“She went out when we got home last night.” A sob catches in Ruth’s throat. “For milk, you know, for my tea. She’s such a good girl like that. The newsagent is only round the corner, I didn’t think anything of it.” She falls silent, dabbing at red eyes with a screwed-up tissue. I pull a few more sheets from the box on the table and hand them to her. She takes them hesitantly. “But then she didn’t come back. I was going out to look for her when I got a call from the hospital. Someone had found her on the street and called an ambulance.”
“What did the doctors say?”
“She has a concussion and a pretty nasty wound on the back of her head, but she’ll be OK, they hope. Scans didn’t show any swelling on the brain. They’ve given her a sedative, so she’ll sleep.” I watch as she gently strokes her daughter’s hand, concern etched into the lines on her face. “She could wake up anytime,” Ruth continues. “I know she wanted to talk to you. There was a half-written text on her phone.”
I flush automatically, thinking about our texts. Ruth meets my eyes. “I read them. I’m not sorry, I wouldn’t have known half of it if I hadn’t. The police have it now, anyway.” She takes a deep breath. “You put her in danger, Niamh, but I only blame myself. I told her to look out for you.”
An awkward silence falls between us. I stare at Jess’s Afro curls, their bleached blonde ends poking out from beneath what would usually strike me as a comedy sized bandage. I feel as though my insides have been removed, carefully turned inside out and replaced again. I want to be sick. This is my fault.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Ruth sighs. “I suppose Detective Moran called you?”
“I don’t think so.” I scrabble for my phone and see that in fact yes, he has. Two missed calls and an answerphone message fill my screen. I hit dial and hold the phone to my ear.
It only takes seconds for all of the blood in my body to pool around my ankles. “Oh my God.”
It’s Will.
Will is out of custody.
“They released him last night, just before. . .” She glances down at her daughter. “They could only keep him for twenty-four hours without a charge and there was no real evidence against him.”
“No evidence?” I echo. “So, what, he came looking for Jess straight away? And no one was watching him?”
“So it seems.” Silent tears streak down Ruth’s bare face. “They think maybe she knew something, that he was waiting outside the house, like he did with you the other night.”
“But they have him now, right?” My eyes plead for it to be true. Ruth shakes her head the tiniest bit, but it’s there. No.
Will is free.
I stare out the window as the city zooms past, my eyes catching on every lone male on the street, just in case it’s Will. Despite the fact that she must hate me now, Ruth insisted on paying for me to get a cab to the museum. She said she didn’t want another attack on her conscience.
“Anywhere here is fine, thanks.” The driver pulls over and I smile at him in his rear-view mirror before I get out, but he completely ignores me and carries on chatting into his handsfree. One of the things I did not like about London. Taxi drivers were much friendlier back home.
I run down the steps, waving breathlessly at Sue, but don’t get more than two feet before I’m called back to the desk.
“You’re late,” she says sourly.
“I know, I’m sorry, I. . .”
The phone rings and I am spared. “Never mind, never mind.” She flaps a hand at me and picks up, trilling out polished professionalism. “Good afternoon, the Victorian Street Museum.”
I start to sneak off but she covers the handpiece with one curled hand and hisses at me. “Hurry up, it’s just you today and Geoffrey’s pulling a double shift, so he needs a break.”
“I thought Tommy was on today?”
She shrugs. “He hasn’t turned up.” Her voice brightens again. “Ah, yes, one second, let me just pop you on hold. . .”
I leg it before she can collar me again.
I hurry into the dressing room, shrug off the cropped cardigan I’m wearing and shove it into my locker, then yank the dress off its hanger. My last shift and no Tommy. This isn’t how I thought it would end.
I shimmy the dress on over my thin vest top and jeans, leaving my trainers on. I glance down to make sure you can’t see them and notice how worn and dirty the hem has become. Would someone else wear this after me? Would Tommy see them in it? I quickly zip myself up and take one last deep breath. This time next week I’d either be at home or coming back in to ask for a job. I needed to make a good impression.
