Courtney remembers. She remembers getting to the hospital after Una was found – she had been Una’s emergency contact. A fruitless exercise, as it turned out, because Una was already dead and it had done nothing but give her false hope. Una had died on the bridge, enveloped in fog, like the embrace of the Grim Reaper, hidden from the world until the sun came up and chased the fog away. Kathryn had remained stony-faced while the doctor informed them of Una’s passing. She hadn’t reacted at all, while it was all Courtney could do to stop herself collapsing in a sobbing heap on the white-speckled hospital lino.
The next day Courtney had gone to the police station, propped up by a reluctant Kris, to tell them everything.About the bag, Una’s suspicions, Peter’s apparent text message asking to meet. The police had been interested yet noncommittal in their response. They took the details she gave them, diligently without rushing her, and then they thanked her and said they’d let her know of any developments. Except they didn’t. A week passed, and in the end, in desperation, she’d had to call them. That was when they’d told her about Peter and how there had been no messages on his phone arranging to meet Una. Una’s own mobile, apparently, hadn’t been found on her when she died. They think it must have slipped over the edge of the bridge and into the Avon Gorge, maybe when she fell. It all seemed rather too convenient for Courtney to swallow.
Kathryn had rung her shortly after Una had died, asking if she wanted Una’s stuff. Not that there was much of it. Una lived lightly. But Courtney had said yes and had gone to Clifton to pick it up. It was the first time she’d seen the house where her best friend had worked. It was grander than she’d ever imagined. She hadn’t met Elspeth. Kathryn told her that she was ‘very upset’ and was ‘upstairs resting’. Then Kathryn had handed her a large backpack with a stony expression. Not even a ‘sorry for your loss’. Courtney had almost snatched the bag from her before stalking off.
And now here she is. A new companion. A new victim.
Courtney had failed her best friend but she could help this girl, this stranger. She couldn’t allow Kathryn or Elspeth to harm someone else. The police might not want to do anything but she’ll avenge Una’s death if it’s the last thing she ever does. Una had a life, and someone took it. She won’t give up until she finds out who – and why.
28
Willow
The house has taken on a new perspective now that I know the truth. It no longer looks like some elegant, benign building but a place linked with death. Where skeletons are locked in closets and nobody is as they seem. All very dramatic of me, I know. Arlo always said I should be an actress. Arlo says a lot of things, and usually he’s being disparaging. Still, I can’t stop thinking about what that hairdresser told me, and underneath the horror a little excitement bubbles, the kind of feeling you get when a neighbour has been arrested. You’re not part of the action but you’re near enough to it. And I don’t feel in any danger from Elspeth or her daughter. Una sounded a bit naïve, foolish even, to put herself in that position. Maybe she really did fall and bang her head. Maybe Courtney’s just looking for a link because two other girls who worked for Elspeth died.
Anyway, weirdly, Courtney invited me for a drink tonight. Some pub in Whiteladies Road where her boyfriend’s band are playing. As I don’t know anybody in Bristol, apart from the McKenzies, I agreed. And something about Courtney fascinates me, with her glamour and her grief, like a 1920s silent film star.
When I get back from the hairdresser’s Elspeth is in the sitting room with her daughter. I can’t resist poppingmy head around the door to say hello. Kathryn’s eyes look as though they’re about to pop out of her head. ‘You’ve had your hair done,’ she bleats faintly.
I smile. ‘Yes. Back to blonde. For now.’
She grimaces in reply, but Elspeth pipes up from the corner of the room, ‘I like it, it’s very sleek,’ which makes Kathryn’s expression even grumpier.
I stifle a giggle. I’m just about to leave when Elspeth adds, ‘Aggie’s in the kitchen if you’d like her to rustle you up a late lunch. She’s made a vegetarian casserole especially for you.’
I say thanks and head into the kitchen. Sure enough, Aggie’s still here, her chubby arms elbow deep in the Belfast sink. She turns with the wary expression she usually adopts whenever she sees me.
‘Elspeth said there might be leftovers,’ I say, as I walk into the room.
‘There’s some casserole in the Aga.’ She retracts her arms and dries them on the nearby tea-towel. ‘I’ll fetch you some. Why don’t you sit down?’
She makes me feel uncomfortable with her over-helpful attitude. When we lived in the commune we all looked after ourselves, we were all equal, so I don’t like people doing things for me unless I’m paying them or helping them in return. ‘It’s okay, I can get it, you carry on with what you were doing,’ I say.
But she’s already opening the Aga and extracting a large orange dish, which she places on the hob. She scoops out a generous portion, then waddles – I know it sounds rude but there’s no other more appropriate word to describe her walk – to the larder and takes out a choppedup baguette. She doesn’t ask me if I want any but loads some onto the plate before she hands it to me. ‘Go and sit down and I’ll make you a cuppa.’
There’s no point in arguing with her. She’s one of those people who is happiest when she’s being useful to someone. I deduce she’s probably a kind, considerate person. Can I trust her in this house of – as I’m learning now – devious types?
I eat my lunch while observing her bustling around the kitchen. Aggie’s worked here since the late 1980s, according to Elspeth, so she must have a wealth of knowledge about the family, I think, as I chew carefully, like my mother taught me to do.Appreciate each mouthful, Willow, she’d say.
I swallow some casserole with difficulty, a lump in my throat when I think about my mother. ‘Um, Aggie, I was in the hairdresser’s this morning …’
‘So I see. Nice colour.’
‘Thanks. Turns out the hairdresser who did my hair knew Una. She told me … Well …’ I throw my hands into the air. ‘Everything.’
Aggie’s face drains of colour. ‘W-what did she tell you?’
‘About the other girls and how they died. About Una finding Jemima’s bag in the cellar …’
Aggie’s beady eyes dart towards the door. ‘It’s best to keep this out,’ she says, tapping the side of her nose with genuine fear in her voice. ‘And if you want to keep your job, just forget you heard anything about it.’
‘But … do you think Una died in suspicious circumstances?’
She shakes her head so vigorously that her many chinswobble. ‘I’m not paid to think anything,’ she says curtly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.’
I’m not offended by Aggie and her rudeness. I expect she’s been briefed well by Elspeth and Kathryn not to gossip to the likes of me. But I hate being told ‘No’. It makes me want to rebel. I wasn’t told ‘No’ that much as a child. I had a lot of freedom living in the commune. Arlo and I were brought up by various females, including our own mother. I sometimes wonder if that’s why university didn’t suit me. I couldn’t cope with the amount of rules. And the more this family close ranks, the more desperate I am to find out what happened to the girls who worked here before me. I have a right to know, surely, haven’t I? Especially if their deaths occurred as a result of them being employed here. Although I do find it hard to believe – Kathryn with her frumpy skirts and sensible shoes, and fragile Elspeth, who clings to me for dear life as we walk down the street, even if I do suspect it’s a bit of an act, can’t possibly pose a threat.
Regardless, it gives me the excuse to meet Courtney again and maybe make some friends. I get changed in the vast area that is my living accommodation. I’m used to bunking down with as many people as can fit into a room so I’m not accustomed to all this space. Even at uni I shared with another girl because it saved money. Money was something that was always in short supply when I was growing up. I sit on the edge of the beautiful hand-carved sleigh bed that Una slept in, Jemima and Matilde before her. I wonder if they had this duvet cover with the rosebuds. Did they sit at the desk by the window? Shower in the en-suite?
