‘Money?’ Katie says.
‘Definitely. Anything out of the ordinary. What could Justin’s password be?’ I try his date of birth and ACCESS DENIED: TWO ATTEMPTS REMAINING appears on the screen.
‘Money,’ Katie says again, and I realise it isn’t a question. I look up. She’s holding an envelope, exactly like the one Justin handed me with my rent money. It’s stuffed so full of twenty-and ten-pound notes the flap won’t stay shut. ‘His wages from the cafe, do you think?’
Katie doesn’t know about Melissa’s cash-in-hand tax dodge, and although I doubt she’d care I don’t plan on telling her. The more people who know, the more likelihood there is that HMRC will find out, and that’s trouble neither Melissa nor I need.
‘I guess so,’ I say vaguely. ‘Put it back.’
I take another stab at Justin’s password, this time entering a mash-up of our address and the name of his first pet; a gerbil called Gerald who escaped and lived under the floorboards in our bathroom for several months.
ACCESS DENIED: ONE ATTEMPT REMAINING.
I daren’t risk another try. ‘Is there anything else in the wardrobe?’
‘Not that I can find.’ Katie moves on to the tallboy, pulling out each drawer and running a hand expertly beneath each one, checking to see if anything has been taped there. She feels among his clothes and I close the laptop and leave it on the bed in what I hope is the same position I found it. ‘How about the laptop?’
‘I can’t get in.’
‘Mum …’ Katie doesn’t look at me as she speaks. ‘You know the receipt could be Simon’s.’
My answer is immediate. ‘It isn’t Simon’s.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I do.’ I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. ‘Simon loves me. He would never hurt me.’
Katie slams a drawer shut, making me jump. ‘You’ll point the finger at Isaac, but you won’t even entertain the idea of Simon being involved?’
‘You’ve known Isaac five minutes.’
‘It’s only fair, Mum. If we’re going through Justin’s stuff, and accusing Isaac, then we have to consider Simon, too. We need to search his room.’
‘I’m not searching Simon’s room, Katie! How could I ever expect him to trust me again?’
‘Look, I’m not saying he’s involved, or even that the Espress Oh! receipt is his. But it could be.’ I shake my head and she throws up her hands. ‘Mum, it could be! At least consider it.’
‘We’ll wait until he gets home, and then we can all go up together.’
Katie is unflinching. ‘No, Mum. Now.’
The staircase leading to the attic is narrow, and the door on the first-floor landing gives the impression there is nothing but a cupboard behind; perhaps a bathroom or a small bedroom. Before Simon moved in I used to use it as a sort of escape: it wasn’t properly furnished, but I piled cushions up here and would shut the door and lie down for half an hour, stealing time for myself from the maelstrom of single parenting. I used to love how hidden it felt. Now it feels dangerous, each step up taking me away from the openness of the rest of the house, away from safety.
‘What if Simon comes home?’ I say. Simon and I have nothing to hide from each other, but we’re both adults; we’ve always agreed it’s important to have our own space. Our own lives. I can’t imagine what he’d say if he could see Katie and me now, snooping around his office.
‘We’re not doing anything wrong. He doesn’t know we’ve found the receipt. We have to stay cool.’
Cool is the last thing I feel.
‘We’re getting the Christmas decorations down,’ I say suddenly.
‘What?’
‘If he comes home and asks what we’re doing. We’re up here to get the decorations out of the eaves.’
‘Right, okay.’ Katie isn’t interested, but I feel better, knowing I have an excuse ready.
The door at the bottom of the stairs swings shut with a bang that makes me jump. It’s the only door that does; the only one with a fire regulation compliant closer. Simon wanted to take it off: he said he liked having the door open, so he could hear the hustle and bustle of life below him. I insisted it stayed, worrying about fire, worrying about anything that might threaten my family.
All that time, is it possible the real threat has been right there in front of us?
Living in our house?
I feel nauseous and I force the bile down, trying to capture an ounce of the strength my nineteen-year-old daughter is now showing. Katie stands in the middle of the room and takes a slow, careful look around. There’s nothing on the walls, which slope from ceiling to floor at an angle that leaves only a narrow strip of full head height, along the centre of the room. The single Velux window lets in a paltry amount of winter sun, and I turn on the main light.