Safely ensconced in my kitchen, I watch Aoife busy herself about the counters, sourcing mugs and brewing tea; the sight of her doing such a mundane domestic task is infinitely soothing.
My mind sorts fast through all my available options. I need her help but there are few ways I will actively be able to get it by being entirely honest with this woman.
Finally, she places a mug down in front of me and smiles.
“If there ever was a woman who looked like she needed a tea,” she says to me, sitting down opposite me at the table and sipping hers.
I can’t tell her about Anna. She’ll think I’ve lost it—if the policedon’t believe me, why would a famous actress? But I need help, I need someone to help.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asks.
“It’s Blue, my cat,” I tell her, this suddenly seeming like my best, most low-stakes-sounding option. Enough for her to help me without freaking her out. “He’s missing and I think the guy I’m seeing has taken him and is ‘holding him hostage’ in the house he’s doing up.”
I know it sounds crazy, but it sounds “fun” crazy, not “closed-ward” crazy.
Aoife smirks.
“Brilliant. Sounds like you found a corker. God, I’ve been there.”
I feel heat on my face. “To be fair, Aoife, I’m not sure it’s likely you’ve experienced a similar situation to this one.”
“God, I hope not. I went out with a guy for three months who I found out planned to kidnap me and keep me locked up against my will in a ski lodge in Canada. So yeah, your situation is slightly different,” she muses and takes a sip of tea.
I stare at her, aghast, yet oddly not surprised at the likelihood of this happening to her.
“That’s horrible.” I can’t tell her how similar the two cases might be. Images of Anna, her bruised face, and her lopsided walk flash through my mind.
“The guy I’m seeing lives on this street,” I begin, unsure how much of this I can and should disclose, “and I’ve only now found out that—”
“Hang on.” Aoife stops me, hand raised politely. “You’re not seeing the shifty guy, are you?”
“Shifty?” I respond, seeking clarification. So many of the neighbors around here could come under that banner. “I’m not seeing Greg. Or do you mean Eric, who keeps going into Number Fifteen? No.”
Aoife frowns. “Eric?Eric’s not shifty, he’s harmless. Like, I don’t get the whole open-relationship situation they’re into over there, but he’s pretty straightforward. And he’s fine being her ‘second partner,’ so that’s that.”
I stare at her. “What? How do you know about their relationship? You’re never even here!”
I don’t mean it to sound judgmental, but it does.
“Ha, yeah, fair point—it’s been a bit busy lately. No, but I do have a Christmas party every December and invite some of the least weird neighbors. It’s grand. You better be coming to the next one. No, but we had shrooms at the last one and Chris and Marina tried to rope me into a four-way with them and Eric.” She takes another gulp of tea. “I politely said no, thank you very much.”
I frown deeply and Aoife stops talking.
“But I saw Eric arguing with Marina, shouting at her.”
Aoife shrugs. “I don’t know, Frankie, but I guess maybe it is a hard situation for him after all. I’d imagine someone’s always a third wheel—but what do I know? But come on, like, everyone argues in relationships,” she says.
“Wait,” I blurt, recalling how we got on to all of this in the first place. “If Eric’s not the shifty guy, who is?”
“Well, maybe notshiftybut…like, keen, way too keen. The architect. Matt, is it? He’s just a bit too…I don’t know, too good to be true.”
“In what way?” I ask quietly, my mind racing. Even though the blue dot from the AirTag is showing Matt’s house, even though I know it could be him, I still can’t quite believe that he could be Simon. But hearing Aoife say this now makes everything seem much more real.
“Fair play if it’s him you’re seeing—I was totally into the attention, too. Until it all got a little much, like too friendly, too quick, you know. I’ve been out with love bombers, and it felt like that. Accidentally showing up all the time, you know? Just bumping into me. He said it was coincidence, so who knows—I’ve been known to overstate. Anyway, I made up some story about a boyfriend moving in. I got someone from the cast to stay over for a weekend. Never heard a peep again. Though to be fair, I saw him sniffing round after you moved in. Sorry—I should have come over on the day and said hi but I’m on this crazy shooting schedule right now and I’m doing press. I swear, they’re trying to kill me with the early pickups.”
She frowns. It’s clear she wants to say something else.
“What?” I ask. “Just say it.”
