Betsy sulked around the supermarket, trailing behind me like an annoying shadow as my blood pressure crept up by the second. The supper I had imagined wasn’t going to plan – I’d found a recipe for miso mushroom polenta with a side of steamed kale, but the store was tiny and I struggled to find any of my main ingredients. When I asked the cashier if they sold polenta, all she could offer was a blank stare.
Making the best of a challenging situation, I picked up some broccoli, some blue cheese and sliced ham. Maybe one of Amy’s special recipes could save the day.
I’d left Mike a message to let him know what happened. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too hard on Betsy. She did her work at the kitchen table while I made a start on supper, keeping one eye on the clock and counting down the time until Mike would arrive to collect her – and until I could take the nice bottle of wine out the fridge.
By the time Rachel arrived at seven, dinner was in the oven and I was already one glass of wine in. She was quite dressed up in a knitted dress and knee-high boots, and I felt lousy – I’d gone for a cosy-night-in look. I blushed, hoping that my casual outfit of jeans and cashmere sweater didn’t give the impression I didn’t care.
Rachel had brought a bottle of wine with her too, which instantly sent her soaring in my estimation. Dad always said you should never turn up at someone’s house empty-handed, and it was a lesson that had stayed with me my whole life.
I was certain that Rachel knew more than she was letting on, probably from some misguided loyalty to Mike, or to protect my feelings. My plan was to get her drunk and see if it loosened her up. It wasn’t the most sophisticated plan, but it was the only one I had.
It was no mushroom polenta, but my Amy special of blue-cheese broccoli had turned out well. Rachel and I raised a glass to her memory. I’d lit candles that cast us both in warm glow, and the wine softened the sharp edges of our loss.
We reminisced over Amy, swapping stories of the woman we had both loved. Rachel had known a different Amy to mine, or at least another side of her, and for hours we traded anecdotes, talking about nothing else. It felt deliciously indulgent, and for once, I didn’t drown under a wave of sadness at the mere mention of Amy’s name.
I refilled our glasses with the last of the bottle. The candles had burned down to flickering pools of molten wax.
‘So that day when you said that Amy might not have been happy… What exactly did you mean?’
Rachel’s shoulders sank. ‘We’ve been over this. I just said, sometimes it was like she wanted more—’
I cut her off. ‘Because Richard agrees with you. He thinks that something was troubling Amy. Something to do with Mike.’ That wasn’t exactly what he had said, but I was entitled to some artistic license.
Rachel raised an eyebrow. ‘Richard Pringle? What did he say?’
‘He thinks that Amy could have done better than Mike. Maybe that’s got something to do with whatever was bothering her…?’
‘And how would he have an opinion on a thing like that?’
‘He and Amy… They were good friends.’
Rachel swirled the wine in her glass, then sighed and took a sip. ‘Your sister was a kind person, you know that. Maybe Richard thought she was his friend. I’m just saying, I don’t think Amy saw it in quite the same way. Sometimes, to be frank, I find him a bit creepy. But maybe that’s just me.’
Had I misunderstood Richard?
‘My god, look at the time! I should get home, I’m on the early shift tomorrow.’ Rachel stood up to leave.
‘Don’t go yet, please stay.’ I could hear the desperation in my voice. ‘Are you sure Amy said nothing about being unhappy, or stressed?’
Rachel looked at me with pity in her eyes. ‘She had everything. Her and Mike – they had it all. I just worried sometimes that she was missing something or wanted more. You know, like we all do from time to time.’
She gave me a hug, thanking me for supper and promising to call me tomorrow, and left.
So, that had got me nowhere. At least she was gone, and I could finally go through Amy’s phone. Her best friend might not have answers, but there had to be some clues in her messages.
I dug into my bag and set the box of Amy’s possessions on the table, taking a deep breath as I opened it.
There was no phone.
Chapter Eleven
Where was Amy’s phone? It was meant to be here! I frantically raked among the stuff in the box – definitely no phone. I’d have to follow the trail back again, starting with Mum – someone else must have had access to Amy’s things before I’d been able to get them.
My mind was racing and I needed space to think clearly. Mike must have taken the phone, but when would he have had a chance to do it? He hadn’t been over to Mum’s since he got back, as far as I knew. And if not Mike, then who? And on top of all this, Rachel’s view of Richard was confusing me. He’d seemed so nice. How had I got him so wrong?
As much as I wanted to prioritise finding Amy’s phone, my first point of call the next morning was to collect Betsy. Mike had given her hell
