This Girl, That Girl, page 18
Dee increased her pace. What a great evening this had turned out to be. She’d have been better off staying at home and never venturing out in the first place. It would be embarrassing, returning so soon. What if her dad was making the most of her absence and had invited Eva Kowalski round for a drink? Dee would turn up, clutching her sad plastic bag of white wine and chocolates, like the forty-year-old loser she was, and they’d both feel sorry for her. Was there anything worse than being pitied by your own father and his late-middle-aged girlfriend?
Dee reached the bus stop and perched on one of the red plastic seats under the shelter. Who was she more cross about here? Lindsay, for her lax attitude to men and sex, for her total disregard for the reputation of their business? Or herself, for being sad and lonely, for having no one else she could call up and hang out with, for having no fucking life?
When the bus pulled up about five minutes later Dee briefly considered not getting on. She could always go back to Tesco and mooch about for another hour. It was massive, that store. She could look at the clothes and the books and the stationery, kill a bit of time. Maybe she could go and eat a burger somewhere and go home after that. But what was the point? She wasn’t in the mood for shopping or eating burgers. She’d been in the mood for having a drink with Lindsay, for making things all right between them, and now that wasn’t going to happen she might as well go home.
She got on the bus, tapped her Oyster card on the reader and found a seat towards the back. At least if she had her own place, nobody would ever know how pathetic she really was. Nobody would know she spent her evenings in her pyjamas, cross-legged on her bed, watching crap on TV.
As the bus pulled away, Dee had an image of Ollie Quilter and Lindsay standing in someone’s back garden, heads tilted back, watching the fireworks. He would probably have his arm around her shoulders and she would be nestling against him for warmth. She pictured them waving their stupid sparklers around like kids and swigging beer from bottles. Later, when the party was over and everyone had drifted away, he’d drive her home and she’d invite him in for a coffee. Except it wouldn’t be coffee she was really offering him, and it wouldn’t be coffee he’d be saying yes to.
41
The answerphone was blinking when Dee went into the office the next morning. If today turned out to be anything like yesterday or the day before that, she was in for another tense and awkward eight hours, with her and Lindsay doing their best to avoid each other.
She pressed play then went to hang her coat up. Scarlett Quilter’s voice filled the room. There was something different about it today. She sounded anxious. A little breathless.
‘Dee, I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.’
Dee rang her straight back. ‘Hi, I’ve just heard your message. Is everything okay?’
‘No. No, it isn’t. I’m afraid we need to put the funeral arrangements on hold.’ She paused. ‘Something’s come up.’
Dee frowned. When people said, ‘Something’s come up,’ it usually meant they didn’t want to give any details. It was on a par with ‘family emergency’ or ‘personal issues’. Scarlett had been so open with her thus far, it seemed odd for her to be holding back now.
Dee sat down at her desk, immediately fearing the worst. Had she seen those two bad reviews? Was she having second thoughts about using their services? Dee would have been mortified whichever of their clients, past or present, had seen those hateful words, but for some reason Scarlett Quilter’s opinion was even more important to her.
Maybe it was the father putting pressure on her to play safe and go with the Co-op. Dee could still remember the disparaging way he’d said the word ‘alternative’. If that were the case, then the conversation was going to be difficult, seeing as Scarlett had already signed the agreement forms and paid her deposit.
Dee swivelled round in her chair and pulled open the middle drawer of the filing cabinet behind her, walked her fingers to the hanging file marked P–Q and extracted the relevant paperwork, placed it on the desk in front of her.
‘Would you like me to pop round for a chat?’ As soon as she’d said this, Dee regretted it. She’d made it sound like she was available at the drop of a hat, that she had nothing more pressing to do. But it was too late now – the offer had been made. In any case, she wanted to see Scarlett. And at least it would get her out of facing Lindsay for a bit longer.
‘Would you?’ Scarlett said. ‘I’d really like that.’
