Anyway, weirdly, Courtney invited me for a drink tonight. Some pub in Whiteladies Road where her boyfriend’s band are playing. As I don’t know anybody in Bristol, apart from the McKenzies, I agreed. And something about Courtney fascinates me, with her glamour and her grief, like a 1920s silent film star.
When I get back from the hairdresser’s Elspeth is in the sitting room with her daughter. I can’t resist popping my head around the door to say hello. Kathryn’s eyes look as though they’re about to pop out of her head. ‘You’ve had your hair done,’ she bleats faintly.
I smile. ‘Yes. Back to blonde. For now.’
She grimaces in reply, but Elspeth pipes up from the corner of the room, ‘I like it, it’s very sleek,’ which makes Kathryn’s expression even grumpier.
I stifle a giggle. I’m just about to leave when Elspeth adds, ‘Aggie’s in the kitchen if you’d like her to rustle you up a late lunch. She’s made a vegetarian casserole especially for you.’
I say thanks and head into the kitchen. Sure enough, Aggie’s still here, her chubby arms elbow deep in the Belfast sink. She turns with the wary expression she usually adopts whenever she sees me.
‘Elspeth said there might be leftovers,’ I say, as I walk into the room.
‘There’s some casserole in the Aga.’ She retracts her arms and dries them on the nearby tea-towel. ‘I’ll fetch you some. Why don’t you sit down?’
She makes me feel uncomfortable with her over-helpful attitude. When we lived in the commune we all looked after ourselves, we were all equal, so I don’t like people doing things for me unless I’m paying them or helping them in return. ‘It’s okay, I can get it, you carry on with what you were doing,’ I say.
But she’s already opening the Aga and extracting a large orange dish, which she places on the hob. She scoops out a generous portion, then waddles – I know it sounds rude but there’s no other more appropriate word to describe her walk – to the larder and takes out a chopped up baguette. She doesn’t ask me if I want any but loads some onto the plate before she hands it to me. ‘Go and sit down and I’ll make you a cuppa.’
There’s no point in arguing with her. She’s one of those people who is happiest when she’s being useful to someone. I deduce she’s probably a kind, considerate person. Can I trust her in this house of – as I’m learning now – devious types?
I eat my lunch while observing her bustling around the kitchen. Aggie’s worked here since the late 1980s, according to Elspeth, so she must have a wealth of knowledge about the family, I think, as I chew carefully, like my mother taught me to do. Appreciate each mouthful, Willow, she’d say.
I swallow some casserole with difficulty, a lump in my throat when I think about my mother. ‘Um, Aggie, I was in the hairdresser’s this morning …’
‘So I see. Nice colour.’
‘Thanks. Turns out the hairdresser who did my hair knew Una. She told me … Well …’ I throw my hands into the air. ‘Everything.’
Aggie’s face drains of colour. ‘W-what did she tell you?’
‘About the other girls and how they died. About Una finding Jemima’s bag in the cellar …’
Aggie’s beady eyes dart towards the door. ‘It’s best to keep this out,’ she says, tapping the side of her nose with genuine fear in her voice. ‘And if you want to keep your job, just forget you heard anything about it.’
‘But … do you think Una died in suspicious circumstances?’
She shakes her head so vigorously that her many chins wobble. ‘I’m not paid to think anything,’ she says curtly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.’
I’m not offended by Aggie and her rudeness. I expect she’s been briefed well by Elspeth and Kathryn not to gossip to the likes of me. But I hate being told ‘No’. It makes me want to rebel. I wasn’t told ‘No’ that much as a child. I had a lot of freedom living in the commune. Arlo and I were brought up by various females, including our own mother. I sometimes wonder if that’s why university didn’t suit me. I couldn’t cope with the amount of rules. And the more this family close ranks, the more desperate I am to find out what happened to the girls who worked here before me. I have a right to know, surely, haven’t I? Especially if their deaths occurred as a result of them being employed here. Although I do find it hard to believe – Kathryn with her frumpy skirts and sensible shoes, and fragile Elspeth, who clings to me for dear life as we walk down the street, even if I do suspect it’s a bit of an act, can’t possibly pose a threat.
Regardless, it gives me the excuse to meet Courtney again and maybe make some friends. I get changed in the vast area that is my living accommodation. I’m used to bunking down with as many people as can fit into a room so I’m not accustomed to all this space. Even at uni I shared with another girl because it saved money. Money was something that was always in short supply when I was growing up. I sit on the edge of the beautiful hand-carved sleigh bed that Una slept in, Jemima and Matilde before her. I wonder if they had this duvet cover with the rosebuds. Did they sit at the desk by the window? Shower in the en-suite?
Shit, I think, as I get up and begin to pace the room, my Dr Martens pounding on the floorboards. This is real. People have actually died. What am I going to do?
‘So you don’t think I’ve got anything to worry about?’ I ask Arlo, over the phone, as I walk to the pub that evening to meet Courtney. I’m slightly out of breath as the walk is further than I thought. At least it’s a nice evening. People are converging on pavements and outside pubs. The nights are starting to draw out and the clocks go forward tonight. A group of kids are riding their bikes up and down the pavement. I swerve to avoid one, a little boy with a pudding-bowl haircut whose call ‘Sorry!’ floats towards me on the breeze.
Arlo scoffs. ‘No, of course not. Like what? The octogenarian murderer.’ He laughs at his own joke.
‘She’s in her seventies, not eighties.’