I’ve got hours to kill before tonight, though. We go to the counter to pay and then leave the café. It’s started raining and we huddle in the doorway for a few minutes while Courtney applies lipstick expertly without looking in the mirror. ‘Do I have it on my teeth?’ She flashes them at me and I shake my head. ‘Right. I’ll text you later. Love you.’ She hugs me, engulfing me in her favourite Marc Jacobs scent, then wafting away. I watch her walk down the street, the furry pompom on her bag swinging with each step she takes, her large umbrella nearly poking the eyes out of a passing man. I press my hat firmly on to my head and walk in the opposite direction, wondering how I’m going to fill my day.
It’s boredom that makes me do it. There are only so many clothes shops you can look around when you haven’t got much money to spend. And after finding the locket and hearing Aggie talking about Jemima leaving so suddenly, and the girl before her, Matilde, killed in a hit-and-run, I want to know more. One of my mum’s favourite sayings was ‘Curiosity killed the cat’, which she usually aimed at me because I’m so nosy. So I take a long, slow walk to the central library and pay to use one of their computers. I don’t have a laptop and the Wi-Fi at Elspeth’s isn’t great. Most of my friends are social-media queens, but I’m not a huge fan. Being off social media makes me feel protected somehow, like I’m in my own private world, although lately I have become a bit addicted to Instagram. There’s something so engaging about scrolling through other people’s photographs. It’s perfect for the voyeur in me.
I settle myself at one of the computers and soon have Google up. It takes me a while to find anything because I don’t know Matilde’s surname so instead I just type in Matilde + Elspeth McKenzie + Clifton and soon an article that was published last week in the Bristol and Somerset Herald flashes up on screen.
13 January 2019
Police are still no closer to finding the driver of the car that killed a young woman in a hit-and-run in Clifton last summer.
Matilde Hansen, 23, was on a night out with friends on Wednesday, 21 August when she was knocked over crossing the road. She had been drinking and was returning alone to the house where she lived and worked in Sion Hill when the accident occurred.
Unfortunately, the part of the street where Matilde was struck down doesn’t have CCTV and there were no witnesses.
Alexandra Stein, 23, a friend of Matilde’s who was with her the night she died, said: ‘We left the pub just after 11.30 p.m. It was pouring with rain and we had our umbrellas up. I walked a little of the way with her, before turning off to go to the bus stop. Matilde would only have been on her own for about five minutes before she reached her house. The roads were pretty quiet, especially as the weather was bad. It was a Wednesday night but Matilde liked going out on Wednesdays as it was her day off. I can’t believe this happened. She was such a fun, bubbly girl.’
Her employer, local philanthropist Elspeth McKenzie, told the Herald: ‘My family and I are in shock. She worked as my carer and companion for the last two years and she helped me back on my feet after a fall. She was caring, kind and considerate. She will be sorely missed and I am deeply sorry for her family’s loss.’
Matilde, who was originally from Denmark, had no family in Bristol. Her mother died when she was a child and her father still lives in her home country.
Police are still appealing for witnesses to come forward.
I sit back in my chair, digesting what I’ve just read. Poor Matilde. How horrific, so close to where she lived and where I’m living now. How could a person knock someone down and just drive off? It must have been panic. And fear. I don’t have a car but I know that if I was ever in such a situation I’d stop and help. I couldn’t just leave someone dying in the road. The thought of it makes me feel sick.
There is no photograph of Matilde but I Google her name and her Facebook profile comes up as Remembering Matilde Hansen and then a photo of her beautiful face, her long blonde hair, her laughing pale eyes.
I feel as though all the breath has been knocked out of me.
I sink back in my chair, unable to believe what I’m seeing.
Matilde looks remarkably like Jemima.
And me.
Maybe Elspeth warms to young blonde girls. Perhaps we remind her of someone, although I can’t think who. It’s definitely not her daughter. Kathryn is tall and dark. There must be a reason for it, though. Even if it’s unconscious. Because I don’t believe in coincidences.
I scroll through the other links attached to Matilde’s name until I read something that makes me gasp out loud. A line in a news article published today.
Jemima Freeman, 24, was an employee of local philanthropist Elspeth McKenzie. Her predecessor, Matilde Hansen, was killed in a hit-and-run last year. Jemima was found dead two days ago. Police suspect suicide.
No. I don’t believe in coincidences.
Have you realized yet that you look just like the other girls? The two who came before you? Do you know you’ll end up just like them? I’ve been watching you. But you wouldn’t have noticed me – as I’ve said, I’m good at this. I’ve had a lot of practice. I walked past you at one point. So close I could smell the perfume you wear, and the coconut shampoo of your hair, but you didn’t recognize me.
I fantasize about it. About you. When the time comes. And it will. I imagine how your breathing will change, how your big grey eyes will fill with alarm, the fear on your face. You won’t be so smug then, will you? You will never be lady of the manor. Not after I’ve got hold of you.
7
Kathryn
Jemima had been lying dead for over a month, hidden for the most part by the snow and then, when that had melted, by the earth and the rocks of the Avon Gorge. The police suspect she jumped from the Clifton Suspension Bridge, although there were no witnesses.
Kathryn listens in a stupor as DS Holdsworth imparts this information in her flat, toneless voice. When she’s finished there is a stunned silence at the table. Even Aggie can’t think of anything to say, but stands at the Aga, her face pale.
Kathryn takes a few deep breaths, trying to push down her nausea. What has she done?
Elspeth is the first to speak. ‘Well,’ she says, fingering the pearls at her neck, ‘I’m … well, I’m shocked.’ Her face crumples in on itself and for the first time Kathryn thinks her mother looks older than her years. She’s a good actress, Kathryn will give her that.
‘What exactly happened on the last day of her employment with you?’ Holdsworth asks. ‘Was there an argument? Did she leave under a cloud?’
Elspeth catches Kathryn’s eye, then looks down at the table, studying the fine grain of the oak. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Like I said, she took her belongings and left. She didn’t tell me she was leaving.’
Holdsworth frowns and consults her notes. ‘But you said she was a live-in employee. Didn’t you notice that she was leaving the house with all her stuff?’
‘She didn’t have much,’ adds Elspeth, still avoiding eye contact. ‘Just a backpack’s worth. I was at a meeting – about the gallery I run – and she would usually have come with me but she said … she said she had a headache and wasn’t feeling well so stayed behind. She ordered me a taxi. I was only gone a few hours. When I got back she wasn’t here. I thought she might have nipped out, although there was no note. When she didn’t return I went up to her room and saw that she had taken all her belongings.’