voicemail again. Half-sobbing, I leave a message, asking him to call me back as soon as possible. As I hang up I catch sight of movement in the mirror and let out a startled scream.
Sebastian is standing right behind me, blocking the bathroom door with his lean frame. How long has he been lurking there?
‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ he says, his eyes skittering from me to the washbag in my hand, to the floor, then back to my face, which is wet with tears. ‘And don’t worry about the wine stain. Rita says she can get it out.’
I nod and then step towards him hoping he’ll move out the way so I can get to my bag and finish packing but he doesn’t move. ‘I need to finish packing,’ I say, holding up my washbag to show him and gesturing at my suitcase behind him.
‘I have a spare room. If you would like to stay with me for a night, it’s OK.’
‘Oh,’ I say, surprised by his offer. A moment ago he looked ready to physically throw me out onto the street. Why the change of tune? Then I realise it’s probably less about him having a sudden burst of human kindness and more about the extra income he’ll earn by renting his spare room to me. I don’t much fancy staying with him but it would mean I wouldn’t have to deal with the hassle of searching online for a hotel and booking somewhere. And it also means that if Kate does show up I’ll be the first to know about it. She doesn’t have her phone or her bag so it would make sense that the first thing she’d do would be to come here trying to find me.
‘OK,’ I say, hesitantly. ‘That would be helpful. Thank you.’
‘Good, good,’ he says, finally moving aside to let me out of the bathroom.
I drop my washbag into my carry-on and zip it up.
‘Can I help you carry your bag downstairs?’ Sebastian asks, hovering at my shoulder.
‘I can manage,’ I tell him.
He nods, his gaze darting around the room, his eyes like two flies unable to settle on anything. ‘I’ll bring your friend’s suitcase down.’
‘Thanks,’ I tell him and watch him scuttle off.
That was weird. My gut feels very iffy about him but I set my misgivings aside. A thought niggles at me: what if he’s done something to Kate? God, I’m going mad. I can’t look at anyone anymore without wondering if they know something or if they’re involved somehow in Kate’s disappearance. Even the old man in the corner shop downstairs came under suspicion when I bought some water from him ten minutes ago and showed him the picture of Kate. His bored shrug seemed to suggest he knew something and wasn’t telling me, or perhaps he just couldn’t understand the question. My judgement feels off and that’s unsettling. I’ve always been so good at reading people but now I feel like I can’t trust myself or my instincts. Everything’s off kilter.
But when I think about Sebastian doing something to Kate it makes me almost laugh. Kate would have socked him one if he’d tried anything. A puff of wind would knock him over he’s so slight. He must weigh less than me and Kate’s no pushover. I’ve seen her get physical a few times with men who got too handsy. One time in a club a man groped me and she kneed him in the balls so hard he fell over and couldn’t get up for five minutes, and another time when a man grabbed her crotch on a bus in Italy she laid into him with her handbag, swinging it like a baseball bat until he leaped off the bus crying.
There’s no scenario I can imagine that would see Sebastian gaining the upper hand over her. At the door to Sebastian’s apartment I pause, once again wondering if this is a smart move. What if the weak exterior belies his real personality? What if he’s actually a serial killer? What if he’s a rapist? What if he’s killed Kate?
Sebastian ushers me inside with a nervous smile, though not nearly as nervous as my own, and I don’t put up a fight.
His apartment has a similar layout to our apartment upstairs, though the living room is smaller and because there’s no roof terrace or French doors to let in the sunlight, it feels darker.
The living room is almost identically furnished with a few more nods to the