“Just in case I need to get in touch with you.”
I stare at her suspiciously. I don’t hand my number out to just anyone. There are a lot of odd people out there, and you can never be too careful. But she’s still hovering, and the sooner I can get her out thedoor, the sooner I can return to my search. I sigh, then tap her number into my phone. I hear her bag vibrate.
She gives another curt nod, then turns on her heel.
“Bye, then,” I mutter under my breath.
—
“I met Marthatoday,” I tell Jack when he returns from work later that evening.
Does his back stiffen as I say it? I’m not sure. When he turns to me, though, his face is impassive.
“Sorry. I should’ve mentioned she was coming. Hope she wasn’t too frosty with you.”
“She was a bit. She seemed a little taken aback that I was here.”
“She’s been with the family for years. A bit of a battle-ax, to be honest. Don’t think she’s ever really liked me, even when I was a child.” He pauses, then—with the air of someone getting something difficult off his chest—says, “I struggled to connect with people back then. I was a pretty lonely kid at times.”
I can’t imagine Jack—with all his charm and charisma—being lonely. That makes two of us. I love that he told me this. He’s letting me in slowly, revealing a softer, more vulnerable side to himself. Allowing me to piece together the puzzle of his past. He takes a seat on the sofa, and I note how tired he looks. Different from the other night, when it was clearly the alcohol. Now he looks as though he’s slept badly, and I wonder if maybe he knew what he was doing when he put that arm round me last night. If perhaps he intended it to be as intimate as it felt. I sit next to him—too close to be platonic.
“I’m not sure she liked me much,” I say, and I smile in a self-deprecating sort of way. Cast my eyes to the floor.
“That makes two of us, then.” And he grins at me through his tiredness. Like I am somethinggoodin his life, among all the bad.
I sit like that—arm brushing his—for a few more seconds, and then, when he makes no move toward me, I change tack. “Jack,” I start slowly. “Could I get a key?”
It’s something that’s been bothering me all day. Being here by his invitation only. I want the ability to let myself in and out, just as Alice would have done. I want access to all of it: his life, this house, its history. If I’d left today, I’d have had no way of regaining entry. I want this house to feel like my own, just as it felt like hers.
At my question, there’s another almost imperceptible shift in Jack’s expression, but I’m not sure what it means. He’s difficult to read sometimes. He clears his throat gruffly. “Of course. There’s one tucked away in the kitchen. I’ll dig it out for you later.” Another tired smile, but this one is not quite as open—as honest, even—as the last. There’s something almost forced about it. The pause between us somehow heavier. I wonder if perhaps he doesn’t fully trust me yet.
“I was thinking,” I say, to break the silence, the sudden darkening of the atmosphere. “I’d like to cook you dinner. Maybe tomorrow? To say thank you.”
And there it is. The return of that radiant grin. All because of me.Ibrought that out of him.
Thirty
There was nogrand finale. Not for Marcie anyway. She died as she lived: all at once, and then not at all. She didn’t shout out as her foot slipped on that wet shingle. She was too surprised to scrabble for the seagrass that grew wild and unruly at the edge of the cliff. I stared at the spot she disappeared from and I didn’t know how to feel.
There were no panicked shouts from below. No sirens. Just the whistling of the wind and the roar of the sea. I had to make sure. I had to see for myself. My own route to the beach was significantly slower than Marcie’s. I scrambled down the cliff path, slipping on flat rocks, disturbing pebbles.
The rain had begun in earnest, driving holidaymakers back indoors. The beach was deserted. I saw her the minute I got to the bottom. The blood was almost unnecessary; I knew she was dead. Her eyes were open. A trickle of red ran from the corner of her mouth. Her arm was twisted away from her body at an awkward angle. I caught sight of the glint of silver at her wrist.
I dropped to my knees. Fumbled for it. The clasp was fiddly, and my hands were shaking. It took me three tries to release it. Then it was in my hand. I held it up to the light. She’d collected several new charms inthe years since she’d received it. A tiny pair of ballet pumps. A hairbrush. A small makeup palette. It hit me then: She was gone. She would never add another charm to this collection. I clenched the bracelet hard in my hand and felt the tears come. She and I had shared it all. A womb, a bedroom, a life. I felt very alone in the world all of a sudden.
At the sound of a shout behind me, I stowed the bracelet in my pocket. I wanted to keep this part of her for myself. A reminder that I’d once had a sister.
The boys found me hunched over her body, tears streaming down my face. Josh put his arm round me, helped me to my feet, and, tucked under his arm, I allowed him to lead me away.
The next few hours passed in a blur. Josh, playing the hero, parked me in the hotel lobby and told the receptionist what had happened. I listened to her on the phone with the ambulance. She sounded terrified.
When a raw, primal scream cut through the quiet of the lobby, I understood that someone must have told Mum what had happened. Seconds later, she rushed past me, out the door. In the distance, the sound of sirens. Soon, paramedics and police were swarming the place like ants.
They asked to speak to me. They sat me on the edge of my bed and placed a cup of tea in my hand. Two sugars, for the shock.
“What happened, Iris? Your mum said you’d been arguing,” they asked.
I could barely breathe, unable to shake the terror on Marcie’s face as she realized she was falling. “I don’t know. The argument was silly. About something silly. She must have followed me when I left for the beach. I didn’t realize what had happened until I saw her—” I broke off, took a deep, juddering breath. “Her body.”