Dee breathed out in relief. It couldn’t be the reviews. It sounded like Scarlett was on the verge of tears. Maybe the police had unearthed new evidence about Rebecca’s murder. That could really delay things.
‘I’ll be with you shortly,’ she said, wondering what could be troubling Scarlett Quilter so much that she was practically crying over the phone.
The shop door swung open just as she was finishing the call, and Lindsay came bowling in. Dee hated how tense she felt just seeing her.
‘I’m going to see Scarlett Quilter,’ she said. ‘She sounded really upset on the phone. Wants to put the funeral arrangements on hold.’
Lindsay sniffed. ‘Well, if anyone can cheer her up, it’ll be you, won’t it?’
Dee caught her glance and held it. Lindsay turned away first. She shrugged her coat off and slung it over the spare hook by its hood. Then she went into the kitchen and started clattering around, humming tunelessly, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Dee clenched her jaw in irritation. Then before she knew quite what she was doing, she’d followed her into the tiny cupboard of a kitchen and started saying things she knew she’d regret but which were coming out anyway. She couldn’t seem to stop herself.
‘Maybe she’s found out you’re seeing her brother.’
Lindsay slammed her mug down and spun round to face her, but Dee carried on, undeterred. ‘I know you went out with Ollie Quilter last night. How many more men are you intending to sleep with?’
Lindsay stared at her. ‘Have you been spying on me?’
Dee’s cheeks flushed with heat. ‘No! But I saw you. I saw him come to your house.’
Lindsay shook her head in disbelief. ‘So you were spying on me. Jesus Christ, Dee, haven’t you got anything better to do with your time than hanging around in Woolwich trying to catch me out?’
‘I wasn’t spying on you. I was coming round to apologize. I was bringing you wine and chocolates.’
There was a long silence. Dee blinked back the tears. ‘I’m sorry for saying those mean things to you. I don’t like what you did, but I don’t want to fall out with you over it. I hate how we’re arguing all the time. I just want us to go back to how we were before.’
Lindsay rested her hands on the counter and closed her eyes. ‘How can we go back, now that I know what you really think of me? How can we ever go back to how we were before?’
42
As soon as Scarlett opened the door to her Dee could tell that she hadn’t been mistaken. Scarlett had definitely been crying, and for some while, by the looks of her red, blotchy eyes. Her hair was untidy, as if she hadn’t brushed it since getting up.
‘Thank you for coming round. I’d have come to you, but …’ She waited until Dee was in the hallway before closing and bolting the door behind them. Dee gave her an enquiring look.
‘The fact is, I’m not sure I want to leave the house at all right now.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Are you unwell?’
‘Not exactly. Well, no more than usual.’
Dee followed her inside. Scarlett gestured towards the armchair. ‘Please, take a seat. I’ll make us some coffee. You like it strong, don’t you?’
Dee nodded, and Scarlett went off to the kitchen. Dee’s gaze wandered around the room while she waited. This was now the third time she’d been here, but she was still taken aback by the beauty of it. Each time she visited, she noticed little things she hadn’t fully registered before. The contemporary glass sculpture on a small round table tucked in the corner. The way the mirror above the fireplace reflected the huge piece of abstract art on the wall opposite, so that it looked almost like a second picture. How the cushions on the sofa were all different colours and patterns and sizes but somehow complemented each other perfectly.
Even with bits and pieces left out on the coffee table and a big pile of messy papers on the floor, the room didn’t look untidy. At home in her dad’s flat, mess just looked like mess. Here, the clutter seemed almost artful. Dee couldn’t help feeling envious. But when her eyes glided towards Scarlett she checked herself. Just because someone lived in a gorgeous home like this and had nice stuff it didn’t mean their lives were perfect. Of course it didn’t. Something about Scarlett Quilter wasn’t right. It wasn’t just her red eyes and messy hair, it was the anxiety etched into her face, the awkward, stiff way she was moving. Perhaps her ME symptoms had flared up again. Or was it something else?
