‘That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?’
Angelina shrugs. ‘Kind of, but Martha was like that anyway. You know, quick to move on. She never had any real roots here.’ She slides herself out of the bench seat. ‘I need to get on now. If you do catch up with Martha, tell her I was asking after her.’
‘Sure. Thanks for your time.’
After finishing my drink and leaving the diner, I find myself driving back to the Kendrick’s house. I park a little further down the road from Alice’s house this time, in the hope that I can avoid detection from Alice’s neighbour. I lock the car and walk slowly up to the house. I don’t know what has drawn me back here, but I know that the answers lie within. I have to get inside the house somehow.
The bins still stand at the end of the drive and I bypass them, heading straight for the back gate. I have another look at the windows as I go around the property. I can’t see any on the latch to let fresh air circulate through. If this were my house and I shared it with someone, I’d probably have a spare key hidden somewhere in case one of us got locked out. Would Alice do the same? It’s worth a look.
I go over to the back door and run my hand above the doorframe. Nothing. Too obvious? I lift the doormat and then the plant pot that is beside the back door. I can’t identify the plant from the withered stem and dried leaves – it’s a long time since there was any life here. I look around the back porch, trying to spot any other potential hiding places.
It’s very quiet here in this suburban part of the island. I hear the odd car drive along the road at the back of the property but apart from that, there doesn’t seem a lot going on. I catch a small movement from the corner of my eye and a little green lizard, about five inches long from head to tail, scuttles across the decking. He stops at the side of a plant pot and a pink bubble inflates from his throat. It reminds me of the time Mum had bought Hannah some old-fashioned bubble gum. Hannah had been delighted she could blow a massive bubble – that was until it popped and got stuck in her hair. The lizard is much more accomplished at blowing bubbles and does so several times as he watches me with his big goggly eyes, wondering what I’m doing there. I have to admit, I’m beginning to ask myself the same question. What am I hoping to achieve from this madcap adventure? I wanted to find out more about Alice and her life here. Perhaps I should have just taken the time to get to know her properly in person. And then, as per usual, as soon as I have this thought, I’m confronted with some deep-rooted notion that just wouldn’t happen. There’s some sort of barrier between Alice and me; something is preventing us from getting close. And for some reason, I feel the answer lies here in America. More precisely – in this house.
I take a more careful look around. On the edge of the porch, there’s a small garden swing and beside it is a terracotta pot, upturned on top of a terracotta saucer. The pot has been whitewashed and decorated with a few shells. I lift the pot to reveal a little pile of grey ash and several cigarette stubs. The smell of stale nicotine and ash is released into the air. I give the dish a shake and the peak of the ash flattens out to reveal the shiny metal of a silver key.
‘Disgusting,’ I mutter to myself as I take the saucer round to the flowerbed and tip the ash onto the earth so I can pick out the key.
The key fits into the lock of the back door and as I turn it, I hear the telltale click and feel the resistance disappear as the cogs slide around to open the door. I go in without hesitation. I still don’t know what I’m hoping to find in the house. I just know I have to get inside and look around. I close the door gently behind me, slipping the key into the pocket of my trousers.
The kitchen has a breakfast bar, which separates it from the living room, and I’m surprised at how spacious the whole house is; the high ceilings and lack of central walls add to the airy feel. I shiver as I step further into the house. I open the fridge and the smell of rotten food hits me. I pull my head away and, holding my breath, peer inside. Two pieces of chicken look decidedly green at the edges. There is a carton of milk in the fridge door. I give it a little shake and it feels slushy and lumpy. I don’t need to smell that to know it’s off. Pulling out the vegetable drawer, I see that the salad has started to turn to a pulp and liquid sloshes in the drawer. All pretty disgusting and a sure sign no one has been here for some time. Someone either left in a hurry or left with every intention of coming back, but just never made it.