I’m not offended by Aggie and her rudeness. I expect she’s been briefed well by Elspeth and Kathryn not to gossip to the likes of me. But I hate being told ‘No’。 It makes me want to rebel. I wasn’t told ‘No’ that much as a child. I had a lot of freedom living in the commune. Arlo and I were brought up by various females, including our own mother. I sometimes wonder if that’s why university didn’t suit me. I couldn’t cope with the amount of rules. And the more this family close ranks, the more desperate I am to find out what happened to the girls who worked here before me. I have a right to know, surely, haven’t I? Especially if their deaths occurred as a result of them being employed here. Although I do find it hard to believe – Kathryn with her frumpy skirts and sensible shoes, and fragile Elspeth, who clings to me for dear life as we walk down the street, even if I do suspect it’s a bit of an act, can’t possibly pose a threat.
Regardless, it gives me the excuse to meet Courtney again and maybe make some friends. I get changed in the vast area that is my living accommodation. I’m used to bunking down with as many people as can fit into a room so I’m not accustomed to all this space. Even at uni I shared with another girl because it saved money. Money was something that was always in short supply when I was growing up. I sit on the edge of the beautiful hand-carved sleigh bed that Una slept in, Jemima and Matilde before her. I wonder if they had this duvet cover with the rosebuds. Did they sit at the desk by the window? Shower in the en-suite?
Shit, I think, as I get up and begin to pace the room, my Dr Martens pounding on the floorboards. This is real. People have actually died. What am I going to do?
‘So you don’t think I’ve got anything to worry about?’ I ask Arlo, over the phone, as I walk to the pub that evening to meet Courtney. I’m slightly out of breath as the walk is further than I thought. At least it’s a nice evening. People are converging on pavements and outside pubs. The nights are starting to draw out and the clocks go forward tonight. A group of kids are riding their bikes up and down the pavement. I swerve to avoid one, a little boy with a pudding-bowl haircut whose call ‘Sorry!’ floats towards me on the breeze.
Arlo scoffs. ‘No, of course not. Like what? The octogenarian murderer.’ He laughs at his own joke.
‘She’s in her seventies, not eighties.’
‘Look, they all died in different ways. I don’t think it’s the work of a serial killer. I think you’re safe. Maybe jinxed, but not about to get murdered any time soon.’
Despite myself I smile. He’s right. It’s a ridiculous notion. We chat a little longer about how my job is going, and how he’s just started shift work at the local factory because it’s good money, and I hang up feeling lighter.
Courtney is sitting alone at a round table in the half-empty pub. Onstage, the band are tuning up – or whatever it is they do with their instruments before a gig. She smiles and waves me over.
‘What do you want to drink?’ she asks, half out of her seat. She’s wearing very tight jeans that have been slashed down the front and a low-cut top that shows off her ample cleavage.
I look down at my baggy granddad shirt and stripy leggings, feeling underdressed. ‘No, I’ll get mine. Do you want anything?’
She shakes her long red ponytail so I trot to the bar and order a half of cider. I notice the bass player out of the corner of my eye. He’s cute. Tall with dirty-blond hair that licks at the collar of his battered leather jacket. Just my type. The barman hands me my drink and I go back to join Courtney. ‘Who’s the bass player with the hair?’ I ask, as I sit down, mainly to break the ice. I’m used to meeting people, but this is still a weird situation.
‘That’s Vince,’ she says, without even turning to look at the band. ‘He was Una’s boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Shit.
She takes a sip of her wine, leaving a red lipstick mark on the glass. She doesn’t smile easily or seem to care about whether the person she’s with is comfortable in her presence. When I’m with someone new I overcompensate by laughing too much, or chatting inanely, then go home and worry about the stupid thing I said. I wonder what Una was like and how well she and Courtney gelled. Courtney said they were best friends. Does that mean Una was also rather aloof?
‘Thanks for meeting me,’ she says, putting her glass down. ‘I know this is all a bit mad. But I really believe someone deliberately hurt Una. I want to tell you everything.’