In the kitchen afterwards, I put the mugs in the sink, run the tap on hot, my heart still pounding. I try to explain it another way in my mind. But I can’t. The envelope was exactly the same size and colour, as the one I found in Rory and Serena’s bathroom. But if she is the other person – if she is W – then she knows Rory. She knows my brother. But how? What is she up to?
I pray that Daniel will be home early, that I’ll be able to talk to him about it. But he messages to say he will be late, again. I am stuck with her. Should I confront Rachel? Something tells me I shouldn’t. Not while I am on my own with her.
I hope she will stay upstairs, but as soon as she hears me cooking, she appears in the kitchen, wearing her pink velour jogging bottoms and a pair of Daniel’s old socks.
‘Are you doing carbonara? My favourite! Thanks! Shall I put that film on?’
We end up watching the whole of Sliding Doors together, even though it is on ITV so there are adverts to sit through and it doesn’t finish until late. I watch her, her black hair all wet from another bath, as she coils long, sticky threads of my spaghetti around her fork and shoves them into her mouth, eyes glued to the television. As soon as she sets her bowl aside – onto the sofa, nearly tipping grease all over the cushions – Monty leaps into her lap. She tickles him and he bats at her hand occasionally, but he doesn’t let his claws come out. For some reason, he seems to love her.
‘Cats,’ she yawns, turning to look at me. ‘They don’t give a fuck, do they?’ There are little smudges of pasta sauce at the corners of her mouth. She reaches for my hand, squeezes it.
‘This is so nice, Helen,’ she says. ‘Thanks so much. You’re a good friend.’
For a moment, I feel genuinely touched. I think how nice it is, not to be alone. To be watching something I would actually choose, instead of another of Daniel’s police dramas. But then I remember. The note. And the laptop. I’ve just caught her stealing from us, for God’s sake! Passing love notes to my married brother! Any normal person would have thrown her out. Yet here I am, playing best friends with her.
The envelope – the W – it can’t just be a coincidence. But why would she be exchanging notes with Rory, unless … unless something was going on between them? I glance down at the bump in her lap. I feel my stomach churn, like when I was first pregnant. The feeling of seasickness, except you’re on dry land, and nothing will make it stop. Who is she, this girl, curled up on the sofa with my cat? What has she done?
I decide to check her suitcase again, as soon as she goes out. The film drags on; the baby shifts in my belly. I change position, then again. I wait for her to fall asleep on the sofa, or go out to the 24-hour shop for cigarettes, like she would usually do. But she doesn’t do either. When the credits start rolling, she stretches extravagantly, arching her back, her arms in the air. Monty leaps off her lap.
‘I think I’ll call it a night.’
She trails up to her room, leaving her dirty bowl abandoned. She closes the door. As I wash up, little blasts of pop music start to blare intermittently through the ceiling.
HELEN
After I found the laptop, and the envelope, I wasn’t able to sleep. I lay on my side, the baby kicking softly, until Daniel finally got home. When he came into the bedroom, I told him I’d been thinking about what he said, and that he was right. We needed to talk to Rachel. Ask her what her plans are.
I decided not to tell him about the things I’d found. He’d have gone mad about the laptop, blamed me for letting a thief into our house. This way was just easier. As I predicted, he didn’t ask why I’d changed my mind. He just seemed pleased and kissed me goodnight. He fell asleep far more quickly than I did.
When I wake the next morning, I can hear that Rachel is in the bath downstairs. I pull on my dressing gown, head to the kitchen, make myself a cup of herbal tea. When she eventually emerges, Rachel is wearing a towel of mine around her body and another on her head.
I tell her I will make us all some breakfast.
‘Lovely,’ she says. ‘Anything I can do?’
I glance down at her. ‘Don’t you want to get dressed?’
She shakes her head, grinning. A flash of pointed teeth. ‘I’m fine like this,’ she says. ‘I’ll make the eggs.’
When Daniel arrives in the kitchen, I have finished the bacon and toast, set plates on the table for all three of us, with glasses of orange juice. Rachel is still leaning absent-mindedly against the sideboard, cracking eggs into a bowl without looking properly, so that the whites are dripping down the sides, tiny pieces of shell flecked in the mixture. She has started reading a magazine, which she has placed next to the bowl.