While I’d been busy writing down numbers, she had extracted a buff-coloured folder from the filing cabinet behind the desk. Even upside down I could see Gordon’s name on the front. For one wild moment I wondered what would happen if I snatched the folderfrom her hands and rifled through it for Josh’s address. Somehow, I didn’t think Adam would want me to take my promise so far that I ended up getting myself arrested.
‘If you could give this to Josh Metcalf the next time he visits Mr Baker, I’d be really grateful,’ I said, watching as she carefully slid the sheet into the folder.
‘Who?’
I had already half turned from the desk, but that one word had me back there in an instant.
‘Josh Metcalf. He’s ... he’s a family member ... kind of. I’d assumed he’d be listed as Mr Baker’s next of kin.’
My thoughts were spiralling back to the day of Janette Baker’s funeral. I remembered Josh telling me that his foster father had no living relatives, which was why he’d handled all the arrangements for the service.‘I guess I’m the closest thing to a next of kin he has now,’he’d told me sadly.
‘There’s no mention in Mr Baker’s file of anyone by that name, I’m afraid. But we do have his daughter down as an emergency contact.’
I stared at the receptionist, then swallowed hard, several times. I might not play poker, but I knew when to take a gamble.
‘You mean Claire? Claire Triplehorn?’
The receptionist looked relieved that she hadn’t had to break any confidentiality rules.
‘Ahh, you know her then?’
My smile felt fake – probably because it was. ‘Oh, yes. Claire and I go way back.’
It was hard to hide my frustration as I realised my plan – which admittedly had always been shaky – had just run into an insurmountable obstacle. The chances of Claire Triplehorn, the Bakers’ other long-term foster child, ever doinganythingto help me were roughly about a billion to one.
A cool draught of air filtered into the foyer and the receptionist’s gaze switched to something just beyond my right shoulder. Whatever she saw made her face light up in delight and astonishment.
‘Oh, my goodness, I don’t believe this. What are the chances?’
It was one of those moments when you wonder if Fate is deliberately out to get you, while simultaneously thinking that if this is a dream, it would be areallygood moment to wake up now.
The receptionist was beaming as she looked towards the entrance, and I could already feel my stomach somersault and then tumble into freefall as I slowly turned around and followed her gaze.
The element of surprise was on my side. But I wasted my ten-second advantage by getting tangled up in noticing that her hair was longer and her tan deeper than the last time I’d checked out her Instagram account.
I eyed the door behind her, wondering if there was any chance of getting through it before she saw me. My own hair had been shorter, and several shades lighter, the last time we’d met. And I didn’t need a mirror to know that the last twelve months had aged me more than a year had any right to do. There was every possibility that Claire might not recognise me.
Her eyes travelled past me and, for a second, I thought it might be okay after all, but the receptionist was enjoying the moment far too much not to intervene.
‘Miss Triplehorn,’ she cried out happily. ‘Can you believe this? We were just talking about you. Look who’s here.’
Claire looked.
I’d always thought there was something vaguely beady and avian about Claire’s expression whenever she was studying something that displeased her. I ought to know, because I’d been on the receiving end of that look more times than I cared to remember.
‘You,’ Claire said slowly.
I guess that answered the question of whether or not she recognised me.
‘Hello, Claire.’ My voice sounded remarkably calm, belying the way my heart was trying to hammer its way out of my ribcage.
‘What are you doing here?’
Her eyes flickered over me, taking in my high-heeled boots, skinny jeans and chunky jumper. Her expression hardened, but I don’t think it was my clothes she’d taken an instant dislike to ... it was the person inside them.
From the corner of one eye, I saw the young woman behind the counter do an almost comedic double take as the long-lost-friends reunion took an unexpected detour.
Claire pulled herself up, throwing back her shoulders, and I suddenly remembered how she’d always hated that I was so much taller than her. I fought an inexplicable impulse to slouch.
