After a moment’s pause her shoulders sagged, and she met my eyes briefly.
“Okay,” she said. “Come on, darling—let’s see what’s on the TV and have a cuddle.” She led Edwin off to the sitting room.
I hurried into the kitchen and scooped the wads of bloodstained kitchen paper from the table, bundling them into a carrier bag which I stuffed underneath the top layer of rubbish in the bin. Then I dashed through to the annex and changed into a clean T-shirt, leaving my bloodstained top soaking in cold water in my bathroom sink. I returned to the kitchen just as the kettle finished boiling, and I picked the dried blood from under my fingernails while the tea brewed in the pot.
9
Seraphine
I’M PARKED OUTSIDELaura’s office again, preparing to ring her, to ask her to come down and meet me. Across the pavement and through the glass doors, I can see the receptionist stapling sheets of paper together. A young woman who looks like she might still be a teenager collects a pile of letters from the desk and disappears into the elevator.
My phone vibrates, and an unknown number flashes up. The wordsDear Seraphine, Martin says that manmake me smile, as I picture Pamela nipping home on her lunch break and collaring her elephant-memoried husband. She’s a kind woman.
Dear Seraphine, Martin says that man’s name was Alex Jay Kaimal. Lived in Leeds. He sold the Collisons’ cottage about a year after your mother RIP passed away. Young Billy Bradshaw handled the sale. Martin spoke to Alex on the phone after the accident, but he had nothing to add to the investigation. Warmest regards. Pamela Larch.
I send a quick response—Mrs. Larch, Thank you so much, I really appreciate your help. Seraphine.
Then I typeAlex Jay Kaimal Leedsinto my web browser.
There’s a senior executive for an engineering company in Leeds with that name. He’s also associated with a private company registered in India, a running club in Roundhay, and as a donor at a charity ball for diabetes research. I can’t find a Facebook account for him, but I tap on a thumbnail picture on the engineering company website, and an image of a middle-aged man in a jacket and tie springs up.
He is broad shouldered with a blend of Asian and Caucasian features; his skin a mid brown, his hair dark. His posture exudes confidence, and his serious expression is warmed by the hint of a smile around his eyes. If he was the same age as my parents, he’d be in his mid-fifties now, but he looks younger here—no trace of gray in his short hair. Perhaps it’s an old photo, or perhaps he’s lucky, or perhaps he’s vain. I think of Pamela saying “ever so handsome,” and even on my little screen, I see that he might possess a certain charisma.
I scrutinize his face.Who are you, Alex Kaimal? What was your relationship with Laura? Why did you disappear after my mother died?
I sigh and tap away, calling the insurance company in front of me before I can change my mind. The phone rings twice.
“Good afternoon, Crowford Insurance. How may I help?”
“I’d like to speak to Laura Silveira, please,” I say.
“One moment. I’m putting you through.”
The ringtone sounds six times, seven, eight. No answer. The receptionist comes back on the line after the ninth ring.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Silveira doesn’t appear to be at her desk at the moment. Would you like me to try someone else?”
I curl forward, bumping my forehead against the steering wheel.
“But I rang this morning.” I struggle to keep my tone calm.“You told me—was it you I spoke to? You told me she’d be here all day.” I keep my gaze fixed on my knees, not wanting to look across and catch her smiling, although when she speaks again I can hear it in her voice.
“She may have gone out to an external meeting. Perhaps you could try again later?”
I hang up.
If she’s gone out to a meeting, she might not come back to the office. But what if she’s still in the building? What if she’s avoiding answering her phone after she was lured down for a nonexistent delivery last week? My forehead leaves a damp patch on the steering wheel when I sit up.
I call Edwin’s number, but he doesn’t answer. Busy at work. I call the Winterbourne landline in case Danny is hanging out there today—he’s been cagey about his plans since he got back from working in Kenya last month, shrugging off questions even before Dad’s accident. My twin brother is still looking for his place in life. In a different way to me. I hang up when the Winterbourne answer machine kicks in, and I try Danny’s mobile, but again, no answer.
My thumb hovers over Vera’s number, but I flick past and in the end choose to send Edwin a text.Can I stay with you tonight?Unlike Summerbourne, Winterbourne House is protected with sophisticated locks and a burglar alarm, but I have my own key and I know the code. I’m asking out of politeness.
A reflected glint from the sliding glass doors catches my eye, and it takes me a full second to register that the tall figure striding down the steps in front of me is Laura. It’s midafternoon, and she has no bag with her, just a white envelope clutched in one hand. She turns sharply to the left, knocking shoulders with a burly man in a suit as she passes, causing him to mutter something crossly to her back. I shove my phone into my trouserpocket and leap out of the car, dodging around other pedestrians to keep her hunched figure within sight as far as the park gate, where she turns in.
I sprint ahead, sweat soaking into my top. I can’t lose her again. When I swing through the gate, I spot her instantly, veering away from the main path, hurrying over toward the empty bandstand. I jog along the inner line of the boundary hedge, not following her directly but closing the gap between us. As she reaches the bandstand, she skirts its perimeter and approaches a bench and a trash bin. I keep my face turned away, toward the hedge, as I jog past, but there are some trees up ahead, and when I reach them, I circle around to get as close to her as I can without being seen.
She doesn’t sit on the bench. She tears the envelope open, and her hands are shaking. She tugs out a folded sheet of paper, opens it, and looks at it for a few seconds, and then she turns to bend over, one outstretched arm supported by the top of the trash bin, and she vomits onto the ground.
I draw a deep breath in, my stomach clenching. What on earth is this? Has she brought this letter out of the office to open away from prying eyes? What does it say?
