I let the words sink in. A scene comes together in my mind. Janice kneeling on the lawn by her roses, a pair of secateurs in her hands. The windows open at Claire’s house, her stepson’s booming rage filtering out into the air.
“It wasn’t until the next day that I found out Jack had died. When I next saw Claire, I was too focused on supporting her to bring up the argument I heard. But it has bothered me. And now she’s missing. I just know it has something to do with him.” Her agitation is extreme as she shares this with me.
“And you told the police this?”
“Yes, but I have no idea if they’ve followed it up or not. I haven’t heard any more.”
I look back to the upstairs window of the Blackburns’ house where I saw the figure moving around.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say, breaking the tense silence. “Is there someone at Claire’s house right now?”
Janice moves closer to the conservatory glass and squints into the distance. “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen anyone.”
“I saw a Skoda in the driveway as I passed.”
“That’s Claire’s cleaner’s car. But why would she be there?” Then she gasps. “Oh, that’s right. Before Claire went missing, she mentioned that her cleaner was going to be away for weeks. Some sort of long cruise vacation. She’d been saving up for years, apparently.”
“So, it’s possible she doesn’t know Claire’s missing?”
“It’s possible,” Janice muses. “Poor thing, someone needs to break it to her.”
* * *
I walk up to the Blackburns’house, my palms itching with anticipation. Excitement, even. This is reckless. It’s probably the most daredevil action I’ve ever taken. But if I don’t find Claire, I can’t clear my name.
In my backpack is a screwdriver, hammer and crowbar. I came prepared. Not just to speak to Janice Tideswell, but to get inside Claire’s house. Even if I had to break in.
I’ve finally found new strength from my diagnosis. Because now I realise I have nothing to lose. There’s nothing stopping me pushing my boundaries to a place I’d never dare go if I knew my future lay sprawled out like a red carpet. Clearing my name and finding my sister is more important to me than getting into trouble over breaking into a house. My stakes are higher than they have ever been. And there’s freedom in that.
I walk up the drive. Claire’s house is beautiful. Ivy climbs the walls in thick ropes. White pillars stand next to a large, blue door with a brass knocker. Not a single weed pokes up from in between the stones that criss-cross along the driveway. I smooth down my top.
Before I reach the front door, it opens and my heart skips a beat. I try to rearrange my shocked expression to one of relaxed serenity, as if I own the place.
A woman in a blue tabard walks out of the house carrying a vacuum cleaner.
I jog up to her, forcing my mouth into a relaxed smile.
“Hi!” I wave. “No need to lock it. I’m just coming back from… a jog.”
The woman turns her face up at me. “Oh, Mrs Blackburn. You made me jump!”
“Sorry.” I place my hands on my knees, pretending to be out of breath. She looks at me with a curious expression. “How was the cruise? Was it amazing?”
Any doubt dissipates when I ask about the cruise and her eyes light up. She’s around my age, with a few wrinkles and greys, but her skin is tanned and glowing from the holiday.
“Oh yes, it was brilliant,” she says.
I stand there awkwardly as she talks about her trip, even showing me a few photos on her phone. Trying not to say much, I nod and smile and hope I’m emulating the twin sister I’ve never known. But the cleaner – who I wish I knew by name – is so lost in her post-holiday bubble that she never, not for one moment, realises I’m not who she thinks I am.
“I have to go,” she says. “I’m late. I can’t stop nattering about the holiday. Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m glad you had a good time!”
As she starts walking down the driveway, my heart finally slows and I risk a glance down at my fingertips to see them trembling. I force myself to wave as the Skoda pulls out of the drive and onto the road.
“Holy shit, Faye. Holy moly, holy shit.”
Gently, as though it might break, I place the backpack down, pull a pair of gloves from the front pocket and step into Claire Blackburn’s house. There’s no blaring alarm. No broken windows. All I had to do is walk in through an unlocked door.
