Just Like the Other Girls - Claire Douglas Page 0,52
obviously hoping I won’t see, and I pretend not to have noticed as I go to the cupboard to get my boots. Courtney’s got today off so we’re going shopping at Cabot Circus.
‘Una, can I have a word?’ she calls, as I’m pulling on my coat, her voice echoing around the hallway. I wonder where Elspeth is. My heart sinks but I fake a smile and go over to her. She beckons me into the library and shuts the door behind me.
I rarely come into this room, even though it’s beautiful with the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the two high-backed armchairs in a plush mustard velvet positioned either side of the French windows. It’s peaceful and relaxing, yet apart from the books there is no personality to this room. Nothing to say who the McKenzies really are: no ornaments from a memorable holiday or a paperweight on the little round table. Not even a candle or a diffuser, which Courtney and I had in abundance in our flat, mainly to hide the smell of mould.
‘Take a seat,’ she says, indicating one of the chairs. I do as she says, puzzled and a little anxious as to what she’ll want to talk about. She doesn’t look particularly angry. Her face is set in its normal neutral repose so it’s impossible to read what she’s thinking. She sits opposite me and leans forwards, elbows resting on her lap, like we’re the best of friends about to have a cosy gossip.
‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing this up …’ she takes a deep breath ‘… but Mother asked me to have a word with you about Viola.’
The mysterious Viola. My senses are on alert. ‘Okay.’
‘Mother doesn’t like to talk about her. She hurt us all badly when she ran off. As far as Mother is concerned, Viola no longer exists.’
Of course I want to ask questions. They’re inching up my throat, but I know it’s not the done thing in this house so I stay quiet and nod. I can feel heat making its way from my neck to my face.
She sits back in the chair, looking satisfied. ‘And also, while we’re here, I didn’t appreciate you bringing Peter Freeman back to the house. What was all that about?’
I explain about how he’d called around while they were out, and I took pity on him and walked him to the suspension bridge.
‘I know he doesn’t want to believe that his sister killed herself but, Una, you shouldn’t get involved. If there’s any doubt over her death then it’s a matter for the police.’
I nod again, feeling like a five-year-old being told off.
She gets up and I realize it’s now or never. ‘Um, weird question, I know, but do you happen to have Lewis the gardener’s number?’ I blush as I say it and she raises one of her finely arched brows.
‘No, but I can find it for you.’ She gives me a friendly wink and it’s like the Kathryn I know has morphed into a different person in front of my eyes. I’ve only seen her like this once before and it was the day I moved in. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t tell my mother you’re planning on dating Lewis. She’s not a fan.’
Later, when I return to the house after a day of shopping with Courtney, I run into Kathryn as I’m going to my room. I don’t know what she’s doing on my floor, perhaps she’d been waiting for me to come home, but when she sees me she presses a folded piece of paper into my palm without saying anything, then turns and walks away. I unfold the paper. It’s a mobile number that I assume belongs to Lewis. My heart beats faster and I remind myself I’m doing this for Peter. For Jemima. And not because I want to see Lewis again.
It’s a bitter evening. February is even colder than January was. Too cold for snow, my mum used to say. Ice coats the pavements, like sparkly fairy dust, glinting under the amber glow of the streetlights and crunching beneath the soles of my boots. Windscreens of parked cars are already frosting, and I pity their owners tomorrow when they’ll have to scrape the ice away. The cold weather doesn’t stop the university students, though, and the streets of Clifton are busy as I head to the pub around the corner. I’m pleased it doesn’t feel lonely out tonight, and vow to get Lewis to walk me