A quick scan of the pub reveals that Peter is yet to arrive so they order their drinks – a glass of house white that tastes like vinegar for Courtney and a beer for Kris – and settle themselves at a table by the door.
Every time the door opens Courtney looks up expectantly, her heart in her mouth. Why does she feel so nervous? She’s not sure if it’s making her feel better or worse having Kris in tow. He’s wittering away about a new song the band are writing, completely oblivious to her discomfort. Eventually when the door opens again, she sees a young guy walk in, wearing a yellow coat. Her first thought is that he’s tall, the second that he’s handsome. And as this crosses her mind her stomach flips. At five foot seven herself she’s always found tall men particularly attractive. Kris is only two inches taller than her. He strides towards them. ‘Hi. Courtney?’ He holds out a hand uncertainly.
She stands up and shakes it. ‘Peter? Hi. This is Kris.’ She leaves out that he’s her boyfriend, indicating vaguely in his direction instead. Kris is slouched over his pint and barely looks up. Courtney offers Peter a drink but he insists on getting his own, and when he returns, he perches on the chair between them, his knees almost to his chest.
‘Thanks for meeting me at such short notice,’ he says, with a ghost of a smile. He glances at Kris, then back to Courtney. ‘And I’m so sorry about your friend. She was kind to me and tried to help me when she didn’t have to.’
‘I’m sorry about your sister,’ Courtney says.
He shuffles in his seat. ‘I don’t know how much Una told you …’
‘Everything,’ Courtney says bluntly.
‘Did she tell you about me turning up?’
Courtney nods. ‘She told me you didn’t believe Jemima would kill herself. And now I understand how you feel because I don’t believe Una’s death was an accident.’
He dips his head solemnly. ‘I’ve talked to the police and they don’t think Jemima and Una’s deaths are related.’
Courtney tuts loudly. ‘I don’t get it. She had a text from someone pretending to be you asking her to meet them on the bridge. Why don’t the police believe that?’
He shrugs, looking apologetic. ‘I know I didn’t send that message but I feel responsible. If I hadn’t got her involved …’
Kris grunts and they turn to look at him.
‘What?’ says Courtney.
He shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’
Courtney narrows her eyes at him. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. She doesn’t understand why he bothered to come. She turns back to Peter. ‘Una told me about Jemima’s necklace. And about how you said she was seeing someone before she died. She tried to find out who but never had the chance …’ A lump forms in Courtney’s throat and she takes a large swig of wine to wash it away, then has to resist the urge to cough.
‘Una left a voicemail on my phone that night. Said she had something to tell me.’
‘It must have been about the bag.’
‘The bag?’
‘Jemima’s holdall. It was in the cellar. Una found it and was convinced Kathryn had put it there. She also said that the cook, Aggie, heard Kathryn and Jemima arguing on the night Jemima left. Una said Aggie had been freaked out by the bag, too, and urged Una to report it to the police. I’ve since reported it but the bag is now missing, so it’s my word against theirs.’
‘The daughter, Kathryn, is hiding something, I’m sure of it,’ says Peter, his eyes flashing. ‘The necklace … Why did she pretend she was going to post it to Jemima when she never had a forwarding address? Why did she have all her stuff in their cellar?’
Courtney opens her mouth to say something and Kris emits a bark of laughter.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says when they both swivel around to glare at him. ‘But this is just one big conspiracy theory. If the police think their deaths are not suspicious why are you two acting like bloody …’ he pauses, and Courtney can almost see his brain ticking overtime, trying to think of someone to compare them to ‘… Shakespeare and Hathaway?’
Courtney swallows a giggle at Peter’s perplexed expression. Kris watches too much daytime TV. She’s simultaneously irritated and amused by him in equal measure.
‘I think their deaths are suspicious,’ says Peter, seriously. She’s noticed he still hasn’t taken off his jacket, which puffs out around him, making him seem bigger than he is. He looks uncomfortable on the hard chair. ‘The police didn’t know Jemima.’ He gestures to Courtney, ‘And they didn’t know Una. We did. It was obvious by what she told Courtney that she was lured to the bridge because she thought she was meeting me. Why have the police never found the person who sent the text?’
‘So you think you know more than the police?’ Kris says, and Courtney cringes, no longer amused. He’s being too confrontational.
Peter sighs and pushes back his fringe. ‘The police are working with facts. Because Una’s phone is missing, they haven’t seen a text from someone pretending to be me. So, to them, it doesn’t exist. It’s all hearsay from us.’
Kris throws his hands into the air. ‘Don’t get me wrong, man, I’m really sorry about your sister. And Una. She was a friend and her death has shaken me too. But I can’t believe she was murdered. It’s just an unfortunate coincidence.’
‘There’s something else,’ says Peter, glancing at Courtney, as though Kris hasn’t spoken. ‘Something the police told me yesterday.’
Courtney sits up straighter in her seat and leans towards him.
‘A witness has come forward to say they saw a girl matching Jemima’s description that night.’
‘Where?’
‘Getting out of a van on the Leigh Woods side of the bridge apparently.’
‘A van?’
He nods. ‘It might not mean anything. She might have been getting a lift with a friend, but they need to talk to the owner of this van to eliminate – that’s the word they used – them from their enquiries.’
Courtney takes a sip of her lukewarm wine.
Kris reclines in his seat, hands behind his head. ‘I just can’t see why someone would deliberately target these girls. I mean … why?’
‘That,’ says Peter, ‘is what I intend to find out.’
32