“Straightaway,” I say firmly.
“Well, then, I’ll say goodbye now.” Bean comes over and gives me a hug. “I’ll miss you tonight, Ephelant.”
“Me too.” I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly. “Have fun. Or whatever.”
“Definitely ‘whatever,’？” she says wryly. “Shall I tell Gus you were here?”
“Better not,” I say after a moment’s thought. “He might let it slip. As far as everyone is concerned, I’m still on my hot date.”
“Fine. By the way, don’t use my bathroom,” she adds. “In case you were planning to. The loo’s broken.”
“I’m not going to stay long enough to need the loo,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m out of here.”
As we draw apart, we smile at each other—then Bean strides out. A few moments later there’s a loud scuffling and bumping from the landing—then Bean’s head reappears round the doorframe. “It’s clear. You can get in now. Good luck. And let’s meet up next week, OK?”
“Definitely. Oh!” I add, suddenly remembering. “I do want the pineapple jelly mold.”
“What?” Bean goggles at me.
“I heard you. I was in the coat cupboard.”
Bean stares at me incredulously, then shakes her head, blows me a kiss, and vanishes. As soon as she’s gone, I remember that I never told her about Gus’s phone call. Damn.
Well, I’ll have to do that later. It’s time to make my move. At the door I pause to look both ways—then, like a mouse, make my way along the corridor, tiptoeing on the floorboards. I creep between the tea chests, hardly breathing…and I’m in!
The box room has the same sparse furniture that it’s always had: a single bed, a yellow Formica bedside table dating from about the 1950s, a broken exercise bicycle, and a few old pictures stacked against the wall. The fireplace is never used but still operational, and that’s where I head without pausing. I crouch down and reach up the rough, bricky shaft of the chimney, feeling for the familiar ledge and the smooth surface of my dolls. My beloved, cracked, felt-tip-stained dolls. My dear, cherished friends. After this, I’m never letting them out of my sight, I promise myself as my hand moves upward. This has been way too stressful.
When my fingers don’t touch anything that feels like a set of Russian dolls, I sweep my hand around the chimney a few times, groping, shutting my eyes so I can concentrate. They must be here. They have to be here. I mean, they were here.
They were here.
Feeling slightly light-headed, I retrieve my hand—now black with soot—and take a few breaths. I’m not even allowing my brain to process the possibility that—
Stop. Come on. I know they’re there. I’ll reach in again, properly, and this time I’ll find them. I just went in at the wrong angle or something. This time, I lie flat and shove my arm up so far, I scrape it against the brick. I extend my fingers as much as I can, probing, swiveling, pushing, scratching the brickwork, desperate to find something, some hint…
Nothing.
Panic is ballooning inside me. I pull my hand out of the chimney and rub my face, realizing too late that I must be covering my face with soot. Where are they?
Feverishly, I start to look around the room. I flip on the dim overhead pendant light and peer under the bed, even as I’m thinking, How would they have got under the bed? I glance between the stacked-up pictures. I open the old built-in cupboard, but the white-painted shelves are empty, just as they always were. I reach one more time up the chimney, feeling like an absolute fool, because I know they’re not there…
As I finally come to a halt in my manic search, I’m breathing hard. I can’t contain my distress; I have to share it. On instinct, I haul out my phone from my pocket and type a desperate WhatsApp to Bean:
I can’t find them!!!!!!!!! ????????????????
It only takes a moment for her to reply, and when she does, her measured response feels like salve on my soul.
Don’t worry, Ephelant. I’m sure they’re somewhere in the house. They wouldn’t just disappear.
A moment later she adds another message:
You go home if you like. I’ll look for them tomorrow and keep them safe for you. In fact, now I think about it, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen them around somewhere.
Oh my God. Where? I’ll go and get them! My fingers fly over the keys:
Where????
It seems about a month before she replies: