Just Like the Other Girls(31)
‘Oh … sorry. I thought, with Kat … Kathryn …’
‘It was already called Kat. We just decided to keep it.’
‘And Viola?’
‘I don’t have a daughter called Viola.’ Her eyes lock with mine, daring me to contradict her. And I can’t say anything because if I did it would mean she’d know Aggie has been talking about her. ‘Can we get something straight?’ She doesn’t wait for me to answer. ‘As far as I’m concerned I have one daughter.’
‘I … Okay.’ Why won’t she admit she has another? Did Viola hurt her that badly?
The sun goes in and a shadow falls onto Elspeth’s face making it appear harder and more angular than usual, the foundation settling into the deep grooves of her skin. She picks up her knife and cuts into a cube of banana bread. ‘Jemima asked a lot of questions.’ Her sapphire blue eyes flash. ‘And look what happened to her.’
My pulse races and I stare at her in shock. I don’t know if she’s referring to Jemima leaving, or her death. Either way it sounds like a threat.
13
Kathryn
The gallery is shrouded in darkness when Kathryn arrives on Friday morning. Daisy hasn’t turned up yet, even though it’s nine thirty. Kathryn will have to reprimand her about her time-keeping. She’d asked her to open at nine on the dot, even though they haven’t been very busy lately. Sales have taken a downward turn in the last year, not that Kathryn’s admitted as much to Elspeth. She doesn’t want to worry her unnecessarily.
McKenzie’s is in a small shop in the faded Victorian grandeur that is the Clifton Arcade. Apart from the gallery, her mother also owns two other units in the arcade: a jewellery store and an antiques shop. Kathryn’s job is to oversee them all, even though she spends most of her time in the art gallery, mainly because the other two businesses have competent managers. The shops had been Huw’s passion, really, something for him to do when he retired. By then Elspeth had set up her foundation for impoverished artists, and Huw had wanted a project of his own. It had started with the antiques and then he had decided to branch out into art. He had died prematurely, at the age of sixty-one, when Kathryn was fifteen, from a stroke, leaving the business in the very capable hands of his younger wife. When Elspeth felt too old to continue with it, she handed it over to Kathryn. By then Viola was long out of the picture.
Kathryn switches on the lights – it’s darker down this end of the arcade – and aligns one of the paintings, which seems to be on a slant: a stunning Paris watercolour by local artist Benjamin Percy. She stands in front of the painting, tipping the gold-edged frame until it’s straight. Funny, she was sure it wasn’t like that when she left yesterday. She notices two half-empty wine glasses on Daisy’s desk. The only other person apart from herself and Elspeth who has a key is Daisy. But Daisy had left before her last night.
She hangs up her coat and bag in the room at the back and turns on the heater. It’s freezing here. She can’t wait until the spring. The constant grey clouds and drizzle make her feel down. She prefers the cold winter days when the skies are blue and there is frost on the ground to this incessant rain.
The doorbell tinkles and she hears Daisy’s voice echoing through the empty shop. ‘So sorry I’m late. Overslept and missed the bus.’ She strides in, slipping off her coat and bag simultaneously, chatting all the while about a date she had last night that went much better than she’d thought it would, and how he’d ended up staying over and she’d had to sneak him into her room so that her mother wouldn’t see. Kathryn wonders if Daisy brought him back here last night, which would explain the wine glasses. She’d have a word with her about it. She can’t bring all and sundry to the gallery after hours.
As she watches the twenty-one-year-old making coffee while keeping up her monologue, not caring in the least that Kathryn hasn’t spoken a word, she envies the younger girl’s youth and confidence. It’s really true what they say – youth is wasted on the young. Daisy is a curvy girl with big boobs and a tummy to match but that doesn’t stop her wearing tight plunging tops or jeans so skinny you can see every ripple and roll of fat. At forty-eight Kathryn could do with some of Daisy’s confidence. Daisy is pretty with that cherub face and full mouth, chocolate-brown eyes and caramel hair, and is popular with the customers. But Kathryn often leaves the gallery at the end of the day with a niggling headache from having to listen to Daisy’s constant stream of chat for hours on end.
Still, the girl is harmless enough and it’s marginally better than being stuck here by herself all day.
Kathryn walks into the main gallery carrying the too-strong coffee that Daisy has made and settles herself behind the till. Daisy is still talking but Kathryn has zoned her out. She takes a long sip. That’s better. She needs the caffeine today. She feels utterly exhausted. She spent half the night awake worrying about Jacob. He’ll be sixteen next month, and will be sitting his GCSEs in the spring yet he refuses to do any work. All he’s interested in is that blasted PlayStation, but that’s preferable to how he was acting last year, so she doesn’t feel she can complain too much. It would help if Ed wasn’t so bloody ineffectual. Jacob refuses to listen when his father tries to lay down the law. It’s too little too late. Still, she reminds herself, it’s better than Jacob roaming the streets with his old mates from the estate. He’s promised not to get involved with them again and she hopes he’s keeping his word, but every time she gets home she has the same nagging worry that he might not be there. That he might have relapsed.