Holdsworth murmurs her agreement. She takes another swig of her drink, then gathers up her belongings, much to Phillips’s apparent disappointment – he won’t get to finish his tea. ‘Come on, then,’ she says to the younger officer, standing up and taking her wet coat from the back of the chair. Phillips reluctantly does the same. ‘Anyway,’ she adds, ‘we’ll get out of your way. Sorry for disturbing you and for having to be the bearer of such bad news.’
Elspeth puts her mug down and stands up too, although she seems shaky on her feet and holds on to the edge of the table for support. ‘Thank you for letting us know.’
‘Sit down, Mother. I’ll show the detectives out,’ says Kathryn. She can’t get them out of the house fast enough.
‘Feel free to contact us again if you need any more information,’ she says insincerely, as she ushers them to the front door. The rain is coming down heavier now and both detectives do up their coats before braving the elements. ‘But, really, we hardly knew Jemima.’
She shuts the door on them before they can say anything else.
When the police have gone and Elspeth has picked at the ham ploughman’s that Aggie has prepared （Kathryn can’t face any lunch herself, the visit from the police quashing any appetite she previously had）， she asks if Kathryn can help her upstairs.
‘I just need to lie down and rest for a bit,’ she says, as she clutches her daughter’s arm, climbing each step slowly, deliberately. For once she appears frangible, her bones thin beneath her cardigan. When did she start losing so much weight? She clings to Kathryn as they shuffle along the corridor to her room, and Kathryn helps her on to the four-poster bed. It’s as if all her energy has been snuffed out of her, and she looks as withered as a decaying flower. ‘I’m exhausted,’ she says, as she stretches out and rests her head against the plump pillows, her face white.
Kathryn gently removes her slippers, making sure she’s comfortable and tucked up, like a child. Just as Kathryn is about to leave, Elspeth grabs her hand. ‘Will you send Una up when she gets home?’
‘It’s her day off, remember?’
‘I know.’ She squeezes Kathryn’s hand, her grip surprisingly strong, her eyes closed. ‘You’re a good girl.’
Her words surprise Kathryn. Her mother isn’t one for praise, at least, not to her. It takes her back to when she was eleven years old and would do anything to make Elspeth keep her. If she was good, if she was quiet and respectful and considerate, if she did everything Elspeth asked of her, she wouldn’t send her away. Those little words, You’re a good girl, Kathryn, were music to her ears. It meant she was on the right track to being the perfect daughter.
The perfect daughter. Would she ever stop playing that role? It’s a full-time job.
She kisses her mother’s crêpy forehead, then walks around the huge bed to pull the curtains across the sash windows that overlook the suspension bridge. It’s still raining and the drops tap against the glass in a rhythmic thud that Kathryn’s always found soothing. Afterwards she leaves the room to the sound of Elspeth’s breathing.
She can’t bring herself to ask her mother why she lied to the police about Jemima’s last day. And if she had been trying to protect Kathryn, or herself.
8
Una
I can’t stop thinking about Matilde and Jemima as I return to The Cuckoo’s Nest. Both my predecessors are dead. I can’t get my head around it.
It’s not even five o’clock but it’s already dark as I let myself in. I kick off my boots and am about to walk away but remember to put them neatly in the cupboard as is the rule. I pad across the cold tiles towards the sweeping staircase. The door to the lounge is ajar and I can see Elspeth perched in her favourite chair next to the mantelpiece. A fire is raging in the hearth and she’s staring wistfully into it. I move away, wanting her not to notice me. My jeans are damp, as well as my coat, and I feel chilled to the bone. I just want to go up to my room, shower and rest ahead of my evening with Courtney.
But no such luck. Kathryn is coming up the stairs from the kitchen. She jolts when she sees me, as though I’m an apparition. She frowns and grabs hold of the banister. She looks pale. ‘Oh,’ she says, when she’s recovered. ‘You’re back.’
‘I got caught in the rain. I’m going upstairs to shower.’ I feel slightly queasy and I’m sure it’s the prospect of seeing Vince tonight. I’ve been putting it off for too long, but I need to speak to him.