I listened as Sheridan’s words softened, as she suddenly changed tack. ‘You and I, we go back a long way. You were my first kiss. You don’t forget stuff like that.’
My mouth fell open behind my hand. Was she trying to seduce him? Then I remembered: It Takes All Sorts. Sheridan’s first kiss was with a boy named Mike.
Oh, my God, I thought, was that the case in real life, too? To think she’d lived such precious moments choreographed for the viewing pleasure of others . . . No wonder she had such a warped mindset.
‘Thanks,’ she said to Mike on the phone. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’ Another pause. ‘You’ll need a shovel . . . I don’t know, put it in a bag or something . . . Call me when you arrive. I’ll get you in through the back.’
Fear encompassed me as my fate was decided. I could not believe my ears. They were planning to kill me. What else would they need a shovel for? But we were in the middle of New York. My rational brain assessed the situation. What about my baby? It made no sense.
I could not catch the end of their conversation as Sheridan walked into another room. All I could hear was the clicking of her heels and the sound of my own heartbeat. This was it. Sheridan had had enough. She was getting rid of me.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
DYMPNA
‘Why aren’t you answering your phone? I was worried.’
Sitting on her bed, Dympna blinked at Seamus as if he were a stranger. She was so wrapped up in her investigation that she had not heard him let himself in. He was dressed in a navy suit as he was on his way home from work. A newspaper was under his arm, a set of spare keys in his hand.
Dympna scratched her head. ‘What time is it?’ She turned her cheek as he leaned in for a kiss, aware of her stale breath.
‘It’s half seven. Didn’t you go to work today?’ Seamus’s eyes trailed over her walls at the clippings she had pinned overnight.
‘Nah,’ Dympna replied. ‘I called in sick.’
‘That’s the third time this month. You’ll get the chop if you keep this up.’
As Dympna straightened her legs, a plethora of printed papers fell on to the floor. ‘I’m quitting soon anyway. Dad’s helping me with the rent until Roz gets back.’
But the look on Seamus’s face told her he did not approve. ‘You look knackered. Did you get any sleep last night?’
‘Sleep is overrated.’ Dympna suppressed a yawn. ‘I’ll catch a few z’s tonight.’
Picking up a sweatshirt from the floor, she pulled it over her head. It was official. She had become a slob. Soon Seamus would be wondering what he saw in her at all. Not that it mattered all that much these days – she was still trying to figure out if he was the father of Roz’s child.
‘Are you staying over?’ she said, grabbing a hairbrush from the dresser table and raking it through her hair.
‘If you want,’ Seamus said, turning up the heating dial on the wall. ‘Fiona’s opening up in the morning, so I should be OK.’
Dympna pulled a face at the mention of his assistant’s name. She had seen how Seamus’s skinny new assistant looked at him in admiration and glared down her nose at her.
Once a cheater, always a cheater. The words floated into her consciousness, making her stomach churn. Ironically, it was Roz who had said it to her, in what seemed a lifetime ago. She followed Seamus into the kitchen. He was sniffing a carton of milk, having already put the kettle on.
‘Do you not think . . . ?’ he faltered, spooning coffee into mugs for them both.
‘What?’
‘Don’t bite my head off, but do you not think you’re getting a bit obsessed?’
Dympna sighed. She could hardly disagree. Over the last few weeks, all she’d been able to think of was finding Roz. It was as if there were invisible distress signals coming from her best friend. To an outsider looking in, she must seem like the hoarders you see on TV. Notebooks stuffed full of hastily written theories were piled up on her bedside cabinet. Printed papers of information were pinned to her bedroom wall, along with a map of New York. If that wasn’t bad enough, celebrity mugshots were pinned beneath, as if they were suspects rather than A-listers. Her room was beginning to