neat ranks of makeup and cleansers on the vanity surface.
Where was it?
I pushed aside the lipstick and gloss, the toothpaste, moisturizer, eye makeup remover, half-used blister pack of pills . . . but it wasn’t there. No flash of pink and green leaped out at me. Under the counter, then—in the bin.
I went through to the main bedroom, opening drawers one after another, hunting under chairs. Where was it? Where was it?
But I knew the answer, even as I sank to the bed, head in my hands. It was gone. The tube of mascara—my one link to the missing girl—was gone.
Saturday, 26 September
Harringay Echo website
LONDON TOURIST MISSING FROM NORWEGIAN CRUISE VESSEL
Friends and relatives of missing Londoner Laura Blacklock are said to be growing “increasingly concerned” about her safety. Blacklock (32), who resides in West Grove in Harringay, was reported missing by her partner, Judah Lewis (35), during a holiday aboard the exclusive tourist ship the Aurora Borealis.
Mr. Lewis, who was not with Miss Blacklock on board, reported that he had become concerned after Miss Blacklock did not return messages on board the cruise liner, and when attempts to contact her failed.
A spokesperson for the Aurora Borealis, whose maiden voyage left Hull last Sunday, confirmed that Blacklock had not been seen since a planned trip to Trondheim on Tuesday, 22 September, but the company said that it had been initially assumed that she had decided to curtail her trip. It was only when Miss Blacklock failed to return to the UK on Friday and her partner raised the alarm that they became aware that her departure had not been planned.
Pamela Crew, the missing woman’s mother, said that it was extremely out of character for her daughter not to have made contact, and appealed for anyone who might have seen Miss Blacklock, also known as Lo, to come forward.
- CHAPTER 14 -
I tried not to let the panic overwhelm me.
Someone had been in my room.
Someone who knew.
Someone who knew what I’d seen, and what I’d heard, and what I’d said.
The minibar had been restocked, and I longed with a sudden visceral sharpness for a drink, but I shoved the thought aside and began to pace the cabin, which had seemed so large yesterday and now seemed to be closing in on me.
Someone had been in here. But who?
The urge to scream, to run away, to hide under the bed and never come out, was almost overwhelming, but there was no escape—not until we reached Trondheim.
The realization jolted my thoughts out of their rat-run and I stood, my hands on the dressing table, my shoulders bowed, looking at my white, gaunt face in the mirror. It wasn’t just the lack of sleep. There were deep circles of exhaustion under my eyes, but it was something in my eyes themselves that made me pause—a look of fear, like an animal run to ground.
A whining roar came from the corridor, and I remembered, with a jolt, the cleaners valeting the rooms. I took a deep breath and stood straighter, shaking my hair back over my shoulder. Then I opened the door and put my head out into the corridor, where the hum of the vacuum cleaner still buzzed. Iwona, the Polish woman I had been introduced to downstairs, was cleaning Ben’s cabin just up the corridor, the door wide-open.
“Excuse me!” I called, but she didn’t hear. I ventured closer. “Excuse me!”
She jumped and turned around, her hand on her heart.
“Excuse!” she said, breathlessly, putting her foot down on the switch to silence the hoover. She was wearing the dark blue uniform all the rest of the cleaners wore, her heavy features pink with exertion. “I am startle.”
“I’m sorry,” I said penitently. “I didn’t mean to shock you. I wanted to ask—did you clean my room?”
“Yes, I did already. Something is not clean?”
“It’s not that. It’s very clean—beautiful, in fact. It’s just that I wondered—did you see a mascara?”
“Mass—?” She shook her head, but not meaning no, her expression was uncomprehending. “What it is?”
“Mascara. For your eyes—like this.” I mimed putting it on, and her face cleared.
“Ah! Yes, I know,” she said, and said something that sounded like toosh do resh. I had no idea if this was Polish for mascara or I put it in the bin, but I nodded vigorously.
“Yes, yes, in a pink-and-green tube. Like—” I pulled out my phone, meaning to google Maybelline, but the Wi-Fi still wasn’t working. “Oh, damn, never mind. But it’s pink and green. Have you seen it?”