Just Like the Other Girls - Claire Douglas Page 0,50

are you going to help?’

She raises one of her thick eyebrows. ‘I have my ways. People tell hairdressers everything.’

‘Yes, well, unless he’s about to go to the salon for a haircut I can’t imagine Lewis spilling the beans to you.’

‘Find his phone number. That’s all you need to do. Look through Elspeth’s things if you have to.’

I blush when I remember I’ve already tried to do that.

Courtney notices. ‘You’ve had a snoop, haven’t you? I know you. You’re so bloody nosy.’

I hold my hands up. ‘Okay. Yes. But her study was locked.’

‘Then find the key.’

‘Easier said than done.’

We fall silent for a few moments, both sipping our cocktails. I can’t bring myself to admit to Courtney how I’ve been scrolling through Matilde’s Facebook page and Jemima’s old Instagram posts, searching for clues, similarities. Anything, really. By the look of things Matilde had been bookish, posting about novels she’d enjoyed – she’d particularly liked romcoms – and Jemima’s photographs were mostly of her travels to exotic locations. I’ve examined them all, my heart breaking that these vibrant, seemingly carefree girls’ lives had been cut so short.

‘There’s something else, too. Something weird happened last night.’ I explain about finding my locked door ajar. ‘And when I went to check on Elspeth I was sure she was pretending to be asleep.’

‘That’s creepy.’ Courtney exhales, her face aghast. ‘Do you think she was watching you sleeping?’

I almost choke on my drink. ‘Stop it! You’re not helping!’

She laughs. ‘Sorry. Maybe she’s infatuated with you.’

‘Of course she isn’t!’

‘You said yourself you look like the other girls. She’s obviously got a thing for young blonde things. Maybe she’s in the closet.’

I push her gently so that her drink nearly slops onto her lap. ‘Stop it.’ I laugh. I tell her about the necklace and Kathryn’s insistence it had belonged to someone else.

‘Who did she say it belonged to?’

I shrug. ‘I have no idea. But I don’t believe her. I think it was Jemima’s.’

Later, I walk with her to the bus stop and she leans over to hug me. She smells familiar, of alcohol and Marc Jacobs perfume. I wait with her until her bus arrives, then walk the few streets back to The Cuckoo’s Nest. It doesn’t feel right to call it home. Home is still the flat in Horfield with Courtney. This is just temporary, I remind myself.

The street is empty by the time I turn onto Sion Hill. Clifton Suspension Bridge looks eerie in the distance, the mist haloing around the lampposts and the lights blurring against the inky dark night. I can’t help but think about Matilde, walking home alone on a night out. How did she not see the car coming? It must have been driving fast.

A twig snaps behind me. I spin around but nobody’s there. I pull my hat down further over my head and walk faster towards Elspeth’s house. I can hear footsteps getting closer. I break into a jog, my imagination running wild. That’s all this is, I remind myself, just like the monsters I imagined under my bed, or the witch trying to get in through my window, or the person breathing down my neck last night outside Elspeth’s bedroom. I can almost hear my mum’s soothing voice, telling me there’s nothing to worry about.

I stop running when I reach The Cuckoo’s Nest, and wrench open the metal gate, darting down the front path. I almost drop my key in my haste to open the door. I can’t get into the house fast enough. I’m only brave enough to peek through the crack in the glass panel of the door when I’m safely inside. And that’s when I see a figure in a dark coat, the hood pulled up, crossing the road towards the suspension bridge.

I blink, trying to focus on the person scurrying away, but my contact lenses are irritating me, causing my vision to blur. As I turn away, though, I can’t shake the disconcerting feeling that it was Vince.

I was stupid. You saw me, didn’t you? I could have given myself away. I tried to get too close, too quickly. The time wasn’t right. I could have ruined everything. Patience isn’t my strong point. If I hadn’t stood on that fucking twig you’d never have known I was there. I was with you long before that. I was with you when you left the bar with your tarty little friend. I was with you when you both wove your way to the bus stop, giggling