I sit up and peer through the gap in the curtains. The sunshine glints off the suspension bridge, and the sky beyond is white, as if a screen has been pulled over the sun. In spite of my reservations about this job, I feel arumble of excitement rippling through me that I’m living in such a stunning location. And, okay, my role might not be that exciting, yet – although Elspeth did promise me a theatre trip on Friday night, and talked about visiting an arcade she funds (I’m pretty sure she’s not talking about the sort of arcades I used to go to in Weston-super-Mare as a teenager) so at least I have those things to look forward to – but I’m right here, in the heart of this gorgeous city. In what my mum called ‘the posh part’, living in a house that I could only imagine existing. I’m so lucky to have landed this job. It’s an adjustment, that’s all.
I reach for my phone and text Courtney. It would be great to see her. It’s strange not living with her. She texts back straight away and we arrange to have lunch in Clifton. I shower, more energized now that I have a plan, and pull on jeans and a jumper in my en-suite bathroom –my en-suite.I still can’t get over it! I feel awkward when I get downstairs.It’s my day off, I remind myself.You’re not supposed to be working. So why do I feel as if I’m skiving? Elspeth keeps telling me to treat the house like my home, that even on my days off I can help myself to food and Aggie will cook for me if I want it. But I still feel uncomfortable because I don’t know if she’s just being polite. Sometimes I feel I need to read between the lines with Elspeth. Yesterday, for example, I left a scarf and a dog-eared paperback of Agatha Christie’sThe Moving Fingeron the coffee-table in the lounge (Elspeth always corrects me when I call it that – ‘It’s a sitting room, dear’) and she told me, curtly, that my things must stay in my room.
On Sunday, my first morning waking up in the house, I helped Elspeth dress, as she’d instructed me to do on myfirst day (I was shocked to see her wardrobe was filled with identical twinsets, just in different colours, not a pair of trousers in sight) and then we went down to the kitchen for breakfast. Elspeth had to cling to my arm because she was worried about losing her footing on the stairs (although that didn’t seem to be an issue on the occasions she’s come looking for me). Sunday, I was informed, was sausage, bacon and eggs day. Today is salmon and avocado on toast.
The house is eerily silent as I descend the stairs. Where is Elspeth? She told me yesterday that Kathryn would come over to look after her today but there’s no sign of either of them. I carry on down to the kitchen, hoping to bump into Aggie. But she’s not there either. Instead there’s a tray with a floral tea-towel laid over it. As I step closer I can see a note that reads:For Una.My heart swells. How lovely of Aggie to think of saving some breakfast for me. I remove the tea-towel, like a magician about to reveal a trick, expecting to see avocado on toast, but instead there is nothing. Just a large empty plate with a few crumbs and a chunk of tomato. I stare down at it in shock. I can’t believe someone has eaten the breakfast that was meant for me. Who would do that? I shrug it off. There must be some mistake, although I’m desperate for coffee.
I stare at the Aga hob. I have no idea how to use it. The kettle is one of those heavy orange affairs that you don’t have to plug into a socket. I’ve never used one of those, either. I suddenly feel like a Neanderthal. I place my hand against the side of the kettle and discover that it’s still warm. Then I open all the wall cupboards, trying to remember where Aggie kept the mugs, until I find one aswell as a jar of coffee. I sit at the kitchen table with my freshly made coffee trying not to feel as though I’m trespassing.
‘Made yourself at home, I see.’
I jump. Kathryn is striding into the kitchen. She reminds me of the terrifying headmistress I had at school. She has on a navy wool coat and is wearing the frumpy skirt and sensible shoes she seems to favour. I look down at my jeans and jumper, feeling underdressed.
My cheeks grow hot and I’m annoyed at my body for betraying my feelings. ‘I … just made a coffee.’
‘Helped yourself to breakfast, too.’ She glances across at the empty plate on the kitchen island and the tea-towel I’d tossed aside.
I smart. Hasn’t her mother told her how the food situation works? ‘Actually … no, I didn’t eat that. It had my name on it but …’ I don’t know how to explain it. She might think I’m accusing her.
She folds her arms across her chest and juts her chin. ‘There’s no need to lie about it.’
I blink at her. Is she serious? Why is she being so antagonistic? ‘I’m not lying,’ I splutter. ‘I’d never lie.’
She pushes her glasses further up her nose and assesses me silently for a few minutes. ‘Okay. I just don’t want to see my mother being taken advantage of, that’s all.’
‘I’d never take advantage of her,’ I mumble, wondering where all this is coming from.
‘Well.’ She clamps her lips together. ‘Some of the other girls weren’t quite so honest.’
I wonder who she’s talking about. Is that why Jemima left so suddenly? I think of the necklace I’d found upstairs.I’d completely forgotten to give it to Kathryn. What if she sees it and thinks I’m trying to steal it? It can’t be worth much. It’s doubtful it’s even silver, but I’d hate her to think I’m dishonest in any way.
I push my coffee mug away. I’m used to instant coffee but I have a feeling this is that cafetiere stuff. ‘Um, talking of the other girls, I found a necklace in my room.’
She stands up straighter. ‘A necklace?’
‘Yes. It’s in my bedside table. I think it must have belonged to that last girl … Jemima, was it?’
She looks taken aback that I know the name of my predecessor. I shouldn’t have said it. Now it looks like I’ve been gossiping and I’m worried I’ll get Aggie into trouble.
‘Would you mind fetching it for me? I can post it on to her.’ She’s trying to be nonchalant but I can tell from the way her fingers scratch at her wrist that she’s anxious about something. Bertha, one of the residents of the care home, used to do it when she was stressed. Her arms were always a mass of scratches, like she’d been attacked by a cat.
I stand up. ‘Sure. I’ll go and get it now.’
Kathryn’s presence has sucked all the air from the room and I rush out of the kitchen, relieved to get away from the oppressive atmosphere.Why does she care so much about a manky old necklace anyway?I wonder, as I climb the stairs. Aggie said something about Jemima leaving in a hurry one evening. It didn’t sound like she’d left a forwarding address. Anyway, it’s not my business. Kathryn is my boss’s daughter, she wants the necklace, end of story. I’d learnt at the care home not to ask too many questions when my bosses asked something of me.
It’s curled in the corner of the top drawer of my bedside table and I take a while to unpick the knots. Then I turn the locket over in my hand, trying to find any distinguishing features, but it’s quite plain. It looks old – maybe it’s an antique. I’m conscious of Kathryn waiting for me downstairs but I’m intrigued enough to try the lock again. This time, to my surprise, I manage to prise it apart and the little door pings open.
Inside is a coloured photograph, not more than 2 cm tall. It appears to be a recent shot of a girl around my age, although it’s hard to tell because you can see only her head and shoulders. Her hair is long and ash blonde, like mine, and there’s something familiar about her face. It takes me a while to figure out why, but then it hits me.
The girl in the photograph looks uncannily like me.
5
Kathryn
Kathryn watches from the upstairs bedroom window as Una saunters down the street in her maroon coat with the black velvet collar turned up against the cold. She’s wearing one of those furry Russian hats in black. She reminds Kathryn of a young Julie Christie.
She hates to admit it, even to herself, but Una seems decent. Not like Jemima. Certainly not like that snake Matilde. No, Una seems genuine. Quite naïve. Young for twenty-two in some ways, unworldly and innocent, despite what she’s obviously been through with her mother’s death. But then again, what does she know? Una could be a first-class manipulator. After all, Kathryn’s been wrong before. And even if Una is a good person, she knows she can’t allow her to stay. Matilde stayed for too long and look how that turned out.
