Just Like the Other Girls - Claire Douglas Page 0,99
makeup as usual. Understated. I’m pleased she listened to the brief.
It was hard for me to find dark clothes, considering all my things are so bright. The best I could do was an old black anorak that I threw over a pair of ink-blue satin trousers. I’m wearing a beanie I pinched from Arlo when I moved out to hide my blonde hair.
Courtney has a glass of wine in front of her so I go straight to the bar and order a Coke. I want to keep my wits about me tonight.
She looks up in surprise when I join her at the table. ‘I didn’t recognize you,’ she says, laughing.
I laugh, too, aware of how ridiculous I must look. ‘Is this mad?’ I say, as I slide into my seat.
She sobers up. ‘I have to do this for Una.’ Her eyes fill. ‘I worry about involving you, though.’
I shake my head to silence her. ‘No. I am involved. You know why.’
‘I don’t want to put you in danger.’
‘I could be in danger anyway.’
‘Do you feel safe at the house?’
I admit that I do. ‘Kathryn doesn’t like me, that much is clear. And there’ve been a few occasions when I felt like I was being followed.’ I tell her about the night Vince followed me from the pub. ‘You don’t think he’d hurt Una, do you?’
She splutters on her drink. ‘Vince? No. He loved her.’
‘Didn’t you say he stole from her? If he killed her, he’d never have to pay her back.’
‘But why would he kill Jemima? And Matilde?’
I sit back in my chair. ‘True.’
‘And I’ve known Vince for years. I can’t imagine him hurting anyone. Not physically anyway.’
We look up as Peter walks in. He’s wearing the same mustard jacket he had on the last time. I notice how Courtney’s face brightens when she sees him. He looks as though he’s bursting to tell us something. He fetches himself a pint, then joins us.
I don’t know whether to mention the coat and that I’d said dark clothing. But before I have the chance to speak he blurts out, ‘I had a visit from the police. I know what they said to you, Courtney, and that we didn’t think they were doing anything, but they are. They’re working hard behind the scenes. They told me they have CCTV images of the bridge.’
‘The bridge?’ Courtney asks. ‘The suspension bridge?’
He nods like an eager puppy. I’ve never seen him so animated. ‘Yep. The bridge has CCTV. I never knew that. It’s been hard for them to detect anything because of the fog on the night Una died, but they’ve seen Jemima was with someone on the bridge that night. And it looks as though they were having an argument. Whoever it was, she knew them.’
‘What about the van?’ says Courtney.
‘What van?’ I ask.
Peter fills me in. ‘But the number-plate was obscured, which makes the police think whoever harmed Jemima planned it.’
I’m speechless. And so is Courtney. We both stare at him with our mouths hanging open and I feel a stab of panic. Maybe I am in danger at the McKenzie house, after all.
‘I knew it,’ he adds. ‘I knew she’d never kill herself.’
‘But,’ I say, when I find my voice, ‘she died at the end of December. It’s taken them three months to work this out?’
He shuffles out of his coat. ‘They said something about the glare of the LED lights on the bridge and the weather conditions. She was too far away from the cameras for them to make out exactly what happened, but the fact that there was someone on the bridge with her has made them look more closely into what happened to her and Una.’
‘And the other girl. Matilde?’
He looks doubtful. ‘I’m not sure about that. That might just have been an unfortunate accident. Very different circumstances. But both Jemima and Una died while they were on the suspension bridge.’
‘And did they say anything about Una?’ Courtney asks, hope in her voice.
‘No. They told me about Jemima only because I’m her next of kin.’ He grabs Courtney’s hand and squeezes it. ‘But they’ll find a connection. After this, they can’t think that what happened to Una was an accident.’
Courtney flushes. ‘That’s true. It was foggy the night Una died, though. Will they be able to see anything?’
‘I’m not sure,’ says Peter. I notice his hand is still on Courtney’s. Then, as if he senses me looking, he takes his hand away and sips his pint.