The Visitors(78)

When she looked at him, she still saw that awkward young lad dashing round to sit with her in the kitchen whilst Harold’s back was turned in the vegetable patch.

David had always been protective of her. Loyal. Since Harold had died, he’d been so kind, popping round to do odd jobs for her despite his phobia of doing anything outside of his tried-and-tested routine.

That was why she’d joined Pat in protecting him. That was why she kept Nick Brown on side.

Cora had often thought that David was the closest thing she had to a son.

So a new friendship with Holly was a good thing, in Cora’s opinion, and she would encourage it.

But aside from this, she’d been sensing something out of kilter in the air. Holly had been very quiet of late. She hadn’t sat and chewed the fat with Cora for a while, and every time Cora had attempted to carry on with her life story, Holly always seemed to remember that she had some job to do that couldn’t wait, upstairs in her bedroom.

Cora suspected that her visitor wasn’t sleeping too well. She’d heard bumps and shuffles from across the landing on a number of nights. But in the morning, when Cora had asked if she’d had a restful night, Holly had simply nodded.

David also seemed to have what Cora could only describe as a strange energy about him. Pat had once explained that the medication he took kept him stable and calm.

‘The doctor said the worst thing he can do is get himself excitable,’ she’d told Cora over tea and a slice of carrot cake in the café after David had been discharged from the hospital. ‘It’s very important he finds himself a suitable routine so he can manage everyday life.’

Very recently, Cora had noticed that David seemed a little jumpy, as if the acute nervousness might be returning.

This could well be because that clod Brian Buckley had moved in with them. What on earth was Pat was thinking, allowing that to happen? It was bound to be disruptive to David’s routines.

There was no accounting for some people’s taste, she thought disapprovingly.

Brian could be quite cutting with David, and Cora had spotted him coming out of that disreputable betting shop on the high street. It had been packed full of men old enough to know better, she recalled. All of them frittering valuable bill money, no doubt, Brian included.

It was difficult to explain even to herself, but Cora was also finding it hard to relax in her own bedroom.

Goodness, she’d lived in this house nigh on forty years so there shouldn’t be an inch of it she didn’t know. Certainly nothing to make the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

Yet the past couple of nights when she’d gone up to retire for the night and slipped into her nightgown, she’d felt uncomfortable to the point of convincing herself someone had been in there, even though nothing had been disturbed.

As she thought about it now, she felt a little foolish. She was certain that Holly would never take it upon herself to nose around in her things.

Besides, Cora seriously doubted that any young woman would ever see past the bottles of lavender water, the heated lower back pad and the collection of support pillows arranged just the way she liked them on the bed.

There wasn’t a scrap of evidence Cora could find to support her feelings of discomfort. But if it was all in her imagination, why couldn’t she shake the feeling she was somehow being watched?





Chapter Sixty-Three





Holly





‘Oh, there you are,’ Cora called from the living room the second Holly walked through the back door. Holly hung her jacket up in the hallway and slipped off her shoes. ‘You’re late tonight, dear. Did work ask you to stay a bit longer?’

Holly glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly six o’clock, which was the exact same time she usually got back from work.

‘I’m not late.’ She forced a smile. ‘I left at the usual time.’

Cora frowned and stared at the clock as if she were trying to make sense of it.

‘Should I make tea?’ Holly suggested, hoping to get her off the subject.

Cora’s face brightened and Holly headed into the kitchen. She filled the kettle and took the biscuit barrel out of the cupboard, laying a few of Cora’s favourite custard creams on a small decorative china plate.

While she waited for the water to boil, she stood by the window and stared down the long garden. The bushes and trees at the end that had looked so terrifying in the early hours seemed completely harmless now.

The garden was surrounded by a fence, too, of a reasonable height. It wasn’t as if someone could just walk in off the street; they’d have to make a concerted effort to gain entry.

Sometimes the memories could seem so real, it was like everything had just happened yesterday.

Holly couldn’t help wondering if the stress at work over coping with Emily’s initial belligerent attitude and then all the trouble with the vase had caused her imagination to run riot, convincing her that Emily was out for revenge. Maybe she’d also been dreaming up things that weren’t really there.

She reached for clean cups and the tea caddy and made the tea on automatic pilot while her thoughts jumped back to Cora’s obvious confusion.

During the short time she’d been here, Holly had realised that some days Cora seemed to be more confused than others. She’d get something irrational in her head and run with it. Today, for instance, she’d convinced herself that Holly was late back from work when she wasn’t at all.