Just Like the Other Girls - Claire Douglas Page 0,45
me in the face. Standing on the threshold is a man in his twenties, with bright blond hair and eyes the colour of icicles. He’s wearing a puffy yellow jacket.
‘Oh, hi. Can I help you?’ I have to peer up at him because he’s so much taller than me.
‘I’m looking for Elspeth McKenzie,’ he says, with a London accent. He has a checked scarf pulled up around his throat, and a large beauty spot on his left cheek.
‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid she’s not in.’
His whole body deflates with disappointment. ‘Do you know when she’ll be back? I’ve come a long way.’
‘Not until around teatime. Can I help at all? Or pass on a message?’
‘And you are?’ He doesn’t smile. He has a very square jaw and a muscle twitches just under his ear.
‘I work for Mrs McKenzie.’
Why does he look so annoyed? ‘I’m Peter Freeman. Jemima was my sister. She worked here before you.’
‘Oh … of course. I’m so sorry to hear about –’
‘She would never have taken her own life.’ His voice cuts through my words like a guillotine through paper.
‘I – I’m afraid I didn’t know her.’
His face collapses and, for one moment, he looks on the edge of tears. Instinctively I reach out to him and touch his shoulder lightly. He’s weighed down by grief. I recognize it. I live with it too. His pain touches me and, to my horror, my eyes fill in sympathy. He steps away from me. ‘Okay. Well, sorry to bother you,’ he says.
He’s going to leave. I can’t let that happen. This is the perfect opportunity to find out more about the girl whose life I’m living.
‘You want to go for a coffee? There’s a café around the corner. I could meet you there in five minutes,’ I say, my words tumbling out in a rush. I sound desperate and I am. I’ve been stuck in the house on my own all morning.
Surprise flickers on his face, but he nods. ‘Thank you. I’ll see you in five minutes.’
I watch him walk out of the front garden and down the street, his shoulders hunched, his grief almost palpable. And then I go back inside the house to fetch my coat and bag.
15
Una
Peter is standing at the counter behind a queue of people and he looks up when I walk into the café. I’m relieved when I see him. This is the closest café to Elspeth’s house, but I was worried he’d walk straight past it as it’s tucked away between a row of imposing Georgian buildings in what looks like a residential street.
The café is only small and the tables are all taken. ‘Shall we get a takeaway and go for a walk?’ he says, when I reach him. ‘It’s so pretty around here.’
I say okay and we stand awkwardly in the queue, not speaking until we’re served. We both order cappuccinos, then head out into the cold clasping our cups with gloved hands. We wander across the green, our feet sinking into the wet grass, and towards the suspension bridge. It’s shrouded in a faint drizzly mist.
‘I just need to understand how she died,’ Peter says, after a while. He stops and stares at the bridge, horror in his eyes. ‘It’s so high.’
‘Do you want to walk across it?’
He looks surprised. ‘You can do that?’
‘Yes. It doesn’t take long.’
He nods and we stride towards the entrance of the bridge. He looks faintly sick as we walk along the pavement, past the barriers where the cars have to pay. ‘I don’t understand how she could have jumped from here,’ he says. ‘Look at the fences. They’re high.’
It wouldn’t be impossible to climb over them, I think, but don’t say. Instead I sip my coffee, enjoying the warmth. It’s so cold up here. I wish I’d brought my hat. ‘At the other end there’s a wall which would be easy to climb over.’
He winces as though imagining his sister tumbling over it and onto the hard ground below.
‘Did you come down from London today?’ I ask, after we’ve been silent for a few minutes.
He nods. His nose has gone red from the cold. ‘I came on the train. I just wanted to come here to … well, to understand. It was just the two of us, you know? Since Mum died.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I can’t get my head around it. I don’t believe she’d kill herself. Just before Christmas. She loved Christmas. I dunno … I just … Don’t believe it.’