine. I’m good. You okay?”
“Yes. All good. I’m on my way into the park. I just wanted to check in.”
“Yes. All good.”
“Why am I on speaker?”
“Just, er…Can I call you back, in a minute?”
“Yes. Sure. Speak to you soon. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The call ends and Jessica looks at Lark, who is staring at Arthur’s phone in shock.
“That’s her,” Lark says, pointing at Arthur’s phone. “That woman who just called. It’s Becky, my dad’s girlfriend.”
Jessica looks from the phone to Arthur and then back again.
“Wait. Are you sure?”
“I’m totally sure. I recognized her voice as well. It’s her.”
Jessica throws a hard stare at Fox. “That true?”
Fox shrugs. “I didn’t see,” he says, sulkily.
Jessica hits the screen to bring “Pol’s” contact details up and shows it to Fox.
He shrugs again. “Yeah,” he says, “I guess.”
“What the…?” Her head spins with it all. “Hey,” she calls over to Arthur. “What’s going on? Why are you telling Sebastian Randall’s girlfriend that you love her?”
“Because she’s my girlfriend.” He sounds almost proud; there’s a triumphant tip to his chin.
