than some city fella. I’d have loved to show him he was wrong.
The second thing was that I’d like to see Daisy’s bra collection.
She said, “We need to go to the flat.”
I thought about that night shift on no sleep at all. And said nothing.
Daisy
Walking up the iron stairs to the flat didn’t feel good at all. Walking through the door felt worse.
Gray had been right. Nothing was out of place in the lounge. Also, however I felt, Gilead’s presence wasn’t here. I didn’t believe in that sort of thing. I didn’t burn sage or pursue rituals or worry about vibrations. I got on with my life.
Gray had carried Fruitful up the stairs again because of her ankle, which also meant she’d be feeling more secure. His arms were a comforting place to be. Now, he set her on the couch and asked, “All right?”
No answer, and after a second, I turned from where I’d been headed toward my bedroom.
He wasn’t looking at Fruitful. He was looking at me. He asked, “All right?” again, and I said, “Oh. Yeh. Of course. I’m just …” I swallowed. “Going to see what he got into back here.”
He came with me, and I couldn’t be anything but grateful for that. I switched on the light and looked around. The tenancy agreement, which had been in a wire basket on my desk, was gone. In Gilead’s pocket, I suspected. With my surname on it. My driving license number. My phone number.
I said, “I need to change my phone number.” My voice was steady, somehow. My knees weren’t. The thought of him able to reach me, of his voice on the other end of the line …
Gray put an arm around me, and I was glad of it. He said, “I’m sorry I missed him.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “Him driving, you in the bed of the ute … That doesn’t work out well. It’s not like in the movies. Somebody dies.”
He said, “I earned my living for more than ten years as a professional sportsman, Daisy.” His voice was quiet, and his arm was strong. “Did he get into anything else, can you tell?”
I looked around, and he dropped his arm. I was sorry, and I was glad. I needed to be strong for Fruitful and Obedience. They hadn’t come with us, were still on the couch, I thought. Huddled together. Fruitful’s anger came from fear. I knew it, because I’d felt it. I was feeling it again now.
“Not this, I don’t think,” I said, after I’d opened the file box under the desk. “He’d have thrown things around, surely.”
“Yes,” Gray said. “I saw his face in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t pleasant.”
I didn’t answer him. I opened the closet door instead. It took an effort to do it, like a monster would jump out at me.
No monster. A mess of tumbled shoes, though. A nightdress pulled halfway off a hanger, another one on the floor. I picked it up and smoothed over it with my hand, fighting the emotion. It was ivory with scrolls of blue paisley, in a comfortable nightshirt style that had felt feminine and a little badass, both at once. Like I was Sandra Bullock, in a film where I would have been the one hanging on to the back of the ute, going after the evil ex.
Gray said, “Just because he touched it doesn’t mean he can still touch you.”
I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. I hung the nightshirt back up, straightened the other one on its hanger, and said, “If he was looking in here, he expected to find something.”
Gray said, “Let’s check the other closet.”
We did. Nothing in there, of course, but the door was standing open, and I hadn’t left it that way. I said, “Obedience will have been in here, but she’d never leave a closet door open. Not possible. When you live in one room, you’re tidy.”
We went back out to the lounge, where the girls were still sitting close together on the couch, and I said, “He tracked you here by something, Fruitful. It wasn’t the apron or cap, because we burned them. It wasn’t your bra.”
Fruitful said, “It has to have been my shoes. I left my shoes here, remember?” She shivered. “It’s in my shoes.”
I said, “There’s an insole you can get. For dementia patients, like I said.” I didn’t move, though. I didn’t want to look.
I had to look. Another kitchen rubbish bin, and two cludgy white trainers stuffed into