The empty box files. Dorothea following my career. The key left where she knew I’d find it. It all means something. My journalistic antenna is twitching and I can’t ignore that familiar sensation in the pit of my stomach: a mixture of adrenaline and instinct that tells me I’m on to something.
Dorothea knew I could sniff out a scandal. A story.
And I’m suddenly convinced this is why she left me her house.
5
It’s already dark when I get back to the flat in Bristol and Josh opens the front door before I’ve had time to put my key in the lock.
‘I was starting to get worried,’ he says, the overhead light in the hall illuminating the flicker of a scowl. ‘It’s gone seven.’
‘You knew where I was,’ I reply mildly as I step inside and hang up my coat. I kick off my trainers but keep hold of my bag. ‘I got immersed in Dorothea’s things. Turns out she still had a dog. Solly. A Goldie. So cute.’ I turn to him with a smile, hoping to jolly him out of his mood. My friend Rachel always says I give in too easily for, as she puts it, ‘a quiet life’. But that implies I’m a walkover, and I’m not. Rachel, who is naturally bolshie, believes that the louder you are the more confident you are, that somehow that equates to strength, but I don’t agree. My mum wasn’t a pushover either. She was one of the strongest people I’ve known. It took strength and determination and bravery to walk away from a destructive drunk like my dad, even if she did go back to him. No, I just hate rows, that’s all.
Arguing with Josh makes me feel sick to the pit of my stomach. Not that Josh shouts. He understands that’s something he must never do.
‘But don’t worry,’ I continue, in that same jovial tone, ‘Solly won’t be moving in with us. Can you imagine! Dorothea’s neighbour is looking after him.’
‘Babe, I was genuinely worried.’
I turn and face him. ‘I’m sorry. But I’m fine.’
‘And what are you wearing?’ His eyes narrow as he takes in Dorothea’s pink cashmere scarf and navy jumper.
I explain about finding them in her wardrobe.
He wrinkles up his nose. ‘Isn’t that a bit weird? Wearing old lady clothes.’
‘They’re not old lady clothes! They’re classics.’
He looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t. Instead he gives me a half-smile. ‘Okay. Now, tell me all about the house. I’m gutted I was called in to work.’
He clatters around emptying the dishwasher while I sit at the breakfast bar and explain about Dorothea’s empty files and my theory about why Dorothea left me the house. I’m about to tell him about finding the Post-it Note with the key attached when he interrupts.
‘You’re having a break from all that investigative stuff, remember?’ He hands me a mug of tea. Josh once told me that he found my obsession with my job and trying to call out corruption ‘troubling’. Even more so after the Filcher incident. ‘I think this is all a reaction to what happened to your mum,’ he had said gently after I was suspended from the station. ‘You work long hours andget yourself into some dangerous situations and all for what? To try and right the wrong your dad did? To try and get some kind of justice? It won’t work, Ims. I’m worried about you.’
I decide not to mention the key and Post-it Note after all. He looks so disapproving. ‘True,’ I say instead.
Josh smiles, satisfied, and then moves to the worktop and picks up his mobile. ‘Do you fancy a pizza tonight? We can afford it now.’
‘Sure, thanks.’
He orders the usual without even needing to ask. Once he’s ended the call, his eyes are shining. ‘I’ve been thinking …’
‘Uh-oh.’
‘… about us moving into Dorothea’s place. I love what I saw of it. It’s huge and we can’t just leave it standing empty, can we? What if squatters decided it was a great place to … well, squat?’
I can tell that the house has already worked its magic on Josh and he hasn’t even seen the rest of it yet. The wood. The studio. The high ceilings and large, airy rooms. The cornicing. ‘Sure … I mean, I’d love to. I love it there, I always have, but what about this place? Would we sell it?’
‘No. We should rent it out furnished.’ He begins pacing the kitchen, something he always does when he’s fired up about something. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. Dorothea’s furniture is in the villa, yeah, so we won’t need any of our own stuff. We can take ourpersonal belongings, sentimental stuff, whatever, and my TV of course.’ His huge TV has always been a bone of contention. ‘We’ll have space now for ten TVs!’ He laughs and I can’t help but join in. This is the Josh I fell in love with. The Josh high on life and the future. He made it seem so exciting, yet so safe.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s do it. Let’s move to Bath!’
He picks me up and spins me around and I hug him tightly, happily, all of our problems, my worries, Dorothea, my parents, all of it, leaving my mind so that there is nothing but this moment, this feeling of joy and love.
I come back down to earth with a bang the next morning when the doorbell rings. Josh has already left for work. I answer it, expecting to see the postman, but standing there are two strangers, a youngish man with glasses and a tuft of white-blond hair, and a woman in her late fifties, scruffily dressed in a scratchy-looking brown coat over black jeans and biker boots. She has a very stern face offset by a cloud of soft auburn waves.
‘Imogen Cooke?’ the woman says, holding up an identification card, and my insides turn to ice, thinking of Josh. ‘I’m DI Erica Shirley and this is DC Colin Hurst. We wondered if we could come in?’
