A noise wakes me. I blink in the darkness, feeling disoriented for a few seconds. I hear it again. The creak of floorboards. I rub my eyes, propping myself on my elbows and notice that my door is ajar, letting in a sliver of silvery light from the landing. I remember locking it before I went to sleep. I know I did. Is someone in my room?
I’m wide awake now and sit up straighter. I start when I see a figure by my wardrobe and then realize it’s just my dress on a hanger that I never got around to putting away. My throat is dry as I swing my legs out of bed. I go to the door, peering out onto the small landing. Nobody’s there. I hear a cough from Elspeth’s room. There’s only the two of us in the house. Does she need me? I pad downstairs to her bedroom, cold in my thin cotton pyjamas, and poke my head around her bedroom door. But she looks as though she’s asleep, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling gently. Why do I have the feeling she’s pretending?
I leave, but as I do so I have the strange sensation that someone is behind me, their breath hot on the back of my neck. I run to my room and shut the door, my heart pounding. Oh, God, what if there’s an intruder and they’re now in my room? I feel like a kid as I frantically check under the bed and in the wardrobe, relief coursing through me when there’s nobody. I know I locked the door before I went to sleep and the only people with keys are Kathryn and Elspeth. I poke my head into the en-suite, just to be sure, but it’s empty. I take the key from my bedside table and lock the bedroom door again. And then I drag the chair from my desk over to it and jam it under the handle. Only then do I feel safe enough to return to my bed.
The next morning I hear Kathryn arrive early, but as it’s my day off I peer over the duvet to make sure my door is still locked and the chair in place. When I see that it is, I pull the duvet over my head and go back to sleep. By the time I wake up later the house is blissfully quiet. I dress quickly in a jumper and jeans, making sure to choose the ones without holes in the knees after Elspeth made a remark about my needing to darn my trousers, then go down to the kitchen. Aggie is clearing away the breakfast things. She looks up when she sees me, her big friendly face breaking into a smile. ‘Hello, ducky. Do you want something to eat?’
I feel exhausted. After returning to bed last night I spent the remaining few hours tossing and turning until I saw the reassuring early-morning sunlight filtering through my curtains. ‘Toast and a cup of tea will be more than enough,’ I say. ‘But I’ll get it.’
‘Don’t be silly. Sit yourself down. I’ll do it for you.’
‘Thank you.’ But I don’t take a seat, instead I help her clear away the breakfast things that must have been Elspeth and Kathryn’s and stack them in the dishwasher.
‘Go and sit yourself down. Are you sure you don’t want an egg with your toast?’
I shake my head. ‘No, thanks.’ I pat my stomach. ‘I still feel full from your amazing meal last night.’
She beams. ‘How was the theatre?’
I hesitate. ‘Yeah. The play was … good.’
I obviously don’t sound convincing because she laughs. ‘Elspeth has some strange tastes,’ she says. ‘What was it about?’
‘It was too highbrow for me. I didn’t get most of it.’ I remember how Elspeth had taken my hand between both of hers afterwards and asked, her tone a little patronizing, how I’d enjoyed my first theatre experience. It had niggled me that she’d assumed – rightly – that it was my first time, unless you count the pantomime I went to with Mum when I was seven.
Aggie hands me my toast and pats me on the shoulder. ‘You’re lovely as you are,’ she says. ‘It’s nice to have a bit of unpretentiousness about the place. I miss that.’
I don’t tell Aggie how Elspeth had said yesterday as we were crocheting, ‘Oh, you do have a delightful West Country accent. I know a very good elocutionist if you ever fancied making it more …’ she’d paused, her eyes assessing me as though she was trying to find the right word ‘… euphonious.’ I didn’t want to admit I didn’t know what the word meant.
Aggie sits opposite me with a cup of tea between her large hands. I need to be honest with her. ‘Aggie – I’m so sorry. I think I put my foot in it with Elspeth. I asked her about Viola. One of the shops was named after her. But she was very defensive about it and basically denied having a daughter called Viola.’
Aggie’s usually good-natured face clouds. ‘I don’t know what went on there,’ she says, shaking her head and making her chins wobble. ‘Viola could be a little madam, don’t get me wrong, and the mind games the two girls played, well …’ She purses her lips, then takes a sip of her tea. ‘There was often fireworks. But it wasn’t Kathryn. Kathryn was as good as gold. She was the perfect daughter. I suppose, really, she made Viola look bad without meaning to.’
‘And she was in a children’s home before then?’
‘That’s right.’
‘It must have been hard.’
‘She never seemed troubled, though. She had her head screwed on, that one. It was like she came here determined to make it work. She said to me once that she’d do everything she could to be the perfect daughter so as not to get sent back to the home.’
I feel a stab of pity for Kathryn. ‘Do you know what happened to her parents?’
‘Her dad wasn’t around. I’m not sure what happened there. And her mum,’ she lowers her voice, even though it’s just us in the room, ‘drugs. She took an overdose. Kathryn was the one who found her and called the police. She was only eight, bless her.’
‘How awful.’
She shakes her chins. ‘But Elspeth has been a brilliant mother to Kathryn. And Kathryn is a dutiful daughter.’