‘I know, and I didn’t.’ And not because of any misplaced sense of loyalty to him. ‘How did she sound the last time you spoke to her?’
‘We didn’t speak. She texted about midnight last night to say she was going back to Ireland for a bit because she was homesick. I was asleep and didn’t get the message until this morning. I tried ringing her but she wouldn’t pick up. I’ve rung three more times since …’ he tails off. ‘I’ve tried the bar manager, her mates and her flatmate but no one knows anything. None of them have seen her since you did. Are you sure you didn’t accidentally let something slip?’
‘No,’ it comes out curter than I meant it to. ‘You weren’t even mentioned, Danny.’
That’s a lie, but I’m not about to tell him why Keisha mentioned his name or what it was in reference to.
There are no lights on in her flat and the blinds in the living room are still drawn. I crouch down, holding onto the flowerpot by the front door for support and peer through the letter box. The concrete makes my knees ache.
‘But—’ Danny says.
‘I’m sure she’ll be in touch,’ I reply as a shadow crosses the hallway and my heart leaps with relief. ‘And if I hear from her I’ll let you know.’
‘Will you?’ He sounds genuinely desperate. ‘I’d appreciate that.’
I tuck my phone back into my handbag and peer through the stained-glass panels in the door.
‘Keisha?’ I knock heavily. ‘Keisha, it’s Sue again.’
There’s no reply.
I wait a few seconds then knock again. I’m just about to shout through the letter box when the door opens an inch and a face I don’t recognize peers out at me.
‘Hello?’ says a woman with a violent red bob and a blunt fringe. I immediately recognize her from the photograph in the front room. She stares up at me with big, critical green eyes, her long tangerine-coloured fingernails wrapped around the door. ‘Can I help you?’
‘You must be Keisha’s flatmate?’ I glance into the hallway. ‘Is she in?’
She shakes her head. ‘She’s gone.’
I detect something unusual about her accent, an intonation that isn’t English. Polish perhaps. ‘Do you know where?’
‘Ireland.’
Maybe Danny was right. Maybe she has pulled a disappearing act. ‘Do you know when she left?’
Her flatmate shakes her head. ‘No. She left a note. On the fridge. It just says “Gone to Dublin”, that’s it.’
‘Would you mind if I popped into her room before I go?’ I say as a thought strikes me. ‘I lent her a book that I need back quite urgently.’
She gives me a look. ‘You tell me the name. I find it.’
‘Well, the thing is I also need …’ I don’t know what to say. I need to see Keisha’s room. I don’t know what I’m expecting to see but, no matter how many people tell me she’s gone back to Ireland, I can’t shake the feeling that something has happened to her, ‘… to look for another book,’ I finish weakly. ‘There was one she recommended to me but I can’t remember the title. She did describe it to me though so I’m sure I’ll be able to find it really easily. I’ll be in and out in less than a minute, I swear.’
The flatmate looks me up and down. ‘Who are you?’
‘Sue. Sue Jackson.’
She shakes her head and closes the door ever so slightly. ‘Keisha never mentioned you before.’
‘That’s because we’ve only recently become friends. She’s knows my daughter better. Charlotte, perhaps you’ve met her?’
‘Charlotte?’ Her face lights up. ‘Pretty Charlotte who get hit by a bus?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That’s my daughter.’
‘Oh gosh.’ Compassion floods her face and she throws the door open wide. ‘Of course you must come in. Anything I can do to help you let me know.’
On first glance Keisha’s room doesn’t look all that dissimilar from Charlotte’s. There are photos of half naked men on the walls, the chest of drawers is crowded with perfume bottles, hair products and make-up and clothes are strewn over every available surface. Unlike Charlotte’s room there’s a clothes horse in the corner, decorated with drying underwear – bras, knickers, basques, suspenders – in every conceivable fabric, colour and cut. It makes my drawer of M&S five packs and lace-trimmed black and white bras look positively pensionable.
‘She’s so messy,’ her flatmate, who introduced herself as Ester five minutes ago, comments from behind me. ‘She never do the washing up, always leaving cups and plates in living room but I like live with her.’
Keisha’s room looks like an explosion in a clothes factory but there’s a suitcase and several overnight-type bags stuffed on the top of the wardrobe and her hairbrush, deodorant can, perfume bottles and black satin make-up bag – with pencils, lipsticks and concealers spilling out – are fighting for space on the top of her chest of drawers.
I look at Ester. ‘Is her toothbrush still in the bathroom?’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘You want to borrow that too?’
‘No, but it doesn’t look like Keisha has packed anything for her trip home and I was wondering if she left her toothbrush.’
The look on Ester’s face changes from bemused to worried. ‘I check the bathroom.’
Whilst she’s gone I step through the magazines, bills, bank statements and clothing on the floor and approach her chest of drawers. I glance back towards the hallway then yank open the top drawer. More paperwork and bills. I slide them to one side and discover a rabbit-shaped vibrator, several tangled necklaces, a broken watch and a pair of hair straighteners. I feel like a burglar ransacking her things but I need to … ah! I swoop down on something maroon and leathered, peeping out from beneath an old Christmas card.