This Girl, That Girl, page 12
‘Did you take it off him after the viewing?’ she asked. ‘Did you sell Gabriel Abiodun’s crash helmet?’
Lindsay stared at her lap. Dee watched the tears roll down her cheeks.
‘Yes,’ she said at last, so quietly Dee almost missed it. ‘I’m so sorry. It was an awful thing to do. The very worst. But I was going to lose the house if I couldn’t find the rest of the deposit. I only needed another fifteen hundred pounds. I got five hundred for it, and a couple of hundred for the jacket. My parents lent me the rest.’
Dee closed her eyes. So she’d stolen the jacket, too. At least she’d confessed to that without being asked.
Lindsay lifted her head. Her eyes were wet, her expression wretched. ‘I’m so sorry, Dee. I’ve regretted it ever since.’
26
The doorbell rang at a little after 9 a.m. Scarlett had a horrible feeling it would be Ollie. It was the first time in her life she’d ever felt nervous about seeing her own brother.
‘What’s this, an early-morning check-up?’ she said, the words coming out before she could stop them.
He looked momentarily thrown by the question, as if he’d been rumbled. She tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in her stomach. He’d had no right to steal that key, to enter her garden at night without her knowledge. But why had he come back so soon? What was the purpose of this second visit?
‘Thought I’d take a look at the summer house on my way to work, get an idea of how long it’ll take to clear the junk out. You don’t mind, do you? I won’t be long.’
He strode to the back door before she could answer and swiped at the hook. Scarlett could hardly believe what she was seeing. He was actually pretending to pluck the key when he must already have it in his hand. He was opening the door and on his way out in a matter of seconds. She stared at his retreating back, frozen to the spot. If she weren’t already so freaked out by his behaviour, Scarlett would have been impressed at his ingenuity.
‘Shall I make us some coffee?’ she called after him, realizing that now, when he asked her about the broken window, which he was sure to do, she wouldn’t be able to use the excuse of not having been able to find the key. Not unless she confronted him about stealing it and turning up last night.
‘Yeah, great,’ he said.
She watched him walk up the garden. Straight down the middle this time, not creeping along, tucked into the hedge, like before. She saw him stop abruptly, about fifteen feet from the summer house, as if in surprise, and then walk even faster towards it. Scarlett knew this charade was purely for her benefit, in case she was watching him. He’d obviously thought this through.
Once again, she saw him stick his head through the space where the window had been, as if it were the first time he’d done this. Scarlett rocked slowly on the heels and balls of her feet. Had he come back because he wanted to ask her about the missing window and the only way he could do that without admitting to having come earlier was if he went out there again? Or maybe he hadn’t found what he was looking for during his torchlight search and wanted another go in the daylight.
Was it the card from Gina he wanted or the manuscript? Maybe both. She hadn’t told him she’d brought them into the house, so perhaps he was assuming she’d left them out there. But why hadn’t he just asked her if he’d wanted to see them? It didn’t make sense.
Unless he was looking for something else entirely? Something she might have missed? Because he sure as hell hadn’t come here to estimate the length of time it would take to clear the junk out.
Scarlett kept her vigil at the back door. If he found something and pocketed it, she probably wouldn’t see from this distance. Even so, she couldn’t tear herself away. She only moved when he came out and started walking back to the house. By the time he came into the kitchen she was busying herself at the coffee machine, anxiety fluttering around her breastbone like a trapped bird.
‘What happened?’ he said. ‘Why’s the window missing?’
‘Thought you’d ask that,’ she said, her voice as careless as she could make it. ‘I decided to read Rebecca’s novel after all. Went all the way up there, then realized I’d left the key on the hook.’
Ollie looked at her as if she were mad, even though he must have known that the key wouldn’t have been there. ‘So instead of coming back to get it, you decided you’d smash the window in?’
She laughed. ‘Sort of.’
It was a ridiculously improbable story, but there was no way back from it now and, anyway, so what if he thought she was mad? His nocturnal behaviour was hardly that of a sane individual.
