The Couple at No. 9(59)

When I got back inside the cottage Daphne was putting on her thin patchwork coat, her long hair tied back in a ponytail.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked in surprise.

‘Work. I can’t stay off for ever,’ she said, pressing her crocheted hat firmly over her head. ‘As much as I might want to. I don’t want Joel to sack me.’

I was surprised he hadn’t already, after she’d turned down his advances. I was still trying to reconcile the Joel I thought I knew to the Joel Daphne talked about. But then, as I’d come to realize, I had always been so naive in the past about men. I could no longer trust my own judgement.

I did wonder if Joel was scared of what Daphne might do if he dared sack her: she could be feisty and determined when she wanted to be. I’d seen the way she’d chastised the bin men after they’d left one of our rubbish bags behind, and shouted at one of the village youths for kicking a pigeon.

It felt strange and empty in the house without her. And I found myself counting down the hours until she returned, distracting myself by loading the washing-machine, mopping the kitchen floor, then ambling back to the village square to pick you up from playschool. The corner shop was open but Melissa’s café was still closed.

I knew Daphne finished her shift at 5 p.m., just before the pub reopened for the evening. She was usually home by five thirty.

But five thirty came and went and she still wasn’t back.

It was dark by then, although the reflection from the snow diluted it. It was a clear night and I could see the stars in the sky and the shadowy shape of the woods encompassing us.

‘Where Daffy?’ you asked, as I grilled our fish fingers. Usually Daphne would eat with us and you looked longingly at her empty chair and the placemat she always used, the one with big purple flowers.

‘She should be back soon,’ I said, trying to keep my voice light when really I felt heavy with dread. What if something bad had happened to her? What if Joel, angry at her rebuttal, had hurt her? My past experience flashed through my mind and I shuddered at the thought she could be going through something similar.

After waiting a further hour I couldn’t bear it any longer. I took you over to Joyce and Roy’s house and asked if they could look after you until I got back. They were delighted to have you, as I knew they would be, even though I didn’t want to leave you. But I couldn’t stop thinking that Daphne was somewhere, in trouble. And then I trudged through the dirty, slushy snow to the pub. It stood out like a beacon against the dark woods behind, its fairy lights strung outside and the amber-yellow glow beaming from the windows, reflecting onto the pavement. The nearby river looked black and menacing and I had visions that Daphne had fallen in. No, I told myself. She had no need to walk over the bridge. That’s the opposite direction from Skelton Place. I shivered in my coat as I walked nearer to the pub. I tried to peer through the leaded windows, but it was hard to make out features, just shapes of people clustered around the bar. I thought she might have stayed and had a drink, although she usually came straight home. To us. And then I wondered if maybe she fancied Joel after all, despite what she’d told me. I felt a thud of disappointment in her then. After everything we’d said, the promises we’d made about men. About not needing them in our lives. How, from now on, we would stick together. I thought, I’d hoped, she was like me.

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, ready to confront Joel.

‘Rose.’

I spun around. A figure lurked by the bushes near the bridge.

A woman stepped out of the shadows but she didn’t look like Daphne. She had short hair cut in a chestnut brown pixie crop.

I gasped as she stepped into the light. It was Daphne. Her long blonde hair was all gone.

‘What are you doing? What have you done to your hair?’ I hissed.

She looked terrified. ‘It’s a wig. I carry it in my bag with me,’ she said, looking about her furtively. ‘He’s found me, Rose. I think he’s found me.’





32


Theo





It’s busy in the restaurant, as it always is on a Friday night, and Theo has barely time to think as he prepares garlic chicken, sautéed potatoes, and his signature Beef Wellington. He usually thrives on the fast pace, the adrenalin surging through him as he prepares dishes and shouts orders at the younger staff. Politely. He’s no Gordon Ramsay. But tonight he’s got a headache, which he knows is down to lack of sleep; even though his father had actually been cordial to him when he’d caught Theo in his kitchen yesterday, making small-talk over a brew, he couldn’t get Larry’s words and those weird random photographs out of his head. He’s just grateful that tomorrow he’s going to the village in the Cotswolds with Jen to try to find out more about the bodies and the possible link to his dad. The thought of that keeps him going. If nothing else it will be a chance to get away with Jen.

He’s run off his feet for the whole five hours of his shift and it only starts to calm down after 10 p.m. He begins clearing up, his mate Noah chattering away about the movie he saw last night, when Isla, one of the waitresses, comes up to him. ‘A customer wanted to compliment the chef,’ she says, smiling broadly, almost proudly, like he was a chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant. This has only happened once to him – although Perry, the other chef, has had it a few times. Luckily Perry’s not working tonight, so Theo knows the customer must definitely mean him.