Scarlett was now wheeling the coffees through on the little trolley. ‘Do you mind moving all that on to the sofa for me?’ she said, gesturing at the papers on the floor with her chin.
Dee sprang out of her chair to lift them up and, as she did so, she recognized something about the font and layout of the printed words that made the hairs on her arms stand up. No. It couldn’t be. There must be some mistake.
She scanned the first few sentences on the top page and her ears began to buzz. How was this possible? Why did Scarlett Quilter have a copy of Gina’s novel?
She glanced up at Scarlett, who was clearly waiting for her to move out of the way. ‘Where did you get this?
Scarlett looked at her in surprise. ‘It’s my aunt’s novel.’
Dee stared at her.
‘Do you remember me telling you that she wanted to be a writer?’
Dee nodded, unable to speak.
‘It’s a rather sweet romance.’ Scarlett smiled, weakly. ‘Reading it makes me feel like she’s still here.’
‘May I … May I have a quick look?’
‘Sure,’ Scarlett said. ‘Do you read much romantic fiction?’
Dee scarcely heard what she was saying. She took the manuscript back to her chair and leafed through it while Scarlett pushed the trolley into position and sat down on the sofa. She wasn’t mistaken. This was Gina’s novel. It was identical.
‘I’ve seen this before,’ she said, forcing herself to meet Scarlett’s curious eyes. ‘In fact, I’ve got the very same one at home in my bedroom.’
Scarlett pulled a face. ‘Why would you have a copy of something my aunt wrote well over ten years ago?’
‘Because … because it isn’t her novel.’ Dee stood up, suddenly remembering how Scarlett had bolted the door when she’d come in. ‘It’s Gina’s novel. Her parents gave me a copy a couple of weeks ago.’
‘No, no, that’s not possible. This is definitely Rebecca’s. I’d recognize her voice anywhere. The language. The cadence. Everything about it.’ Something strange happened to Scarlett’s face then, as if a troubling thought had just that moment occurred to her.
And as she watched her, something occurred to Dee, too. Gina had been so sharp, so funny. Dee had expected at least some of that to come out in her friend’s writing. She’d been surprised and, if she were honest, disappointed at how dated and flowery Gina’s novel had seemed. How old-fashioned.
Almost as if it had been written by a much older woman.
Scarlett had her face in her hands now, and Dee’s stomach dropped. She had no idea what Scarlett was about to say, but she knew it couldn’t be good.
‘I discovered something a little while ago,’ Scarlett said at last, looking up at Dee. Dee felt the muscles in her chest tighten. ‘Your friend Gina and my aunt were in touch with one another. I don’t know how their friendship started – whether they kept in touch after Rebecca stopped teaching you, or whether they met again some time afterwards. All I know is, Rebecca gave Gina a copy of her novel to read, and Gina sent her a card, telling her how much she’d enjoyed it.’
Dee sat back down again. So it was true. The novel she’d read and thought was Gina’s had been Rebecca Quilter’s all along. All her silly theories about who the characters might be based on were utterly meaningless. As was the argument she’d had with Lindsay about the love interest being based on Jake.
‘Can I see it? This card?’
Scarlett reached for a book on the end of the sofa and removed an envelope from inside. She handed it to Dee, who drew the card out with trembling fingers. She recognized the picture on the front straight away. Somewhere in her box of treasured items back home in her bedroom was an identical card that Gina had once given her. She must have bought a whole set of them. Dee looked at the familiar handwriting. The neat, evenly spaced letters with the distinctive full stops. Gina had never filled them in, always wrote them like tiny circles.
‘How long have you had this?’ Her voice was barely audible.
‘I only found it recently. It was in the summer house. With the novel.’
‘How come I didn’t know about their friendship?’ Dee said. ‘How come you didn’t know? Or Gina’s family and friends?’
Scarlett wrung her hands. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything. It’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you.’
Dee straightened her spine. ‘When was the last time your aunt saw her? Was it near the time she disappeared?’
