‘Is Scott here?’
‘Sure, Scottie’s here. I just saw him in his boat. Probably in the showers now. He’ll be out in a minute. Hey, you going to the thing at Alisha’s tonight?’
I shake my head.
‘See you around, then,’ he says, walking away, placing his earphones in.
Somehow I knew Scott would be here training but it’s still a shock.
A trio of guys walk out five minutes later. One of them, the stockiest of the three, stares at me, smiles, then his face changes. His expression drops. He frowns. When they’re further down the street all three turn to look back at me.
Scott comes out on his own, a backpack on his chest as well as one on his back.
He stops dead in his tracks when he spots me.
He doesn’t faint or throw up or cry or anything like that but he stops. He is completely still. Paralysed by the sight of me.
‘Scott Sbarra?’
His face drops.
‘I’m Molly.’
He walks slowly towards me.
‘I didn’t know you were in the city,’ he says. ‘I mean, I’m really sorry about your sister. We’re all in total shock here.’
Not in so much shock that you missed rowing practice.
‘Can we talk?’ I say.
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘When did you get here? How did you know I would be here?’
‘Arrived last night.’
He sighs and adjusts the straps on his backpacks. ‘Katie always talked about you,’ he says, giving me a double-take just to make sure he’s not talking to his dead girlfriend because not only do we look almost identical but we sound almost identical as well.
‘I can’t believe she’s gone,’ I say. ‘It’s a nightmare.’
‘Tell me about it.’ He looks tired all of a sudden.
‘There somewhere around here we can sit and talk?’
‘Yeah, there’s a coffee house a block or two away, that OK?’
I like walking around here with Scott. He’s three or four inches taller than Dad and his shoulders are twice the breadth of mine. He has long muscles: the physique of a tall swimmer rather than a bodybuilder.
‘She was a great girl,’ he says. ‘A great person, I mean.’
‘I know.’
‘We’d only been dating a few months but she was really special, you know? I liked her a lot.’
‘She told me.’
‘She did?’
‘Of course. We’re twins. We tell each other absolutely everything.’
He looks at me with an expression more of fear than of warmth. Like maybe I know something I shouldn’t.
He opens the door to the coffee house and I walk in. The heat of the room, and the coffee aroma, instantly put me at ease. That and the familiarity of the place: wood floors, takeout cups, beat-up leather armchairs. I could almost be back in London.
‘Triple-shot espresso with a dash of almond milk,’ he orders.
‘Just a cappuccino, please.’
‘Name?’
‘Scottie.’
We sit down near the window.
I look right into his eyes as he blows into his espresso. Do you know who killed my sister? I want to ask. Do you know what happened to the person I entered this life with? Did you ever do something to hurt her?
‘I don’t know what to say, really,’ he mumbles.
He doesn’t look sad or distraught. His eyes are clear and white.
‘You must be hurting,’ I say.
‘Very much,’ he says. ‘Yeah. When they catch the guy who did this I’ll . . .’
He sets his jaw and I see the muscles on the sides of his face bulge.
‘Did you see her on the day she died, Scott?’
‘No.’
‘No? Someone told me different.’
‘I mean, just early in the morning. Before my run. Briefly.’
‘Did she seem OK?’
‘I left when she was still asleep. We studied at Butler the night before. Katie slept in later than me.’
‘Tell me about her life here. I can’t stay in New York for long and I want to give the police some help if I can. Someone out there knows who did this. They have to be stopped.’
‘Katie? Easygoing fun-loving girl. I guess you’re the same.’
We were never the same.
Not even close.
‘She made friends real quick at school. Lots of guys wanted her, you know, but she was picky. English, I guess. She was tight with Vi Roseberry – you talked with her?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Can be a piece of work sometimes to be honest but she’s cool and they were close, you know, like soulmates.’