Even though everything I’ve told Courtney is true, I can’t believe that Kathryn is a murderer. I say as much tomy friend. ‘But she might not have set out to kill her,’ says Courtney, impatiently. ‘Something’s obviously happened, though. Kathryn told you Jemima left with her stuff and that they’d all assumed she’d gone off travelling. Yet now we’ve learnt she died that same day. And Kathryn was obviously lying. Otherwise why would she have her stuff in the bloody cellar? Christ, Una, what other conclusion is there? And,’ she continues, barely drawing breath, ‘when she goes back to the cellar and sees the bag’s missing she’s going to know you took it.’ She exhales, as though exhausted by her outburst.
I haven’t really thought any of this through. It was instinct that made me take the bag. And now I’m regretting it. ‘Maybe I should just put it back,’ I mumble. My phone feels hot against my face so I move it to the other ear. My hands are sweating. ‘Pretend I never saw it.’
‘What? No. You can’t do that! You’ve got a responsibility to give it to the police.’
‘But it will open up a massive can of worms. There might be a simple explanation …’
‘There might be. Although I can’t think what. Do you want me to come with you to the station tomorrow?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say, when the truth is I don’t know how I’m going to give Elspeth the slip. I’m with her all day. I’m going to have to act normally around her and Kathryn, even though, now I know they lied, the thought of being alone with either of them fills me with dread. My heart starts to race. What am I going to do? Kathryn will know I’ve taken the bag. Courtney is right to be worried. ‘We’ve got a few days,’ I say, trying to sound more positive than I feel. ‘Kathryn won’t be over until Saturday now, anyway,so even if she does look for it then …’ I pause as I notice a shadow moving under my bedroom door. I lower my voice. ‘I think she’s here.’
‘What? Are you sure?’
‘I don’t know,’ I whisper. ‘There was a movement under my door like someone walked past. Elspeth is in bed.’ I let the implication hang in the air.
Courtney sounds horrified. ‘Have you locked your door?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then she can’t do anything.’
‘I think she has a spare key. I’ve caught her in my room before and I told you about the other night –’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Una.’ She sounds like my mum. ‘I told you, didn’t I? I said you should leave after you found out that both Matilde and Jemima are dead. But you thought I was overreacting. And now look.’
‘Courtney, stop it. It’ll be fine, she’s not about to murder me in my bed. I’d better go. I’ll ring you in the morning.’
She starts to protest but I end the call and throw my phone to the end of the bed. Even though we’re the same age Courtney has always been the mature one, the leader of us both. Like a big sister. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should leave. But I need this job. I don’t know what to do. I have to think it through before I make any rash decisions.
I can’t admit to her that I am actually scared. I wish I’d never found the bag. But then I think of Jemima. The same age as me and dead. Her brother doesn’t believe she took her own life, so what does that mean? That she hadan accident? Was murdered? Either way, Peter deserves to know the truth. And if Kathryn is responsible, or knows more than she’s letting on, she should be punished. Courtney’s right. It’s my responsibility now. I have to take Jemima’s bag to the police and I have to tell them where I found it.
I get up and look wildly about the room. Where can I hide it? Then I remember the cupboard under the sink where I found Jemima’s necklace. The panel is loose. I go to the en-suite, getting on my hands and knees with the bag next to me. I inspect the panel. Yes, there’s just enough room to shove the holdall behind it. Once I’ve done so, I stand up and tiptoe to my bedroom door, feeling slightly foolish, but if Kathryn is standing there, listening, I need to know. Quietly I turn the key and throw open the door. But the corridor is empty.
Your hair is hanging loose, the roots are too dark and a little greasy. You have bruises under your eyes and there is a spot on your chin. You try to look nonchalant as you take that old hag on her frivolous trips to the hair salon. But it’s getting to you. I’m getting to you.
Your fear is so visible. It’s in the way you hold yourself, too stiffly, as you walk. It’s in the way your features pinch as you try to laugh. It’s in your greasy hair and your pallid skin.
You’re more problematic than the one before, more inquisitive. Nosy. You won’t leave things alone. But your nosiness has cost you, dear Una.
I’ve enjoyed watching you. Playing with you. I’d have happily done so for a little bit longer. But you’ve left me no choice.
This has to end.
24
Una
I wake early the next morning, the darkness inching its way around the edges of my curtains and filling the room so that I feel oppressed by it. Why does everything seem so much worse in the dark? I barely slept last night – every little noise had me on edge – and now I’m exhausted and emotional.
I reach for my phone. Still no word from Peter. It’s only five thirty and, if he’s working nights, or is asleep, he might not pick up. But I dial his number anyway. When it goes straight to voicemail I decide to leave a message for once, and whisper into my phone. ‘Peter. It’s Una. Sorry for the early hour. I really need to speak to you. I’ve …’ I hesitate, not wanting to say too much in a message ‘… I’ve found something. I think it’s important. Please call me back as soon as you can.’
Half an hour later, as I’m helping Elspeth dress, my phone buzzes. I can tell she’s not pleased at the intrusion as her eyes flicker disapprovingly to where it’s wedged in the back pocket of my jeans. I ignore the call and continue assisting her into her favourite pale green tweed skirt and silk blouse. I’m hoping it’s Peter, but even if it is I can’t speak to him with Elspeth in such close proximity.
My phone rings again. ‘Aren’t you going to answerthat?’ snaps Elspeth. She’s perched on the edge of the bed and I’m bending over to help her with her ‘indoor shoes’. She refuses to call them slippers.
I stand up and reach for my phone. Courtney’s name flashes up on the screen. I press decline and turn it off. ‘No, it’s not important,’ I say.
While Elspeth has a midday nap, I tap out a quick text to Courtney:I’ll ring you later. I can’t go to the police today. I’m working. I’ll go tomorrow as it’s my day off. Xx
