At museum?
Is he there?
Can you leave now?
“Niamh?” Another great, racking cough travels ahead of Geoffrey into the parlour and I quickly shove my phone up my sleeve, praying it stays put.
He appears in the doorway holding a steaming cup, his bowtie, hat and gloves gone. “Ah, there you are.” He smiles at the portrait behind me and shakes his head as I feel my phone buzzing away against my arm. “Really, a most uncanny resemblance.” He takes a slurp from the cup and smoothes his white whiskers with his free hand. “We’re going to call it a day, I’m afraid. I am sorry to do this on your last shift with us, but I need my bed and it’s not worth keeping you here for the odd visitor who might happen to stumble across us.”
“Oh.” I feel deflated, somehow. I knew today was my last day, but it feels so final.
“Now, you must promise you’ll come and see me before you go home?” He begins to steer me out of the parlour and I take one last look at Jane’s portrait, at this girl who has infiltrated so much of my life for the last six weeks. Was this the last time I would see her?
“Of course.”
“Wonderful. Now, shoo. Go and enjoy this beautiful summer’s afternoon.” His breath catches and he grabs his handkerchief just in time to stifle what would have been a scream-sneeze of apocalyptic measures.
“OK, thanks. Oh, and, Geoffrey?” I pause at the door of the staffroom. “Thanks for everything. You’ve been so kind, and that book you recommended for my essay was great. . .”
“Ah, yes! Have you heard anything about that, yet?”
“No, I’ve sent it in, but it closes on Monday. I should know by the end of the week, though.”
“Well, let me know how it goes, my dear. I may be able to find a more regular opening for you if you are set to become a permanent fixture here.”
My heart swells a little. I really like it here. And it would mean I could keep working with Tommy. “Really?”
“Well, let’s see how you get on first,” he says, his eyes twinkling. He begins to walk away. “I’m locking up in ten minutes, now. See you outside.”
“OK.” I walk into the dressing room and untie the dress, letting it pool around my feet. I fold the crepe material carefully, smoothing out the lacy throat. It’s a bit worn and sad looking now and, to be honest, it needs a good wash. The lace has grimy smears of makeup on it. I should get it dry-cleaned, that way I can give it back to Geoffrey all nice and fresh when I come back to see him.
I pack it in my bag, which I swing on to my shoulder. I look at my phone as I jog up the short flight of stairs, not wanting to keep Geoffrey from his home comforts any longer. I can hear him talking to someone in the foyer, clearly turning some curious tourist away. My phone buzzes again. I unlock the screen to see Jess is still texting. She has completely lost her chill.
Is he there?
Niamh? Answer me please. . .
Seriously, what are you doing? Text me back!
I start to type a response but the three little dots are already lighting up my screen, so I wait.
Niamh, is Will there?
I freeze at the top of the stairs. Slowly, I edge closer to where Geoffrey is talking to a tall, gangly youth, his greasy hair crammed under a dark baseball cap.
Will.
I catch my breath and slide back down into the shadows, the cold of the wall biting into my back. I look around wildly for another exit, though I know there isn’t one. I feel the vibration a split second before my phone tinkles out, loud and proud, the reception back to normal now.
“Niamh?” calls Geoffrey.
I must have slipped it back on to ringer mode when I pulled it out of my sleeve.
“Er, yeah,” I call, trying to keep the note of panic from my voice. “Coming.”
Surely he wouldn’t do anything to Geoffrey? He was half the size of the portly older man. Did that matter if he was a psycho, though? I’ll call Detective Moran. But as I swipe my phone, I see Jess’s next text.
It wasn’t him, Niamh! You need to trust Will. I’ve ordered you both another Uber – get in and don’t talk to ANYONE but Will, OK?
