‘It looks fine.’
And still Willow hasn’t emerged from her room. ‘I need to get home,’ says Kathryn, thinking of the argument she had with Ed yesterday. ‘Maybe Willow’s overslept. I’ll go and check.’
She leaves her mother sitting on the edge of her bed, applying her lipstick with a shaky hand, and climbs the stairs to the attic. It always brings her back, coming up here. The years fall away. She can almost imagine Viola on the landing below, shouting obscenities or threats. She knocks on Willow’s door, but when there is no answer, she tries the handle. It’s not locked so she opens the door and steps into the room.
Willow’s bed is empty and looks unslept-in. She goes to the wardrobe, her heart pounding, but the girl’s odd boho clothes are still there, some hanging up, others bundled in a heap at the bottom. She closes the wardrobe and scans the room, looking for more clues. Willow’s perfumes are scattered on the top of the dressing-table and her makeup spills out of a soft felt bag. There’s a tie-dye blouse on the bed and a pair of chunky boots by the desk. But Willow is nowhere to be seen.
‘Mother!’ she calls, running from the room and down the stairs. She’s breathless by the time she reaches Elspeth. ‘Willow’s not there. I don’t think she came home last night.’
You stupid girl. You stupid, stupid girl. I was relying on you. I’d hoped, believed, you would be The One. The True One. Not like the others. Different. Special. But no. You had to play detective. You had to ruin it all. You and your pathetic friends.
You’re going to regret it.
38
Willow
The flat is in darkness when Peter drops us off. It’s late and the area where Courtney lives is quiet, just a few youths in hoodies smoking beside a bus stop.
I get out of the car and wait on the pavement for Courtney to say goodbye to Peter. She’s in the passenger seat and they’re having a confab about the bag. It’s cold and I pull the beanie further over my head. I’m beginning to feel completely out of my depth with all of this. Courtney eventually gets out and we wave as Peter’s Mazda pulls away.
‘He’ll let us know what the police say,’ says Courtney. ‘Come on, let’s get inside.’
I follow her down an alleyway that leads around the back of the chemist and up some rickety steps to her flat. It’s small, and smells of Glade plug-ins with an underlay of damp. It’s strange to think this is where Una lived, too. It’s like I’m walking in her shoes, living her life. It’s a strange feeling and I shiver, wrapping the anorak further around my body.
‘You can stay in Una’s old room,’ says Courtney, going to the little kitchen, which is tacked onto the end of a living room, and putting the kettle on. Everything is immaculately tidy: no strewn shoes on the floor or magazines thrown on the table. No dirty plates and cups in the sink. I lean back against the rickety units. It’s worlds away from Elspeth’s elegant townhouse. ‘It’s full of Kris’s stuff but her bed is still there.’
‘Are you sure Kris won’t mind?’
‘It’s not up to him,’ she says, folding her arms defiantly. ‘And you can’t go back to The Cuckoo’s Nest. It’s not safe.’
I sigh. I know she’s right. Now, after finding Viola’s bag and Jemima’s passport in Kathryn’s gallery, well, things have turned up a notch. The danger is real. Kathryn must be involved somehow, maybe even Elspeth. How far do their crimes go back? Did Kathryn hurt Viola? Did Elspeth? Despite her advancing years, she’s a lot more sprightly and healthy than she tries to make out. There’s something weird going on in that house. I might never know what it is but I’m relieved to be out of it. I can’t deny that I’ll miss the money, even the luxurious surroundings, but if I went back there I wouldn’t be able to rest, wondering if I’d be their next victim.
‘Why do you think they did it?’ I ask Courtney, as she pours us each a mint tea.
Courtney shakes her head. I can see she’s trying to suppress her emotions and she can’t speak for a while, her lips pressed tightly together. She hands me a mug, which I take with thanks, then opens a kitchen drawer full of sweets, the kind I haven’t had since I was a kid. She offers me one but I decline. Courtney takes out a handful of Black Jacks, which is so at odds with the sort of thing I thought she’d eat. We go to the sofa and Courtney sits with the sweets in her lap. She unwraps one and pops it into her mouth.
‘I don’t know what to think about all this,’ she says, as she chews.