It’s a relief when we finally turn off the busy motorway and take the country roads that thread along the foot of the Downs, through Fulking. Gazing out of the passenger window, I take in the peaceful rolling hills, the fields of sheep, suddenly homesick for the views from my own home.
‘You know, I’d better let Zoe know what we’re doing. She’s probably wondering where we are.’ Pulling over, obviously through to Zoe’s voicemail, she leaves a message. ‘Hi, just in case you’re wondering, we’re calling by Amy’s house. Jess wants to fetch a few things. Let me know if you want us to pick anything up on our way home?’
Then we’re almost there, driving up another section of the Downs, before we turn into the lane. Slowing down, Cath parks outside our house, then sits there for a moment. ‘I don’t mind waiting out here – unless there’s anything you’d like me to do?’
I look at her. ‘I don’t really know what I’m looking for – but if we both look, maybe we’ve a better chance of finding something.’
As I get out of her car, I fish in my pocket for my keys, my resolve strengthening, knowing for my mother’s sake, we have to find something. Unlocking the door, when I push it open, a cold, alien feeling overcomes me. It feels like forever since I was last here. Picking up the post lying on the doormat, I push the door further open and go inside, Cath following me towards the kitchen. It’s untidy, the floor needs sweeping, with plates and mugs left all over the place. Glancing through the post, apart from one letter addressed to Matt, most of it’s for my mother. Leaving the letters on the table, I make a mental note to pick them up later.
Torn between clearing up and searching the house, I turn to Cath. ‘Is there any chance you could help me tidy – just a bit? Even if we put the dishwasher on, it would be a start.’
But as I start clearing the table, Cath turns around. ‘Leave the kitchen to me, Jess. Why don’t you look upstairs?’
While she makes a start, I walk out of the kitchen, glancing into the living room where the vile painting of Matt’s is still in place on the wall. Silently I make my way upstairs, but halfway up, I’m struck inexplicably with unease. At the top, I head for my mother’s room, taking in the clothes and shoes strewn across the bed and carpet, all of it Matt’s stuff. Maybe she was about to get rid of it or perhaps the police have gone through everything? Anger rises in me. Suddenly I want every trace of him out of here. When I hurry downstairs, Cath looks up in surprise.
My voice is tight. ‘I need some plastic bags. I’m getting rid of Matt’s clothes.’
*
Knowing the police will have gone through Matt’s pockets, as my mother will have before them, even so, I check again, then roughly fold each item, filling the first bag, then another, until the bed is clear, then the floor. Then I go to the wardrobe. As I open the door, something falls out, startling me so that I cry out, as I realise how on edge I am. Picking up the coat that must have fallen off its hanger, all that’s left is a holdall that’s on a shelf. Pulling it out and finding it empty, I shove it into another bag, trying to think. If anything was hidden in this house, where would it be?
Methodically I check my mother’s chest of drawers, but other than clothes and the trace of her lingering scent, there’s nothing to find. Then slowly I go to my own room. If someone’s still trying to hurt my mother, the next obvious target is me.
*
It’s late by the time we get back to Zoe’s. Upstairs in my room, I shower, wanting to wash away any trace of today, then pull on a t-shirt and jogging bottoms. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I reach for my bag and search inside for my mother’s post.
There’s a load of junk mail and what looks like a couple of bills. But then I frown. The letter for Matt isn’t there. In all the upset of calling the police, I must have left it behind in the kitchen. Then my mind is racing again. I’ve been so caught up in searching the house, I’ve completely forgotten about Allie – or Fiona, as she now calls herself.
‘Jess?’
Hearing Zoe’s voice call from downstairs, I jump up, fetching my laptop and taking it with me. In the kitchen, she’s already serving up bowls of curry and rice, and a plate of warm naan bread.
‘This looks amazing.’ As Cath joins us, she glances at my laptop. ‘You’re still busy, Jess?’
‘I need to see what I can find out about Fiona.’ But there’s more. I need to look for anything about Kimberley, if there are any news cuttings from that time; any links between my mother, Fiona, Matt. Frowning, I look up. ‘Where can you look up old newspaper reports?’
‘You could try online?’ Zoe suggests. ‘There are archives, too. But that’s where I’d start. About Fiona … do you know anything about her?’
When I shake my head, she goes on. ‘It’s just that one of Nick’s golfing friends is a lawyer – in Brighton. I’m sure he’d do some digging if you wanted him to.’
At the prospect of more help, relief fills me. ‘That would be amazing.’
‘I tell you what.’ Zoe sits down opposite me with her phone. ‘I’ll text Nick now. I think James is with him in the Algarve. What did you say her name was?’
‘Fiona Rose. She used to be known as Allie Macklin. The name of the girl who died is Kimberley Preston, in case he needs that.’ Hardly able to believe she’s doing this, I take a mouthful of curry. ‘Thanks.’
*
After we’ve eaten, I take
