‘This is Aggie,’ says Elspeth. ‘And these are the police.’ Kathryn notices that the younger detective raises his eyebrows when her mother describes Aggie as her cook.
‘The police,’ says Aggie, wringing her hands. ‘What are they doing here?’
‘It’s about Jemima,’ whispers Elspeth, as if the police aren’t standing there.
‘Please take a seat,’ offers Kathryn, and they sit side by side at the oak table. They look awkward and out of place in her mother’s beautiful kitchen. ‘Aggie, would you mind making some tea?’
The woman detective gets out her notebook and starts flicking through it. Kathryn is desperate for a glass of wine. She’s been expecting this visit for some time. ‘Mother, you’d better sit down too.’ She pulls out a chair at the head of the table and her mother sinks into it.
Kathryn slumps into a seat next to her. Her legs feel weak. What do the police know?
‘What’s going on, Officer?’ asks Elspeth, peeling off her fur gloves slowly.
‘When was the last time you saw Jemima Freeman?’ asks DS Holdsworth.
Elspeth frowns, placing the gloves on the table in front of her. They look like two dead animals. ‘December. A week or so before Christmas. She used to work here and then she just upped and left one night, taking her stuff with her. Why?’
DS Holdsworth looks grim, her mouth pressed in a firm line. ‘Didn’t you ever wonder what’d happened to her?’
Elspeth shakes her head. Her hair doesn’t move. ‘Of course. She was a good girl. She’d only been with us a few months. She loved travelling, was a bit of a free spirit. I assumed she got bored with just an old lady like myself for company all day.’
‘And you never heard from her again?’ asks DS Holdsworth.
Her mother’s drawn-on eyebrows knit together. ‘No. Nothing.’
DS Holdsworth sits up straighter. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this,’ she says, glancing at them all in turn, even Aggie, who is hovering by the Aga waiting for the kettle to boil and pretending not to be listening, ‘but Jemima Freeman has been found dead.’
There is a stunned silence until Elspeth pipes up, ‘I’m very sorry to hear that. I liked her. Very much. But, what does that have to do with us? Surely she has family. She left her employment here over a month ago. I don’t know what she would have been doing in the meantime.’
Kathryn cringes. Why does her mother have to sound so insensitive?
‘Well, that’s the thing,’ says Holdsworth, glancing around at them all with the same grave expression on her face. ‘Jemima died on the nineteenth of December.’
Elspeth frowns, and Kathryn can see her trying to make the connection. ‘But … that’s the day … that’s the day she left here.’
‘I know,’ says Holdsworth. ‘It appears that you and your family, Mrs McKenzie, were the last people to see Jemima alive.’
6
Una
Courtney is sitting in the window of a café on Gloucester Road, near where she works. I love Gloucester Road, with its independent shops and delis and the colourful graffiti on the walls. It’s always bustling, even on a drizzly grey day like today. I watch her for a moment, her head dipped as she reads something on her phone, with a serene half-smile. She’s probably on Instagram, posting another carefully orchestrated shot. Anything mundane looks good through Courtney’s eye: a hairstyle she’s just done, a flower covered with raindrops, a spider’s web, her shoes against a brick wall, the retro sweets she’s addicted to. Her glossy copper hair is gathered up in a high ponytail and she’s wearing the white T-shirt and black skirt combo that is her uniform at the salon where she works. I only moved out on Saturday morning, it’s only been four days – we’ve been apart for longer when I was going out with Vince – yet it feels like I haven’t seen her for years. My heart swells for her. My oldest friend, the closest thing to family I have now.
We grew up in the same 1950s cul-de-sac in Filton. Our mums got on well, so we were always in and out of each other’s houses as kids. We’ve been best friends since starting school at the age of four.
The bell on the door tinkles as I go in and she looks up from her hot chocolate – she doesn’t like caffeine, and it’s a running joke that we always say we need to meet for coffee when she doesn’t drink it. Her face breaks into a huge smile when she spots me. She leaps from her chair to hug me. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she says, leading me to the table. ‘God, it feels weird in the flat without you.’
I shrug off my coat and place my hat on the chair next to me. It looks like a cat curled up on the seat.
‘You aren’t just away or at work or staying with a boyfriend. You’ve moved out. Actually moved out.’ She throws her hands into the air to emphasize her point. She’s always gesticulating, and the two of us talk so fast when we’re together that nobody can understand us. ‘Your stuff’s all gone. The place seems empty and smelly now I’m sharing with a man, although,’ she chuckles, ‘he’s actually tidier than you. And not to mention we’ve got damp.’ She grimaces. ‘Luckily the landlord is dealing with it. And thank you for leaving all the throws and cushions we chose. Kris thinks they’re too girly, but they’re staying.’
‘How’s it going living with him?’
She pulls an exasperated face, then catches a waitress’s attention to order me a cappuccino. We’re creatures of habit, me and Courtney. I surprise her by asking for a croissant to go with it. I’m starving, thanks to the stolen-breakfast incident. When the waitress has gone she says, ‘I’m regretting letting him move in.’
‘Really?’
‘He leaves his clothes everywhere. Wet towels on the floor, pants on the carpet. It’s like he thinks I’m his mum. He’s twenty-six years old and this is the first time he’s lived away from home.’
I laugh. ‘I thought you said he was tidier than me.’ I’m not a huge fan of Kris, not that I’ve ever admitted as much to Courtney. I just think she can do better. She’s fiercely loyal when she decides she likes you. Although, as she’ll say herself, she has a resting-bitch face. Kris plays the drums in Vince’s band, and when he met Courtney he told Vince he didn’t like her because ‘her head’s stuck up her own arse’. She doesn’t give her friendship easily. Unlike me. I know I’m quite laid-back in that respect. It takes a lot to annoy me but Courtney is less tolerant. In the end, Kris realized how genuine and kind Courtney is and won her around. She says he makes her laugh. I suppose he can be funny, in the immature way that boys at school could be, but there is a side to him I don’t like. He takes people for granted. I used to see him do it with Vince and now I’m noticing it with Courtney. He’s the one who’ll never pay for a round of drinks, who always expects others to drive, who won’t go out of his way to help someone. Everything has to be on his terms. I’ve always felt Kris was a kind of stop-gap for Courtney. Although now he’s moved in, I worry she’ll be stuck with him.
She smirks. ‘He is! Although I’d trained you well. And you didn’t expect me to pick up after you.’