Now we’ve ordered a Chinese takeaway and I’m trying to eat it despite my queasiness. Cartons of noodles, egg-fried rice, pork balls and prawn crackers are spread out over the table and Josh has lit two of Dorothea’s candles which cast flickering shadows on the walls. It’s not quite dark outside, the sky a watercolour mauve.
‘Does the detective think it could be the same person who attacked Dennis?’ Josh asks through a mouthful of rice.
‘She’s so non-committal. But it has to be, doesn’t it? How many visor-wearing bikers are out there battering old men and trying to mow down women?’
‘Do you think it’s the same person who broke in here that day too?’
A noodle slides down my throat and I want to gag. I wish he’d change the subject. It’s making my brain hurt. I just want to sit and watch something comforting on his huge TV and not think about murder and attackers on motorbikes. ‘Maybe. I only saw his face briefly.’
After we’ve eaten I go with Josh into the big living room and snuggle up to him as we watch one of theMission Impossibles, the dogs lying on the rug next to us. Josh is riveted, his arm draped over my shoulder, but I can’t concentrate. My mind is racing with thoughts of Dorothea, the sculpture, the bunker, Dennis and the biker. I need to work out what to do next. Rosemary is apparently away for a few days, so I need to try Annetteagain, and Maisie too. They are the people who knew Dorothea the best. I have a vague memory of Annette coming here when my mum and I were living with Dorothea that summer, but I’m sure none of them came to Mum’s funeral, unless they did but I’ve forgotten. I only remember seeing Dorothea there.
I’m itching to look again at the photographs of the sculpture that I have on my phone, but I don’t want Josh to see. He still knows nothing about Dorothea’s hidden piece of art and I want to keep it that way.
When the film is over, Josh stays up glued to some football thing while I retreat to bed. I scroll through the photographs of the sculpture, taking in the magpies and the little trinkets attached to each one: there’s the lighter which must be significant, but what do the other things mean? The cat brooch and the miniature Christmas card. The pearls, spade and the crochet butterfly. ‘Dorothea!’ I whisper into the dimly lit room. ‘Why were you so bloody cryptic?’
‘What are you doing?’
I jump and hurriedly lock my phone. Josh is standing in the doorway.
‘Oh, nothing. Just reading.’
‘You really should get a Kindle instead of using your phone. Blue light isn’t good for you before bed.’ He steps out of his trousers and peels off his shirt so that he’s just in his boxers. Then he climbs onto the bed and his eyes twinkle at me, an eyebrow raised suggestively. I know that look. I’ve obviously been forgiven. For now.
I turn my back to him and pull the duvet further over my shoulder. ‘Good night,’ I say pointedly as I reach over and turn off the lamp.
25
Alison
It’s not until Alison has left the salon, picked up Lila from school, and returned home that she notices Imogen’s text. Her heart lifts at first, until she reads it.
Why did you tell Dorothea to keep away from me?
A familiar desolate feeling presses down on Alison as she’s instantly dragged back to the moment of their mother’s funeral and that conversation with Dorothea. She’d only met the woman twice and both times were fraught with grief and misery. Alison had been a frightened twenty-one-year-old who had lost her parents in what felt like a nano-second. Imogen was all the family that she had left, and she’d been so afraid that Dorothea, with her big house and her wealth, was going to take her sister away. Had she done the right thing by insisting Dorothea didn’t contact Imogen? Probably not, in the grand scheme of things. But that’s what fear does to you. It makes you act irrationally. Selfishly.
How did Imogen find out? Did she find a note from Dorothea or some sort of diary in the house?
Alison glances out of the kitchen window where she has a view of her scrubby back garden. Lila is jumping up and down on the trampoline with her friend. A playdate after school on a Thursday isn’t something Alison usually encourages, but it was thrust upon her as the girls came out of school, and she felt she couldn’t say no in front of the other mum. And, she reasons, it’s important for Lila to have lots of friends over, being the only child. She wants her daughter to have the carefree childhood both she and Imogen never had. Her father might not have yet turned into that violent drunk when she was Lila’s age, but he never liked them having friends over. He was possessive of his family’s time, even then. It should have been a red flag to her mother. It’s a trait that Alison recognizes in Josh.
As soon as Gareth walks through the door later that evening she tells him about the text. He always looks as though he’s been wrestling with zoo animals after a day’s teaching at St Saviour’s Primary, which he jokes is what his Year 6 class is like. His shirt is hanging out, his hair is messed up and he has that familiar school corridor smell about him. He dumps his cross-body bag onto the floor, pulls off his tie and throws it onto the kitchen table. Then, noticing her raised eyebrow, good-naturedly picks it up, folds it carefully into his palm and shoves it in his trouser pocket.
‘Immy’s already pissed off at me for going to see our dad,’ Alison sighs, handing him a mug of tea and joining him at the table. Lila is already in bed asleep, exhaustedafter her playdate. ‘And now this whole thing with Dorothea. Honestly, that woman. She’s dead and she’s still coming between us.’
‘She’s not coming between you,’ says Gareth rationally. ‘You just need to explain to Immy what happened and how afraid you were.’
Alison remembers how impressed Imogen had been with Dorothea back then. Every time Alison rang to speak to her sister that’s all she’d hear. Dorothea this and Dorothea that. It had made Alison feel as though her mum and sister had a whole other life that she wasn’t a part of. She was pleased her mum had left her dad, but she was suspicious of Dorothea’s intentions. Her mother had been Dorothea’s cleaner, for goodness’ sake. Why was Dorothea letting them live rent-free in her house?
‘I should have gone home when Mum left him,’ she says taking her hand away from Gareth’s and chewing her thumbnail. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed in Cardiff. I shouldn’t have told Dorothea to stay away …’ She swallows a lump in her throat.
‘You did what you thought was right at the time,’ says Gareth softly. ‘You were good to Imogen.’ A beat and then, ‘I know,’ he announces, his eyes lighting up. ‘Why don’t we pay Immy a visit? Drive over there, see the house? It will be better for you to speak face to face. Iron things out properly. She can’t storm out of her own home now, can she? She’ll have no choice but to listen.’ He looks so pleased with himself for coming up with the idea. Gareth is never happier than when he’s problem-solving.
‘Hmmm, I suppose. It means I’ll have to see Josh.’
He laughs. A big booming sound that instantly cheers Alison up. ‘You can’t choose her boyfriend for her, Al.’
She sighs. ‘I know, but he doesn’t help matters. I bet he hasn’t been encouraging her to talk to me. She refuses to even entertain the idea that Dad might be innocent, and Josh will be stoking that, I’m sure. If he can alienate her from all of us then he gets her all to himself.’
‘I’m sure he’s not trying to do that …’ begins Gareth, ever the optimist. He doesn’t particularly click with Josh but he’s always trying to see the good in people. ‘… but just in case, let’s turn up when they’re not expecting it. Then Josh won’t have the chance to persuade her not to see you. And you know how much Immy loves Lila. It will all be okay.’
