I stare at the Aga hob. I have no idea how to use it. The kettle is one of those heavy orange affairs that you don’t have to plug into a socket. I’ve never used one of those, either. I suddenly feel like a Neanderthal. I place my hand against the side of the kettle and discover that it’s still warm. Then I open all the wall cupboards, trying to remember where Aggie kept the mugs, until I find one as well as a jar of coffee. I sit at the kitchen table with my freshly made coffee trying not to feel as though I’m trespassing.
‘Made yourself at home, I see.’
I jump. Kathryn is striding into the kitchen. She reminds me of the terrifying headmistress I had at school. She has on a navy wool coat and is wearing the frumpy skirt and sensible shoes she seems to favour. I look down at my jeans and jumper, feeling underdressed.
My cheeks grow hot and I’m annoyed at my body for betraying my feelings. ‘I … just made a coffee.’
‘Helped yourself to breakfast, too.’ She glances across at the empty plate on the kitchen island and the tea-towel I’d tossed aside.
I smart. Hasn’t her mother told her how the food situation works? ‘Actually … no, I didn’t eat that. It had my name on it but …’ I don’t know how to explain it. She might think I’m accusing her.
She folds her arms across her chest and juts her chin. ‘There’s no need to lie about it.’
I blink at her. Is she serious? Why is she being so antagonistic? ‘I’m not lying,’ I splutter. ‘I’d never lie.’
She pushes her glasses further up her nose and assesses me silently for a few minutes. ‘Okay. I just don’t want to see my mother being taken advantage of, that’s all.’
‘I’d never take advantage of her,’ I mumble, wondering where all this is coming from.
‘Well.’ She clamps her lips together. ‘Some of the other girls weren’t quite so honest.’
I wonder who she’s talking about. Is that why Jemima left so suddenly? I think of the necklace I’d found upstairs. I’d completely forgotten to give it to Kathryn. What if she sees it and thinks I’m trying to steal it? It can’t be worth much. It’s doubtful it’s even silver, but I’d hate her to think I’m dishonest in any way.
I push my coffee mug away. I’m used to instant coffee but I have a feeling this is that cafetiere stuff. ‘Um, talking of the other girls, I found a necklace in my room.’
She stands up straighter. ‘A necklace?’
‘Yes. It’s in my bedside table. I think it must have belonged to that last girl … Jemima, was it?’
She looks taken aback that I know the name of my predecessor. I shouldn’t have said it. Now it looks like I’ve been gossiping and I’m worried I’ll get Aggie into trouble.
‘Would you mind fetching it for me? I can post it on to her.’ She’s trying to be nonchalant but I can tell from the way her fingers scratch at her wrist that she’s anxious about something. Bertha, one of the residents of the care home, used to do it when she was stressed. Her arms were always a mass of scratches, like she’d been attacked by a cat.
I stand up. ‘Sure. I’ll go and get it now.’
Kathryn’s presence has sucked all the air from the room and I rush out of the kitchen, relieved to get away from the oppressive atmosphere. Why does she care so much about a manky old necklace anyway? I wonder, as I climb the stairs. Aggie said something about Jemima leaving in a hurry one evening. It didn’t sound like she’d left a forwarding address. Anyway, it’s not my business. Kathryn is my boss’s daughter, she wants the necklace, end of story. I’d learnt at the care home not to ask too many questions when my bosses asked something of me.
It’s curled in the corner of the top drawer of my bedside table and I take a while to unpick the knots. Then I turn the locket over in my hand, trying to find any distinguishing features, but it’s quite plain. It looks old – maybe it’s an antique. I’m conscious of Kathryn waiting for me downstairs but I’m intrigued enough to try the lock again. This time, to my surprise, I manage to prise it apart and the little door pings open.
Inside is a coloured photograph, not more than 2 cm tall. It appears to be a recent shot of a girl around my age, although it’s hard to tell because you can see only her head and shoulders. Her hair is long and ash blonde, like mine, and there’s something familiar about her face. It takes me a while to figure out why, but then it hits me.