‘No. I found them like this.’
‘When?’
‘Just now- when I got home.’
‘Who opened them?’
She shrugs but senses the edge in my voice. I ask if the house was locked, who had keys, where did she find the cards and envelopes…
‘They were on the bed.’
‘Are any of them missing?’
‘I can’t tell.’
I glance out the window at a line of poplar saplings that ends on the corner. I see a silver van moving slowly along the street, searching for a house number.
‘Can we go now?’
‘Not this time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re going to stay here with your aunt.’
‘But she’s going back to Spain.’
‘She wants you to go with her.’
‘No! No!’ Darcy looks at me accusingly.
‘I can’t. I won’t. What about my ballet scholarship? I won a place.’
‘Spain can be like a holiday.’
‘A holiday! I can’t suddenly stop dancing and take it up again. I’ve never been to Spain. I don’t know anyone there.’
‘You have your aunt.’
‘Who hates me.’
‘No she doesn’t.’
‘Talk to her.’
‘I have.’
‘Did I do something wrong?’
‘Of course not.’
Her bottom lip is trembling. Suddenly, she throws herself against me, wrapping her arms around my chest.
‘Let me come home with you.’
‘I can’t do that, Darcy.’
‘Please. Please.’
‘I can’t, I’m sorry.’
What happens next is not so much unplanned as unimagined. Some leaps can only be made in the space between the head and the heart. Darcy raises her face and presses her lips to mine. Her breath. Her tongue. Inexperienced, exploring, she tastes of potato chips and cola. I try to pull back. Her hand grips my hair. She pushes her hips against mine, offering her body.
My head is filled with seven visions of crazy. Taking hold of her hands, I gently ease her away and hold her there. She blinks at me desperately.
Her coat is unbuttoned. One side of her blouse has fallen off her shoulder, exposing a bra strap.
‘I love you.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘But I do. I love you more than she does.’
She steps away, freeing her hands, letting her coat fall from her shoulders, pulling her top down, exposing her bra.
‘Don’t you want me? I’m not a child!’ Her voice sounds different.
‘Please, Darcy.’
‘Let me stay with you.’
‘I can’t.’
She shakes her head, bites her lip, trying not to cry. She understands everything. The stakes have changed completely. I can never take her into my home- not now- not after what she has offered me. Her tears are not meant to blackmail me emotionally or to make me change my mind. They’re just tears.
‘Please leave,’ she says. ‘I want to be alone.’
I close the door, lean against it. I can still taste her in my mouth and feel her trembling. The sensation is one of fear: fear of discovery, fear of what she did and how much I am to blame. My area of supposed expertise is in human behaviour but sometimes I am astonished by how profoundly ignorant I am. How can someone be a psychologist yet know so little about the subject? The mind is too complex, too unpredictable, an ocean of uncertainty. And I have no option but to tread water or to swim for a distant shore.
Julianne is at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Is everything OK?’ she asks. Can she see something in my eyes?
‘There’s been a break-in. I have to call the police.’
‘Now?’
‘You go home. I should stay.’
‘How will you get home?’
‘Ruiz is still here.’
She stands on tiptoes and gently kisses my lips. Then she leans back and looks into my eyes.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
An hour later and police have replaced mourners. The cards and envelopes have been bagged and taken to the lab. The doors and windows checked for any signs of forced entry. Nothing has been taken.
There is no reason for me to be here and every reason for me to leave. I keep thinking of Darcy’s kiss and her awkwardness. It embarrassed us both but she is of an age where rejection can crush. I live with discomfit every day, in the tremble of a hand or a sudden frozen fall.
I keep thinking about what Maureen said about the reunion and losing two of her best friends. Perhaps the murders had nothing to do with a business failing or Christine Wheeler owing money to loan sharks. It was more personal than that. Why would someone open condolence cards? What were they looking for?
Darcy is still upstairs. Her aunt is talking to police in the kitchen. Outside I let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Ruiz is waiting in his car. The heater blasts warm air onto the windscreen.
‘I need another favour.’
‘You got any of those left?’
‘One.’
‘I must have lost count.’
‘I need you to look for someone. Her name is Helen Chambers.’
‘Haven’t you got enough women in your life?’
‘She went to school with Christine Wheeler and Sylvia Furness. They were supposed to meet up a fortnight ago. She didn’t show.’
‘Last known address?’
‘Her folks live somewhere near Frome. A big country house.’
‘Shouldn’t be hard to find.’
The car swings from the parking space and the glare of approaching headlights stings my eyes. Ruiz turns up the music. Sinatra is crooning about a lady who never flirts with strangers or blows on another guy’s dice.
It is after midnight when I get home. The cottage is dark. Above and behind it, a church steeple is black against a purple sky. I close the door gently and take my shoes off. Climb the stairs.
Emma is spread-eagled on top of her duvet. I fold her legs beneath it and tuck it beneath her chin. She doesn’t stir. Charlie’s door is open a few inches. Her lava lamp casts a pink glow over the room. I can see her lying on her side with her hand close to her mouth.
Julianne is asleep. I undress in the bathroom and brush my teeth before sliding alongside her. She turns and wraps her arms and legs around me, pressing her breasts against my back.
