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‘The blog.’ I was slow; I didn’t understand at first. She had to spell it out for me, blow on the sparks until I could see that they were dangerous, and that they would spread uncontrollably. ‘I’ve given information to the “Where is Benedict Finch?” blog.’ ‘You’re the leak?’ She nodded. I gave myself a nasty bruise on the side of my hand where I slammed it on the dashboard. Pain shot up my arm. It made Emma jump and then she seemed to contract into herself a little more. ‘Why?’ One puny word, to express all the incredulity and anger that I felt. ‘I feel so stupid.’ ‘Tell me why!’ ‘Don’t shout,’ she said. ‘Please.’ I watched her as she tried to compose herself. She carefully tucked her hair behind her ears in a gesture that I knew and loved. She took a deep breath, exhaling audibly, and just when I was about to shout at her again she said, ‘I wanted to punish Rachel Jenner, for letting Ben out of her sight in the woods.’ I didn’t expect that. ‘What? Why? For fuck’s sake, why would you do that? Why’s that even your business?’ ‘It got to me, I’m sorry. I started looking at the blog, for research, and I got sucked into it. First I just put a comment, because people were saying some stupid things, but then I found myself agreeing with some of them, and I’ve got strong feelings about it, because it’s a massive issue for me. And I know none of it’s an excuse but I was getting tired, it was hard to cope with the family and I was scared I wasn’t up to the job. I know I shouldn’t have. It was weak. I just couldn’t help thinking about how if she’d been a bit more responsible then it wouldn’t have happened. Oh God, Jim. I’m so sorry. My head gets so fucked up sometimes. It’s complicated. It’s personal. Something happened that I’ve never told you.’ ‘What happened?’ She didn’t answer. Instead she shook her head, and covered her face with her hands. ‘Emma! What happened?’ Her hands fell away and her voice veered into hysteria. ‘Stop shouting! I said stop!’ She wiped at her face brusquely, streaking the sleeve of her coat. Then she turned to look at me with an expression of vulnerability that I’d never seen on her before and she pleaded. It was awful, that diminishment of her. She said, ‘Oh God, I’ve been so stupid. It’s so hard for me to explain but please know that I’m trying to be honest with you because I love you. I do. I know we’ve never said that to each other but I think I actually do.’ But I was too angry to hear it. I was facing the charred remains of our relationship, of Emma’s career, possibly of mine too. I said, ‘Do you know how many resources Fraser’s had to put into finding out who the leak is?’ ‘I’m sorry.’ A bright, high note on a scale. ‘You’ve risked that boy’s life!’ ‘I’m sorry.’ The scale descending into tones of hopelessness. ‘You owe me a proper explanation.’ ‘I know. I’m scared you won’t understand.’ Just a whisper. ‘Try me.’ My tone was cynical now. I’d become my professional self, tucked away the things I

wanted to say. It was self-protection. I hated myself for doing it, but what choice did I have, really? She talked then, a slow stream of words and it was breaking her to say them. ‘Because I saw the photographs Rachel took, they were photographs of Ben. She loves him. I saw it for the first time, how much she cares about him, because they’re such beautiful pictures and they made me feel so guilty.’ She clutched at my arm. ‘I’m telling you because I don’t know what to do and I want you to help me make it right. You won’t tell anybody, will you? I’ve stopped already. I won’t do it again.’ ‘You can’t come back from this. You cannot,’ I said, but she was pulling her handbag onto her lap, digging through it. ‘I’ve got a personal email address for the author of the blog. We can track them down. I’ll get it for you, I’ll get it now.’ She took her phone out. I could see that she had missed calls, but not who they were from, and she ignored them, as she tried with trembling fingers to access her mailbox. ‘It’s gone too far. You can’t make it right.’ ‘We don’t need to tell anybody else,’ she said. She looked pale and fearful, her eyes darting nervously from me to the phone and back. ‘If you help me we can do it. We can get the blog removed.’ ‘You not we. I didn’t do this, it’s got nothing to do with me, and actually you do need to tell them. Look at me! You’re kidding yourself if you think you can get away with it. And you’re compromising me just by telling me, let alone expecting me to help you!’ ‘Please. I’ll lose my job.’ Her eyes were locked onto mine now, wide and wild with panic. ‘Do I really need to say that you should have thought of that earlier? What you leaked was spiteful, wicked stuff. Jesus! And now you want me to put myself on the line for you. Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?’ ‘Jim.’ It was a plea. ‘I thought you would help me.’ ‘I thought I knew you.’ She tried to reach out and touch my face, but as her fingers grazed my cheek I said, ‘Don’t,’ and she withdrew her hand quickly, as if I’d scalded her. I massaged my temples, and I felt an exhausted, debilitating sadness because I knew that this was the end of us, and that I’d made my own bed on this one. It was my own fucking fault. End of. She took another deep breath. ‘I did it because of what happened to my sister,’ she said, and I could hear that there was bravery in her voice, that she was working up courage for what she was about to say, but for me it was too late for that, because she’d betrayed the police force and the investigation, betrayed Benedict Finch, and betrayed me. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not interested. I don’t want to hear it.’ She opened her mouth to reply but something she saw in my face made her close it again, and her features drained of hope. ‘Jim…⁠’ was all she managed. ‘No.’ I didn’t want to hear it because Emma wasn’t the person I thought she was, and I wouldn’t lie for her. She started working at her phone again, desperately tapping at the screen, and it was too much for me; it was delusional. I snatched the phone from her, opened the car window, threw it out and watched it clatter across the pavement and break against the urine-stained wall, pieces of it scattering amongst dark black puddles, fag butts and other unidentifiable scraps of filthy rubbish. A passer-by paused to give me a look and I