Scarlett was biting her bottom lip and shaking her head.
‘Why didn’t she ever come forward to say she’d known her?’ asked Dee.
‘I promise you, Dee, I don’t know the answers to any of those questions. I wish I did.’
‘So why didn’t you say anything when you found it? Why didn’t you tell me? Oh my God. You don’t think Rebecca had something to do with Gina’s disappearance?’
The image of the bolted front door once again flashed into Dee’s mind. She sprang to her feet. ‘Why did you bolt the door as soon as I came in? What the hell is going on here?’
‘I can’t, I …’ Scarlett’s hands covered her face.
Dee’s stomach dropped like a stone. Ollie Quilter. He’d carried on living here after Scarlett had left. If Rebecca had kept in touch with Gina, there was every chance she’d come to this house. He’d have met her, wouldn’t he?
‘Is it your brother you’re scared of? Or your father? Was that why Rebecca never said anything? Scarlett, you have to tell me what you know!’
Scarlett clasped her hands together on her lap. ‘Ever since I mentioned the card, Ollie’s been looking for something. In the summer house. In Rebecca’s apartment. I have a strong suspicion that it’s the very same thing I was looking for when I went up there. Rebecca’s old diaries. It was the day you rang me about Rebecca’s ashes. I wanted to find out the last time Rebecca had seen Gina.’
Dee moistened her lips with her tongue. ‘That’s why you were asking me questions about what Lindsay and I remembered about your aunt teaching us.’
Scarlett nodded. ‘I wanted to know if you knew anything about their friendship, but you didn’t. Please, Dee, you have to believe me. I don’t know anything. I’m struggling to understand this too. All I know is, Ollie hasn’t been himself since I mentioned the name Gina. He stole the key to the summer house. I saw him prowling around out there in the middle of the night, and he’s been acting strangely ever since.’ She plucked at the hem of her T-shirt, not meeting Dee’s eyes. ‘And my dad’s been …’
Dee leapt to her feet. ‘For Christ’s sake, Scarlett. Do you think this has got anything to do with Gina going missing? And what about what happened to Rebecca and Clive? Maybe it’s all connected somehow.’
‘No, it can’t be. It can’t be.’
Dee grabbed her bag from the floor and took out her phone. Her hands were shaking so much she almost dropped it.
‘Phone the police, Scarlett. Phone them now, or I will.’
43
The room began to sway. There was a whistling in her ears. Now that Scarlett had confessed her fears, there was no taking them back. She felt a cold hand on the nape of her neck. Dee was beside her on the sofa, perched on the edge.
‘Put your head between your knees,’ she said. Dee’s voice sounded distant and muffled, as if it were coming from another room. Scarlett did as she was told and waited for the feeling to pass. When it did, a few moments later, she sat up. Dee was staring straight into her face.
‘Are you all right? Can I get you some water?’
Scarlett nodded weakly. She pressed her forehead with her fingers and closed her eyes. When Dee returned from the kitchen with a glass she took it from her hands and drank greedily. Her arms were shaking and water sploshed on to her chin and down the front of her top.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. Her voice sounded high and feeble. ‘I’ll be okay in a minute.’
Dee took the glass from her hands and put it on the trolley. ‘Take your time. I’ll stay with you while you phone the police.’
Scarlett shook her head. ‘No, please, I’d rather be alone when I make the call. I need a few minutes to myself before … before …’ She clamped her hand to her mouth and lurched over her lap, aware of Dee leaping to one side.
‘Are you going to be sick?’
Scarlett focussed on breathing deeply and slowly through her nostrils. She would not be sick. She would not. When she looked up, Dee was staring at her bleakly.
‘I’ll be okay. I just need to compose myself. I’ll ring them. You have my word. I just need some time alone with my thoughts before I make the call. It will change everything for me. Everything. You do see that, don’t you? If I’ve got this wrong and there’s another explanation, Ollie will never forgive me. But if I’ve got it right …’
