Just Like the Other Girls - Claire Douglas Page 0,100

it was a man or a woman?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘Someone tall. Taller than Jemima anyway. Wearing a long black coat and trousers. The hood was pulled up on the coat. They suspect a man but they’re not ruling out a woman.’

36

Courtney

Courtney follows the others, heart pounding. Willow is striding out in front. She’s loving this, being the leader, the drama of it all. Courtney can’t help but worry that Willow isn’t taking it as seriously as she should be. After what Peter said tonight, it sounds as though their suspicions are correct, that Jemima and Una were murdered, and Willow could be in danger.

A lump had formed in her throat when Peter imparted his news and it hasn’t left. She has to concentrate on not crying, on not thinking about Una alone on the bridge. Alone and vulnerable in that fog, believing she was meeting Peter but instead being lured to her death. The other day it hit her, like it often does, as though for the first time, and she’d raged and thrown things in the flat, scaring Kris, eventually collapsing in a heap of angry tears on the sofa. Una was so kind, so good. And she’d had such a shit time of it, first losing her mum, then Vince, and she’d handled it all so bravely.

‘She’s with her mum now,’ Kris had said, sitting beside her and awkwardly patting her shoulder, which had just made Courtney cry even more. What did Kris know about any of it? He’s never lost anyone. How can he begin to understand the heavy pressure of grief that sits permanently on her chest.

Peter is next to her, his yellow coat making him stand out, like a beacon of light, in the darkness. She knows he must understand exactly how she’s feeling, having lost a loved one too.

It’s a Saturday night so the streets are busy but it feels to Courtney, in this moment, as though it’s just the three of them, united in this quest.

Willow leads them through the arcade’s empty corridors. It’s spooky at night. They have to light the way with the torches on their phones: three beams bouncing around the ornate ceilings and pillars. ‘It’s a bit scary,’ Courtney admits, her voice small in the large Gothic space as a gargoyle leers at them, its face twisted and ugly.

Peter takes her hand. ‘It’s okay,’ he says. His hand feels warm in hers, safe. He turns to her then, and she can just about make out his smile in the darkness. Her tummy does a weird little back-flip.

Willow stops outside the art gallery. It’s painted white with ‘McKenzie’s’ in black letters. The grilles are down at the windows.

‘Right,’ says Willow, who looks ridiculous in a beanie and an oversized anorak. ‘The camera’s over there. No, don’t turn around and look,’ she growls, when Courtney and Peter are about to do just that.

‘We’re not committing a crime, technically,’ says Peter. ‘We’ve got a key. So why would anyone check the CCTV?’

Willow tuts. ‘Just in case. Although you’ll stand out a mile in that coat.’

‘I could have picked the lock,’ says Peter. ‘Just saying. I’m a firefighter, remember.’

‘You could have mentioned that before,’ hisses Willow.

‘Better to do it legitimately. Then we won’t raise suspicions.

Willow folds her arms across her chest. ‘I got caught by Elspeth stealing this key.’

‘You did?’ Courtney asks in horror.

‘Well, she saw me in the key cupboard but she didn’t notice I had it in my hand. Right, come on.’

They follow her into the shop. Courtney freezes, expecting an alarm to go off, but there’s nothing and she looks around in surprise. The hair salon is always alarmed when it’s closed.

Willow switches on an overhead light and they blink like woodland creatures waking up after hibernation. ‘We’d better not be too long, in case we’re seen,’ says Willow, hands on her hips. ‘We need to search any areas where Kathryn would try to hide a bag.’

They split up. Courtney drifts towards the back of the shop where there is a little storage area. She has some Parma Violets in her pocket, which she keeps nervously eating. It feels eerie being here after dark, and forbidden, like a classroom after school has finished for the day. She walks past a fridge with a kettle on top and goes through a curtained area to where a number of paintings are stacked against the wall. She supposes they’re waiting to be picked up or have just arrived. They’re all