I can’t admit to her that I am actually scared. I wish I’d never found the bag. But then I think of Jemima. The same age as me and dead. Her brother doesn’t believe she took her own life, so what does that mean? That she had an accident? Was murdered? Either way, Peter deserves to know the truth. And if Kathryn is responsible, or knows more than she’s letting on, she should be punished. Courtney’s right. It’s my responsibility now. I have to take Jemima’s bag to the police and I have to tell them where I found it.
I get up and look wildly about the room. Where can I hide it? Then I remember the cupboard under the sink where I found Jemima’s necklace. The panel is loose. I go to the en-suite, getting on my hands and knees with the bag next to me. I inspect the panel. Yes, there’s just enough room to shove the holdall behind it. Once I’ve done so, I stand up and tiptoe to my bedroom door, feeling slightly foolish, but if Kathryn is standing there, listening, I need to know. Quietly I turn the key and throw open the door. But the corridor is empty.
Your hair is hanging loose, the roots are too dark and a little greasy. You have bruises under your eyes and there is a spot on your chin. You try to look nonchalant as you take that old hag on her frivolous trips to the hair salon. But it’s getting to you. I’m getting to you.
Your fear is so visible. It’s in the way you hold yourself, too stiffly, as you walk. It’s in the way your features pinch as you try to laugh. It’s in your greasy hair and your pallid skin.
You’re more problematic than the one before, more inquisitive. Nosy. You won’t leave things alone. But your nosiness has cost you, dear Una.
I’ve enjoyed watching you. Playing with you. I’d have happily done so for a little bit longer. But you’ve left me no choice.
This has to end.
24
Una
I wake early the next morning, the darkness inching its way around the edges of my curtains and filling the room so that I feel oppressed by it. Why does everything seem so much worse in the dark? I barely slept last night – every little noise had me on edge – and now I’m exhausted and emotional.
I reach for my phone. Still no word from Peter. It’s only five thirty and, if he’s working nights, or is asleep, he might not pick up. But I dial his number anyway. When it goes straight to voicemail I decide to leave a message for once, and whisper into my phone. ‘Peter. It’s Una. Sorry for the early hour. I really need to speak to you. I’ve …’ I hesitate, not wanting to say too much in a message ‘… I’ve found something. I think it’s important. Please call me back as soon as you can.’
Half an hour later, as I’m helping Elspeth dress, my phone buzzes. I can tell she’s not pleased at the intrusion as her eyes flicker disapprovingly to where it’s wedged in the back pocket of my jeans. I ignore the call and continue assisting her into her favourite pale green tweed skirt and silk blouse. I’m hoping it’s Peter, but even if it is I can’t speak to him with Elspeth in such close proximity.
My phone rings again. ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ snaps Elspeth. She’s perched on the edge of the bed and I’m bending over to help her with her ‘indoor shoes’. She refuses to call them slippers.
I stand up and reach for my phone. Courtney’s name flashes up on the screen. I press decline and turn it off. ‘No, it’s not important,’ I say.
While Elspeth has a midday nap, I tap out a quick text to Courtney: I’ll ring you later. I can’t go to the police today. I’m working. I’ll go tomorrow as it’s my day off. Xx
A reply pings back straight away: I think you’re mad. You should take it today! It could be important.
I’m beginning to wish I’d never told Courtney. As much as I love her, and we complement each other as friends, we are different. Courtney is bossy, opinionated and always thinks she’s right. Usually I respect her opinion. She’s always been wise beyond her years, but I have to handle this in my own way. It’s my job on the line. And my home. I can’t go around ruffling feathers. I wish I could ring Mum for advice. Although I know she’d agree with Courtney. Damn it. I hate it when Courtney’s right. But logistically I can’t just say, ‘Oh, by the way, Elspeth, I’m off to the police station to dob your daughter in because I’ve found Jemima’s stuff that she’s hidden and she’s obviously lying about what happened the day she died. But please can I keep my job?’
Then I think of the bag hidden in the en-suite upstairs, like an unexploded bomb that could go off any second, destroying us all. I owe it to Jemima to take it to the police. If she didn’t take her own life, if something else happened that day, then her family – Peter – deserves to know. And if Kathryn did hurt her, she deserves to be punished.
‘Penny for them, ducky.’
I’m so deep in thought I don’t hear Aggie come into the kitchen until she’s right beside me. I look up at her round, friendly face. She’s known the McKenzies for ever. Can I trust her? Then I think of how much she’s gossiped to me and know I can’t. I like Aggie, she makes this job bearable, but she’s been here since Kathryn was a teenager. Surely her loyalty will lie with her. And I can’t risk her telling Kathryn. But then Kathryn will know I took the bag. Who else could it have been? Urgh, I’m doing my own head in.
‘I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘Just tired.’ I try to smile but she doesn’t look convinced.
She takes a seat next to me and lowers her voice. ‘I know working here can be …’ she glances around to make sure Elspeth isn’t creeping into the kitchen ‘… problematic, but stick with it. It’s good money, the house is lovely, the location convenient.’ She pats my hand. ‘I know it can be boring for a young girl like yourself to be stuck with old folk like us, but do it for a year and think of the money.’
I laugh in spite of the turmoil I feel. ‘Thanks, Aggie. I intend to.’ And then I find myself telling her a little about Mum and her illness, the promise I made to her.
Her face is full of sympathy and I flush when she gives me a quick hug. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your mam. Hopefully one day you’ll go off and see the world for the both of you.’