My phone rings at that moment and I consider letting it go, but I feel too tired to go chasing after shadows.
It’s Mrs Devi from the library.
‘Eva, I’ve found the address for the photo of the building you emailed me. The house.’
Before I left the library I emailed her a copy of the Suzi Lake Centre. Apparently, Mrs Devi met Suzi Lake a few times in the past. A local legend was what Mrs Devi called her, who will be sorely missed by so many. I totally forgot to tell her to stop looking when Danny located it.
‘I’m really sorry, Mrs D.’ I don’t want this wonderful woman from my childhood wasting her time. ‘I’ve already located it. The crèche—’
‘What crèche?’ She says the last word very precisely. I imagine her peering curiously through her half-glasses.
‘It’s a private children’s day-care centre.’
‘It most certainly is not.’ Her tone is strident. ‘Suzi Lake was all about advancing the opportunities of girls and young women. What address do you have?’
The street name is the same but our door numbers don’t match. With the authority of someone who has been a keeper of local history for many years she’s adamant. ‘It’s definitely number seven. And it isn’t a crèche. No one has lived inside what was once the Suzi Lake Centre since it closed down.’
Tension floods my body. ‘When did it close down?’
‘The last day was New Year’s Eve 1994.’
CHAPTER 25
Déjà vu. That’s the intense and surprising feeling stirring inside me when I gaze at the house that was once the Suzi Lake Centre. Where it comes from I don’t know. Is it because my mother once came here? This building’s beauty died a long time ago, its Edwardian facade pockmarked by the passage of time, its paint flaking off. The windows are closed, curtains drawn tight, blinds tugged down.
In its heyday it must have stood tall, reaching for the skyline with pride, its large windows gleaming and open, connecting to the world. Homely. Now it stands in neglected sadness. What’s really behind those closed blinds and curtains? I mean, really behind them.
‘Maybe we should come back another time?’
Miriam’s voice breaks the spell. We’re viewing the former Suzi Lake Centre from the other side of the street. We’ve chosen night-time to hide our presence from prying eyes.
My sister is wound up, her hands jammed stiffly into her jeans jacket pockets. What a contrast to her mood when we first set off. She was beamy and bouncy like a kid who couldn’t wait to discover hidden treasure. Somewhere along the way something in Miriam shifted and changed.
‘Aren’t you feeling well?’ That’s the only logical explanation that comes to mind. ‘I can do this myself—’
Abruptly, her hand snakes around my wrist, the pressure from her fingers is painful. ‘You’re not going in there alone.’ And with that it’s Miriam who marches across the road into the shadows of the former centre. I’m about to follow her when the hairs on the back of my neck bristle and stand up. There’s that sensation again. Someone’s watching me, I know they are. It’s not a stolen glance or furtive observation. What I’m being subjected to is a full-on staring.
My gaze shifts, searching the dark. I find no one there.
The impatient wave of Miriam’s arm catches my side-eye, pulling me away from the hidden presence in the dark. With brisk steps I join her. Up close the house looms; it’s imposing, with a patch of ivy bunching and climbing up one side. I shrink back from the door. The old, cast-iron knocker is in the shape of a coiled serpent. The snake appears to be gobbling up its own tail. Instantly, the beady red eye of the serpent on my DNA box springs to mind. A bad omen.
Miriam furiously whispers, ‘Seriously? Are you planning on knocking the door like you’re the Avon Lady? It’s clear that no one lives here, Eva.’
Crouching down she flicks open the letter box to illustrate her point. Her quick peek confirms stillness and silence.
‘I was just double checking, that’s all,’ I insist defensively while Miriam jerks upright again. ‘The last thing we need are any surprises.’
We sneak around the building; the back door isn’t locked.
The air’s thick with the musty, stale odour of a building that’s been shut up for many years. And there’s dust. We gag and cough. This is a place where love crawled away a long time ago. Probably in 1994. The kitchen we enter is a weird sight to behold. The remnants of the fittings remain but are in a deplorable condition – cupboards without their doors, a cooker that would be condemned by the gas board and a rusty fridge. Nevertheless, they’re propped and poised with an old-style elegance as if waiting for human contact again.