She rings Ed to tell him she’s been held up at work and to remind him to make sure Jacob’s off the PlayStation. He sounds sleepy, distracted, but agrees, telling her not to worry, that she can rely on him. She ends the call wondering if she can.
It’s over an hour before she notices Elspeth’s bedroom light is on. She’s freezing and her body aches from being in the same position for too long. She watches Una’s silhouette in the sash window as she closes the curtains.
When Kathryn’s certain she won’t be seen, or heard, she creeps out of the car, down the street, into the front garden, slipping through the side gate until she’s standing in front of the cellar again. She pulls the padlock from the bolt and pushes open the door. The creak reverberates into the dark night. Her plan is to take the holdall and put it into the car until she can decide where to dispose of it. The passport will be the main problem. Using her phone as a torch, she’s almost on her hands and knees as she feels her way to the corner, where she’d kicked the bag earlier. She reaches out her hand, hoping to feel it, to see the familiar canvas holdall. But it’s an empty space, just cobwebs and dust. The bag has gone.
23
Una
‘I’ve got the bag here,’ I tell Courtney. I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed with the holdall open in front of me. ‘It’s got to be Jemima’s. Her passport’s here.’
Courtney takes a sharp intake of breath. ‘Shit. I can’t believe you took it.’
‘I had to. I knew Kathryn would go back for it.’
‘But what are you going to do with it?’
This is the part I’ve not really thought through. I just knew I had to get it before Kathryn moved it. Because it’s evidence – I know that much. Kathryn said Jemima had left without a word, taking all her stuff with her while Elspeth was out. But her stuff is here. So somebody is lying.
I pull out a floral summer dress, my heart contracting for a girl I didn’t even know. The girl who used to sleep in the bed I’m sitting on now, used to live in this house, this room. The girl whose job I’m doing, whose life I’m living. The girl who had been around the world, who liked to take selfies on exotic beaches, who looked like me. She’d even been out with Lewis too, kissed him, like me. I suddenly feel sick. ‘Do you think I should go to the police?’
‘Definitely,’ says Courtney, firmly.
I groan. My first thought is that I could lose my job. My dream of travelling disappears in front of me. Mum would be so disappointed. I think of my promise to her: to see the places she’d never get the chance to see. That dream will take a lot longer to come true without this job.
I fold the dress up carefully, respectfully, in the same way I handled my mother’s clothes after she died, and place it back in the holdall, my mobile clamped between my shoulder and my ear. The dress smells old and damp and there are black mould spores dotted in the fabric. ‘I need to tell Peter.’
‘Peter?’
‘Jemima’s brother. Remember? He was here last month because he wanted to find out who the guy was that Jemima was seeing. I tried calling him after meeting up with Lewis but haven’t heard anything back.’ I’m surprised I haven’t heard from Peter. He was so adamant that we keep in touch, wanting me to find out who Jemima’s mystery man had been. It’s strange that he hasn’t got back to me.
Courtney’s voice is serious when she next speaks. ‘I think you should stay here tonight. I don’t think it’s safe.’
Despite myself I laugh. Which is a normal reaction for me when I’m nervous or scared. When my mum broke it to me that she had cancer my first reaction was to laugh. ‘It’s only Elspeth here with me tonight. She’s an old lady. She wouldn’t have harmed Jemima.’
‘What about the daughter? That Kathryn? She sounds like a heartless cow from what you’ve told me. And you said yourself she’s never liked you.’
Even though everything I’ve told Courtney is true, I can’t believe that Kathryn is a murderer. I say as much to my friend. ‘But she might not have set out to kill her,’ says Courtney, impatiently. ‘Something’s obviously happened, though. Kathryn told you Jemima left with her stuff and that they’d all assumed she’d gone off travelling. Yet now we’ve learnt she died that same day. And Kathryn was obviously lying. Otherwise why would she have her stuff in the bloody cellar? Christ, Una, what other conclusion is there? And,’ she continues, barely drawing breath, ‘when she goes back to the cellar and sees the bag’s missing she’s going to know you took it.’ She exhales, as though exhausted by her outburst.