Just Like the Other Girls(35)

I don’t know what I’m looking for, really – evidence of a breakin last night maybe, even though, deep down, I know that can’t have been the case. In reality, the only person who could have unlocked my door is Elspeth. Unless Kathryn came over in the dead of night, but why would she?

I’ve been in the sitting room and the library, but they are all meticulously tidy. There are no papers that belong to Elspeth. My mum always had a stash of bills, documents, insurance papers and birth certificates in a suitcase under her bed. But there is nothing like that in Elspeth’s room. Kathryn’s is also very tidy, but that’s because she’s only using it now and again when she stays over. Considering Elspeth has lived here for nearly forty years, the house is surprisingly clutter-free. Sometimes it feels as though I’m in a National Trust property, not in someone’s home at all. The most lived-in part of the house is the kitchen, but that might be because Aggie occupies it. Then I remember the study, the small room that Elspeth never goes into on the lower ground floor at the front of the house, next to the kitchen. I run back down the stairs and stand in the square lobby, poking my head around the kitchen door just to double-check that I really am alone and Aggie hasn’t come back. But when I can see it’s empty I go to the only other door off the lobby, dismayed when I discover it’s locked. I stand staring at the door in disappointment. And then I mentally shake myself. What am I doing? Am I really expecting to find evidence of foul play or criminal activity, or am I just looking for excitement in a job I’m finding a bit dull? Matilde’s death was an accident and Jemima killed herself. But they both looked like you, a little voice in my head says. Isn’t that a bit odd?

Urgh. I’m driving myself mad with these thoughts. I’m going to kill Courtney when I see her. This is all her fault with her talk of the Craigslist murders.

But why did Elspeth come into your room last night?

I put my hands over my ears to stop my relentless thoughts. Elspeth wouldn’t hurt me. She’s not capable of it. And it’s not like the other girls were found stabbed in their beds. I’m letting my imagination run away with me.

I move away from the door and return upstairs. I need to get out of this house and clear my head. I’m just about to run up to my room when the front doorbell rings. The sound reverberates through the hallway. I stand still for a few seconds, wondering if I should answer it, until I pull myself together. It’s probably the postman, for goodness’ sake.

I open the heavy door and a gust of cold air hits me in the face. Standing on the threshold is a man in his twenties, with bright blond hair and eyes the colour of icicles. He’s wearing a puffy yellow jacket.

‘Oh, hi. Can I help you?’ I have to peer up at him because he’s so much taller than me.

‘I’m looking for Elspeth McKenzie,’ he says, with a London accent. He has a checked scarf pulled up around his throat, and a large beauty spot on his left cheek.

‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid she’s not in.’

His whole body deflates with disappointment. ‘Do you know when she’ll be back? I’ve come a long way.’

‘Not until around teatime. Can I help at all? Or pass on a message?’

‘And you are?’ He doesn’t smile. He has a very square jaw and a muscle twitches just under his ear.

‘I work for Mrs McKenzie.’

Why does he look so annoyed? ‘I’m Peter Freeman. Jemima was my sister. She worked here before you.’

‘Oh … of course. I’m so sorry to hear about –’

‘She would never have taken her own life.’ His voice cuts through my words like a guillotine through paper.

‘I – I’m afraid I didn’t know her.’

His face collapses and, for one moment, he looks on the edge of tears. Instinctively I reach out to him and touch his shoulder lightly. He’s weighed down by grief. I recognize it. I live with it too. His pain touches me and, to my horror, my eyes fill in sympathy. He steps away from me. ‘Okay. Well, sorry to bother you,’ he says.

He’s going to leave. I can’t let that happen. This is the perfect opportunity to find out more about the girl whose life I’m living.

‘You want to go for a coffee? There’s a café around the corner. I could meet you there in five minutes,’ I say, my words tumbling out in a rush. I sound desperate and I am. I’ve been stuck in the house on my own all morning.

Surprise flickers on his face, but he nods. ‘Thank you. I’ll see you in five minutes.’

I watch him walk out of the front garden and down the street, his shoulders hunched, his grief almost palpable. And then I go back inside the house to fetch my coat and bag.





15





Una

Peter is standing at the counter behind a queue of people and he looks up when I walk into the café. I’m relieved when I see him. This is the closest café to Elspeth’s house, but I was worried he’d walk straight past it as it’s tucked away between a row of imposing Georgian buildings in what looks like a residential street.

The café is only small and the tables are all taken. ‘Shall we get a takeaway and go for a walk?’ he says, when I reach him. ‘It’s so pretty around here.’

I say okay and we stand awkwardly in the queue, not speaking until we’re served. We both order cappuccinos, then head out into the cold clasping our cups with gloved hands. We wander across the green, our feet sinking into the wet grass, and towards the suspension bridge. It’s shrouded in a faint drizzly mist.