It upset me but Liam wouldn’t let me go after Charlie. And we were still dancing when Ade and Tracy collapsed. I sent Liam to see if he could help but the police and ambulance came really quickly, so we just went home. We were both shaken—it was such a horrible end to our night out. We didn’t really speak until he dropped me off at home.
* * *
—
The car isn’t here at the caravan and I curse. It didn’t occur to me they wouldn’t be in on a Sunday morning. Pauline says it’s her day of rest. But no one is answering the door. I go and try the house in case Pauline’s popped over there for something, but it’s locked. I open the letter box to have a look and I hear a soft whistling noise. Like a window cracked open. Or something breathing. I let the flap go with a bang and run down the steps. I know it’s stupid, but ever since someone told Pauline the house had a ghost, I’ve been creeped out. Of course, Pauline loves the idea. Thinks it’s “so romantic.” But how are dead people romantic?
I let myself into the caravan—I’ll be only a minute and she won’t mind. It’s funny how quickly people give you keys. Some do it the first week so they don’t have to bother being in. The weekenders hand them over without a thought. I’d never do that. I’ve got loads of keys—most I don’t even need anymore—to places that have been sold, and full sets for those who are security conscious. Keys to dead bolts, mortices, and lever locks.
I was pretty sure I’d hung my jacket behind the kitchen door but it’s not there. Nor is Charlie’s. I look but there’s no sign he’s back in any of the other rooms either.
I think I see a flash of white in their unmade bed, but when I push the duvet to one side, it’s a man’s T-shirt. Not something Charlie would wear. He doesn’t do casual—even his T-shirts have collars. Pauline’s getting very careless about her “entertaining” and I can’t help thinking she’d have lots of time to spend with Bram if Charlie disappeared permanently.
I finally find my jacket down by the kitchen bin but the ten-pound note has gone and I swear out loud. I bet she’s “borrowed” it.
I’m dialing her phone to ask her when she’ll be back when my mobile beeps—it’s about to run out of battery. They have a phone charger plugged in behind the toaster and I pull the cable free. But it’s got a handset attached.
She’s left her bloody phone behind.
But when I look at it closer, I can see it isn’t hers. This one is old and cheap and there’s no screen saver. It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when I cleaned. I wonder whose it is.
Pauline isn’t answering her phone. I know I should just go but I’ll give it another five minutes in case she comes back. Money is so tight at the moment. Tighter than it’s been for a long time. I’ve been pretending to be on a diet to try to make the shopping go further and I open Pauline’s fridge to see if there’s anything I can eat. But there’s nothing much except prosecco.
I can’t wait any longer, so I start looking for a bit of paper to write a note for her, pulling out drawers. Most need a good clean and I’m putting it on a mental list for next week when I open the one in the kitchen table and see a passport. It’s too tempting. I open it to find out Pauline’s real date of birth, betting with myself she’s nearly eighty, and find myself looking at Charlie’s face. But it’s got the wrong name on it and I can’t stop staring at it. Trying to make sense of it. Telling myself not to be stupid. That Phil dying and seeing Stuart have spooked me. Made me jumpy and paranoid. But I take a photo of the passport with my phone so I can look at it again later. When I’ve calmed down.
When my mobile pings, I drop it in fright. It’s Liam texting me to hurry up, so I shove the passport back in the drawer. As I drive away, I realize I’ve left my jacket. And the ten pounds Pauline owes me. I’ll have to go back.
My head is spinning. There’s too much going on already. I’ll have to do it later.
Twenty-four
SUNDAY, AUGUST 25, 2019
Dee
The police rang me when I was watching Cal’s match,” Liam says as I heat up some baked beans for lunch. “They want me to go in this afternoon to have a chat about Friday night.”
“Why?” I try to keep calm but my voice goes shrill.
“About Ade. It’s no biggie.” But I can hear the stress in his voice too. “They’re talking to everyone who saw him that night. They’re trying to build up a picture of what happened before he and Tracy collapsed.”