‘It was already badly cracked. I meant to tell you. I thought I’d save you a job, seeing as you’re so busy, so I pushed it in with my cane. I was going to try and board it up, but by the time I’d climbed in, got the manuscript and swept the glass up, I was exhausted.’ She was jabbering now, in a voice that wasn’t her own. She needed to calm down, to relax.
‘How the hell did you climb in?’
‘How do you think? I stood on a garden chair and levered myself through.’
‘But … but you could have cut yourself. Or broken a leg or something. Don’t you think that was a pretty stupid thing to do?’
She shrugged. ‘Probably. But you know me. Once I set my mind on something …’
Ollie sighed. ‘I’ll ask Mickey to come round and fix it. Don’t think I can spare any glaziers right now, but Mickey can handle it. He can do it the same day he gets rid of the flowers.’
Damn. Now Mickey would be here for even longer. Scarlett gave her brother a grateful smile. It killed her to do it because what she really wanted to do was prod him in the chest and remind him that it was her fucking summer house and she’d do what she wanted and would he please stop treating her like a child and why was he pretending this was the first he knew about the broken window when he’d already seen it at four thirty this morning?
But this wasn’t the time to put him on the spot. If Ollie knew something about Rebecca and Gina Caplin, if he knew why Rebecca had kept their friendship a secret, then that was seriously worrying. She needed more time to think things through.
‘That would be great,’ she said. ‘When do you think he’ll drop by?’
Now it was Ollie’s turn to shrug. ‘I’ll have a look at the work diary and let you know.’
He took the coffee she offered him. ‘Was it any good, Rebecca’s novel?’
‘I don’t know. I only started reading it last night.’
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. ‘All that trouble to get it, and you haven’t even read it yet.’
‘I would have done if I didn’t have such a backlog of work.’
‘Tell me about it,’ he said. ‘We’re inundated with jobs right now.’
She looked at him over the top of her coffee cup. ‘Can’t be that busy if you’ve got time to worry about an old summer house.’ She couldn’t resist it.
He looked uncomfortable. ‘Yeah, well, family comes first.’
Family comes first. It wasn’t until Ollie had left and Scarlett was rinsing out the coffee cups that she remembered Rebecca saying that to her once. It had been shortly after she’d moved into this apartment and she’d been completely overwhelmed at how beautiful it was. How perfectly suited to her needs. She’d actually burst into tears, like one of those people on house-makeover shows on TV. Her dad had been there, and Ollie too, plus some of Ollie’s men who’d carried out most of the work.
Rebecca had hugged her and said, ‘Hush now, you silly thing. Family comes first.’
27
When Scarlett saw Mickey North standing on the doorstep the next morning, it was like being teleported back in time. He handed her the cards he’d salvaged from the pavement. Apart from a few lines on his face, he looked exactly the same. Same Viking hair. Same piercing blue eyes. But the sudden onslaught of lust that had caught her off-guard when she’d last been standing this close to him was, thankfully, absent. How was it possible she’d allowed that to happen?
It was she who’d made the first move, all those years ago. Afterwards, Mickey had joked that it was like a scene from a porn movie. Randy plumber and bored housewife in shower. ‘Except I’m not a bored housewife,’ she’d said. To which he’d replied, ‘But I am a randy plumber,’ and the two of them had laughed out loud. It was a once-only thing, they’d both agreed.
Except it wasn’t. It had happened again, six months later, when the toilet seat came loose and he’d had to come back.
‘It’s been a long time,’ he said now. ‘How’ve you been?’ He shook his head. ‘Stupid question. I’m such an idiot.’ He gave her the usual ‘Sorry for your loss’ spiel. Then he stared at his feet. ‘I should have made more of an effort to keep in touch.’
Scarlett cringed. ‘It’s okay, Mickey. I wasn’t some lovestruck teenager. I wasn’t sitting here waiting for you to call. And if I’d wanted to see you again, I’d have broken the showerhead.’
