Just Like the Other Girls(58)

‘So Kathryn knows more than she’s letting on? She’s a cold fish, that one, that’s for sure.’

Courtney remembers. She remembers getting to the hospital after Una was found – she had been Una’s emergency contact. A fruitless exercise, as it turned out, because Una was already dead and it had done nothing but give her false hope. Una had died on the bridge, enveloped in fog, like the embrace of the Grim Reaper, hidden from the world until the sun came up and chased the fog away. Kathryn had remained stony-faced while the doctor informed them of Una’s passing. She hadn’t reacted at all, while it was all Courtney could do to stop herself collapsing in a sobbing heap on the white-speckled hospital lino.

The next day Courtney had gone to the police station, propped up by a reluctant Kris, to tell them everything. About the bag, Una’s suspicions, Peter’s apparent text message asking to meet. The police had been interested yet noncommittal in their response. They took the details she gave them, diligently without rushing her, and then they thanked her and said they’d let her know of any developments. Except they didn’t. A week passed, and in the end, in desperation, she’d had to call them. That was when they’d told her about Peter and how there had been no messages on his phone arranging to meet Una. Una’s own mobile, apparently, hadn’t been found on her when she died. They think it must have slipped over the edge of the bridge and into the Avon Gorge, maybe when she fell. It all seemed rather too convenient for Courtney to swallow.

Kathryn had rung her shortly after Una had died, asking if she wanted Una’s stuff. Not that there was much of it. Una lived lightly. But Courtney had said yes and had gone to Clifton to pick it up. It was the first time she’d seen the house where her best friend had worked. It was grander than she’d ever imagined. She hadn’t met Elspeth. Kathryn told her that she was ‘very upset’ and was ‘upstairs resting’. Then Kathryn had handed her a large backpack with a stony expression. Not even a ‘sorry for your loss’. Courtney had almost snatched the bag from her before stalking off.

And now here she is. A new companion. A new victim.

Courtney had failed her best friend but she could help this girl, this stranger. She couldn’t allow Kathryn or Elspeth to harm someone else. The police might not want to do anything but she’ll avenge Una’s death if it’s the last thing she ever does. Una had a life, and someone took it. She won’t give up until she finds out who – and why.





28





Willow

The house has taken on a new perspective now that I know the truth. It no longer looks like some elegant, benign building but a place linked with death. Where skeletons are locked in closets and nobody is as they seem. All very dramatic of me, I know. Arlo always said I should be an actress. Arlo says a lot of things, and usually he’s being disparaging. Still, I can’t stop thinking about what that hairdresser told me, and underneath the horror a little excitement bubbles, the kind of feeling you get when a neighbour has been arrested. You’re not part of the action but you’re near enough to it. And I don’t feel in any danger from Elspeth or her daughter. Una sounded a bit na?ve, foolish even, to put herself in that position. Maybe she really did fall and bang her head. Maybe Courtney’s just looking for a link because two other girls who worked for Elspeth died.

Anyway, weirdly, Courtney invited me for a drink tonight. Some pub in Whiteladies Road where her boyfriend’s band are playing. As I don’t know anybody in Bristol, apart from the McKenzies, I agreed. And something about Courtney fascinates me, with her glamour and her grief, like a 1920s silent film star.

When I get back from the hairdresser’s Elspeth is in the sitting room with her daughter. I can’t resist popping my head around the door to say hello. Kathryn’s eyes look as though they’re about to pop out of her head. ‘You’ve had your hair done,’ she bleats faintly.

I smile. ‘Yes. Back to blonde. For now.’

She grimaces in reply, but Elspeth pipes up from the corner of the room, ‘I like it, it’s very sleek,’ which makes Kathryn’s expression even grumpier.

I stifle a giggle. I’m just about to leave when Elspeth adds, ‘Aggie’s in the kitchen if you’d like her to rustle you up a late lunch. She’s made a vegetarian casserole especially for you.’

I say thanks and head into the kitchen. Sure enough, Aggie’s still here, her chubby arms elbow deep in the Belfast sink. She turns with the wary expression she usually adopts whenever she sees me.

‘Elspeth said there might be leftovers,’ I say, as I walk into the room.

‘There’s some casserole in the Aga.’ She retracts her arms and dries them on the nearby tea-towel. ‘I’ll fetch you some. Why don’t you sit down?’

She makes me feel uncomfortable with her over-helpful attitude. When we lived in the commune we all looked after ourselves, we were all equal, so I don’t like people doing things for me unless I’m paying them or helping them in return. ‘It’s okay, I can get it, you carry on with what you were doing,’ I say.

But she’s already opening the Aga and extracting a large orange dish, which she places on the hob. She scoops out a generous portion, then waddles – I know it sounds rude but there’s no other more appropriate word to describe her walk – to the larder and takes out a chopped up baguette. She doesn’t ask me if I want any but loads some onto the plate before she hands it to me. ‘Go and sit down and I’ll make you a cuppa.’