Just Like the Other Girls(78)

It’s a Saturday night so the streets are busy but it feels to Courtney, in this moment, as though it’s just the three of them, united in this quest.

Willow leads them through the arcade’s empty corridors. It’s spooky at night. They have to light the way with the torches on their phones: three beams bouncing around the ornate ceilings and pillars. ‘It’s a bit scary,’ Courtney admits, her voice small in the large Gothic space as a gargoyle leers at them, its face twisted and ugly.

Peter takes her hand. ‘It’s okay,’ he says. His hand feels warm in hers, safe. He turns to her then, and she can just about make out his smile in the darkness. Her tummy does a weird little back-flip.

Willow stops outside the art gallery. It’s painted white with ‘McKenzie’s’ in black letters. The grilles are down at the windows.

‘Right,’ says Willow, who looks ridiculous in a beanie and an oversized anorak. ‘The camera’s over there. No, don’t turn around and look,’ she growls, when Courtney and Peter are about to do just that.

‘We’re not committing a crime, technically,’ says Peter. ‘We’ve got a key. So why would anyone check the CCTV?’

Willow tuts. ‘Just in case. Although you’ll stand out a mile in that coat.’

‘I could have picked the lock,’ says Peter. ‘Just saying. I’m a firefighter, remember.’

‘You could have mentioned that before,’ hisses Willow.

‘Better to do it legitimately. Then we won’t raise suspicions.

Willow folds her arms across her chest. ‘I got caught by Elspeth stealing this key.’

‘You did?’ Courtney asks in horror.

‘Well, she saw me in the key cupboard but she didn’t notice I had it in my hand. Right, come on.’

They follow her into the shop. Courtney freezes, expecting an alarm to go off, but there’s nothing and she looks around in surprise. The hair salon is always alarmed when it’s closed.

Willow switches on an overhead light and they blink like woodland creatures waking up after hibernation. ‘We’d better not be too long, in case we’re seen,’ says Willow, hands on her hips. ‘We need to search any areas where Kathryn would try to hide a bag.’

They split up. Courtney drifts towards the back of the shop where there is a little storage area. She has some Parma Violets in her pocket, which she keeps nervously eating. It feels eerie being here after dark, and forbidden, like a classroom after school has finished for the day. She walks past a fridge with a kettle on top and goes through a curtained area to where a number of paintings are stacked against the wall. She supposes they’re waiting to be picked up or have just arrived. They’re all bubble-wrapped and mostly large, some in frames, others just canvases, although she can’t make out more than that. She can’t see any nooks and crannies, though, where a bag might be hidden. She gets down on her hands and knees. The flooring in the storage room is lino and it’s dusty, tickling the back of her throat. The strip-light overhead buzzes and she notices a dead fly beneath the plastic casing. She crawls along on her hands and knees until she spots a door in the wall. It’s small but she opens it anyway. It’s full of old cans of white paint. She pushes some aside but there’s no room behind to fit a large holdall.

‘Have you found anything?’

She turns at the sound of Peter’s voice. He’s standing behind her, his eyes scanning the room and the ceiling, where they land on a hatch. ‘There’s a loft,’ he says in surprise. He raises his voice to call Willow and they hear her heavy boots pounding on the tiles as she runs towards them.

‘What? Have you found it?’

‘No, but look,’ he says, pointing to the ceiling. ‘I’m going to try to get up there.’

Peter’s tall but it’s still out of reach unless he stands on something. Courtney darts from the storage room to the main body of the shop. What can he use? She grabs a chair with wheels and pushes it towards Peter. ‘Use this,’ she says. ‘We’ll hold it still.’

They position it under the hatch and hold it while Peter climbs onto it. With his arms outstretched he can just about reach. He pushes against the hatch and slides it to the side. The three of them stare up into the gaping black hole above their heads.

‘How are we going to get up there?’ asks Courtney.

‘Give me a leg up,’ says Willow. ‘I’m the smallest. I can climb through.’

‘We can’t both balance on this chair,’ says Peter, doubtfully. He climbs down and goes back into the office. Courtney and Willow follow to see him grappling with Daisy’s desk. It’s no more than a table with files on and a laptop, which they move to the floor. Then the three of them half carry, half drag it into the storage room. It takes them a while to manoeuvre it through the small curtained doorway, and they have to turn it on its side but after ten minutes of grunting and swearing – mostly from Willow – they finally have it positioned under the hatch. Peter and Willow climb onto it. Then he lifts her up, no trouble, and Willow disappears into the black hole.

‘There’s no lights up here,’ her disembodied voice calls through the silence. ‘I’m using my phone … Ow …’

‘What is it?’ cries Courtney.

Peter, who is still standing on the desk, glances down at her and grins, then holds up crossed fingers. A lock of his blond hair falls over his forehead and her stomach contracts. Why is he having this effect on her? She’s never reacted this way to Kris, not even when they first met.