“Excellent timing, Niamh.” Geoffrey’s boom is a little quieter than normal and he follows the comment with a hacking cough. “Excuse me, dear, full of a cold, do stay away, won’t you?” He pulls out a handkerchief and proceeds to cough into it.
“I didn’t realize you were ill!” I glance around the room – it’s coming up to dawn and disembodied birds chirp gaily in non-existent trees. Icy fingers slide down my back as I realize exactly how creepy that is. “Go for your break, honestly. I’ll be fine.”
He doesn’t argue. “Yes, thank you. Nothing a good hot whiskey won’t cure, but not while I’m on duty, of course.” He walks off towards the small staff kitchen. I smile at his broad retreating back and begin to count the hours away until I can go back and see Jess. I wonder if she’s woken up yet.
The museum really is dead this afternoon and I’m not surprised, the weather was all kinds of amazing when I left the hospital. I pace the shadowy cobbles like a haunted soul and my mind works overtime.
Why had the police let Will go? Did he really attack Jess? And if he did, why? What had she found out? I glance around nervously and remind myself I’m safe here. There’s only one way in.
Which, I realize, means there’s only one way out, too.
I’m pacing Jane’s parlour when something vibrates near my hip, bringing me back to the now. It takes me a second to realize I still have my phone in the pocket of my jeans.
“I didn’t think there was a signal down here,” I mutter, glancing around furtively. There’s still no one here, so I hoist up my skirt in a most unladylike fashion, hands sweaty at the thought of someone walking in and catching me, but there’s no other way in this dress. I tug the phone out and let my skirts drop again.
Jess! A notification across the screen shows that she sent me a message two minutes ago. I swipe at it, my damp fingers catching on the glass.
Awake. Head banging but OK. They’re letting me go home. Need to talk to you.
I glance around again. Only Jane and I are in the room. The eyes of her unfinished portrait are following me. I start to edge out of the parlour, but quickly lose the faint signal. “Dammit.” I tiptoe back towards the portrait and one lone bar springs up. I glance up and could almost swear her mouth is curving up a little more than usual. Stop it, Niamh. Of course it’s not.
I tap out a response.
Thank God you’re OK! At museum now. Want me to come to yours after?
Three little dots appear immediately, followed by a succession of rapid-fire messages.
At museum?
Is he there?
Can you leave now?
“Niamh?” Another great, racking cough travels ahead of Geoffrey into the parlour and I quickly shove my phone up my sleeve, praying it stays put.
He appears in the doorway holding a steaming cup, his bowtie, hat and gloves gone. “Ah, there you are.” He smiles at the portrait behind me and shakes his head as I feel my phone buzzing away against my arm. “Really, a most uncanny resemblance.” He takes a slurp from the cup and smoothes his white whiskers with his free hand. “We’re going to call it a day, I’m afraid. I am sorry to do this on your last shift with us, but I need my bed and it’s not worth keeping you here for the odd visitor who might happen to stumble across us.”
“Oh.” I feel deflated, somehow. I knew today was my last day, but it feels so final.
“Now, you must promise you’ll come and see me before you go home?” He begins to steer me out of the parlour and I take one last look at Jane’s portrait, at this girl who has infiltrated so much of my life for the last six weeks. Was this the last time I would see her?
“Of course.”
“Wonderful. Now, shoo. Go and enjoy this beautiful summer’s afternoon.” His breath catches and he grabs his handkerchief just in time to stifle what would have been a scream-sneeze of apocalyptic measures.
“OK, thanks. Oh, and, Geoffrey?” I pause at the door of the staffroom. “Thanks for everything. You’ve been so kind, and that book you recommended for my essay was great. . .”
“Ah, yes! Have you heard anything about that, yet?”
“No, I’ve sent it in, but it closes on Monday. I should know by the end of the week, though.”
“Well, let me know how it goes, my dear. I may be able to find a more regular opening for you if you are set to become a permanent fixture here.”
My heart swells a little. I really like it here. And it would mean I could keep working with Tommy. “Really?”
