with her words and Rachel decided against mentioning the letters she’d found, at least for the time being.
She went to the bathroom and washed herself as best she could with one hand. The water was icy and she was as quick as she could manage, taking just enough time to rinse her face and rub a finger over her teeth, which were by now feeling decidedly furry. Leah had left her the packet of painkillers and she chugged back another two of them with a mouthful of water. Her wrist had begun to ache again.
“See you in the morning,” Leah said as she reappeared in the doorway. She kept early hours then.
“Sure thing.” Rachel had napped earlier and wasn’t particularly tired, so once Leah had left she pulled out the book that had been in the suitcase and settled herself on her makeshift bed. A candle gave just enough light to read by. Propping the book on her knees, she turned the first page, reading the inscription. “For my dear Esther. Christmas 1951.” Esther must be the “E” to whom the letters were written. Esther Durrant: the name was familiar somehow, hooking a memory that for the moment eluded her.
Did the letter writer give Esther the book as well, the year before?
As Rachel turned the pages, a small square black-and-white photograph fell out. She held it up and saw that it was of a group of men and women. They were bundled up in coats and hats and standing in front of a stone house—the same one she was now staying in, she realized with a shock. She flipped the photo over to see if there was anything written on the back. “February 1952.”
One of the women was wearing a cloche hat and a coat with a thick round collar. It was the same as the hat and coat in the suitcase. Was this Esther perhaps? She pored over the image, but it was indistinct and grainy.
She couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she was intruding on someone else’s life. She felt like an interloper: wearing the woman’s clothes, reading letters written to her—love letters no less—and now, judging by the well-thumbed pages, reading what must have been one of her favorite books. She scanned the faces of the men and women in the photo: was one of these the person who was in love with Esther, the person who had written the letters, or was it someone else? What had they all been doing here? Was it a holiday? If it had been summer, she might have suspected that, but in winter? Somehow they didn’t look like close friends—their body positions were awkward and each was standing just a little separately from the next. There were no arms slung casually around each other’s shoulders, no sisterly encircling of the waist. True, one of the men was resting a hand on the shoulder of another, but it looked awkward somehow. The picture was certainly very different from the selfies that everyone took these days. After a while, she put the photograph down and returned to the book.
The house was quiet. She’d seen a grandfather clock in the hallway, but it no longer tick-tocked away the seconds or sounded the hours. It had stopped at a quarter to twelve, but who knew when—it could have been months ago, but was more likely years. Leah apparently had little use for timepieces. But then why would you, when the rising and setting of the sun told you all you needed to know?
The scrape of the pages as she turned them and her steady breathing were the only sounds and they helped to quiet the chatter in her mind. After a while, her eyelids began to drift downward and she was almost asleep before she suddenly jerked awake. She had forgotten the candle. It could be disastrous to leave it burning. She sat up awkwardly and blew it out. Smoke curled up toward the ceiling and the smell of the molten wax reminded her of long-ago birthday parties. She felt an unexpected pang of homesickness. Wondered what her mum and dad might be doing right at that moment. She vowed to call them as soon as she got back to St. Mary’s. Wouldn’t go into detail about her misadventures though—she didn’t want them to worry about her.
* * *
It was pitch dark when Rachel woke again. She was certain she’d heard a noise and lay completely still, her heart pounding as she listened hard.
Nothing.
She