Una’s death has hit her harder than she’d ever imagined. She feels as if her old self – the Instagramming, selfie-taking girl, who was obsessed with hair and makeup and childish retro sweets, is now a thing of the past. The things she used to love now seem so … so frivolous in light of Una’s murder. Because, despite the lack of evidence to back up her theory, she still believes Una was murdered.
She’s on her knees on the scratchy brown carpet as she packs the last of the boxes when her mobile vibrates. She stands up wearily and goes to the kitchen table where it sits. Kathryn’s number flashes up on the screen. They’d swapped numbers after Courtney had collected Una’s things after her death in case Kathryn found anything else, but she never had. What does she want? Why would Courtney want to speak to Kathryn after everything she’s done? She ignores the phone and continues packing. She doesn’t know what to do with Una’s stuff. She thought about giving it to a charity shop – Una would have wanted that – but she can’t bring herself to part with her clothes, not yet. Sometimes she gets out her maroon coat with the velvet collar that had been her eighteenth-birthday present from her mum, and inhales the scent that still lingers on the fabric.
The phone rings again, then stops, then rings. Courtney continues to ignore it. As far as she’s concerned, Kathryn can go to Hell. If she wants to find out where Willow is, she can do it some other way.
It’s dark now and, although it’s April, the flat is cold. It’s her last night here. She feels as though she should have had a get-together or something, but now that she’s no longer with Kris she wonders if the rest of the band will want to remain friends. She’s heard from Vince a few times, but nothing from the others.
A crash from outside breaks the silence and she jumps. What was that? She gets up and goes to the little window that overlooks the lane that runs alongside her flat. An old metal dustbin that belongs to the old man in the flat next door has been knocked onto its side. She presses her nose to the glass, her heart racing. Someone’s there, crouching by the bin. A man dressed in dark clothing. She darts to the window that looks out onto the street. There’s a white van parked outside. It’s gone seven. Who does it belong to? She stands still, not knowing what to do. Is it a burglar? Why is he lurking around her building? She goes to the little side window again. The man’s no longer there. But the white van is still parked outside.
Courtney grabs her phone from the kitchen table. There are six missed calls from Kathryn. She’s about to dial her brother Theo’s number – he lives nearby – when her phone rings again. ‘Hello,’ she says breathlessly, her heart still pounding.
‘At last. I thought you’d never pick up,’ says Kathryn. ‘I really need to see you. I’ve found something out. About Viola. And Willow …’
Courtney can’t grasp what she’s saying. All she can think about is the man lurking outside her flat.
‘Courtney? Are you listening?’
‘I’m scared.’
‘Look, how many times do I have to explain myself? I never hurt Una. Or Jemima or Matilde. Please. Whoever is doing this, it’s not me. It’s –’
‘No. I mean there’s someone outside my flat. A man –’ She’s interrupted by another bang. She strains her ears. She can hear footsteps on the concrete steps outside. ‘Someone’s here,’ she whispers, her heart pumping so loudly she can’t concentrate.
‘Don’t answer the door. I’m coming over.’ Kathryn sounds so authoritarian that Courtney finds herself agreeing. She reels off the address and hangs up. Then she runs to the front door and double-locks it. Kathryn should be here in fifteen minutes. She just won’t open the door until then.
A shadow passes in front of the frosted glass of the front door. Oh, God. Someone’s there. Someone’s right outside her door. She stands in the little square hallway that smells of feet. She looks frantically around for an object to use as a weapon when her eyes fall on an umbrella that Una had bought from Bristol Zoo. She picks it up. It’s huge with a metal spike poking out of the top. She’ll stab them in the eye if they dare to break in, she thinks, wielding it in front of her.
Despite her bravado, she lets out an involuntary scream when a fist pounds the door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Shit. Her hands are trembling but she doesn’t move. What will she do if they break the door down? Oh, God, she can’t believe this is happening.
And then a familiar voice calls through the glass. ‘Courtney?’
She stands up straight, umbrella still in her hand. ‘Vince?’
‘Are you okay in there? I heard a scream.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Open up.’
She hesitates. She’s known Vince for years, even before Una started dating him. He wouldn’t harm her, would he? He’s gentle. Kind. Then why was he lurking outside by the bins in the dark? Does the white van belong to him? Jemima was seen getting out of a white van the night she died.
‘Courtney? It’s freezing out here. I need to speak to you. Please let me in.’
She’s being ridiculous. This is Vince. Una’s ex-boyfriend. He practically lived with them when he and Una were together.
‘Hold on,’ she says, dropping the umbrella to the floor and unbolting the door to let him inside.
43
Willow
Arlo’s been gone for ages already, and although I switched on the heating when I arrived, the flat is still freezing. I perch on my brother’s ripped leather sofa, which will be my bed tonight, waiting, the television on in the background. It’s dark for seven thirty, the sky moonless and thick, like a fire blanket has been laid out over the town.
I rummage in my bag for my phone. I’ve not looked at it all day and I’m surprised to see ten missed calls all from the same number. Kathryn.
Shit. Is she phoning to berate me for leaving without notice? Or to beg me to return? I hesitate, remembering what Arlo said earlier about trying to get my job back. I call her and she picks up instantly. ‘Willow?’ She sounds breathless.
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for hours. Where are you?’
‘I’m at my brother’s.’
‘You have a brother?’ She sounds surprised. Have I never mentioned Arlo to her? I can’t remember. After all, it’s not like we sat having cosy chats. She’s barely ever said two words to me.