“Good morning!” she said cheerily. She wore a thick headscarf and sunglasses.
Kate and Tristan wished her a good morning and went to carry on walking.
“We seem to get the brunt of the wind screaming across the Bristol Channel,” she said. “But we do get a few nice days too!” The wind had strengthened, and she had to shout the last part. To their right was the field of ferns and weeds, and the sand made a crackling sound as it blew up from the beach and hit the leaves. “Are you looking for Nick?” she shouted after them.
“Yes,” said Kate.
“He’s in. I’ve just come from there for my regular early-morning coffee,” shouted Elspeth. She staggered a little as she was buffeted by the wind. “This wind doesn’t seem to be letting up,” she said, and with a wave, she put her head down and carried on walking toward the beach.
“She doesn’t know, does she?” said Tristan.
“Course not,” said Kate.
It was an easier walk with the wind at her back. They reached the front door, far too quickly for Kate’s liking.
“The important thing is to keep him talking,” she said. “I have my Mace.”
“Do you think you’ll need it? It could backfire on us if you use it . . . It’s not legal to carry.”
“It’s an absolute last resort.”
Tristan nodded and swallowed. “Do you think he knows we’re coming?”
“We’re John and Maureen, remember?” said Kate, trying to make a joke, but neither of them laughed. “Okay?”
Tristan nodded.
“Okay.”
Kate leaned over and rang the bell. A moment passed, and then another. The wind seemed to scream up from the beach.
What if he refuses to answer the door? thought Kate. What if that neighbor told him we’d been here last week and he started to put things together?
Kate and Tristan jumped when there was the crack of a bolt being shot home, and then the door opened slowly.
Bill was standing in front of them, carrying a washing basket filled with laundry.
There was a moment where they all froze. The 1998 photo taken at the party in the commune had shown Jorge sitting on a sofa with Max and Bill on either side of him. They’d spoken to Jorge again, and he’d confirmed, again, that the person sitting with him and Max was Nick Lacey. It had been a shock to discover that Bill and Nick Lacey were the same person. It was a bigger shock to see it confirmed by Bill opening the door of the house he shared with Max Jesper.
Bill looked between them and opened and closed his mouth. He then seemed to compose himself and smiled. It was an off-kilter smile. His eyes were slightly crazed and bright.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello, Bill,” said Kate. “Or should we call you Nick?”
Behind Bill was a long, airy hallway with a wide table under a mirror. On the table, Kate could see a selection of personal photos in gold and silver frames. Bill saw where Kate was looking and moved into the gap made by the door.
She took the photo out of her pocket.
“Do you remember this party, Bill? Back in 1998 at the commune on Walpole Street?”
In the photo of Max and Bill sitting on the sofa with Jorge Tomassini, Bill was raising his hand to cover his face, but he hadn’t been quick enough. It was very clear who was in the photo.
“Jorge Tomassini sent us this photo late yesterday afternoon. He also identified you as Nick Lacey. Max Jesper’s boyfriend,” said Tristan.
Bill stood very still, blocking the doorway. Tristan put out his hand and shoved the door open again. Kate pushed past him and into the hall.
“Hang on!” said Bill. He tried to grab Kate’s arm, but she twisted out of his grip. Tristan remained on his other side, blocking the door.
Kate went to the hall table and picked up one of the photos in a silver frame. It was a picture of Bill and Max Jesper sitting in a rubber dinghy against a backdrop that looked like the Grand Canyon. Bill had his arm around Max’s shoulder. She put the photo down and picked up the second, which was in a gold frame. The picture was taken of Bill and Max in a garden. They both wore suits and bow ties; Max had his arm around Bill, and they were smiling.
“You didn’t answer me. What should we call you? Bill or Nick?” said Kate. “Which came first, Bill or Nick?”
All the color had drained from Bill’s face, and he took a step back and leaned on the wall. His shoulders sagged, and he dropped the washing basket. Tristan stepped into the hallway and closed the front door behind him. He moved past Bill to the table of photographs.