‘It’s all just a bit odd,’ I say to Courtney, later that evening. She’s come to Clifton so we can go to a bar, just the two of us. We’ve chosen a new place that opened recently, all chandeliers, glass tables and velvet button-backed sofas. ‘Peter seems convinced that Jemima didn’t kill herself. And I remember Aggie saying she was a bubbly, bright thing. She thought we were quite similar, in looks and personality.’
Courtney sits back against the soft cushions. Her thick copper hair is piled high on her head in a jaunty ponytail, which cascades over one shoulder. She’s wearing a long-sleeved dress with lace panels and looks stunning. ‘Do you think Peter is just in denial, though? Remember when we found out Charlie from school had depression and he tried to kill himself? We were shocked. He was one of the most popular boys, had everything going for him, looks, brains. You know as well as I do that people can hide depression.’
I run my finger along the rim of my mojito glass. ‘I know. But what if he’s right? He wants me to try to find out who Jemima was dating. Apparently it was one of Elspeth’s staff. The only men she employs are the gardeners.’
Her green eyes light up. ‘Ooh! Do you think it could have been Lewis?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Then you need to find him.’
‘But how?’
She leans forwards conspiratorially. ‘Find his mobile number. Elspeth is bound to have it.’
‘I can’t just ask her for it, though, can I?’
‘Why not? Say you know someone who needs a gardener.’
I shake my head. ‘It won’t wash with Elspeth. She’s wily. She knows I thought he was good-looking and she’ll think I’m after a date. She also told me she sacked him because he was lazy. So she knows I wouldn’t pass on his number.’
‘Oh, Una. I can tell you’re not going to be great at this. You need my help.’
I laugh. Ever since I can remember, Courtney has loved solving ‘mysteries’. When we were twelve she convinced herself, and me, that Mr Hadley from number twenty-four had done away with his wife because she hadn’t been seen for a week. Cue days of following him around, watching him from our bedroom windows. We even got Courtney’s brother, Theo, involved. We’d been mortified when we found that Mr Hadley’s wife had been laid up in bed with flu and he hadn’t murdered her after all.
I sip my cocktail. ‘And how are you going to help?’
She raises one of her thick eyebrows. ‘I have my ways. People tell hairdressers everything.’
‘Yes, well, unless he’s about to go to the salon for a haircut I can’t imagine Lewis spilling the beans to you.’
‘Find his phone number. That’s all you need to do. Look through Elspeth’s things if you have to.’
I blush when I remember I’ve already tried to do that.
Courtney notices. ‘You’ve had a snoop, haven’t you? I know you. You’re so bloody nosy.’
I hold my hands up. ‘Okay. Yes. But her study was locked.’
‘Then find the key.’
‘Easier said than done.’
We fall silent for a few moments, both sipping our cocktails. I can’t bring myself to admit to Courtney how I’ve been scrolling through Matilde’s Facebook page and Jemima’s old Instagram posts, searching for clues, similarities. Anything, really. By the look of things Matilde had been bookish, posting about novels she’d enjoyed – she’d particularly liked romcoms – and Jemima’s photographs were mostly of her travels to exotic locations. I’ve examined them all, my heart breaking that these vibrant, seemingly carefree girls’ lives had been cut so short.
‘There’s something else, too. Something weird happened last night.’ I explain about finding my locked door ajar. ‘And when I went to check on Elspeth I was sure she was pretending to be asleep.’
‘That’s creepy.’ Courtney exhales, her face aghast. ‘Do you think she was watching you sleeping?’
I almost choke on my drink. ‘Stop it! You’re not helping!’
She laughs. ‘Sorry. Maybe she’s infatuated with you.’
‘Of course she isn’t!’
‘You said yourself you look like the other girls. She’s obviously got a thing for young blonde things. Maybe she’s in the closet.’
I push her gently so that her drink nearly slops onto her lap. ‘Stop it.’ I laugh. I tell her about the necklace and Kathryn’s insistence it had belonged to someone else.
‘Who did she say it belonged to?’
I shrug. ‘I have no idea. But I don’t believe her. I think it was Jemima’s.’
Later, I walk with her to the bus stop and she leans over to hug me. She smells familiar, of alcohol and Marc Jacobs perfume. I wait with her until her bus arrives, then walk the few streets back to The Cuckoo’s Nest. It doesn’t feel right to call it home. Home is still the flat in Horfield with Courtney. This is just temporary, I remind myself.
The street is empty by the time I turn onto Sion Hill. Clifton Suspension Bridge looks eerie in the distance, the mist haloing around the lampposts and the lights blurring against the inky dark night. I can’t help but think about Matilde, walking home alone on a night out. How did she not see the car coming? It must have been driving fast.
A twig snaps behind me. I spin around but nobody’s there. I pull my hat down further over my head and walk faster towards Elspeth’s house. I can hear footsteps getting closer. I break into a jog, my imagination running wild. That’s all this is, I remind myself, just like the monsters I imagined under my bed, or the witch trying to get in through my window, or the person breathing down my neck last night outside Elspeth’s bedroom. I can almost hear my mum’s soothing voice, telling me there’s nothing to worry about.
I stop running when I reach The Cuckoo’s Nest, and wrench open the metal gate, darting down the front path. I almost drop my key in my haste to open the door. I can’t get into the house fast enough. I’m only brave enough to peek through the crack in the glass panel of the door when I’m safely inside. And that’s when I see a figure in a dark coat, the hood pulled up, crossing the road towards the suspension bridge.
I blink, trying to focus on the person scurrying away, but my contact lenses are irritating me, causing my vision to blur. As I turn away, though, I can’t shake the disconcerting feeling that it was Vince.