‘The blog.’<br />

I was slow; I didn’t understand at first. She had to spell it out for me, blow on the sparks until I<br />

could see that they were dangerous, and that they would spread uncontrollably.<br />

‘I’ve given information to the “Where is Benedict Finch?” blog.’<br />

‘You’re the leak?’<br />

She nodded.<br />

I gave myself a nasty bruise on the side of my hand where I slammed it on the dashboard. Pain shot<br />

up my arm. It made Emma jump and then she seemed to contract into herself a little more.<br />

‘Why?’ One puny word, to express all the incredulity and anger that I felt.<br />

‘I feel so stupid.’<br />

‘Tell me why!’<br />

‘Don’t shout,’ she said. ‘Please.’<br />

I watched her as she tried to compose herself. She carefully tucked her hair behind her ears in a<br />

gesture that I knew and loved. She took a deep breath, exhaling audibly, and just when I was about to<br />

shout at her again she said, ‘I wanted to punish Rachel Jenner, for letting Ben out of her sight in the<br />

woods.’<br />

I didn’t expect that.<br />

‘What? Why? For fuck’s sake, why would you do that? Why’s that even your business?’<br />

‘It got to me, I’m sorry. I started looking at the blog, for research, and I got sucked into it. First I<br />

just put a comment, because people were saying some stupid things, but then I found myself agreeing<br />

with some of them, and I’ve got strong feelings about it, because it’s a massive issue for me. And I<br />

know none of it’s an excuse but I was getting tired, it was hard to cope with the family and I was<br />

scared I wasn’t up to the job. I know I shouldn’t have. It was weak. I just couldn’t help thinking about<br />

how if she’d been a bit more responsible then it wouldn’t have happened. Oh God, Jim. I’m so sorry.<br />

My head gets so fucked up sometimes. It’s complicated. It’s personal. Something happened that I’ve<br />

never told you.’<br />

‘What happened?’<br />

She didn’t answer. Instead she shook her head, and covered her face with her hands.<br />

‘Emma! What happened?’<br />

Her hands fell away and her voice veered into hysteria.<br />

‘Stop shouting! I said stop!’<br />

She wiped at her face brusquely, streaking the sleeve of her coat.<br />

Then she turned to look at me with an expression of vulnerability that I’d never seen on her before<br />

and she pleaded. It was awful, that diminishment of her. She said, ‘Oh God, I’ve been so stupid. It’s<br />

so hard for me to explain but please know that I’m trying to be honest with you because I love you. I<br />

do. I know we’ve never said that to each other but I think I actually do.’<br />

But I was too angry to hear it. I was facing the charred remains of our relationship, of Emma’s<br />

career, possibly of mine too. I said, ‘Do you know how many resources Fraser’s had to put into<br />

finding out who the leak is?’<br />

‘I’m sorry.’ A bright, high note on a scale.<br />

‘You’ve risked that boy’s life!’<br />

‘I’m sorry.’ The scale descending into tones of hopelessness.<br />

‘You owe me a proper explanation.’<br />

‘I know. I’m scared you won’t understand.’ Just a whisper.<br />

‘Try me.’ My tone was cynical now. I’d become my professional self, tucked away the things I

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