I grab our clothes bag and haul it up the stairs. Peering around the door to the smaller back room, I see the girls fighting over who will sleep in the bed next to the window. The chintzy curtains and bed covers look old-fashioned but cute. Millie pulls out her blue flamingo stuffed toy and takes the least favourable bed. Rosie won that battle.
A moment flashes through my mind. I slept by the window and Jess slept in a travel cot next to me. The décor has changed but I remember staring up at the coving when I couldn’t sleep in the strange house. I also remember pulling my pillow over my ears as my Mum and Dad shouted in their bedroom. I’d been shaking and Jess had been screaming, but no one had come to comfort us and I was too scared to get out of bed and comfort Jess.
Gently creeping across the landing, I find the main bedroom and I nudge the door open. I inhale its woody smell. The heavy bed frame and deep-grey walls are inviting, making me want to nestle down in the large bed and sleep. Then I spot the dink in the wall. I was there when my dad threw the ornamental paperweight. My mum had called him a useless drunk. Things were bad before we even got on that boat.
I grab my phone and click straight onto Will’s profile but I see nothing. I thought that once I’d friended him, I’d see posts he’d made, friends that he had and all the things he liked. Instead, it’s blank. Wait, I take another look at his likes and there is one page listed. I click into what looks like a photo of a Lobster Thermidor and my heart skips a beat. The page he likes is that of a pub called the Old Smuggler. He must go there. It has to be his local. Hastily, I send him a message.
I’m in Looe.
I grab the first jumper that I can find and I pull it over my head as I hurry down the stairs. Damien is packing the last of the food away.
‘I’ve just been checking Tripadvisor.’
‘And?’ He closes the fridge door and turns to face me.
‘There’s a pub just behind the cottages, down one of the narrow streets. It’s called the Old Smuggler.’
‘Great, call the kids and let’s go. Wait.’
He looks me up and down. I tilt my head and frown. Does he suspect that I have an ulterior motive? ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Your jumper’s inside out.’
‘Damn.’ I quickly take it off and as I do he holds me and strokes my bare back.
‘I hope we’ll find some time for us while we’re here.’
I kiss him deeply. ‘And me.’
He grabs his coat off the back of the kitchen stool. ‘Let’s go eat.’
Let’s go explore and find out more about Jess. That’s what I’m thinking. Will is leading me to the Old Smuggler and that’s exactly where we need to go. We have seven precious days in this seaside town. Every minute is important if I’m to get to the truth.
As I zip my jacket up, I realise that Will knows what I look like but I have no idea what he looks like. He could be anyone. He could be the bar person; anyone who works on a boat; someone who works in a shop or… I glance out of the window and see a figure wearing a dark coat in the distance. Lifting up the net curtain, I hope for a clearer view but the person disappears behind a building.
Are you watching me, Will?
TWELVE
KATE
Rosie starts to hopscotch along the pavement and Millie skips beside her holding her flamingo. She never did give that stuffed toy a name, not like Rosie did with all her toys. Rosie yells as she lands straight in a puddle, splashing grimy water up her stripy leggings. ‘Mummy, it’s cold.’
‘We’re nearly there, sweetie. It’ll be warm in the pub. You’ll soon dry off.’
‘Rosie trod in a puddle,’ Millie sings as they both continue playing and it starts to rain.
I check the Maps app on my phone and it points down a path that is lined with tightly packed cottages and a few businesses, then I spot the sign creaking as it blows in the wind. A picture of a long-haired pirate fills it, one eye covered in a dark-grey patch. The menacing glare of his eye is backed up by his rugged bearded jawline. It’s like he’s looking directly into my thoughts.
‘Kate.’ Damien nudges me.
I realise that I’ve stopped in the middle of the pavement. A woman holding a baby in a sling almost crashes into me. I glance at the little white knitted cap that almost covers up the infant’s closed eyes. Jess wasn’t much older than that baby when she disappeared. The woman is soon at the door of the pub. It rings as she pushes it open and her straggly pink hair swings in its ponytail one more time before she’s gone.
‘Kate, hurry, we’re getting wet.’
‘Yes, sorry.’ As we pass I catch my bedraggled reflection that is skewered in the bullseye glass panes of the main window. Beyond my reflection there is the shimmery orange glow of a fire.
Damien calls the girls and pushes the door open. Again, the bell pings and we enter into a pub that feels like a cave. Its white textured walls are covered in nautical memorabilia. Wheels, glass balls, netting and large wooden fish. I try to take in the mass of objects and the wall of photos.