“Well, let’s see how you get on first,” he says, his eyes twinkling. He begins to walk away. “I’m locking up in ten minutes, now. See you outside.”
“OK.” I walk into the dressing room and untie the dress, letting it pool around my feet. I fold the crepe material carefully, smoothing out the lacy throat. It’s a bit worn and sad looking now and, to be honest, it needs a good wash. The lace has grimy smears of makeup on it. I should get it dry-cleaned, that way I can give it back to Geoffrey all nice and fresh when I come back to see him.
I pack it in my bag, which I swing on to my shoulder. I look at my phone as I jog up the short flight of stairs, not wanting to keep Geoffrey from his home comforts any longer. I can hear him talking to someone in the foyer, clearly turning some curious tourist away. My phone buzzes again. I unlock the screen to see Jess is still texting. She has completely lost her chill.
Is he there?
Niamh? Answer me please. . .
Seriously, what are you doing? Text me back!
I start to type a response but the three little dots are already lighting up my screen, so I wait.
Niamh, is Will there?
I freeze at the top of the stairs. Slowly, I edge closer to where Geoffrey is talking to a tall, gangly youth, his greasy hair crammed under a dark baseball cap.
Will.
I catch my breath and slide back down into the shadows, the cold of the wall biting into my back. I look around wildly for another exit, though I know there isn’t one. I feel the vibration a split second before my phone tinkles out, loud and proud, the reception back to normal now.
“Niamh?” calls Geoffrey.
I must have slipped it back on to ringer mode when I pulled it out of my sleeve.
“Er, yeah,” I call, trying to keep the note of panic from my voice. “Coming.”
Surely he wouldn’t do anything to Geoffrey? He was half the size of the portly older man. Did that matter if he was a psycho, though? I’ll call Detective Moran. But as I swipe my phone, I see Jess’s next text.
It wasn’t him, Niamh! You need to trust Will. I’ve ordered you both another Uber – get in and don’t talk to ANYONE but Will, OK?
What the hell is going on?
I take a deep breath and head back up the stairs, squaring my shoulders as Will comes into my line of sight. He glances at me and nods awkwardly.
“Hi.” His voice is higher pitched than I remember, and he looks drawn, ill. Geoffrey begins to say something that rapidly turns to a cough and I shoot him a sympathetic glance.
“Hi,” I mutter back, before turning to Geoffrey. “You get yourself home, now. My daddy swears by a hot whiskey with honey and cloves for a cold, and my granddaddy swore on boiled Guinness, but that sounds disgusting, don’t you think?” I’m babbling, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Yes, I think I’ll give that particular home remedy a miss.” He smiles. “This young man says he’s here for you?”
I slide a sharp glance at Will. He doesn’t look harmful, just knackered. “Er, yeah, he’s a . . . friend.” I don’t want Geoffrey telling Tommy that random lads have started dropping by for me. I spot a sleek black car slowing down outside. “In fact, I think our cab’s here. Get well soon, Geoffrey.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
I push the door open, humidity gathering on my skin immediately. Geoffrey locks the doors and Will gets into the car. Geoffrey begins to walk away, and I startle myself by calling out to him.
“I’ll call in next week,” I say. “I’m going to see my friend Jess, now. With Will. This guy here.” I point to the cab as Geoffrey’s brow starts to furrow, confused.
“Good, good,” he says. “Well, ta-ra, now.”
“And then I’m off back to my halls.” I rush on, relentless, raising my voice so Will can hear me. “Last few days at college this week, I won’t be missing that if I don’t have to. I mean, it would look really weird if I didn’t show up, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it would.” He looks totally bemused as he waves me off. But I feel calmer.
Better safe than sorry.
*
Will doesn’t utter a word on the drive back, Jess is conveniently ignoring my texts and by the time the cab pulls up outside our college building, I’m ready to explode.
“Why on earth would Jess come straight to the library?” I ask. “She should be in bed.” Will shrugs in response and I let out a howl of frustration as I climb out and slam the door. “Fine,” I mutter, stalking towards the entrance, “I’ll ask her myself, shall I?”