Mickey gave a nervous laugh. ‘You didn’t have to invent a plumbing emergency to get me to come round, you know.’
Shit! Why on earth had she said that?
She assumed he’d wait on the front step while she went to fetch the key to the summer house, but he followed her in. Ollie and Mickey had been best friends since childhood. Back in the days when Scarlett and Ollie were living here with Rebecca, Mickey had been a frequent visitor and, though she hadn’t seen him in ages, that level of familiarity ran deep. That’s what made what had happened between them so mortifying.
All she’d wanted back then was some physical contact. Some intimacy. Something to remind her that she was still alive, that she was still an attractive, desirable woman, despite her ill health. But one thing she’d learned from their two somewhat frenzied encounters was that casual sex left her feeling empty and used.
‘I really am sorry,’ he said.
‘Please, don’t be. I never expected, or wanted, you to call.’
‘I meant about Rebecca,’ he said.
‘Oh, right. Yeah.’
There was an awkward silence. Scarlett put the cards on the floor to look at later. She didn’t want them on her nice, clean counter, not when they’d been sitting outside on the pavement for weeks on end. She went to fetch the key and handed it to Mickey.
‘You can go out through the back door if you like, but when you’ve finished, maybe you can use the side gate?’ He needed to know that she didn’t want him popping back in for a chat or a coffee. Or anything else.
But Mickey showed no signs of wanting to go outside and get on with the job he’d been sent round to do. He looked as if he needed to get something off his chest.
‘She was an awesome woman, your aunt,’ he said.
‘Yes, she was.’
‘Terrible way for her to go.’
His face reminded her of Ollie’s when he’d been trying to hold back tears. She felt herself soften.
‘Help yourself to a coffee before you start on the window,’ she said. ‘You can take it out there with you.’
‘Nah, I’m good, thanks.’ He opened the back door and made to leave. Then he paused and turned to face her. ‘Ollie tells me you broke the window yourself, to get in. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
He shook his head. ‘You could have broken your leg.’
Scarlett sighed. ‘Don’t you start. Ollie’s already bent my ear about that.’
He smiled. ‘You’ve got some gumption, I’ll say that about you.’ His left eye twitched. She hoped it wasn’t supposed to be a wink. Flirting with her was the very last thing she wanted him to do. There it was again. No, it was definitely a twitch. Once again, she got the impression he wanted to say something.
‘He is all right, isn’t he? Ollie?’
She looked at him. ‘Why do you ask?’
Mickey twisted his mouth to one side. ‘I just wondered whether he needs a bit more time off. He might be putting on a good act, but this has hit him hard. He’s not coping with things.’
‘It’s hit us all hard,’ Scarlett said. ‘It’s been a total nightmare. But thanks for mentioning it. I’ll keep an eye on him.’
Mickey shrugged. ‘No need to thank me. It’s what mates are for.’
‘Yeah, but you’re more than a mate. I don’t think he could manage without you, I really don’t.’
She watched him stride up to the end of the garden in his stonewashed denims and big yellow boots, just as she’d watched Ollie stride up there yesterday morning, and the night before. Either Mickey was right and Ollie needed more time off for grieving, or her brother was worried about something else entirely. Unease flickered in her belly. What secret had Ollie and Rebecca been keeping from her? And what did it have to do with Gina Caplin?
Scarlett observed Mickey as he measured up the window. She had more than enough work to be getting on with, but while he was still here she knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. Something occurred to her as he lifted out the black bin bag, the one in which she’d deposited all the broken glass and duct tape, and carried it back towards the house. Why hadn’t Ollie done a better job with the summer house? Why hadn’t he got one of those bigger, sturdier ones installed, with stronger glass in the windows? In fact, why hadn’t he got a specialist to build it instead of doing it himself and rushing it?
