‘Look, they all died in different ways. I don’t think it’s the work of a serial killer. I think you’re safe. Maybe jinxed, but not about to get murdered any time soon.’
Despite myself I smile. He’s right. It’s a ridiculous notion. We chat a little longer about how my job is going, and how he’s just started shift work at the local factory because it’s good money, and I hang up feeling lighter.
Courtney is sitting alone at a round table in the half-empty pub. Onstage, the band are tuning up – or whatever it is they do with their instruments before a gig. She smiles and waves me over.
‘What do you want to drink?’ she asks, half out of her seat. She’s wearing very tight jeans that have been slashed down the front and a low-cut top that shows off her ample cleavage.
I look down at my baggy granddad shirt and stripy leggings, feeling underdressed. ‘No, I’ll get mine. Do you want anything?’
She shakes her long red ponytail so I trot to the bar and order a half of cider. I notice the bass player out of the corner of my eye. He’s cute. Tall with dirty-blond hair that licks at the collar of his battered leather jacket. Just my type. The barman hands me my drink and I go back to join Courtney. ‘Who’s the bass player with the hair?’ I ask, as I sit down, mainly to break the ice. I’m used to meeting people, but this is still a weird situation.
‘That’s Vince,’ she says, without even turning to look at the band. ‘He was Una’s boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Shit.
She takes a sip of her wine, leaving a red lipstick mark on the glass. She doesn’t smile easily or seem to care about whether the person she’s with is comfortable in her presence. When I’m with someone new I overcompensate by laughing too much, or chatting inanely, then go home and worry about the stupid thing I said. I wonder what Una was like and how well she and Courtney gelled. Courtney said they were best friends. Does that mean Una was also rather aloof?
‘Thanks for meeting me,’ she says, putting her glass down. ‘I know this is all a bit mad. But I really believe someone deliberately hurt Una. I want to tell you everything.’
‘I thought you’d already told me everything in the salon.’
‘Not quite. Not all the conversations that Una and I had about it and, believe me, there were many. I’ve been thinking about it a lot since I saw you this morning. I need to tell you everything as I remember it.’
So I listen as she recounts her conversations with Una. I picture my predecessor on the bed where I now sleep, chatting to her best friend on the phone, and feel overcome with sadness for Una, for this girl who was quite alone in the world, really, apart from her friends. When she’s finished I’ve learnt more about Kathryn, about a sister of hers called Viola, who hasn’t been seen in thirty years, and an argument Kathryn had with Jemima on the day Jemima walked out and apparently threw herself into the Avon Gorge.
‘So Una had a theory that Elspeth is still hung up on the daughter who ran away and that’s why she chooses young blonde women as companions?’ I ask, thinking it sounds like something from a Gothic novel.
She nods and sips her wine.
I find it fascinating that Elspeth is trying to replace her daughter. ‘Although,’ I wrinkle my nose, ‘wouldn’t Viola be nearly fifty by now?’
‘Yep. But I think Elspeth McKenzie is very fucked up and so is her adoptive daughter.’ Courtney raises her strong eyebrows. They’re actually a work of art. ‘Please be careful, that’s all I’m saying. I think they were involved in Una’s death but I don’t want to put you in danger.’
‘So, you think Kathryn lured Una onto the bridge that night by pretending to be Peter?’
Courtney nods. I notice she blinks back tears.
‘Okay. But would Kathryn have known about Jemima’s brother, this Peter guy?’
Courtney shuffles in her seat. A flash of irritation crosses her face that she doesn’t try to hide. ‘Yes, of course she would. Peter came to the house. Una went for coffee with him, then took him back to see Kathryn. So she knew exactly who he was and that he was in contact with Una. And it’s a bit too much of a coincidence, don’t you think? That Una died just after finding the bag of Jemima’s clothes? It proves that Kathryn was lying and that she knew Jemima hadn’t just done a runner. Una told me she took the bag up to her room to stop Kathryn coming back for it, but nothing has been seen of it since she died. I asked the police. They couldn’t find any bag. I think Kathryn lured her to the bridge, hit her over the head and left her there to die. I think she went back to Una’s room, took the bag and … disposed of it.’
‘But you can’t say any of this to the police because there’s no evidence?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And you want me to see if I can find any?’ I might as well ask her outright. I can’t see the point of skirting the issue. She’s exactly the type of person who appreciates straight talking.
She nods. ‘Would you keep your ear to the ground? Try to listen in on conversations, particularly any that involve Kathryn. Elspeth, too. She’s not as frail as she tries to make out. Una caught her dancing once …’
I knew it. I knew she wasn’t as infirm as she pretended to be.
‘And, please, stay safe. Don’t take any chances. Don’t be lured onto that bridge too.’
I swallow my irritation and nod noncommittally. I want to tell her I wouldn’t be that stupid but I don’t. It wouldn’t be fair, and maybe I would have done the same in Una’s position.