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‘Course you are.’ I walk to the window and look across the garden. The lights are on in the office, and I can make out Max sitting at his desk with his laptop open. His hand is pressed to his ear, and I’m convinced he’s talking on the phone.
‘I just need all the shifts I can get,’ Sarah is saying. ‘Got to keep a roof over our heads.’
‘Look, if you need?—’
‘Got to go,’ she says, with no warning. ‘Ivy’s shouting for me. Knew it was too good to be true that she’d actually be asleep before eight! But according to Mum, she drifts off the second her head hits the pillow when she’s there. Good old Grandma!’
‘Go,’ I urge. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
I glance out of the window again; Max is still on the phone, throwing his arms around and shaking his head.
Turning away, I survey our bedroom. It’s usually a calm, tranquil place, but Max’s clothes lie strewn across the bed. The expensive navy suit crumpled in a heap. I pick it up and try to smooth out the creases. It’s no use, but it’s due to be dry cleaned anyway; it’s been a few weeks since I last had a chanceto go. With the dry cleaners being right across the road from Whispering Pages, it makes sense that I’m the one that chore falls to.
I check the pockets – nine times out of ten Max will leave coins or receipts in there, and Demitri, who owns the place, always reminds me to check.
I place my hand inside the left pocket, surprised to find no loose change in there this time. My fingers clasp something, though – smooth and solid, like a bank card. I pull it out, surprised to see it’s a plain white card. Not a bank card, or any kind of loyalty card.
On closer inspection, I realise it’s a key card. And it’s embossed with the logo of the River Walk Hotel.
TWO
I barely sleep, and when morning comes, my head is heavy, clouded with fog. Last night, I waited for Max to come to bed, ready to confront him with the key card. But before I could, Poppy had woken with night terrors and wouldn’t sleep anywhere but our bed. So instead, I spent most of the night watching him, our little daughter pressed between us, nausea and anxiety invading my body, wondering how my husband could be linked to a murdered woman in a hotel room.
After dropping Poppy at school, I walk along Upper Richmond Road, heading towards the bookshop. When I’d first bought the business from Mum, I’d longed for the shop to be right on Putney High Street, where footfall is greater, and I’d assumed I’d attract far more customers. I’d scoured local estate agents, hoping that a retail unit would come up for rent or sale. Of course it would mean higher business rates, but I was willing to risk that for a prime position. But in the end, I’d listened when Mum had insisted that anyone who loved books would be willing to walk a few extra metres to experience the atmosphere of Whispering Pages. She’d baulked when I’d refurbished and added a small coffee bar, but she’d still given her blessing, admitting that it was up to me to do as I saw fit.
News travels fast, and the atmosphere around Putney this morning has changed; serious expressions on faces, clusters of people murmuring quietly. All of us affected by the death of a woman most of us won’t know. The River Walk Hotel is on the other side of Putney Bridge, towards Fulham, in the opposite direction from the bookshop. But still I feel the presence of Alice Hughes everywhere, of what she’s left behind.
The temperature has dropped further this morning, and with the clear blue sky, it feels more like January than November. I plunge my gloved hands into my pockets, finding the hotel key card. Fear seeps through my blood, cold and heavy. Tonight, after work, I’ll confront Max. A coincidence; it has to be. There’s a reason Max has that card. He found it. He meant to hand it in but hasn’t had time. And then we’ll laugh about it. How easy it is to jump to conclusions without context. This is what I tell myself, as the alternative is too heinous to imagine.
I’d tested the waters this morning, as we sat silently at breakfast. Poppy was with us so I’d had to be careful, but I’d asked Max if he’d heard the news about Alice Hughes. I’d studied his face for…what? Recognition? Lies? But he’d kept his eyes on his phone and shaken his head. A tragedy. That’s what he’d said, before biting into his toast. And when I’d said it was funny how neither of us has ever been in that hotel, he’d frowned. ‘We’ve had no reason to,’ he’d said, his eyes still fixed on his phone.
Now, as I head towards the bookshop, I’m determined to find out for myself why my husband had that card in his possession. And why it’s for the same hotel where a woman has just been murdered.
The shop door is already unlocked when I place my key in the lock. I push through, and immediately see Cole standing in the coffee bar. He smiles and lifts his hand in a small wave. ‘Morning, Hannah.’
‘I thought I was opening up today?’ I say. ‘It’s your day to start late.’
‘I was up anyway so thought I may as well come in. Couldn’t sleep for some reason.’ He sprays disinfectant onto one of the tables and meticulously wipes it down. He’s wearing dark grey trousers and a thick black jumper with a shirt and red striped tie underneath. I’ve told him he doesn’t have to wear a tie, and that as long as he’s semi-smart, I’m fine with whatever he’s comfortable in. Before me, Mum didn’t insist on a dress code either.
I’ve never met anyone like Cole before. Everything about him is a contradiction. He’s thin and tall, around six foot – the same height as Max – yet it’s easy to overlook him in a room. While Max silently commands attention just by his presence, Cole seems to fade into the background, almost as if he’s willing himself not to be seen.
‘I couldn’t sleep either,’ I say. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’ I head across to the sales counter and set about opening up the tills.
‘Yes, it is. I’ve been cursed with this insomnia since I was a kid,’ Cole says.
I look up. ‘I meant the woman in the River Walk Hotel.’
He stops cleaning and stares at me, his face blank.
‘You haven’t heard?’
‘Nope. What woman?’
I tell him about Alice Hughes, and his face falls. ‘That’s terrible. Right here on our doorstep. Poor woman.’ He resumes wiping tables. ‘I just don’t read the news, Hannah. It’s too depressing. Isn’t it better not to know about awful things happening? It doesn’t do us any good, you know. Especially first thing in the morning.’
I open my mouth to disagree but stop short when the door opens and an elderly woman walks in. ‘Just browsing,’ she calls, waving her arm around. ‘Don’t need any help.’
Cole glances at me, raising his eyebrows. ‘Um, sorry, we’re not actually open yet. It’ll be another half an hour.’
