‘I need to do this,’ said Jax.
Thelma nodded and opened the door.
Again, it was the smell that hit them first – musty and stuffy with the merest disagreeable hint of something chemical, but not like any sort of cleaning product … and something else. In normal times the lounge would be a cheerful sunny room, where the afternoon sun would shine in great dappled beams from the left-hand windows. Now the light poked a finger between closed curtains, highlighting a thin patina of dust covering a state of mild chaos: chairs had been pushed back higgledy-piggledy, a coffee table propped against the wall giving free access to the sofa. The sofa. Grey and opulent, with one gaping white gap where a cushion had been removed. Jax stared at it.
‘That’ll be where they found him,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘They’ll have had to bin the cushion because of what happens when you suddenly die.’
Thelma, no stranger to sudden death and its unfortunate physical consequences nodded, was again aware of that faintdisagreeable odour. Her attention was focused on the walls. Three of them were dove grey, contrasting pleasingly with the rich red carpet … but on thefourth…
The line was a pale, vanilla-yellow line, an eerie highlight and a striking contrast against the grey of the wall and red of the carpet. It was about eight inches wide, raggedly uneven at the edges, decidedly amateur-looking when set against the refinement of the rest of the room.
‘And you’re sure this line wasn’t there before?’ she said.
Jax nodded adamantly. ‘When I last saw that wall, it were just like all the other walls,’ she said firmly. ‘And Chelse swears the line wasn’t there the week before Nev died.’
She turned her head away from the room, suddenly blinking back tears.
‘Look,’ said Thelma, setting the coffee table down on the carpet. ‘Why don’t I clean in here? You can do the rest of the house?’
Jax nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘There’s something about being in here I just can’t get my head round.’
Left alone, the first thing Thelma did was pull the curtains and open the windows, breathing in relief as the musty air began to dispel in the warm draught. She crossed again to look at the wall and its line. Looking closely, she could see it had been painted with uneven, hasty-looking brushstrokes, with patchy smeared edges. She had hoped that seeing this line close to, it would remind her of something, make sense in somesort of way – but it didn’t. Still, seeing it in the context of the room, she supposed she could understand why both the police and Ffion had dismissed it; it didn’t look particularly sinister – justodd. As if someone had started to decorate but thought better of it.
Taking out her phone she took some photographs, thinking furiously. Chelsey had been adamant it hadn’t been there the Saturday before, so it must have been painted at some point in the week leading up to Neville’s death. Who had been staying in the holiday let then? Of course, the line could have been paintedin the short interval after they’d left, but before Neville arrived home. Butwhy?
She stood back facing the wall, with a strong feeling there was something else she needed to see but wasn’t. She shut her eyes.Father, open my eyes, she prayed.Open my eyes to see – if there is anything TO see …
She suddenly became aware of some evenly spaced holes, each about a foot apart, running along the top of the wall. Had they held pictures at some point? Surely, they were a bit high up for that? Standing on a footstool she could see they’d been drilled fairly recently – before or after the line had been painted.
She stepped back again, until she felt the backs of her calves brush the sofa. She started. There was something about sitting in that cushionless white gap she found highly distasteful. She took half a step forwards and caught her leg on the coffee table, which wobbled … The can of Mr Sheen fell with a startlingly loud clang and rolled away across the floor. Heart pounding Thelma stopped to pick it up – and caught sight of the scrap of paper.
It was a fragment, one straight edge, which looked as if it had been torn off a larger sheet. On it was a symbol of some kind … a five-pointed shape, a sort of hybrid between an asterisk and a stick figure.
What was it? Even though she couldn’t place it, it was familiar. She knew she’d seen it before somewhere … But where?
The elusive thought reminded her of another elusive thought she’d had earlier in the kitchen. Slipping the paper in her pinny pocket, she retraced her steps to the gleaming room. She looked again at the magnetised knife block with its four knives.Fourknives. Where was number five?
It didn’t take long to track it down; it lay glinting and sinister in the top of the dishwasher. The machine hadn’t been emptied and the contents sparkled clean – three dinner plates, a tureen, and three teacups.Threeplates? Had the occupant of the Snuggery been entertaining friends?
The noise of scrunching wheels broke chillingly into her ruminations. Looking out of the kitchen window she could see a black, tank-like four-by-four pulling up next to the cherry-red hatchback. With its battered fenders and spatters of mud it looked as grim and business-like as its driver.
Panicked, Thelma flattened herself against the kitchen wall, out of sight. What to do? She didn’t for one minute share Jax’s airy assertions that they had a perfect right to be here. She half thought of hiding. But where? The wardrobe was nowhere near big enough and she certainly wasn’t crawling under the bed, not with her sciatica. Besides,shewasn’t the one sneaking in – indeed, she’d been virtually corralled into coming here. Plus – well, Ffion would see the cherry-red hatchback, would know Jax was in the building … Thelma frowned. Wherewasshe?
‘Jax,’ she hissed. ‘Jax, Ffion’s here.’ There was no reply. Thelma crept out of the kitchen. She must be in the bathroom, or bedroom – but no. She was on her own in the Snuggery.
She became aware of voices outside.
‘I’m doing the clean.’ Jax’s voice sounded high, almost fluttery with nerves.
‘I never said I wanted no cleaning done.’ By contrast Ffion’s voice was as harsh as the morning sunlight.
‘I thought it’d need it.’ Jax was sounding shriller now, almost panicky. ‘With it not being done.’
‘Well, you thought wrong. I’m not letting it out anymore and no one has any right to be here. The very last thing I need is people gawping and sticking their noses in.’
‘Honest, Ffion, I’ve just been in the flat cleaning, that’s all. I swear on my mother’s life.’
Thelma was aware of brisk footsteps receding across the gravel, and then Jax’s nervous hiss: ‘Thelma, we need to go – NOW.’