Everything related to the house conversion had been done to the highest specification. Like many architects, her dad was a perfectionist, and Ollie, despite all his protestations to the contrary, was a chip off the old block. Having gone to such lengths to ensure that everything relating to the house was perfect, why would Ollie have accepted second-best for the garden? Especially seeing as a summer house was something Rebecca had always wanted. And, now she thought about it, why hadn’t her dad ever said anything about it? It wasn’t like him to keep his opinions to himself.
Scarlett returned to her desk in case Mickey caught sight of her watching him. Without really knowing why, she went into Google and typed ‘Gina Caplin’ into the search bar. She began to jot down notes and dates. If only she could have found Rebecca’s old diaries. That was strange in itself, wasn’t it? Hadn’t Rebecca kept everything? And she hadn’t just used her diaries for recording appointments and special occasions, she’d used them to record her thoughts and feelings too, hadn’t she?
Scarlett rolled her shoulders back to ease the tension in her neck. She still hadn’t looked in the bedroom. She felt a twinge in her stomach. The very thought of opening that door filled her with dread. But what if Rebecca had kept the diaries in there somewhere? The police would have found them during their forensics search, but entries relating to someone called Gina would have been of no interest to them. Not when they’d been looking for information relating to Rebecca and Clive.
Out of curiosity, she changed the filter on her search results to images and studied all the different versions of Gina Caplin’s face that came up on her screen, various photos that her family must have provided. So many news articles over the years, so many different sites. There was, Scarlett thought sadly, always so much more news media when the women who went missing were young, white and middle class. She’d heard somewhere that this even had a name: missing white woman syndrome. What kind of world was it where a hierarchy of missing girls and women existed and only some got the coverage and national outrage they all deserved, every last one of them?
She wandered back out to the living room and over to the bay window. Mickey’s van was no longer there, which meant he must have gone to get the glass cut. There was nothing to stop her going upstairs again right now and continuing her search, only … only she didn’t feel quite strong enough at the moment.
Are you making excuses? Her aunt’s voice questioned her from beyond the grave. ‘Very probably,’ Scarlett replied, unsure whether she felt comforted or distressed by the conversation. Was hearing Rebecca’s voice in her head a sure-fire sign that she was losing her grip on reality? Or did this sort of thing always happen when someone close to you had died unexpectedly?
Just then, she had an idea. She would check her own diaries. Her old work diaries. She never got rid of them. It was her accountant’s brain, trained never to throw away anything that might one day be needed in the event of a tax audit. She would be able to cross-reference her own dates with what had been happening here at the house. She’d visited several times before actually moving in. She’d seen the work in progress, met the men doing all the labouring, talked to Ollie about paint colours and tiles, what style flooring she wanted. And on at least a couple of those visits, she’d seen the ground being prepared for the summer house: the digging up of the old shrubs at the end of the garden, the site being staked out.
She had a sudden vision of a body being lowered into a hole in the ground. A poisonous image that made her stomach churn. She pushed the dreadful thought away. What on earth was wrong with her? Was her life really so lacking in drama that she needed to imagine trouble where none existed? And yet, something odd was definitely going on with Ollie. And Rebecca had kept a pretty massive secret to herself.
She went into her office. As soon as she’d cross-referenced those dates, she could rid her mind of this madness. But as she caught sight of all those Gina Caplins staring back at her from the screen, she realized what it was about her that looked so familiar. Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before.
28
Dee and Lindsay were sitting in the front office. Ever since Lindsay’s confession yesterday, there’d been so many work-related interruptions they hadn’t had a chance to talk properly about the Trevor Cooper situation. Now, there was only thing on the agenda.
‘So what do we do about it?’ Dee asked, not wasting any time.
Lindsay’s eyes had lost their usual sparkle. ‘I’ll call him,’ she said. ‘I’ll apologize and pay him whatever he spent on buying the crash helmet back. And I’ll ask him to nominate a charity and I’ll donate the same amount I got for the jacket. I’ll explain what a terrible year it was, how I must have lost my mind. I’ll make sure he knows that you knew absolutely nothing about it, that I betrayed you, too, and that you’re distraught. I’ll appeal to his better nature. If he has one.’
