The Apartment - K. L. Slater Page 0,67

pointing at the words on the page and whispering them to herself.

‘Quiet here, isn’t it?’ Brenna says as we pad downstairs. I’ve been careful to lock the apartment door behind me even though I’ll be no time at all. ‘I’ve never been in a converted house where you can’t hear a squeak from the other residents. Usually, there’s a lot more noise than in soundproofed purpose-built apartment buildings.’

I can’t even recall what I say. I think I just make an agreeable sound. I can’t stop thinking about why Audrey Marsden has taken to calling Brenna if they barely know each other. Her explanation doesn’t really stack up.

As we descend the last flight of stairs, an old familiar weight settles on my chest. The realisation dawns that people are talking behind my back, sidelining me. People I thought I could trust and had a solid rapport with.

I honestly felt like I had a deeper understanding of Audrey after our lunch together.

She’d tried to make me feel as though I was a part of the Adder House family by getting involved in Skye’s school arrangements as she had. Even though she obviously has her own secrets to hide.

But now . . . now all my old imposter insecurities are flooding back. Just as we get to the front door, something occurs to me.

‘When did you give Audrey your phone number?’ I keep my voice down, mindful of the echoing entrance hall.

Brenna frowns. ‘I didn’t. It never occurred to me to wonder how she got it. It’s not online, I know that.’

Brenna has online profiles pertaining to her research work, but I’ve looked before and only her work email and the university’s general landline number with her extension appear there.

But there’s an old-fashioned contacts book on our hall table that I’ve had since being a child. It has A-Z indexed pages and the cover is frayed and loose, but I’m very fond of it.

I write everyone’s address and phone number in there just in case my phone dies and I need to make a call.

It’s the only possible place that Audrey could have obtained Brenna’s number.

When Brenna has left, I go upstairs, kiss a sleepy Skye goodnight, and then go back into the kitchen. I pour another glass of wine for myself and sit at the breakfast bar with my laptop to google search ‘Sophie Taylor’.

The search page informs me that Google has found 114 million results. I scan through the first five pages but find nothing that looks remotely relevant.

I try searching other word combinations:

‘Sophie Taylor, Melissa Taylor Adder House’.

‘Sophie Taylor death’.

I try one awful combination after another, but there’s nothing conclusive.

I know that everyone has the right to be ‘forgotten’ online these days, that it’s possible to remove historical information.

What if someone had wanted references to the death of Sophie Taylor to disappear?

It’s so utterly frustrating, like searching for a needle in a haystack. And then I have a brainwave.

39

The next morning, I don’t have to wake Skye. She comes into my bedroom as I’m pulling up the blind.

‘Mummy, why have you moved my toys around?’

I turn to look at her. ‘I haven’t, poppet. Show me.’

I follow her into her room, a creeping unease stirring in my abdomen. She points to the floor.

‘My Sylvanian Family house was over there last night.’ She points in front of the wardrobe. ‘But when I woke up, it was over here and the mummy rabbit is completely missing.’ She scowls up at me. ‘I’ve looked but I can’t find her anywhere.’

I sit on the edge of the bed, my heart racing. Nothing makes sense.

‘The voice in my dream told me you have it,’ Skye adds and I breathe a sigh of relief.

She’s just dreaming they moved!

‘Mummy rabbit will turn up, sweetie, don’t worry. You probably moved the house when you were tired and just forgot.’

‘I DIDN’T!’ She stamps her foot.

‘Hey, madam! Remember Lily lives underneath us and it’s still early.’

Skye follows me into the kitchen, her face surly. She looks tired, as if she hasn’t slept that well.

I’m reaching for the breakfast dishes when I hear her gasp. ‘Mummy, my painting!’

I look at the wall next to the fridge and see the last painting she did at Grove Primary is still there but it’s been torn right up the middle.

‘Oh!’ The unsettled feeling is back and Skye looks alarmed. ‘Maybe I caught it as I walked by and didn’t notice. Sorry, poppet.’

She’s not impressed and stalks out of the room.

Was it torn last night when