I’m aware of him trailing behind me but oddly, I don’t feel threatened any more. He’s been hunched in on himself the whole way over, like someone has deflated him.
“Jess?” I swing through the door, peering through its round porthole to see the room appears empty. “Jess!” I try again.
“Back here,” Jess calls from the little room where the microfilm is and I follow the sound, feeling the draught of the door as Will walks in behind me.
“Come on,” I mutter, marvelling as he follows me like a puppy dog. Today is weird.
“Jess!” I fly over to her chair and grab her in a bear hug without thinking.
“Ow, easy!” She laughs and I loosen up the hug. The comedy bandage is gone but her hair is scraped back in a knotty mess and her glasses seem to magnify her bruised, tired eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” she winces. “The doctor said I have some cracked ribs, but I’ll be fine, I just need to rest. Look, I’ve made tea.”
Jess fiddles with the little wheels as Will grabs himself a cup and starts to fill it.
“Tea?” I hiss. “With him? Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Jess pauses and glares at Will.
“You haven’t told her?”
He takes off his hat and rubs a pale hand over his face. His eyes are bloodshot, and his chin is showing the slightest shadow of stubble. He puts a biscuit in his mouth.
“Well?” Jess glares at him.
“I didn’t think she’d believe me,” he says, through a mouthful of crumbs. “Last time she saw me I was in her hallway, underneath a copper. Why should she listen to me?”
I lean back in my chair and fold my arms. “He’s got a fair point. So?”
“Oh, hon, I. . .” To my surprise, tears slide out and pool around the base of Jess’s nose. She takes her glasses off and pulls the sleeve of her red hoodie down over her hand to wipe them away. “I need to show you something.”
“Show me what?” My stomach clenches and I can taste the bitter coffee I hastily downed on the way to the hospital this morning. I haven’t eaten anything since last night and combined with the scant amount of sleep I managed between speed writing and nightmares, I’m feeling light-headed.
“It wasn’t Will who attacked me last night.” Jess sniffs, dabbing her eyes again before replacing her
glasses. She takes a deep breath and reaches over to take my hand, wincing as she leans on a damaged rib. “Niamh, it hasn’t been Will this whole time.”
“So, who was it, then? Jasmine? That little witch,” I say.
“No, she has nothing to do with it,” Will blurts, reddening slightly. “Jess told me you saw our names in the special collections log. I was just . . . helping her. With the scholarship essay.” I raise an eyebrow. “She’s very persuasive.”
“Then who?” I ask in a small voice.
“I need to show you,” Jess repeats. “That’s why I brought you here. There’s something you need to see.”
“I don’t understand.”
I don’t. It feels impossible, ludicrous. My vision starts to blur and I watch through pinholes as Jess rips open a packet and places a biscuit in my hand. “Here, eat this.”
The sugar hits my system almost straight away and the edges of the room start to come back into focus. I eat it in silence, ignoring the part of my brain that’s asking me how I can think of eating at a time like this, and accept the second one that Jess thrusts into my hands. She watches me like a hawk until I finish that one too and I lick the melted chocolate from my thumb. She nods.
“Good girl. Will, put some sugar in her tea. No arguments, Niamh.”
“OK.” I accept the mug from him gratefully. Heat floods into my hands, chasing away the pins and needles and I start to feel human once more.
“Are you sure?” I say.
“Yeah.” She pulls her hoodie tighter around her. I notice the end of a hospital bracelet poking out from under one of the cuffs.
He put my friend in the hospital. I trusted him.
“But why?”
“I’m not certain.” She turns back to the microfilm again. “But I have an idea. There has been some pretty weird stuff happening, hasn’t there?”
“Supernatural happenings,” Will intones heavily.
“Will, this is the problem,” Jess snaps. “You skulk around here, keep showing up in the worst places and then you come out with comments like that.”
“The theatre,” I interrupt, thinking of the Grey Man’s burning eyes in the stalls.
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