“No evidence?” I echo. “So, what, he came looking for Jess straight away? And no one was watching him?”
“So it seems.” Silent tears streak down Ruth’s bare face. “They think maybe she knew something, that he was waiting outside the house, like he did with you the other night.”
“But they have him now, right?” My eyes plead for it to be true. Ruth shakes her head the tiniest bit, but it’s there. No.
Will is free.
I stare out the window as the city zooms past, my eyes catching on every lone male on the street, just in case it’s Will. Despite the fact that she must hate me now, Ruth insisted on paying for me to get a cab to the museum. She said she didn’t want another attack on her conscience.
“Anywhere here is fine, thanks.” The driver pulls over and I smile at him in his rear-view mirror before I get out, but he completely ignores me and carries on chatting into his handsfree. One of the things I did not like about London. Taxi drivers were much friendlier back home.
I run down the steps, waving breathlessly at Sue, but don’t get more than two feet before I’m called back to the desk.
“You’re late,” she says sourly.
“I know, I’m sorry, I. . .”
The phone rings and I am spared. “Never mind, never mind.” She flaps a hand at me and picks up, trilling out polished professionalism. “Good afternoon, the Victorian Street Museum.”
I start to sneak off but she covers the handpiece with one curled hand and hisses at me. “Hurry up, it’s just you today and Geoffrey’s pulling a double shift, so he needs a break.”
“I thought Tommy was on today?”
She shrugs. “He hasn’t turned up.” Her voice brightens again. “Ah, yes, one second, let me just pop you on hold. . .”
I leg it before she can collar me again.
I hurry into the dressing room, shrug off the cropped cardigan I’m wearing and shove it into my locker, then yank the dress off its hanger. My last shift and no Tommy. This isn’t how I thought it would end.
I shimmy the dress on over my thin vest top and jeans, leaving my trainers on. I glance down to make sure you can’t see them and notice how worn and dirty the hem has become. Would someone else wear this after me? Would Tommy see them in it? I quickly zip myself up and take one last deep breath. This time next week I’d either be at home or coming back in to ask for a job. I needed to make a good impression.
“Excellent timing, Niamh.” Geoffrey’s boom is a little quieter than normal and he follows the comment with a hacking cough. “Excuse me, dear, full of a cold, do stay away, won’t you?” He pulls out a handkerchief and proceeds to cough into it.
“I didn’t realize you were ill!” I glance around the room – it’s coming up to dawn and disembodied birds chirp gaily in non-existent trees. Icy fingers slide down my back as I realize exactly how creepy that is. “Go for your break, honestly. I’ll be fine.”
He doesn’t argue. “Yes, thank you. Nothing a good hot whiskey won’t cure, but not while I’m on duty, of course.” He walks off towards the small staff kitchen. I smile at his broad retreating back and begin to count the hours away until I can go back and see Jess. I wonder if she’s woken up yet.
The museum really is dead this afternoon and I’m not surprised, the weather was all kinds of amazing when I left the hospital. I pace the shadowy cobbles like a haunted soul and my mind works overtime.
Why had the police let Will go? Did he really attack Jess? And if he did, why? What had she found out? I glance around nervously and remind myself I’m safe here. There’s only one way in.
Which, I realize, means there’s only one way out, too.
I’m pacing Jane’s parlour when something vibrates near my hip, bringing me back to the now. It takes me a second to realize I still have my phone in the pocket of my jeans.
“I didn’t think there was a signal down here,” I mutter, glancing around furtively. There’s still no one here, so I hoist up my skirt in a most unladylike fashion, hands sweaty at the thought of someone walking in and catching me, but there’s no other way in this dress. I tug the phone out and let my skirts drop again.
Jess! A notification across the screen shows that she sent me a message two minutes ago. I swipe at it, my damp fingers catching on the glass.
Awake. Head banging but OK. They’re letting me go home. Need to talk to you.
I glance around again. Only Jane and I are in the room. The eyes of her unfinished portrait are following me. I start to edge out of the parlour, but quickly lose the faint signal. “Dammit.” I tiptoe back towards the portrait and one lone bar springs up. I glance up and could almost swear her mouth is curving up a little more than usual. Stop it, Niamh. Of course it’s not.
I tap out a response.
Thank God you’re OK! At museum now. Want me to come to yours after?
Three little dots appear immediately, followed by a succession of rapid-fire messages.
