‘You go,’ says Julia. ‘I’ll help Ruby with breakfast, don’t worry.’ She flashes me a tired smile. It doesn’t brighten her face like it usually would.
‘Thank you,’ I say, and follow Mum out of the room.
We go into her room. It needs airing. I throw open the windows while Mum sits on the edge of the bed she slept in last night. The bed that had been Selena’s. My cousin’s red suitcase is still by the wardrobe, open, with some of Ruby’s jumpers on top. Selena’s clothes must be underneath, still ironed and folded neatly, never to be worn by her again. I wonder what they’ll do with the nightdress she was wearing when she died. I move towards the dressing-table and idly pick up a brush. Selena’s fine blonde hairs are interwoven in the bristles. I put it down again, my heart heavy. I go to the wardrobe and open it. Selena’s grey suede jacket hangs next to Ruby’s pink padded coat. I remember she was wearing it the day she died. I’d told the police about her jumpsuit, but I forgot to give them this. I touch the sleeve.What happened, Selena? Did you leave Ruby here and spend the night with Dean? Did he push you?
I look towards the window and out over the garden to the mountains. Is he there somewhere? Lurking? Waiting? The landscape I’ve always loved becomes sinister.
Mum clears her throat. I close the wardrobe door and turn to face her.
She speaks first. ‘Rachel’s told you that Ruby can stay with us until they contact her dad?’
‘Yes. What else did she say?’
Mum shrugs. ‘They wanted to know the sequence of events leading up to me finding Selena. Timings, alibis … you know.’
‘Will they make Nigel take Ruby home?’
Mum’s brow furrows and she removes her glasses to rub her eyes. ‘I expect so. He’s her dad.’
‘Even though he’s violent!’ I feel incensed. How can Mum be so – socasualabout it when she knows Selena was running away from him?
‘Kirsty …’
‘What? Don’t tell me we can’t get involved or that it’s none of our business. We owe it to Selena. To Ruby.’
‘It’s in the hands of the police.’ She stands up. ‘Anyway, I’d better get back to Ruby.’
I can’t let this go. I stand up too and we walk out of the room together. I’m just about to follow her into the dining room to continue the conversation when I hear a commotion by the front door. Adrian is talking to the Greysons, his arms folded. Peter Greyson’s tone is threatening. He’s standing too close to my husband and gesticulating, something about wanting a refund.
I join them. ‘Everything okay?’ I ask.
Mr Greyson whips around to face me. ‘No, it isn’t. We’re on holiday and we’ve just beeninterrogatedby a policewoman, only for her to tell us somebody was murdered here yesterday morning.’ He has a booming voice that instantly grates, although I can see his point. ‘We’ve paid until Saturday. But I want to leave today. And I want a refund.’
Adrian glances at me and raises an eyebrow. I give a nod in reply, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. ‘I understand. I’m sorry for any inconvenience,’ I say. As I’m about to head upstairs, Susie stops me.
‘I’m sorry about your cousin,’ she says.
‘Thank you,’ I reply. I guess we won’t be seeing them again. I can just imagine their review on TripAdvisor.Great B&B, lovely location, but holiday ruined by dead body in the hallwayas though Selena was nothing more than a corpse, not a mother, a daughter, a cousin. Not someone who was loved and who’ll be missed.
On the landing I pass Nancy carrying a tea tray. She stops when she sees me. ‘It’s the talk of the village,’ she says, her eyes lighting up. ‘People are saying this house is cursed.’
Not her too. It’s bad enough having one Mystic Meg under this roof. I can’t cope with another.
‘Yes,’ she continues relentlessly, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. ‘Your cousin isn’t the first to meet her end here. A woman who lived here in the 1950s hanged herself.’ She inclines her head towards the attic. ‘Right up there.’ I can’t hide my disbelief and she adds, ‘Look it up if you don’t believe me. They say her ghost haunts this place.’ Her gaze is unwavering, almost challenging. ‘Bad luck, don’t you think?’
25
After lunch I drive the girls, Mum and Ruby to the local library in the next town, leaving Adrian to hold the fort.
I hope the outing will be a welcome distraction, for them and for me. The house is claustrophobic. The hills and mountains, once my sanctuary, now feel like a prison, and all I can think about is that Dean must be out there somewhere, hiding. Even Hywelphilly seems too small. Adrian said that when he went for a run earlier he was accosted by some local bloke wanting to know why we had the police here yesterday. According to Adrian, the man had seemed almost gleeful when he asked if we were having ‘trouble’. Nancy’s right, we are the talk of the village, and the likes of Lydia Ford and Mrs Gummage hated us from the start. I dread having to walk to the chemist or the newsagent’s in case we’re stared at or, worse, people start asking questions. What must Kath and Derek think? I shake myself. I sound like my mother. Going further afield is just what we need.
Evie has been begging me to take her to the library all week, and although Amelia isn’t bothered, the promise of Starbucks afterwards persuades her. She says the hot chocolate at the café in the high street ‘tastes like plastic’.
Our car isn’t big enough for the wheelchair, and it didn’t feel right to take Selena’s, so we half carry, half walk Ruby into the building. She refused to wear her leg braces and we didn’t want to upset her by insisting. She’s – understandably – still very subdued, only wanting to engage with Evie and Amelia. She sits now on one of the orange floor cushions, watching through large grey eyes, so like Selena’s, as my daughters riffle through the books, taking out the ones they think she’ll enjoy. Amelia holds up a hardback with two cats on the front to show her. When Ruby nods, she trots over to her and they curl up, legs tucked under them, to read it together. The sight brings tears to my eyes and I have to look away so they don’t notice.
I leave Mum in charge and wander off towards the computers. They’re set up on desks pushed together to make a hexagonal shape.
After Nancy told me about the woman who’d killed herself in our attic, I’d logged on to my laptop and searched the internet, but there was nothing about the history of our house. On the drive over here it occurred to me that the library might have newspaper archives. I’d like to look up the history of our house. Not that I think we’re cursed, whatever Nancy and Janice say, but it might take my mind off Selena for five minutes.
